[The thing is, Michael did need him. He needed Max more than he's ever needed anyone or anything in his life. There is no him without Max. He's just not great at asking for what he needs. Spending so much time alone, growing up learning the hard way that you can't count on anyone, you get really good at being alone or at least really good at suffering alone as someone recently pointed out to him. Trying to unlearn that after years of conditioning takes time, his progress hasn't been linear if it ever is for anyone but he wants to be better. No one has ever made him want to push himself out of his self-destructive comfort zone so much before.
When Max pulls him in and kisses him instead of pulling away, it's like a knot loosens in his chest and he can breathe again. He immediately wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly and swallowing past the lump in his throat as Max stakes his claim. A claim wasn't necessary. Michael knows who he belongs to. There is and could never be anyone else, but still, he understands the emotion behind it and sighs softly, tilting his head slightly to let Max know he's for the taking. Anything, everything, whatever he needs.]
You really need to stop apologizing for how you feel when I fuck up. [Hearing Max apologize, hearing him voice the way Michael made him feel cuts like a knife to the heart. He never wants to make him feel like that again. He loosens his grip, sliding his hands around to cup his lover's face, gently pulling him up to look into his eyes.]
Max, I'm so fucking sorry. I know those are just words and I'll prove it to you. I promise. I know you would have helped me. I didn't know I was going to do it when I left here. I had every intention of coming back last night but something just...clicked and I had to do it. I couldn't wait anymore. I wanted to show you that I'm completely yours. I'm here, you're my home. There is no where else for me. I'm not keeping any contingency plans. I even packed up the shit in my workshop. I'm going to rig something together out back this weekend. [There is so much he needs to say, so much he needs to apologize for. Usually he was a man of action. Expressing everything he feels, everything going on inside has never come easy to him but Max deserves to hear it.]
I'm so so fucking sorry I hurt you. Don't for a second think I don't need you. I'm nothing without you. If anything, when I'm feeling like that I need you more than ever. I should have told you how I was feeling. I should have told you what I needed. [His thumb caresses Max's cheek, and over the stubble lined jaw beneath his hands, desperate brown eyes searching Max's sad, tired ones.]
I had this idea that this would be some kind of grand gesture to show you...I don't know. It all sounds so stupid now that I say it outloud. I thought it would show you how serious I am about this. That I'm one hundred percent committed to you, to us and our future in every possible way. I'm so fucking stupid. [The ends of his lips curve up in a small, rueful smile that doesn't meet his eyes.]
You're not a mess. Compared to me? You're a fucking work of art. The Sistine fucking Chapel. You have every right to be hurt and angry and to feel all the messy feelings. I wouldn't want you to be any different. Trust me, if the tables were turned and it was you that was gone almost twenty-four hours, dealing with shit without me and shutting me out...I don't even want to think about how I would react. Fuck. I'm so sorry, Max.
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Date: 2023-05-18 03:15 pm (UTC)When Max pulls him in and kisses him instead of pulling away, it's like a knot loosens in his chest and he can breathe again. He immediately wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly and swallowing past the lump in his throat as Max stakes his claim. A claim wasn't necessary. Michael knows who he belongs to. There is and could never be anyone else, but still, he understands the emotion behind it and sighs softly, tilting his head slightly to let Max know he's for the taking. Anything, everything, whatever he needs.]
You really need to stop apologizing for how you feel when I fuck up. [Hearing Max apologize, hearing him voice the way Michael made him feel cuts like a knife to the heart. He never wants to make him feel like that again. He loosens his grip, sliding his hands around to cup his lover's face, gently pulling him up to look into his eyes.]
Max, I'm so fucking sorry. I know those are just words and I'll prove it to you. I promise. I know you would have helped me. I didn't know I was going to do it when I left here. I had every intention of coming back last night but something just...clicked and I had to do it. I couldn't wait anymore. I wanted to show you that I'm completely yours. I'm here, you're my home. There is no where else for me. I'm not keeping any contingency plans. I even packed up the shit in my workshop. I'm going to rig something together out back this weekend. [There is so much he needs to say, so much he needs to apologize for. Usually he was a man of action. Expressing everything he feels, everything going on inside has never come easy to him but Max deserves to hear it.]
I'm so so fucking sorry I hurt you. Don't for a second think I don't need you. I'm nothing without you. If anything, when I'm feeling like that I need you more than ever. I should have told you how I was feeling. I should have told you what I needed. [His thumb caresses Max's cheek, and over the stubble lined jaw beneath his hands, desperate brown eyes searching Max's sad, tired ones.]
I had this idea that this would be some kind of grand gesture to show you...I don't know. It all sounds so stupid now that I say it outloud. I thought it would show you how serious I am about this. That I'm one hundred percent committed to you, to us and our future in every possible way. I'm so fucking stupid. [The ends of his lips curve up in a small, rueful smile that doesn't meet his eyes.]
You're not a mess. Compared to me? You're a fucking work of art. The Sistine fucking Chapel. You have every right to be hurt and angry and to feel all the messy feelings. I wouldn't want you to be any different. Trust me, if the tables were turned and it was you that was gone almost twenty-four hours, dealing with shit without me and shutting me out...I don't even want to think about how I would react. Fuck. I'm so sorry, Max.