#like… my fucktard brain ALWAYS gets attracted to people i don’t have a chance with not i will be ever able to try

[in-this-light-on-this-evening]

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[gentlemenclubbbz]

the fool that I am - Max

Request, song-fic based on ‘Awkward’ by FIDLAR. ^_^

***

Fuck.

That was the only thing he could think, first thing in the morning. No ‘Oh, it’s going to be a good day today’ or some gay shit like that. No—he knew he was fucked. He could feel it in the massive headache he sported, in the fact that he couldn’t open his left eye and that his nose hurt like hell. He ached all over his body, it felt numb, as if tiny bruises were scattered all over it; which was undoubtedly the case. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking that he didn’t get in a fight. Not when you were involved. He surely did for your safety.

That’s why he felt like shit.

“Fuuuuuccck, my head…” he groans loudly, the only way Max knew how and stands up. He’s…somewhere, that’s for sure. Probably still at the dude’s house, the one who held the party yesterday. After all, other people were still here, lying around the floor, passed out. At least he found out a place on the couch. Then again, it was probably your lover who managed to knock him out and he was lucky enough to pass out on it. Still, no one else was moving, it was finally silence—but there was a huuuuuge mess. The Australian teenager was glad that this wasn’t his house; it’d be a pain in the ass to clean all of this up. “That doesn’t matter right now, fucktard,” he scolds himself, trying to keep his mind set on a straight path. He didn’t want to think about anything else but you. He glances around, green eyes searching: but of course, he doesn’t find any sign of your presence. No one was awake—and it was surely time for him to go home. His parents must be worried sick.

And then he remembers he lost his phone.

“Fucking shit cunt of a day…” he growls, annoyed at himself for being so careless. He is not even aware of his massive hangover or the sick feeling in his stomach; his heartbreak hurts more than any injury on his body.

He just never realized how much of a loser he was until yesterday…

Max stands up, wobbles a bit on his feet and steadies himself. His head stands to explode and he feels a strange liquid coming out of his nose. He wipes it off with the back of his hand and he sees blood. His nose is cracked, surely. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, ignoring it—a little blood never killed anyone. He spits on the ground, barely missing someone’s face, and walks outside, stumbling. But the fresh air helps him a lot, clears his mind. The sight of the yard—a disaster—didn’t help to improve his mood. However, that was his own fault.

He sits down on the porch, searches his pockets for his packet of cigarettes. He doesn’t find it and he’s about to lose it, but his fingers feel something else. One single cigarette—he thanks to all his guardian angels and lights it up. After taking one blessed drag out of it, feeling how the smoke curls inside his body and relaxes him, he stares into nothingness and remembers…

The more he does, the more embarrassed he gets…

Well every time you come on over I just want to listen

I know you got some issues and I know that you just miss him

I got a fever just to see you feeling like a sucker

And didn’t know I’m really good at making you feel awkward.

He had no idea how long he has been feeling ‘love’ towards you—his friend, his best friend and the one he was crushing on shamelessly. He couldn’t control himself, he was head over heels, so in love with you that he almost felt like dying for you. Your sweet voice—and oh lord, that laughter of yours whenever he said something stupidly funny—the way you looked so attractive in whatever outfit you wore, even if it meant you just being in some silly pyjamas. He loved everything about you—and he knew that it wasn’t just a crush. It was more than that. He felt as if you were his soul mate, the only person he could ever be with. Max knew how much he thought about you, how in love he was—he saw it in himself, whenever he looked into a mirror, he saw how much…how disgustingly love-struck he was and how much he ached…

He liked you. And he so wanted to tell you that—but there was one slight problem…

Your own crush. Which wasn’t him.

“I like someone...” 

When you first told him, he was unsure how to react: he only stared at you with his mouth open, his brain not comprehending. You had a crush on someone else?! That was unacceptable! He always believed that you liked him from the way you touched him, the familiar way in which you leaned against him and the fact that you never shied away from spending time with him, at his own home. You treated him…differently. And he knew that you were, to some extent, attracted to him.

You had to…no?

Seems like he was wrong. That night, he felt so angry that he wanted to go and kill the bastard who dared captured your heart. He wanted to yell at you, that he was better than any you could encounter; but something inside him stopped him from doing that. He only forced a smile and asked you for details. Which you gladly gave him, making him incredibly jealous. He couldn’t control himself, he wanted to know everything—and he does. He knows exactly who your crush was…

And he consoled himself with the fact that your crush didn’t seem to be that interested in you. He wanted to fight for you, he really did. Had half in mind to even confess to you…but you were so darn in love with that person that he didn’t have the heart to ruin the friendship he had for you just because he wanted you for himself.

So he stayed and suffered and listened—got wild, wasted himself some more. And hoped you’d never make your crush like you back…

I’m at a party, met her boyfriend, I can barely see

And every time I talk to you, no, I can never breathe

I’m getting drunker, I’m a bummer, I should just call her

And I didn’t know I’m really good at making you feel awkward

“What.” He feels his soul leaving his body the moment he sees you holding hands with the one he believed didn’t like you. “What’s this?” he asks you as you’re smiling so brightly, like he’s never seen you before. ‘You don’t smile like this for me.’ And his heart shatters the moment he realizes he never had a single chance in the first place. He doesn’t even hear what you’re telling him, obviously the fact that the guy next to you was your boyfriend, and not him. He can only feel defeat—not even rage…

He had it coming.

