sometimes he doesn't know why things happen. they just do, he supposes.

max is the type of person that flutters in and out of life.

unpredictable like an electric storm over the eiffel tower, unstable like a dormant volcano, and sure as hell undaunted by the inability of the common eye to put him down and scan through his demeanor. he’s like that kansas tornado you see fly past the house on a normal thursday evening: something you don’t expect to happen.

he scoffs at the weather, drinks the sunbaes under the table and pushes everyone out of range. oh, the boy’s just hiding his true self, say the unbelievers, doubters of the freeloading world. the boy’s still got a chance to change.

well fuck you, he cackles on a daily basis, loud and proud. this is his true self, hear it loud and clear, this is the real shim changmin, and goddamn if he’s ever let anyone change that.

too prone to the typical, max knows how to create fanfare. he sets his sights on the boys of seoul and beyond, and kisses his way through hearts, mind and souls, and smirks around warm tongues and peach daiquiris and the scraping of teeth against his pale skin.

max will never change. just like xiah.

where max is loud and unafraid, xiah is smiles and softspoken honesty and realism in all the right ways (max just keeps going left). and xiah’s that 1 out of 450 you’d never want to walk past on the street, because he’s got that unsuspecting quality to his eyes. the type that doesn’t want and never needs to reveal his true, depricating self to untrusted eyes and ears.

yet when the lights go out and no one’s home, he draws himself up and bares his teeth for all the world and curls slim fingers around objects of certain destructive qualities.

you don’t see it coming. you can’t. no one can.

max knows it oh-too-well.

they cross paths and it’s like thunder and lighting, like grounded stones against a coarse current, like a crooked nail split into cement sidewalk. they match in lopsided grins and unsaid-untold teases and sharp angles and breathy whimpers that light up the night with tales of things to come and things to never pass that never really happen during daylight.

and max wonders how long this last. when fear grips his throat from behind and whispers, you will change now—

and xiah comes up, presses his lips against the shell of max’s ear, and murmurs, never change.

max smiles.

The End

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