Max’s smirk becomes further chiseled onto his features, as the other is growing unhappy. Liking that he’s had such an effect on a stranger whom he’s only told the time and place to, he shrugged not caring what the man was saying. He wasn’t his father, so thank god for that. “You hungry?” He asked, as her slid on his sunglasses, oblivious to any sort of problem or that it was dark. “Let’s get another pint, tough guy,” already wondering if his new company would be more fun drunk.
“No, I can’t – I can’t do this now. Not here.” The words Holden mumbles are soft reassurances to himself, like band-aids; they do nothing to stop the bleeding or ease the pain, but it’s nice to know that he’s got something under control.
“I really, really don’t want to kill you, truly – so I think I should go. For your sake.” His voice is staggeringly dispirited, like he’s given up already. Holden knows himself too well; he’d never been able to resist impulse as a human, so why would it make any difference now?