“I hope you’re happy,” he tells you and you look up at your boyfriend with so much fondness that it made him sick. He didn’t want to see that on you if it’s not towards him—he wanted to get away…

And to think that he called you to this party with the thought of finally confessing…He had reached a boiling point, where he just wanted you for himself so…He was nervous, that was sure, but he felt that this was the moment! The only moment he felt that he could do it…

He had been so damn wrong.

So he drank and drank and drank, beer after beer, until he was pissed drunk. So drunk that he couldn’t think straight and his vision was blurry, he was tipsy—and he had the courage of a lion.

Didn’t know I’m really good at making you feel awkward.

He finally spotted you in the crowd, sitting in the lap of your new lover—looking so darn lovey-dovey. But that didn’t stop him from stomping towards you, swaying from side to side. He wanted to confess to you, he was still set on that…

“Hey, [name]…” he laughed drunkenly, sitting next to the two on the couch, very close to your face. “What’ca doing?”

“I’m fine…Max.” Obviously his presence was making you uncomfortable, but he was too drunk to notice that. So he got more impertinent, touched your leg more often than not, going up your thigh—wanting more than you asked for. You tried to push him away, try not to look into his eyes that showed a kind of obsession with you—he tried even to kiss you. And he was making everything so awkward without him realizing.

“Max, please, can you leave us a bit?” you tried, asking your lover for help. Who was gradually getting mad, although, for the sake of the fondness you had for Max, you tried to stop him from kicking his ass.

“I can’t, [name]…” Max sighed, suddenly taking your hand into his. You stop, staring at his sudden seriousness—but fearing it at the same time. “I just want to tell you that…” He hiccupped, successful in stopping himself from saying something stupid.

But your lover had had enough. “Listen, buddy, can you leave us alone?”

Max wasn’t listening: he was too focused on your rosy lips. He wanted to kiss you—and before anyone knew it, his mouth was upon yours, sloppily kissing you. And leaving more saliva into your lips than he ever planned on.

“FUCKER!” the loud yell is the thing that make you wake up to push Max away. He’s grinning stupidly, ignoring the rage your lover felt towards him.

“Did you like it, [name]?” Max laughs as you stand up, wiping at your mouth. “I’ve always wanted to tell you that—“ he reaches towards you, but you slap his hand away, much to his confusion. “[name]?”

“You better stay away from me!” you yell at him, confused and heartbroken at Max’s actions, feeling tears coming in the corner of your eyes. You’re trembling in fear, you want to get away from Max, the one who you believed was your friend. You just didn’t realize Max had these desires for you—but why now? Why did he wanted to ruin the newly relationship you just formed? “I don’t want to see you again!”

And you run, leaving him hurt. “But why?!”

“I’ll tell you why.” Your lover, obviously displeased with Max’s pushy attitude, stands in front of him, menacing. “You listen to her and leave her alone.”

I got no job, I got no money, I got no self esteem

I’ll take a Xanax every morning for anxiety

I’ll take a beer and take another, then I’m gonna call her

I’ll probably end up fucking up and make it super awkward.

Max takes the challenge—he’s feeling brave, so he stands up to match your lover’s height. He puffs out his chest and glares with so much hate at the other guy, that he actually believed he was being intimidating. “Who’re you, you cocksucker? You think I’m scared of you, cunt?”

“Watch your mouth—“

“Fuck off and leave [name] alone, she’s mine!!”

And sadly, Max is the one that throws the first punch.

I’ll probably end up fucking up and make it super awkward

Through loud cheers, the two fight; but Max has no chance. He’s too drunk to think and coordinate his body and he ends up getting punched more often than he dodges them. He doesn’t feel—and he feels satisfied when he manages to punch the shit out of your lover when he catches him. But the alcohol in his system is the thing that makes him lose.

“This is for [name]!” and with that one punch, Max falls asleep on the couch, in the same position he found himself in the morning.

I’ll probably end up fucking up and make it super awkward…

Max growls, feeling stupid about what he has done—he ruined everything just because he has drunk too much. He shouldn’t have, but he has been so damn depressed. He rubs his temples, groaning and cursing to himself for his selfishness. Your friendship was all that he had with your and now he fucked up everything…

He crushes the cigarette on the ground in anger. Then brightens up, as if there was still hope. Maybe he could still salvage something if he apologized. He was determined to at least make it up to you—

He touches his cheek and feels something there. A band-aid? For a cut, maybe? How did that happen?

And the lost memory comes vividly inside his head.

Your smell, your hair brushing against his face, tickling him. He groans, half-awake and half into dream land. He opens his healthy eye and he can see only your lips…But he can’t answer, his brain can’t comprehend.

“I didn’t know, Max…” your breath on his cheek, your tears staining his eyelids. “I’m sorry, but it’s too…”

He sighs. “Too late, huh?” So maybe, there was a chance. And suddenly, his heart is soaring with hope, that one gentle action giving him the necessary hope to move on and continue. To wait that maybe—just maybe—he could finally have you in the end.

And he smiles.