, better use of time (open)

[alyson sophia kent]

ALYSON BIT HER LIP. Staring at the sketch on her desk. Something just was not right. Something was off and she could not for the life of her work out what. Which, if you must know, was highly frustrating. She had always been a fairly visual person. Excelling in art with a keen eye for colour. However it seemed her eye was off today. It usually didn’t take her long to work out what was off. She could look at a sketch of a design or a couch made up with a million throw pillows and pin-point the one colour that wasn’t working. Today though, she was pretty much use-less. Good thing she didn’t have to deal with any clients or she’d probably be close to loosing her job.

REACHING OVER FOR SAMPLES, she held up a new fabric against the chair in the sketch. Trying to assess if that was the problem. Perhaps the vintage print she’d chosen just didn’t go with the rest of the room. Even if that was the feel you were going for, didn’t mean it would necessarily work. That was something she’d learnt. In fact, she designed a completely vintage feeling sitting room for an assessment once that did not use one vintage print. All the wall paper and fabrics and the like had been completely modern in design. It was her use of colour, room layout and furniture style that had given the room a Victorian Sitting room feel. For instance the fact she’d used two different wall-papers.

FROWNING IN DISTASTE, the blonde let both sketch and sample fall from her grasp. Frustration etched in her features. Alyson had never really been the sort to like to work very hard. Sure, she was dedicated to her job and all, but even so she liked it because design came easily to her. She didn’t like to have to think so hard about something that should be so simple. That would probably annoy anyone though, not just miss Kent. I mean, a mathematician would probably dislike not understanding a particular maths equation. That was really just human nature to be upset by something not coming naturally like it usually did.

MAYBE SHE NEEDED MORE COFFEE? Alyson picked up her cup, peering into the dregs of her last caffeinated beverage. She’d already had three (or was it four?) and it wasn’t even lunch yet. Even for a caffeine addict like herself, she understood that she was towing the line of too many. That if she had another one now she’d be over the edge. Bollocks. She placed her mug down on the desk a little harder then needed. Ready to fall into a sulk. What was she supposed to do now? At least sitting there drinking coffee she could look busy. Now she just looked like a lazy, incompetent intern. Which was not cool.

LOOKING OVER HER DESK, blue eyes fell on the large pale pink diary by her handbag. Tempting. Oh so tempting. She bit her lip once more. Eying the book she had been using in aid to her wedding plans for the past few months. She knew it probably was not the best use of her time at work; that she should be designing other people’s homes not her own table settings. Could you blame her though? With the wedding fast approaching, and so much left to do she really needed to devote as much time as possible to the planning. Besides which, she was excited. So of course wedding plans were always on her mind. Maybe if she solved her seating plan issue she’d be able to focus on her work?

PULLING THE DIARY TO HER, Alyson soon located her seating chart. She pulled the cardboard from the dairy and laid it flat on her desk. Eyes scanning the million tiny posted notes stuck around the tables. Each containing a name of a guest. She was having some trouble deciding on who to put with who. There were obvious ones, like small groups of people who were family or already friends, but then pairing that smaller group with another to all make up one table was the issue. You had to consider personalities, and decide who was less likely to clash with whom. Because really, the last thing you wanted was your guests to get into little spats. God dammit she really wanted another coffee...

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[maxwell david heaton]

Deep of the depths of the Heaton Inc. building, the monster had awoken from his slumber. It stirred in its chair, a low growl releasing from it's thick lips before a pair of piercing blue eyes appeared in the darkness. It groaned at it's location - the mahogany themed holding cell that was called his office almost pitch blacks from the closed shades. There was some ruffling, a yawn, and a few curses as a paw extended itself from the seat at the desk. It flailed in the darkness for some time, the arm attached extending itself backwards before grabbing onto the pull for the blinds. With a sharp tug, the office was illuminated in light, and the creature in question had settled itself back into the chair. Maxwell Heaton was never the work oriented type. Especially after a heavy night of drinking while running on three hours of sleep thanks to some blonde woman he picked up at the bar the night prior. He'd lay money on the fact that she was probably still half naked and enjoying the lap of luxury that his king sized bed had to offer. That lucky bitch.

