Max never really believed in baby-steps. His life was fast, hard, done without hesitation or question. He jumped into cold water head first, because he could handle that a lot better than easing in little by little and feeling the shock more than once. Morning, the damned bitch, did not fall into his usual philosophy.
He had six alarms. The first was ignored, an hour early warning that waking and productiveness were expected of him soon. A reminder to curl up and get the most out of his remaining sixty minutes in bed that he possibly could. The second meant it was time to unburrow himself from the comfort of his cocoon of warm blankets, be ready to face the coolness of fresh air. The third lead to his head coming off the pillow, the fourth to his feet touching the ground, and the fifth in the form of a familiar accent totally butchering the word 'bitch' and lights being flickered on that were attempting to kill him. The sixth, and final beeping, meant he had to get his arse up, or Tati would come back for him.
“Oh Max, by the way you have laundry duty today.”
Max groaned pathetically and plastered himself face forward to the wall beside the clipboard, and then didn't move for another two minutes at least. In a perfect world, he would get to sleep all day and wake up when the sun was going down. Unfortunately, things didn't work that way, so when he could muster the strength he went through the pattern of getting put together enough, and started his day.
Which meant tea, first. Irritable, sleepy, and with feet that barely lifted, Max filled up a large cup and dumped about half the carton worth of sugar in it. There were a few guests up already, seemingly as grumpy as he felt. Most still drunk, which reminded Max suddenly of the slight pound in his head and the usual nausea low in his belly. Nothing some caffeine and a little ibuprofen wouldn't help.
He smiled to himself as he remembered the night before. Open mic-night was his favorite. Max loved to sing. He was decent enough at it that people didn't drag him off stage, but the drunker he got the more flirty he got too, and that usually caused Tati to Mom-Eye him, especially if he still had time on his shift. It'd been a good night, though.
After some food and another cup of tea, Max had perked up, and faced his laundry duties head on. Which meant he'd fashioned himself a toga from dirty but not smelly bed sheets at some point in the middle of his chores. It looked fantastic, if he did say so himself.
His break meant nap time, curled up in a chair outside, catching up on the z's he missed from his late-night shift and early-morning waking. Tati pulled him back to duty once again, with a hand running through his blonde hair and a reminder that sheets are for beds, Maxwell. Not to be made into togas. Max had stuck his tongue out at her, but it was finally late enough in the day that he was behind the bar.
Re-energized, Max was finally in his comfort-zone, and while he was definitely the kind of person who loved pushing the limits of said zone, there was something about that bar that just felt like...home. More than the cold streets of London ever had, or even the colorful walls inside the hostel where he happily laid his head every night. This...surrounded by alcohol, laughter, and the two co-workers he loved so much...this was it for him.
It was an easy opening shift, most people just stopping by to grab a drink before gathering around the tables, which left the bar empty and mostly meant Max got to hang all over Cam and Deacon. At least until Tati showed up. He flashed her his best 'I'm working, ma, swear' smile before fishing out a beer for her, popping the top, and sliding it down the bar. "'Ello, Tati," he greeted with a grin, presenting his cheek in line for the customary kiss.
Just another day in paradise.
He had six alarms. The first was ignored, an hour early warning that waking and productiveness were expected of him soon. A reminder to curl up and get the most out of his remaining sixty minutes in bed that he possibly could. The second meant it was time to unburrow himself from the comfort of his cocoon of warm blankets, be ready to face the coolness of fresh air. The third lead to his head coming off the pillow, the fourth to his feet touching the ground, and the fifth in the form of a familiar accent totally butchering the word 'bitch' and lights being flickered on that were attempting to kill him. The sixth, and final beeping, meant he had to get his arse up, or Tati would come back for him.
“Oh Max, by the way you have laundry duty today.”
Max groaned pathetically and plastered himself face forward to the wall beside the clipboard, and then didn't move for another two minutes at least. In a perfect world, he would get to sleep all day and wake up when the sun was going down. Unfortunately, things didn't work that way, so when he could muster the strength he went through the pattern of getting put together enough, and started his day.
Which meant tea, first. Irritable, sleepy, and with feet that barely lifted, Max filled up a large cup and dumped about half the carton worth of sugar in it. There were a few guests up already, seemingly as grumpy as he felt. Most still drunk, which reminded Max suddenly of the slight pound in his head and the usual nausea low in his belly. Nothing some caffeine and a little ibuprofen wouldn't help.
He smiled to himself as he remembered the night before. Open mic-night was his favorite. Max loved to sing. He was decent enough at it that people didn't drag him off stage, but the drunker he got the more flirty he got too, and that usually caused Tati to Mom-Eye him, especially if he still had time on his shift. It'd been a good night, though.
After some food and another cup of tea, Max had perked up, and faced his laundry duties head on. Which meant he'd fashioned himself a toga from dirty but not smelly bed sheets at some point in the middle of his chores. It looked fantastic, if he did say so himself.
His break meant nap time, curled up in a chair outside, catching up on the z's he missed from his late-night shift and early-morning waking. Tati pulled him back to duty once again, with a hand running through his blonde hair and a reminder that sheets are for beds, Maxwell. Not to be made into togas. Max had stuck his tongue out at her, but it was finally late enough in the day that he was behind the bar.
Re-energized, Max was finally in his comfort-zone, and while he was definitely the kind of person who loved pushing the limits of said zone, there was something about that bar that just felt like...home. More than the cold streets of London ever had, or even the colorful walls inside the hostel where he happily laid his head every night. This...surrounded by alcohol, laughter, and the two co-workers he loved so much...this was it for him.
It was an easy opening shift, most people just stopping by to grab a drink before gathering around the tables, which left the bar empty and mostly meant Max got to hang all over Cam and Deacon. At least until Tati showed up. He flashed her his best 'I'm working, ma, swear' smile before fishing out a beer for her, popping the top, and sliding it down the bar. "'Ello, Tati," he greeted with a grin, presenting his cheek in line for the customary kiss.
Just another day in paradise.