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Chloe slides into the driver's seat with a triumphant hiss of "yesss," kicking the engine to life. Max scrambles onto the battered leather beside her, and she sticks her fist out to her with a grin. "Punch it in, Super-Max!"

Then she's slamming the gas, and her truck zooms past Blackwell with a labored whirr and a cloud of black smoke. Chloe's laughing as she leans back into her seat, flushed with adrenaline and shortness of breath, giddy all over.

Rationally, she knows they shouldn't be making a habit of breaking into Blackwell at night, especially not for stupid shit like this. But Chloe Price is not one to often cave to rationality, and hell, the rush is too sweet for her to possibly care.

"That was epic. God, can't wait to see what Principal Wells has to say about ol' Jerm's makeover in the morning. You gotta take a picture."

(It started with a good cause, see. Mom told her to sort through her boxes of old junk, check what they can keep and what they can throw out, and Chloe -- model daughter that she is -- just happened to come across a whole crate of unused art supplies from like, seventh grade. And she'd hate to waste all those spray cans, not to mention the tubes of perfectly good acrylic.

So now Jeremiah Blackwell's statue looks like a human-shaped tie-dye shirt, with a slew of equally colorful language scrawled across for good measure.)

"I literally can't believe the amount of shit we can get away with," she marvels, casting her partner in crime a quick side glance before focusing back on the road. Her eyes twinkle as they catch on Max's own, and her voice softens slightly, colored by honest appreciation. "You're such a badass."

The stream of excitable chatter dips into a lull there, and Chloe drums long fingers against the steering wheel with a quiet hum.

Then: "Hey, crash at mine tonight? I mean, I could drive you around until security chills, but.. "

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Her heart is still half way up her throat when Chloe's car finally rumbles awake, and it's only begin its decline back into its rightful place when Chloe speaks. Her own breathing is still strained from their marathon across campus-- she matches Chloe's grin and rolls down the window on her side (it doesn't come down all the way and the glass screams bloody murder as it descends, but that's just what gives Chloe's car its special sort of charm).

"If he doesn't spontaneously combust before I can get my camera out."

There's a part of her that feels some sort of guilt-- for breaking rules, for defacing property, you know normal morally righteous junk that reminds her she's still afraid of the powers that be (mostly just her mom). But when Chloe has that certain spark in her eyes it's just so hard to say no to a midnight arts and crafts session.

The air that filters in through her open window is cool but Max's face feels impossibly warm. Her gaze and smile stay trained on Chloe even after she's turned her attention back to the road. She's kind of just sitting there, grinning stupidly at her when Chloe poses the question. There's a slight delay before she really registers it.

"Oh yeah, I mean-- I can." If it'd been just a month or so ago she'd say yes no question but--

Don't make this weird Caulfield.

"Is Joyce okay with that? I mean, me sleeping over."

Mission failed.

Chloe's heart flutters stupidly at the initial response, but the question that follows has her brow arching up, and she snorts out a laugh against the steering wheel, incredulous.

"Gee, I dunno, Max! Let me just shoot her a text at one AM asking for permission."

Like Chloe Price has done anything with permission for the last five years. She tosses Max a smirk, lopsided with amusement. "It's fine, dude. You know she's not gonna mind."

Chloe doesn't get it, doesn't get what Max means and why there's a little twinge of anxiety and just the slightest bit of excitement at what Chloe's proposed. Everything is still the same between them, yes-- but things are different too. The lines are very clearly drawn (they have labels, they've gone on Official™ Dates) but also very blurry on occasion.

That's what happens, she supposes, when you date someone who's practically watched you grow up.

She's probably making a bigger deal out of this than she should be, so for once she's grateful for Chloe's lack of sensitivity.

"Shut up." She laughs a little too, the easy back and forth along with Joyce's hypothetical shock at Chloe asking for permission (and for this of all things) making her feel more at ease (and just a little more ballsy).

