#goofisms

               ONE: they find each other. it’s beautiful, and it’s perfect, and then,           like most things in score’s life, it gets too beautiful and too perfect and           things have to go to shit. 

               score explains it all, in painstaking, painful detail, until max is shaking           and score is trembling as his hand raises that traitor of a wand. it only           takes a second– ’ obliviate ’ – to ruin scorpius’s whole life. 

               for a year he wanders, aimless, completely lost, devastated, until the           danger that forced him and max apart passes. and then he’s seeking           him out, looking for the only person that’s ever really mattered so much,           wasting so much time following dead ends until finally, it happens. 

               they find each other again. it’s beautiful, and it’s perfect, and every           time score thinks of what he’s done he gets sick to his stomach. there           are nights when score has to roll out of the bed they share, praying max           doesn’t stir, so he can sit on the couch and sob. 

               he thinks he’s very quiet. he’s wrong. one night, months into the           schedule he’s cried himself into, score is startled to hear max’s soft,           sleepy, scared voice. 

                         ’ why do you do that? ’ 

               score, surprised but relieved to finally have a reason to confess, pulls          max to the couch, facing him. he explains everything he’s done, why he           had to and how much he’s hated himself since and how scared he was           to admit that he’d done it. max, unsurprisingly, is stunned silent. they sit          in uneasy silence for several minutes once score’s whole sorry tale is           out. finally max finds something to say. 

                         ’ sc– score. change it. fix it, take it back. ’ 

               he fumbles for his wand, frantic in his motions now that he knows           he’s got permission. god, he’s wanted this for more than a year. he           doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t tremble this time. he just speaks the words           and watches as max’s eyes gain a clarity they didn’t have before.

               without warning the goof shoots across the couch, grabbing score’s           face in clammy hands and pressing their lips together in a desperation           score hasn’t felt since he took max’s memories. score wastes no time in           reciprocating, pulling max into his lap. they’re clamboring for closeness,           and it’s so perfect score could cry. 

                         ’ i am never doing that again. ’ 

               TWO: max is tall, and taller in heels. score grins as she wobbles           across the stage, trying to act all tough despite the fact that she’s          continuously tugging down her little plaid skirt. when she spins, she           tries to plant one foot and grab her j.d. but it doesn’t quite work. 

               max goes flying, landing on her knees with a grimace. score,           adjusting her yellow blazer, gasps until max hops back up, smiling           with only a touch of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. the director           rolls her eyes and motions for the accompanist to restart the song. 

               the next run goes much smoother. the goof performs with a new           determination-- the kind that says she heard the laughter backstage.           every snap and bend, every riff and crescendo is perfectly executed.           score can’t help but be proud of her. 

               finally they reach the end of the song. max spins, brow furrowed, and          lands flawlessly. she reaches a hand out, grabs j.d., and plants a kiss           that the school board is probably going to cut.  

               the director is beyond pleased-- good, score almost grumbles,           because somebody has to be pleased about that-- and the scenes start           to shift again. max bounds backstage, cheeks flushed and chest heaving          from post-belting exertion. 

               their j.d. pats max on the back, and that right there is the last straw.          score, in a flash of uncharacteristic jealousy, growls something that’s           probably ’ great job, babe ’ but might also be ’ fuck off, j.d. ’ and tugs           max down to score’s level. 

               she kisses her, hard, and she knows it’s stupid to be jealous of max’s           ex or possessive or whatever it is making her act so ridiculously, but the           noise of approval from max makes it feel like maybe score should do this          more often. 

               the stage crew is rolling their eyes, all too familiar with the scene in           front of them, and score hears the director’s exasperated voice. 

                         ’ oh my god, are they seriously doing that again? ’

               THREE: score still hasn’t pledged-- and seriously doubts that he will--          but as the boyfriend of a senior brother, he’s got a free pass to every           greek party on campus. 

               he hasn’t got much of a taste for them all alone, and especially not          when his friends try to use him as an in. mostly he goes to whatever max           drags him to. they can be fun, with the right crowd.

               tonight max promises that the right crowd is at the delta sigma phi           house. score agrees to ditch his pullover for the night and they end up           in a house literally vibrating with its bassline. 

               there’s a red cup in score’s hand immediately, but it’s instantly           replaced by max. he switches it out with vodka, which score now realizes           is max’s way of saying he doesn’t want to stay at the party long. vodka           is, for score, a twenty-minute train ride to the destination of totally           smashed. he knows it, max knows it, and everybody who’s ever been to           a party with them knows it. 

               score lets it burn down his throat, following max as he makes his           rounds through the crowd. it snakes through the first floor, up the stairs,          finally ending when they find themselves in a corner on the second floor           so acoustically perfect that nobody else will brave it. 

               the bass is travelling through the house, resonating so that even           when max is yelling into score’s ear he has no idea what he’s being told.           the third time score indicates that he hasn’t caught a word, max just rolls           his eyes, tosses score’s still-partially-full cup over the second-floor           railing, and presses him against a wall instead. 

               score is just on the edge of completely drunk-- uninhibited enough to           let his hands travel to max’s ass, to tilt his head and give max total           access to his mouth. he tastes like jack daniels and the cherry lollipop           he’s been screwing around with all night and pure confidence. 

               after a while they have to come up for air. max extricates his hands           from score’s hair, threads his fingers through score’s, nods towards the           front door wordlessly. score grins and nods. 