It wasn't fair, he thought to himself, rubbing his tired eyes before inspecting the interior of his office. He, after all, did do all the work last night - both by picking her up, paying for her, and pleasuring her; and he was awarded with...this? A bed comprised of a black leather office chair and the surface of a wooden desk as a pillow. No, no. Not fair at all. There was another yawn and some mumbling about getting a couch or over size chair before he raised a hand to fix his hair. It was time to find something to do. Anything to do. Anything meaning of course, anything so long as it wasn't job related. After all with a chip on his shoulder about sleeping arrangements, the slight lag of a hang over and Naomi, his assistant, taking a day off - to assume that Maxwell Heaton was going to be a productive worker was about as believable as saying that the Russians only wanted world peace. A funny joke, eh?

Raising himself from the desk slowly and almost regretfully, seeing as he almost enjoyed his little nap, there was short stretching session and a crack of his jaw. The door to his holding cell was opened and Heaton was on the prowl. The word prowl of course, was meant in the most literal definition in this case; to move about in a predatory manner. It couldn't have been articulated any better. This building was his hunting grounds, and he, Maxwell Heaton, was the almighty and feared predator. For the most part, anyway. Barring his more genial counter-part to the Heaton Corporation, his father, William. It was a blue moon in the sky when William made an appearance here though, let alone an appearance in Max's presence period. As far he saw it, and every one else around him, this building rested in the palm of his hand. And if he so saw it fit to skulk it's hall ways and fend on the weak for fun, than so be it. Entering the nearest elevator, he clicked a random button, and awaited to see which floor he would ascend upon to tear up, first.

Design. His heart did something involuntary as he stepped towards the opening doors of the elevator. Speaking of the week: Alyson worked here in Design. There was another involuntary flicker in his chest as he paused before stepping off of the elevator. The last time he had run into that harlot was before college on the night that she had come to him and...He hit his chest in response to the third flutter, stepping over the threshold of the closing doors onto the Visual component sector of the Heaton Inc. building. After all, she was just a woman. Nothing but a bag of tart flirtations, deceitful intentions, and vapid assumptions, all rolled up into one little pretty package. Besides...maybe she was off today. Maybe life would cut him a break for raining down on the innocents and just cut him a break when it came to running into...She was here. Of course she was here. She worked here. He worked here. She had to be here. Max took a few steps into the department and, well, there she was.

She looked frustrated and a little fatigued, but beautiful. As always, she looked beautiful. Just as she did the last night he had seen her. He felt uncomfortable. Nervous. And had a strange urge to rush up to her cubicle, run his fingers through her long blond locks and sort out what ever it was that ailed her. There was some mental preparation, and the fixing of his button down, vest, then tie and let out some inaudible curse words about weakness, women, and who he was. He was Max, fucking, Heaton, he reassured himself. Max Heaton. And she was just a woman. There was another moment of preparation before he found himself approaching the cubicle, strong facade complete in tact. After all, no one knew had to kill emotions like he did. Even if she was the only one that he had ever felt them for.

"Some one seems a little bit tense, now don't they..." His voice was low, hands tucked into his pockets as he mustered one of his infamous smirks to play out on his lips. Slipping into the doorway of her cubicle, he rested his back against it's frame, staring at her with as nugget of compassion that seemed a little out of character for the passer-by, "It'd be a shame to ruin that face of yours with stress lines."

[alyson sophia kent]

THAT VOICE. It wasn’t on Alyson thought she’d ever forget. One she’d know no matter how stealthy he came up on her. Hearing it now though, shook Alyson to the very core. Almost as though the voice itself had reached inside her. Taking a hold of her heart and squeezing. It would keep squeezing to. Until there was no blood flowing and she couldn’t breath. If she were completely honest with herself though, it wasn’t a sensation she disliked. Which she hated about herself. She hated that back then she enjoyed the little thrill in her stomach he gave her. And she hated now that even his voice twisted her heart out of control.