"I guess asking your mom if you can let your girlfriend stay the night does kinda' ruin the mood, huh?" The word feels strange on her tongue, but boy does saying it make her feel good.

".. Does Joyce know?" She can't help but ask.

There's a second, equally stupid flutter brought on by the sound of the word girlfriend, and Chloe can only hope it doesn't show on her face in the dark.

"I mean, she's got... Mom senses. Sometimes just the way she looks at me makes me think she's gotta know."

Chloe's not dense. She understands that's not what Max is asking this time, too. Her fingers drum against the wheel again, fanning out and coming down one after the other. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

"But if you're asking if I told her, then no. Not yet."

It's a weird place to be in-- to want things to change, but to also want some things to stay the same. But for all things Joyce it was probably for the best that nothing had changed; she's still recovering from her last interrogation.

"Joyce does have that 'Knows All' and 'Sees All' thing about her." There's a little bit of a smile in her voice, she rests her head on her palm and keeps her eyes on the blurry dimness outside her window.

"I think it's cool though that she lets you do your own thing when it comes to this stuff." She doesn't really know what her own parents would have to say about them; despite her own prying about what Chloe has or hasn't said she hasn't told her own much of anything. No need to rock their heteronormative worlds just yet.

Chloe's house is long past asleep when the two of them get home. It's not until she's in the sleepy light of Chloe's room that she realizes what a mess she's made of herself. Defacing private property had put her jeans in ruins.

"Do you have some sweat pants or something I could change into? Preferably something that's been washed in the past month." Her own jeans are covered in paint, the hard chemical smell making her grimace.

Chloe shrugs one shoulder, halfhearted. "Yeah, I guess."

It's more, she thinks, that Joyce has just about given up on really knowing what's going on with her. Which is fine, it's how Chloe wanted it -- but the accomplishment carries with it a small pang of guilt.

It's not that she doesn't want to tell her about Max, either. Maybe she should. Would Max like that? Chloe almost asks, but the girl beside her seems content to leave the conversation at that. So she lets it drop, and keeps driving.

Safely in her room with no awakened moms or step-douches, Chloe gives Max a once-over and laughs. She looks cute with all the paint splatters.

"You're one high-maintenance girl, Caulfield. I'll see what I can do." Throwing open her pajama drawer, Chloe rummages through it a moment, finally producing an ill-matching set of drawstring pants and an old band tee. After a quick sniff test, they're bundled together into a ball, and promptly lobbed at Max's head.

"Think fast, Spider-Max!"

She catches them-- barely (kind of). The cotton and polyester blend meteor hits her in the face first, she lets out a quiet "Oof" when it does, catching them both as they unravel on their way to the ground.

"I slave away all night over a hot bucket of paint, just to give Jeremiah Blackwell a unibrow so amazing it would make Frida Khalo jealous, and this is how I get treated?" She rubs wearily at her face, boy did Chloe have a good arm.

She brushes past Chloe, getting a better look at the damage through the mirror propped up in the corner of the room.

"You know, I bet if I just hung around the MoMA and didn't say a word someone would think I was some kind of performance piece. Maybe I should give up on the photography thing and do that instead."

Chloe seemed to have fared a little better than her, she glances at her through the mirror-- an errant line of paint here and there. But in better light she notices the slightest smudge of white on her cheek.

"You've got something-- on your face." She licks her thumb and reaches over, she has to stand on her toes just a little to get at it but she does, rubbing vigorously at the dried paint. "This would be so much easier if you weren't basically a tree."

Chloe makes a hitched little noise at the back of her throat, blinking twice in succession. She wasn't expecting Max to lean in all close like that, and the rubbing at her cheek is... intimate, in a kind of embarrassing motherly way.

Her grin slants lopsided, betraying her fluster. "Bitch, you love climbing this tree."

And she leans in, pressing a quick peck to Max's lips.

