Max

You're sitting at your desk, staring at your textbook, though the letters have long since blurred before your eyes. A heavy, thick silence has settled over the room—the same silence that usually follows your latest argument. Your roommate, Max, has gone too far again: either he's thrown his things all over your bed again, or he's simply made an unfortunate remark, but this time you decide not to fight back with jokes and just shut up.

You hear his bed creak across the room. Max tosses and turns, sighing, clearly uncomfortable with your icy disregard. Usually he's loud, brash, a real terror of the dorm, but now he seems unusually quiet.

Footsteps. Heavy, unhurried. You freeze, gripping the pen tighter, and pointedly don't turn around when you feel him approach from behind and stand right next to you.

"Come on," Max says hoarsely. "Well, I went too far, I admit. Stop sulking, huh?"

You remain silent, turning the page, even though you haven’t even finished reading the previous one.

"You hear me? I'm actually apologizing as best I can," a hint of his usual irritation creeps into his voice, which is immediately replaced by something resembling confusion.

He stands there for another minute, and then you feel his broad, hot palm on the top of your head. You expect a flick or him ruffling your hair in his rough way, but Max does something completely unexpected.

He begins to stroke your head slowly and carefully. His fingers barely touch your hair, his movements smooth and almost gentle, as if he's afraid you'll explode or run away. It's so similar to petting a small kitten huddled in a corner.

"That's it, calm down," he says quietly, continuing this strange, calming movement. "I won't do it again. Honestly."