maks-lawrence

[maks-lawrence]

📱→ maks 😊

marlowe: amongst other things, yes!

marlowe: don't know if 'cool' is the word that comes to mind... its like the bar equivalent of a dad in a hawaiian shirt and tevas sandals who thinks pineapple on pizza actually comes from hawaii. viva la kitsch!

marlowe: just keep your expectations low & it'll b a good time

marlowe: [...]

marlowe: and don't be hard on yourself

marlowe: it's not about what's fair, you know I don't care. i'm happy to meet you halfway, 3/4 of the way, do a u turn and double back, whatever

marlowe: [...]

marlowe: and even if being around people you know is too much, just being around people in general could be good. thats still something. can't jump every hurdle at once

marlowe: anyway...... this is also about what i want and what i want is to spend time with you over a scorpion bowl 🦂🍹🤪 braving the thrilling possibility of botulism ☠🤢🤮

maks: idk what botulism is but yeah

maks: we can do that

maks: [...]

maks: see u there

[maks-lawrence]

📱→ maks 😊

marlowe: politics! courtly intrigue! sounds very house of cards... judging from the 2 episodes i watched mostly just to sigh over robin wright

marlowe: yeah i'd like that :)

marlowe: it doesn't have to be at the house... obviously it can be & i'm all for it but if it makes things easier

marlowe: provincetown is big, lots of places to go

marlowe: there's like this weird tiki bar that got a c grade from the health department and i think someone once got mono from the shot glasses but yknow what? that happy hour can't b beat!

marlowe: anyway

marlowe: you're pretty much holding all the cards at this point so just name the time and place, I'll be there 💕

maks: yeah she's a good actress

maks: [...]

maks: we can talk about it there

maks: tiki bar could be cool

maks: [...]

maks: it doesnt always have to be... easy. that doesnt feel fair

[maks-lawrence]

Attached are a series of journals written as part of a therapeutic exercise as instructed by Maksim Lawrence’s therapist.

April 25, 2020

this is so stupid

May 2, 2020

this is still stupid

May 9, 2020

Can’t stand another lecture on the therapeutic value of journaling so here we fucking go.

I drove back to campus the long way today, looping around to where I’m planning on racing next weekend, checking out the roads. You’re supposed to feel better after talking to someone but it just makes me so fucking tired, like I’ve gotta erase all that with some other thought. Thinking about new tires or road conditions or whether or not LEDs will make me look like an asshole are better than going over all that shit again and again. That happens sometimes, I guess. Repeating bullshit I’ve said in my head like a broken record, deciding whether it was stupid or not. Guess that’s better than being angry about it. Still working on that. 

May 16, 2020

Sometimes you say shit I can’t stand. ‘Forgive yourself.’ 

I know you could see I was pissed off, because you back tracked so fast, trying to stay the cool guy. Wish I hadn’t told you about the bonfire. Wish I hadn’t said anything. You were trying some spiel ripped straight from a Hallmark greeting card, and acting like that wasn’t corny as hell. All those years in med school and all you got is shitty one liners that don’t even make sense.

Okay, I’m sorry.

I wish things were easier sometimes. I don’t think shit is this heavy for everyone else, and I’m not complaining it’s just. I’ve been thinking about that night a lot and about what it means. Probably nothing. I’m gonna forget about it. I don’t think it matters as much to other people as it does to--

This is so fucking stupid.

May 23, 2020

When I was growing up I had this idea of who I would be. I’d be big, I’d be important and people would listen to me when I said shit. A grown up built from the ground up, like a superhero or something. Captain Ukraine. Stupid. No one could ignore me, they’d be a little scared, even. I don’t want the same things anymore. Being a kid there, I think I had to make believe a future like that, like I’d become something so great that I could protect myself. Threat of the future. 

When you asked me about my plans for the future I thought about that. I don’t know what I want now. Graduate, get a good job. Help out at home, be a good brother, be a good son. Ambitions are now rooted in reality, but I guess that’s what happens when you grow up. 

You’ve been pressing on it a lot lately, ever since he came up. What do you want Maksim? What do you want for yourself? 

Kissed him again at a party, neon lights all around, high as hell. 

Still thinking about it.