Leave it to Chloe to always one-up her without even trying. She stumbles back a little bit, if only because of the unexpected but ever so slight force of Chloe leaning in to kiss her.

"Hey, no sneak attacks just because you have the high ground advantage!" The tops of her ears are just the slightest bit red. That was the thing with being horribly inexperienced-- even the littlest things made her skin tingle and her insides warm.

She pulls away, just a little reluctantly, and busies herself with peeling off her smelly paint covered clothes so she can change into Chloe's pajamas.

"I'm really missing that short-lived year and a half in third grade when I was actually taller than you." Only by an inch, but it counted.

Alright! Undressing time is now! Good thing she and Max are best friends since elementary school, else Max might've felt the need to like, announce that beforehand, or something. Chloe's just going to very quickly turn away and absolutely not let her eyes stray.

"It was by an inch, dude. You gotta let it go." She fights the urge to clear her throat -- that would be way too obviously awkward. Then she's struck with the great idea of thumbing through her DVD library, because that's something to do that isn't just actively staring at the wall away from Max.

"Yo, you wanna watch a movie or something?"

Max, blissfully unaware of whatever discomfort she's caused Chloe, mumbles from the expanse of Chloe's t-shirt:

"Nothing super trippy or like, deeply thought provoking." It comes out a little muffled as she finally pulls the shirt over her head. "That time we watched Ex Machina at like three in the morning I couldn't stop thinking about it all night." And with that she falls backwards onto Chloe's bed, arms spread out like she's going to make snow angels or something.

"Why's your bed so much more comfortable than mine-- I toss and turn all night usually, but when I sleep over at your place I sleep like a baby."

"'cause you are a baby," Chloe easily replies, turning her head to shoot Max a smirk now that it's safe to. She's kind of swimming in her pajamas, even with the drawstrings pulled tight and the tee being a little short on Chloe. Ugh. It should be illegal to be this adorable.

"Oh yeah, think I still have a copy of that shitty Final Fantasy movie you like. Wanna watch that?"

"Excuse you, it's an underappreciated masterpiece." She says, not even bothering to sit up. Her arms scramble around her looking for something solid-- a pillow, she thinks, that's what it feels like.

"Hurry up and start her up--" She flings the pillow off the bed with one arm. She can't see so she has no idea where it lands (she hopes it hits Chloe in her big dumb face, that would be justice). "-- I wanna snuggle."

The two of them hadn't quite found their rhythm yet, but if there's one thing Max has realized during their relationship thus far it was that she was surprisingly shameless when it came to asking for what she wanted. And in this case, that thing just so happened to be Chloe's warmth.

"Ooh, bossy," Chloe marvels with a snort. She catches the pillow with both arms and little effort -- its lazy arc would've led it to maybe pat her stomach at worst, anyway. Max's soft baby arms can't land a throw for shit.

Walking over to the bed, Chloe leans over her girlfriend, and drops the pillow onto her face directly from above. Then she offers her arms out to her. "C'mon, sit up, hippie. We're not gonna project it on the ceiling."

With that, Chloe turns back towards her drawer. "Lemme change real quick too, and then we'll watch."

If Max isn't going to make a big deal out of changing, Chloe sure isn't gonna, either. But she does keep her back turned to Max, just for decency's sake. Not that she thinks Max will be watching... though that's not a notion she dislikes one bit.

Anyway, her clothes are dumped in a heap on the closet floor, and Chloe throws on some cotton shorts and a faded cartoon T-shirt (it's that hot dog dude, she and Max loved him when they were like ten) before retrieving her burnt copy of Spirits Within from the dusty depths of her DVD collection. She pops it in the old DVD player above her tube TV, which whirrs in dissatisfaction at being roused from its slumber, but ultimately complies. "Good boy," Chloe mouths.

The remote is set down on the bed beside Max, Chloe ignoring her natural urge to throw it this time, because Max has a tendency to catch things with her face and a remote would hurt pretty bad. Then she hops down onto the mattress herself, and without so much as a moment's notice, hoists Max bodily onto her lap.

