He’s come to text Max regularly these days, that wall of the screen between them providing a slightly comforting barrier when talks veer towards personal matters. For all of Kaz’s quick thinking, for all his planning ten steps ahead in every heist, feelings somehow blindside him. It’s been easier to simply type onto a phone after taking his time processing matters rather than having a genuine face to face talk. Even then, after Max revealed his true feelings, Kaz still feels his brain stutter. He could simply have continued to leave things on a superficial level, with two phones between them, but he knows he’s failing even in doing that. It’s not conveying enough, not for a topic like this, and Kaz cares enough about Max to try and do this right.
Kaz does care for the other man. He likes him in a way that’s left his thoughts lingering after they parted, even if he never thought anything might come of it. There’s only ever been two other times in his life when he’s felt stirrings, once at fourteen with Imogen, and then years later with Inej. Neither time he’s ever been able to make anything of it, though he has been trying to pull himself into a better version of a man. To not be so broken and twisted inside that he’s doomed to ruin those around him, to never let someone touch him metaphorically if not physically. Max is a good person, a good man, and he deserves someone who’s willing to be open and vulnerable with him. In that respect, Kaz knows he’s fallen short. Perhaps though it’s not entirely too late to start.
Kaz arrives home at the Slat, the converted house not far from the Club, minutes later as promised. It’s relatively quiet even downstairs for once. He takes off his shoes by the door, lining them up neatly, feeling the relief of it from a long day on his feet. Black socks are left on, along with gray pinstripe suit pants, black suit shirt, black and gray vest, and his gloves. It’s contrasted with the pale skin of his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the sharp angles of his body. A man made of marble he’s been called, smooth enough to slick off the surface until you got cut on a jagged edge. He doesn’t enjoy being that though for his family. Somehow they’ve found small cracks and crevices to nestle against.
Max has, too. Kaz doesn’t often put it into words, but he does use little gestures. Max told him that he’d been drinking, liquid courage, so Kaz has brought over some food in case he needs something to soak up the alcohol. It’s nothing that impressive, just some flatbread, but it’s easy to eat and he carries the takeout box with him. Taking care of someone, that’s the only real way Kaz knows how to show affection. That, and protecting them, although Max is a good fighter in his own right, too.
His hat he gently hangs up, then with his cane limps over to where Max is sitting. His heart is pounding as he slowly lowers himself into a seat beside him on the sofa, not close enough to touch, raising his leg to rest on the coffee table. His gaze falls on the whiskey bottle, and it’s tempting to help numb the edges of his mind, but getting up to get himself a glass is too much effort after he’s sat down. Setting the box on the table, he opens it for Max to take some as he likes. Although if his nerves are like Kaz’s, he might not be hungry right now. Still. It won’t go to waste. He’s quiet for a moment, silence stretching, before he finally speaks. “Congratulations. Not many can catch me off guard.” He gives Max a small, lopsided smile at that, figuring a little teasing couldn’t hurt to kick things off. At least he hopes it shows that he’s not put off by what Max has said.
@revolvings
He’s come to text Max regularly these days, that wall of the screen between them providing a slightly comforting barrier when talks veer towards personal matters. For all of Kaz’s quick thinking, for all his planning ten steps ahead in every heist, feelings somehow blindside him. It’s been easier to simply type onto a phone after taking his time processing matters rather than having a genuine face to face talk. Even then, after Max revealed his true feelings, Kaz still feels his brain stutter. He could simply have continued to leave things on a superficial level, with two phones between them, but he knows he’s failing even in doing that. It’s not conveying enough, not for a topic like this, and Kaz cares enough about Max to try and do this right.
Kaz does care for the other man. He likes him in a way that’s left his thoughts lingering after they parted, even if he never thought anything might come of it. There’s only ever been two other times in his life when he’s felt stirrings, once at fourteen with Imogen, and then years later with Inej. Neither time he’s ever been able to make anything of it, though he has been trying to pull himself into a better version of a man. To not be so broken and twisted inside that he’s doomed to ruin those around him, to never let someone touch him metaphorically if not physically. Max is a good person, a good man, and he deserves someone who’s willing to be open and vulnerable with him. In that respect, Kaz knows he’s fallen short. Perhaps though it’s not entirely too late to start.
Kaz arrives home at the Slat, the converted house not far from the Club, minutes later as promised. It’s relatively quiet even downstairs for once. He takes off his shoes by the door, lining them up neatly, feeling the relief of it from a long day on his feet. Black socks are left on, along with gray pinstripe suit pants, black suit shirt, black and gray vest, and his gloves. It’s contrasted with the pale skin of his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the sharp angles of his body. A man made of marble he’s been called, smooth enough to slick off the surface until you got cut on a jagged edge. He doesn’t enjoy being that though for his family. Somehow they’ve found small cracks and crevices to nestle against.
Max has, too. Kaz doesn’t often put it into words, but he does use little gestures. Max told him that he’d been drinking, liquid courage, so Kaz has brought over some food in case he needs something to soak up the alcohol. It’s nothing that impressive, just some flatbread, but it’s easy to eat and he carries the takeout box with him. Taking care of someone, that’s the only real way Kaz knows how to show affection. That, and protecting them, although Max is a good fighter in his own right, too.
His hat he gently hangs up, then with his cane limps over to where Max is sitting. His heart is pounding as he slowly lowers himself into a seat beside him on the sofa, not close enough to touch, raising his leg to rest on the coffee table. His gaze falls on the whiskey bottle, and it’s tempting to help numb the edges of his mind, but getting up to get himself a glass is too much effort after he’s sat down. Setting the box on the table, he opens it for Max to take some as he likes. Although if his nerves are like Kaz’s, he might not be hungry right now. Still. It won’t go to waste. He’s quiet for a moment, silence stretching, before he finally speaks. “Congratulations. Not many can catch me off guard.” He gives Max a small, lopsided smile at that, figuring a little teasing couldn’t hurt to kick things off. At least he hopes it shows that he’s not put off by what Max has said.