[maks-lawrence]

📱→ maks 😊

marlowe: isn't your other roommate the landlord? sounds a bit like an empty threat 2 me 🤔🤔🤔

marlowe: but questionable authority aside, good work tommo! a sentence i never thought i'd say

marlowe: my advice, try and snag one of the rooms at the back of the house. then u get a view of the ocean and the big fire going right outside like the olympic flame, its very satisfying, very sexy, if you don't mind slightly poorer air quality bc of the smoke

marlowe: same cabin is good? wow this is already more enthusiasm than the 👍 i was expecting 😊

maks: lots of politics in the house he has more influence than any of us would like to admit

maks: ill keep it in mind

maks: wouldnt want one of the rooms wiht a shitty view

maks: [...]

maks: we should hang out there

[maks-lawrence]

📱→ maks 😊

marlowe: so! same cabin!

marlowe: and i'm assuming you're going bc there's no universe i can imagine where tommo lets you stay at home

marlowe: excited?

maks: yah i saw

maks: tommo said i had to move out if i didnt come :(

maks: it sounds cool

maks: [...]

maks: same cabin is good. glad yur coming

[maks-lawrence]

jamesmarlowe‌:

They’d spoken a little bit at the beginning, after he’d wandered over with two beers and a smile at the ready, but the volume of the music made it hard to talk— and with each lapse into muteness, when it felt like the conversation had started and stopped more times than a failing lawnmower, Marlowe realized that there would be no breakthrough tonight. He couldn’t fault Maks for this. Couldn’t really do anything about it, either, as they stood with their backs to the wall and his “date” watched the room with guarded eyes, looking supremely uncomfortable in his loud-patterned shirt with the buttons only halfway done, and Marlowe drank deeply, reminding himself that this was not a matter of what he could say or do; it was just a matter of time and place. He thought of the evening down by the lake, the few visits he’d paid through a basement-level window. The smiles he’d coaxed out, the closeness he’d learned how to initiate, slowly and carefully— nothing like this distance between them now, the awkward separation of a chaperoned school dance. The problem of Maks Lawrence was a little more complicated than he and a beer could solve, so after a while, the only thing Marlowe could do was raise his own bottle in a farewell salute. Maybe I’ll catch ya later. And then he’d sauntered off, joining the crowd, never one to let a good party go to waste.

Drinking, dancing, a bump from Len’s stash in the bathroom. Hungry kiss in the hallway and another on the dance floor, pink feather boa twined around his neck, molting onto his shoulders. A face that was already a black hole in his memory, smeary lipstick and salt taste of sweat. Drinking, dancing, drinking more. And in between, he checked back; he sent glances full of messages. Each time he caught a fleeting look— barely a graze of those dark, expressive eyes— Marlowe tried to keep the contact for longer than was comfortable, communicating the unspoken possibilities. Extending the same invitation, over and over again. By now, midnight had come and gone, and Rihanna was begging, please don’t stop the music! but there was no danger of that, no one was slowing down. The girls had paneled the walls with mirrors, creating infinite replicas of every person in the room; Marlowe moved toward himself, approaching the murkier version trapped in the glass behind the drinks table. He appraised the irregular skyline of bottles with a scavenger’s eye. None of these options were what he would call a first choice— but as the gospel of all scavengers went, beggars couldn’t be choosers. So he poured some vodka, sloshed in something that smelled astringently of red wine and fermenting fruit, and stirred. Movement in the mirror got his attention. He raised his eyes and saw who was standing behind him, then lowered them again, poker face still on straight. “Ah,” he said carelessly, continuing the mixology experiment. “Supplies are dwindling, so I’m gettin’ creative. Here we have the last of someone’s Grey Goose with just a splash of someone’s shitty sangria.” And then finally, he smiled. A very faint smile, just a reminder of its usual brilliance. Turning fully around, Marlowe held up the glass and swirled the clouded contents, refurbishing his real accent into something dramatic and haughty, much further South. “I have ah-lways depended on the kahn-dness of strangers,” he said, continuing to smile through this breathy Blanche Dubois impression. He took a dainty sip, more of a lip-wetting. “Not bad. As far as poison goes, it’s quite pleasant.”

Only now did he really look at Maks. Soon as he did, he understood what had changed. Those dark eyes. Their huge, almost startled expression. He sought out the pupils and saw that they were massive, only the slightest distinction between iris and wide, black pool; Marlowe tilted his head as if to study Maks from a new angle. His own amber eyes went slant, considering. “You good, cowboy? Pick up any unattended drinks lately?”