The world is briefly enshrouded in the cold darkness of Chloe's pillow. She reaches her hands out instinctively, even from below the pillow, when she hears her voice and lets herself be pulled up by Chloe's hands.

"It's not a bad idea though. Artistry like this should be on the big screen." Chloe is already changing when she sits up proper, pillow pulled close to her chest. It smells just a little like Chloe's shampoo and stale smoke. Together they're not bad scents-- familiar and sweet all at once.

It's not the first time Chloe has changed in front of her-- granted they were younger and they definitely weren't like.. a Thing. Maybe it's because it's familiar, maybe it's because they are a thing, but she observes her without really realizing that she is.

Chloe's been called hot by a lot of people (rightfully so), herself included. But in the soft light of her bedroom, turned away and completely at ease, Max can't help but think she's crazy beautiful too (in an untamed and uniquely imperfect kind of way). She'd take a picture, maybe, if that wasn't creepy.

Max is swept up into Chloe's grasp with little effort, the prologue of The Greatest Scifi Movie of All Time begins to roll and Max tugs lightly on the collar of Chloe's shirt.

"I'm really liking this bed time chic look. Maybe you should consider trading in your spikey bracelets for the hot dog guy."

"Oh, I wore both, dude. It was a total look. Alas, our faithful frankfurter friend has been put through the laundry like twenty times too many, so now he's honorably retired to the pajama drawer."

She absentmindedly nuzzles Max's neck as she speaks, breathing in her scent: faint traces of vanilla shampoo beneath the lingering smell of paint. Chloe's oversized tee hangs loosely off her slender frame, revealing one freckled shoulder in its near-entirety.

Good thing they picked out such a boring movie. Chloe wouldn't have been able to focus, anyway.

"I like how tiny you are in my clothes," she mumbles, pressing lips over bare skin.

Edited 2017-11-29 16:43 (UTC)

Chloe's mouth against her skin, even in such a small way, suddenly makes Max so keenly aware of every single part of herself. Her hair tickles Max's neck, and when Chloe speaks Max feels her against her back. She shives, draws closer to Chloe and rests her weight against her.

"This is really what does it for you, huh? I look like I'm drowning in this shirt." Her eyes are on the movie but her mind is very much on Chloe.

She reaches for Chloe's wrist, pulling her arm closer around her and absentmindedly tracing the lines of ink on her skin.

"Maybe I should get covered in paint more often."

"Girl, don't even joke. I have a whole hitlist of spots around this dump in desperate need of a facelift. So much we could vandalize. You stealing my shirts is a bonus."

Chloe laughs against Max, low and warm. She fits so snugly against her that she kind of never wants to move again. The graze of Max's fingertips over her skin sends tiny shivers down her arms, making them tighten.

And Chloe really, really wants to kiss her right now.

But this is like, Max's favorite movie, and they're supposed to be watching it. She doesn't want to step out of line -- especially when, this early on in their newly-romantic relationship, the lines aren't painted quite so clearly yet.

So she contents herself for now with nuzzling along the side of Max's neck, half-heartedly watching the movie over her shoulder. Kissing can wait for whenever Max wants it.

In classic Max fashion, she's tried to map it all out-- tried to figure out the days, times, the spaces in between the moments when holding hands stopped being just holding hands, and when the feeling of Chloe's breath on her skin stopped being to complain about and became something that made her feel things that all those shitty health class videos about puberty warned her about.

And also, in classic Max fashion, the entire thing had been an oddly fulfilling mess of trial and error. She's not good at jumping in head first and landing on her feet the way Chloe is; but she likes where they are, likes the way Chloe's arms feel around her.

"One day, Price." Max cranes her head to kiss Chloe in between her words. When she pulls away, but just barely. "One day, you're gonna run out of prime Arcadia Bay real estate to trash. And then you'll have to figure out where to take me on an actual date."