She was going to pretend it was shock though. Because that was a far easier emotion to deal with then any others she may have felt. Those feelings that belonged good and buried. Those feelings that snuck up on her when she closed her eyes and pictured her life and things that have had a lasting affect on her; The summer she went on holidays when she was eleven with Max and his family, Sitting with Max the day after his mother died. The fact her first instinct when her life fell apart five years ago was to go and kiss him... Sure, there were other people and other moments, but the re-occurring theme was hard for someone even as oblivious as Alyson to deny.

All that didn’t mean anything though. Well it meant they had grown up together. Besides her half-brother, she had known him longest out of all her old school friends. Sure, for all intense and purposes Kennedy had been her best friend, but she had, once upon a time cared so much about him. Sure he was a dick, but she had seen beyond that. It was normal wasn’t it, that despite the time that had passed and the wedges that had managed to lodge themself between them that she still cared. No one could just turn those sorts of things off now could they?

What wasn’t normal though, was the fact she couldn’t admit just how deep those feelings ran. Or that those wedges that had been put between them were completely their own fault. Or well, maybe that wasn’t abnormal but it was completely stupid. Of course it was easy to see all that in retrospect as an outsider, but for Alyson, the best she could do was to suppress the feelings and focus on the surprise. What was he even doing there? Last she’d heard (not that she was checking... It just happened to come up with Finn’s grandparents..) he was still off doing whatever it was he did. Half of her had expected him not to come back. Which she hadn’t decided how she felt about that yet. Maybe a little disappointed.

It didn’t matter now though did it? Because there he was making a stupid comment about stress lines on her face. Why did even a compliment sound like an insult from Max? Was it a hidden talent of his or did he purposely try to say everything so back-handed? Feeling her spine creep (or perhaps tingle..) she pushed her seating chart away from her. Sliding it under some sketches. Instinct told her to hide it from him. It also told her to slip the diamond from her finger and pocket it. That may have made it too obvious however so she settled for placing the offending hand under the table.

Fixing a look of distaste to her features she finally raised her eyes to his face. Stealing herself for the affect staring him in the eye may have on her. Hopefully and affect she’d be able to keep internally. It had always been like an un-spoken pact between the two; true emotions never get expressed. They spoke the language of subtext. Anything real hidden behind a mask of hatred and steely comments. It was probably better that way, for the both of them. “Max..” She greeted with perhaps a hint to much of a smile. “I didn’t think they were letting your kind back in town..” She ignored his comment all together. It was easier than trying to explain why she looked so stressed anyway.

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[maxwell david heaton]

She had delayed. He bit his inner lip. There was a ring on her left hand. He watched as she brushed away what looked like a seating arrangement into a thick book filled with what ever pretentious designers keep track of when it came to superfluous wedding details. The confidence that he had fought so hard to build up on his trek over here had dissipated, Max feeling the need to shift in his own skin. It was only natural, he assumed, to loose interest in such a minor fact of info as Alyson Kent and Finn Heaton getting married. The word minor meaning that he had very little, if at all, care for the topic in the least. Or at least, that's what he had reassured himself as Aly had turned around and faced him for the first time in four years, her fair skin and attractive features however were begging to differ. What ever bit of confidence that he had salvaged on his trek over here had dissipated as the words rolled themselves across his mind once more in an attempt to catch their grasp. Alyson Kent was getting married.

The phrase was big and unattractive. It tasted bad and made him uneasy. Sick. Angry. His brow furrowed as he peered into her blue eyes, gaze unmet by the woman herself. Weakling. She had always had issues with him like this. Was eye contact really too much to ask for? Because apparently, an invite to the wedding was. There was a soft pang of jealousy in his chest as the topic of her wedding resurfaced once more. She hadn't even told him about it yet. Granted, he knew about it. Just like every one else did in this town. But shouldn't she have told him? After all the years that they had known each other, after everything they had been through...Even if they hadn't talked since he went away to college, wasn't it protocol to let him of all people know? His stomach boiled, hands in his pockets removing themselves to idly pick each other nails in an attempt to keep busy from strangling something. Him...of all people.