@maks-lawrence​

Coming to this party felt like a test of his friendship with Freya. It was the dress code that had turned him off, the paragraph detailing the do’s and don’ts— there was a section about hoodies that felt like a direct attack towards him, but he hadn’t questioned it. Tommo had provided his outfit, a shirt that looked cheap but he’d insisted was actually very expensive, and his date was Marlowe, setup like an arranged marriage that he felt like apologizing about every time he sent a text to coordinate it. Coming through the door, Freya stopped him like a club bouncer, eyes narrowed as she instructed him to unbutton the shirt further and further, before he’d had to stop her from exposing even his navel. She also managed to apply a streak of shimmery gold from his chest down to his ribs, a jagged golden line before he’d gotten out of her reach. The action earned a scowl, but the blonde was too delighted in her handiwork to care.

Once they were inside the party properly, he began the process of walling himself off to a place more comfortable. The party was painted in red and pink light, glitter almost blinding in it’s abundance. He tried, helping himself to a drink and nodding along dumbly to conversation, but it was clumsy and he looked mean— his mouth that hard, stubborn line, a default that was easy to adopt. Marlowe drifted from his side and he couldn’t blame him, even Tommo had found some better company, his curly head tipped back in laughter as a dark haired girl animatedly told a story. There was a twist in his gut at the sight of it, a bitterness he couldn’t help when it came as a chaser to his sudden loneliness.

He’d swallowed Freya’s offering with a swig of his second beer. I need something to relax, he’d asked, and when she asked if he was sure he’d nodded with grit teeth. She unfurled his hand and placed the little pill in the centre of his palm, closing his fingertips around it and delivering a warning. Be careful.

The dance floor was different now, a multitude of flushed faces, reflections and not. They laughed when he laughed, and the recently healed scar on his lip went white when he smiled, a mark that ran off centre. He danced too, not caring about how it looked, partners changing with the flash of the lights as everything became one long stretch of untethered joy. The brown in his eyes had been eaten up by the black of his pupils. He looked for Marlowe from time to time, he was tall enough to see over the heads of a lot of the crowd, and he scanned for that familiar face, for the pale silhouette of his body marked with the dark lines of his tattoos, but he found himself distracted by another song or another dance before he found him.

He pushed off the dance floor to find another drink, unbuttoning the shirt the rest of the way without thinking, glitter smeared further from sweat and dancing. Stopping at the table set up with various half empty bottles, his eyes traced the dragon inked along the skin of Marlowe’s back. Warmth flooded him again at the realization of who it was, like finding something he’d been missing for a long time. When he turned, Maks watched the shape of his mouth as he talked, reflecting back a smile that felt almost liquid in the way it came over him. “I’m good, I’m actually really fucking good,” he replied, bobbing his head and laughing, “I was looking for you, where’d you go?” He came closer, grasping Marlowe’s forearm and nodding towards the dance floor. He craved a closeness to him, the flurry of the centre of the room felt like a good enough excuse. “We should dance. Together.” He reached for cup of jungle juice and took a drink before tacking on more words, closing the gap between them, “I think we should dance out there, I’d like it.”

[maks-lawrence]

freyatm‌:

Arms laden with far more supplies than needed, Freya dumped it all onto the kitchen table, not batting an eye when most of it tumbled over. She grabbed a towel, giving Maks’ shoulder a gentle nudge with a bunched fist at his refusal, before draping it over and around his chest, tucking the loose ends into the space between his back and chair – a makeshift barber cape. “Don’t worry. I made sure to glance at the WikiHow page for shaving someone’s head while I was upstairs. A little refresher – unneeded, obviously, but I did it to bring you peace of mind.” The corner of her lip twitched as she held back laughter, not wanting to exacerbate the situation any further. A couple more towels were laid on the ground to catch any debris. “Remember, sit as still as possible. We don’t want a freak accident on our hands,” she deadpanned as she moved to plug the electric clippers in, its’ sudden buzz spooking Tony away from them and toward the couch for solace. Before Maks had the chance to follow suit, Freya lay a hand flat against the top of his head as if to hold him in place, then let her fingers tug at the strands in the back that fell longer than the rest. “Here we go.” The announcement was nothing short of chipper, and served as the only warning before Freya moved the clippers against his head. The task was done with surprising ease, hands steady and motions swift as muscle memory guided her forth despite the years that had passed. It didn’t take long for her to even out his attempt at a buzzcut, clumps of hair falling to her feet. 