She presses herself close to Chloe, still. She's not quite kissing her, but the space between their faces is barely there.

"For the record? I'm partial to long walks on the beach, art museums, and gut busting greasy food."

"Don't slam me like that," Chloe huff-laughs, butting her temple to Max's. "Didn't I take you out for burritos last Wednesday? The good shit, with extra bacon?"

But she does hesitate, after. Of course Chloe gets that they're just shooting the shit right now, and it'd be stupid to take it too seriously -- but then, god knows she's dressed up too many unfortunate honesties in lighthearted jabs.

And so, despite her better efforts, a tiny hint of vulnerability creeps in through the cracks in her nonchalant front when she says: "I could take you on a real date."

Max smiles, the slightest trace of guilt making the corners of her mouth unsteady. She makes a show of rubbing her forehead, like Chloe had really done a number on her (she sorta has, in a less physical and not actually awful kind of way).

"I was joking-- I love our vandalism turned performance art dates, and I especially love bacon burritos. Even if you do smell super gross after them." She pulls herself out of Chloe's grasp so she can sit on her knees, still facing her and keeping the distance between them sparse. It's easier to focus on her words when Chloe's mouth isn't so close to her.

"I'm just, well.. a total newbie at all of this. And you know, you're not.. I guess I just worry, y'know? Sometimes it feels like nothing has changed, and we're still doing all the things we did before we made it official or whatever-- and I guess I don't know if that's not how it's supposed to be?"

Not as elegant as she'd like, but it's out there at least.

"Yikes, sorry about the mood kill."

Chloe waves her hands in front of her, as if to bat Max's self-deprecation away. "No, dude, it's fine. Lemme just--"

Reaching over for the remote, she hits pause. It just seems right -- their conversation has clearly shifted from idle banter to the kind of talk that actually means something, so Chloe wants her full focus on Max, without any background distractions.

It does leave the room awfully quiet, though.

Setting the remote back down on the mattress, she sheepishly, carefully, covers Max's hand with her own. She's never been good at these heart-to-heart talks, always scared of saying the wrong thing, of revealing too much. The more vulnerability she shows, the deeper the rejection will cut.

Max won't do that to her, Chloe knows. But even trusting her as wholly as she does, the irrational fear plucks at her nerves. That she's somehow been doing this all wrong, that she's not good enough.

"... Do you want things to be different?"

"I don't, not really-- like I said, it's stupid and I'm just being a baby." She grasps the hand that Chloe has offered, grip firm and her gaze unwavering, even despite how dumb she feels.

"I like the way we are, but I worry about not being enough for you-- as like, corny and stupidly existential as that probably sounds." She doesn't want to bring up Rachel, she's not going to and she doesn't know if she'll ever be brave enough to ask. But there's a part of her that knows the answers to all the questions she'd want to pose anyway, just from the way Chloe's eyes light up and her voice wavers even now when she talks about her.

"I've spent basically all the time we've known each other trying to catch up with you and I'm still nowhere close to doing that-- I just.. don't want to slow you down because I don't know what you do in a real relationship." Being Chloe's nerdy friend was one thing, forcing Chloe to be complacent in something she didn't want in the name of that friendship was another thing entirely.

"Catch up with what?" Chloe lets out an incredulous snort, shaking her head. "You're literally a superhero, Max. And even outside of that, you've always been like the coolest, most talented, most passionate person I know. You don't have anything to feel insecure about, okay?"

She knows, though, that it'll take more than that. Max has always had the hardest time seeing all the good in her, ever since they were little. Chloe never got that. She can't imagine what Max could possibly find in her that she herself lacks.

Except for, she supposes, the experience.

Chloe's shoulders heave with a sigh, and she squeezes Max's hand a little tighter. "So I've had my cherry popped. Big whoop. I promise it doesn't make the difference you think it does."

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