the circle torn apart

As Max’s head shook to counter Hunter’s assumptions his mop fell partly forward and covered his eyes a bit, causing him to give a little hair flip just to get it back out of his way. “You’ve met him, it’s hard to hate him. He makes it hard,” he chuckled. He couldn’t remember how many fights were evaded by some well timed puppy dog eyes or a certain tone to his voice that nearly shut down arguments right then and there. While Max was more used to Blaine’s little tricks, he sure as hell wasn’t immune to them. 

As Hunter took his seat next to him Max couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, acknowledging the strangeness of the situation. Hunter Clarington, drunk and in his bed. What a night this was, especially considering a sober Max would’ve shoved the guy out of the room should he’ve simply stepped past the threshold. 

With a swig of the drink that equaled about a shot Max handed the bottle back over to Hunter, though for a moment he questioned if it was a smart idea to. The guy looked like it was hitting him already, but then again Hunter was always much more tolerable when drunk off his ass. “We aren’t you and Harper or anything, but we get along,” Max stated, though his eyes drifted over to the bottle of hair gel he stole from Blaine that still sat on his bedside table. 

One of Hunter’s picks piqued Max’s interest more than the other, and when a guitar lick sounded from the speakers mere moments later it was evident which one he ended up picking. Max was a rock guy, though anyone who spent more than five minutes talking to him could guess that. Classic, hard, glam, metal... Never mattered to him, just that it was rock.

Max snatched his bottle back despite it being handed to him, his head bobbing just enough to cause his hair to sway along with the beat of the music. He pulled himself back to settle against his bed frame once again, the question Hunter offering him causing an evil grin to creep up on his face. You see, Andersons like their family time, but Max was a rare one that despised it. Someone had to be sacrificed to the relatives and his younger, kinder brother had a harder time turning people down than him.

Max’s BAC even before Hunter arrived was starting to hit that magical 0.08, so needless to say he was already pretty far gone when his guest arrived. It was evident by the half-grin that was seemingly tattooed onto the lips that were just parted enough to let out a few vaguely in tune lines. Max definitely knew the lyrics to the song that was on, but whether or not what he was singing were those lyrics was questionable at best.

Once the bedroom door slid open however his singing was brought to an end, his hand rummaging over his bedspread to find where his remote was to turn down his speaker. “Hey there, operator,” Max teased, hooking his leg over the end of his bed to slowly inch himself over to the edge. Once there he passed off his bottle to Hunter, not much argument given to the other’s words.