“Lookin’ good and sexy,” she cooed once it was over and done with, clicking the razor off to toss back onto the table. With a twist of her heel, Freya positioned herself in front of Maks to properly assess her work. Her gaze traveled from the top of his head, a nod of approval given, downward, stopping at the mallow crescent below his left eye and then again at cut on his lips, scabbed over at this point, but still red and cracked. She had noticed it the night before, but in the stark kitchen light, it was more prominent – more raw. “I brought something for that,” she mentioned, eyes darting to the mess of supplies on the table (most had gone unused). Once she tracked down the yellow tube, she reached across Maks for it. “Neosporin. For your lip. Looks quite nasty – don’t want it to get infected or anything. Just make sure you don’t, like, swallow any.” She dropped the tube onto his lap. “Also, make sure you don’t smile. I know it’s your favorite thing to do, but for fuck’s sake, Maksim, do not smile. Your cut will burst open and it’ll be a bloody mess. You’ll stain Bas’ expensive towels.” Squeezing in a quick noogie, Freya was off again, this time crouching to lure Tony out from his hiding spot under the sofa. “So, who did it?” she asked over her shoulder. “I’ll pummel them for you. I will. Just say the word. Or, was it an accident? Did you go wild at the game like everyone else? Tsk.”

Maks didn’t really give a shit if it turned out a bit fucked up, he’d spent most of his childhood crashing knuckles into kids who’d made fun of his shorn haircut of choice— now, the style seemed synonymous with his basic identity, a close crop, severe to match him best. It was the threat of an open wound that he was concerned about, grinding down on his back molars as Freya got ready. He trusted her, relaxing as she started to get to work, running the clippers over the contours of his skull. There was something soothing about it, the care that she took, he could’ve fallen asleep. He peered back at her once she was done, dark eyes watching her warmer brown ones as she looked over her work. He looked away when he noticed her gaze travelling to the uglier features on his face. He didn’t like people looking at him in general, as much as he tried to tell himself that he didn’t care what anyone thought, insecurity was always there, in the background, tugging at his subconscious. Also, make sure you don’t smile. I know it’s your favorite thing to do, but for fuck’s sake, Maksim, do not smile. He couldn’t help the half smile that appeared, but he looked away quickly in hope that she wouldn’t see it.

Pulling the towel bib off and setting it on the table, he took the tube to the hall mirror, dabbing at the mess of his face. He tried to ignore the question, but Freya’s persistence was something to be noted. “Wasn’t really my fault,” he replied tonelessly, wincing at the sting under his eye. “Don’t go fighting for my honour Nilsen.” Tony was making an appearance, and he turned his attention away from his reflection. “He cried when you left earlier, you know.” He said it as a distraction, but it was true. She’d gone to class for a few hours and Tony had watched her leave, peering out the wide front window, paws propped up on the back of the sofa, whimpering as she’d turned the corner out of sight. It’d taken several treats and a lot of persuasion to pull the little dog from his post, loyally watching out for when she’d return. “Probably ‘cause you give him all Tommo’s weird Italian bacon.”

[maks-lawrence]

↳ INSTAGRAM: @MAKSLAWRENCE UPLOADED A PHOTO

thanks 4 the well wishes 

❤ 53 ✐ VIEW ALL 3 COMMENTS

[maks-lawrence]

[maks-lawrence]

how's your heart?

Beating. It’s okay, I haven’t had a physical in maybe five years but I do regular cardio, so.

[maks-lawrence]

fmk levi marlowe len

I have no fucking idea what a Len is.

[maks-lawrence]

do you like your salads tall and lanky?

I prefer romaine to iceberg?

[maks-lawrence]

do u have a crush on someone maksim????

More questions about salad please.

[maks-lawrence]

are you a crouton man?

Is this some double meaning shit? I’m so fucking tired of this.

[maks-lawrence]

dirtiest thing you've thought at the wet wall in the grocery store?

I don’t know what this is. Who the fuck knows what a wet wall is? Are you a grocery store architect? Produce engineer? Fuck off.

[maks-lawrence]

is your favorite part of the fridge the crisper drawer?

I like the little shelf in the door where the ketchup goes.

[maks-lawrence]

general thoughts on produce?

Organic is best, I think?