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Prompt: fort building with max

Warning: bad grammar, prob won’t make any sense, lowercase on purpose

I wanted to post this on Wednesday but couldn’t when my friends surprised me with a birthday party, sorry guys😭😭

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it starts with max at the window like a five year old. he’s in a hoodie, messy hair, looking outside like the world just ended. “we’re snowed in,” he announces the second he sees you. dramatic. “it’s bad out there.” you rub your eyes, still half asleep. “it’s just snow.” he points, “just snow? that’s at least… six inches. nature’s basically begging us to build a fort.” …you should’ve said no.

instead, ten minutes later, you’re both in the yard, bundled up, hands freezing. max is already shoving snow into uneven piles.

“don’t copy my design,” he says. “i’ve got a whole plan. structural integrity. aesthetics. functionality.”

“it’s literally a pile of snow.” “ah, spoken like someone who’s about to lose.”

twenty minutes later, both forts look like trash. yours is lopsided. his is taller, but crumbling. he steps back, admiring it proudly.

“sturdy. basically the taj mahal of snow forts.” you poke the wall with one finger. the whole thing collapses.

he freezes. “…that was a stress test.”

you’re crying laughing. he tries to keep a straight face, fails, and suddenly there’s a snowball war. he chases you around the ruins of your forts until you nail him in the chest.

“truce!” he wheezes, collapsing into the snow. hoodie dusted white, cheeks pink, still grinning. “i call truce.” you flop down next to him. snowflakes stick to his lashes. for a second, everything’s quiet, in that muffled snow way.

he turns his head toward you. “okay, yours was better.” “it was falling over, max.”

inside, he makes hot chocolate. you watch him dump like half a bag of marshmallows in his mug.

“that’s disgusting,” you say. “that’s perfect.” he says, immediately eating one before it even melts.

then it’s both of you on the couch, under a blanket, mugs in hand. he flips on the tv but doesn’t really look at it, just leans into you. “snow days are elite,” he mumbles. “you’re not allowed to be productive. world’s closed. you just… stay.” “stay?”

“yeah.” he looks at you, softer now. “with you.”

…cheesy. but your chest does this little ache anyway. “guess being snowed in isn’t so bad,” you admit. he tugs you closer. “best fort i ever built is this right here.” you groan. “you’re disgusting.”

he smirks. “you’re smiling.”

and yeah, you are.