               FOUR: max still won’t set foot in madam puddifoot’s. 

                         ’ c’mon, max, why? it’s so cute! it smells so good! the                            biscuits are incredible! there’s literally no downside! ’ 

                         ’ the tea is too sweet and the music is cloying. ’ 

               max is perched on a fence overlooking the shrieking shack; score           has been standing in front of him, trying to get him to budge, for the           past twenty minutes. it’s doing him no good. 

               it’s been eight months since they started dating and he still refuses to           go to the tea shop. normally score lets it slide-- it’s really not that great--           but now it’s valentine’s day and every other couple in wizarding britain is           in that damned shop and max just won’t go. 

               score pulls a pout, usually his winning hand, but all it does is make           max grin. finally he hops off the fence, and score thinks he’s won-- until          the goof just points a finger in the direction of hogwarts. 

                         ’ i’ve got something better than puddifoot’s. ’ 

               score is then led blindly back to the school. the path feels vaguely           familiar, as though it’s one of the more common trails he’s blazed in six           years of school. score can’t help feeling confused. 

               a door opens, closes behind them and score’s nose is bombarded by           the scent of flowers that won’t be in season for months. it’s weirdly           warm. even before max slips his hands off score’s eyes and onto his           shoulders score’s put the puzzle together. 

               they’re in one of the greenhouses score never uses, and now he           understands why professor longbottom kept him away from it. every inch           of the place is covered with tropical plants, spring blossoms, fall herbs.           all the plants that can’t survive in england’s inhospitable winter are here. 

               max spins him around, flashing score a huge grin. 

                         ’ ta-da! ’ 

               score doesn’t know how he did it-- he’s even content to not ask for           now-- but he knows he’ll never be able to convey to max how much this           means. he hopes his stuttering thanks and the endless kisses he rains          on him cover it. 

               FIVE: you can never see the sun set in new york city. the buildings           obstruct even the smallest glimpse of it. still, that doesn’t stop score and           max from trying to catch it every evening. 

               they’ve been stealing up the fire escape of an abandoned building           each night for months now. in the beginning, they stood there, at least           eight feet between them, terrified to allow a break in the conversation. 

               as time passed, however, the lulls in the conversation grew and the           distance between them shrank until they watched the sky darken in           silence while they leaned against each other. 

               score never felt compelled to talk-- it was enough to just exist with           max. and besides that, he knew max spent the rest of his day shouting           in a fruitless attempt to sell papers. the kid’s voice is spent. 

               sometimes score wonders what max is thinking in those moments           before daylight is replaced by the glow of the streetlamps. he always           seems terribly conflicted. or confused, or worried, or something. the           expression he adopts always makes score want to grab his hand or           kiss his forehead. that’s off limits, though, and he knows it. he just wants           it so badly. 

               one night, just on the edge of summer, max has fallen asleep on          score’s shoulder. his cap is resting in score’s lap, forgotten in lieu of the           rest score fears max rarely gets. he considers just pulling max down,           letting the rest of the newsboys worry about the morning and sleeping           with max right where they are. but he knows max would worry. he can’t           do that to him. 

               he reluctantly nudges max awake as the sun disappears fully. max           blinks bleary eyes, seeming still half-asleep, and then the unthinkable           happens. he smiles-- soft, unguarded, and unfairly beautiful-- and leans          up and kisses score.

               for seven perfect seconds score has everything he’s ever wanted,           and then max realizes what he’s doing. he jerks back, leaving a max-          sized gap between them that’s far too cold, and gapes at score. 

                         ’ oh my god. i shouldn't've done that. oh my god. score,                            i can’t do that, oh god, what would the boys say, i am                            so sorry, that wasn’t okay, i wasn’t thinking, oh god-- ’ 

               score sees him working himself into a frenzy. he shoots a hand out,           stopping max from saying any more. testing what he’ll do, maybe, score           lets his hand linger on max’s cheek. he almost feels triumphant when           max leans into the touch. 

                         ’ hey. hey, it’s okay. max, it’s okay. i liked it. i’ve been                            waiting for you to do that. i didn’t think you liked...                            erm... you know. boys. did you-- did you want to do                            that? have you wanted to do that? ’ 

               max won’t look at him, but he nods. score feels like his heart just           swelled to the size of a carriage. luckily, he remembers to keep talking.

                         ’ then it’s okay. it’ll be okay. ’ 

               score puts his other hand on max’s chin, tilting it so he has no choice           but to look at him. there’s a lot in his eyes he isn’t saying. score gets it. 

                         ’ i know you’re scared of-- of this. of what it might be.                            what it might mean. whatever it is. that’s okay. i’m                            here, and you’re here, and i don’t want to be any                            other place, and that was a good kiss, and if you’re                            okay with it, i’m going to kiss you again. is that okay? ’