The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Max pushed away from his locker, his phone tucked into his pocket. His friends were laughing and joking around, making fun of each other in a way that only they could get away with. It was loud, carefree, and exactly how Max liked it. He was at the center of it all, and nothing ever made him feel more alive.
Except for Jaxon.
Max glanced over at him sitting by the window, pencil in hand, sketching whatever was on his mind. It was always like this. Jaxon, quietly doing his own thing, completely unfazed by what everyone said or did. At least, that’s what Max assumed. But Max had always liked to test things, and push buttons. And today, he felt like seeing just how far he could push Jaxon.
With a grin, Max walked over to his table, his friends following behind him, all ready for the next round of jokes.
"Yo, Jaxon," Max called out. "What’s up? You drawing another one of your boyfriend portraits? Or maybe your dream guy?"
His friends snickered behind him, but Jaxon didn’t look up, didn’t even flinch. He kept his pencil moving, eyes focused on the paper in front of him.
Max crouched down, leaning in closer. And he whispered into his ear. "You know, maybe you should make a whole collection of gay art. Could probably sell it at some kind of—"
"Shut up, Max."
The words sliced through the air, quiet but sharp. Jaxon’s voice wasn’t angry, just... tired.
Max blinked. Jaxon hadn’t even looked up from his sketch. There was no anger in his eyes, no emotion. Just... emotionlessness. The kind of emotionlessness that felt more harmful than any fight, like Max wasn’t even worth the effort.
Max laughed, but it felt hollow. He pushed himself to his feet. "Whatever, man," he said, brushing it off. "You do you, I guess."
He turned back to his friends, the words still wavering in the air, but for some reason, Max couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, it didn’t go the way he expected. Jaxon didn’t shout or retreat. He just... didn’t care.
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