There was a pause. His feelings subsided. She didn't owe it to him. She didn't owe him anything. It wasn't as if they were anything more than just friends, if that's even what you would call it.

"As if this town had the testicles to tell me no, if they weren't," His hands had been replaced, his town mimicking the one held on his opening line. Falsely optimistic and trying for kind, his body language read differently in small ways. With his back tensed and bottom jaw a little too tight, he scrounged in his mind for some light conversation before deciding whether or not to confront the woman about her engagement, "Don't worry, though. It's only temporary. Once my stocks take off, I'm back to London again." He was too tired to adequately confront her about her marriage at this point in time (or at least that's what he assured himself, because it certainly wasn't the fact that he feared hearing her talk about the marriage out loud), what with the woman-of-the-previous-night still waiting for him home - but it didn't mean he wasn't going to do something. In fact, Max decided to do what the Heaton did best in these kinds of situations. Have a little fun with it.

"Come to think of it," he began, a newly found air of confidence about him as he shot a smile and tried to catch Alyson's eye, "I don't even know why I came back. There's nothing left for me here. Not any more, anyway." There was an almost poisonous overlay on his words as he spoke in a suggestive manner, leaning closer towards the woman to emphasis some of it's phrases. It was the perfect plan so far as he was concerned: if Aly didn't want to tell him about the engagement, well than that was perfectly fine. He'd play along and act like he knew not a thing in the world. In the mean time, how ever. It was time to let the games begin. He'd squeeze it out of her one way or another. "So what about you?" Max changed the subject with a little lighter context, raising an eyebrow as to what the woman had been up to besides falling in love with the wrong man while he was away, "Aren't you supposed to be doing something glamorous by now? A famous actress? What made you stay?"

[alyson sophia kent]

FALLING IN LOVE WITH THE WRONG MAN. That was a rather hefty statement to make, even in someone’s own private thoughts. It was also a very debatable comment, and could be seen from a few different angles. Depending on which version of the man Alyson’s heart truly belonged to you saw. Was it the man who had put a ring on her finger, who was stable, decent and cherished everything about her. Or was it the man who toyed with her, insulted her and yet, moved her in ways she could not even comprehend. Was he the one she should love and the first the wrong man? Or had she gone and fallen in love with someone who, as far as those around her were concerned, only caused her pain? Further more, and probably more importantly, when will the convoluted thoughts in her head clear up and the truth show itself?

“London can have you...” came her bitter undertone. More of a comment to herself then anyone. A question she had not even let herself dare consider yet answered in one foul, dis-heartening swoop. He had no plans of staying here, or in her life. This was just his half-way house between one adventure to the next. How was it he could so easily walk in and out of her life? Taking and breaking her heart along the way. Just so casually as if it were nothing more than a game. Ha. A game. It was always a game for Maxwell Heaton. At times she wanted to grab him and shake him. Like a magic eight ball until it cut the crap and gave her a real answer.

Would she be able to deal with that though? Something real slipping from his lips, hovering out there? Never able to be taken back. Perhaps they both knew the game was safe, so they hid behind it. Crawled inside it like you would a large warm blanket, hiding from the rain. Or the storm. Even the game wasn’t safe anymore. It hadn’t been for quite a while. A moment clicked, and it had changed to deadly. No longer were it just empty words thrown around to make them feel smart and witty. Now the words were laden with venom. Ready to bite when the opportunity arose. You’d have thought she’d have learnt not to let her guard down. Apparently though, five years on and she needed a refresher.

Her stomach fell. Had no reason to be here. There was nothing left for him here. Her stomach fell clear from her torso into her pelvis and her heart twinged, threatening to split in two. But why? Was it pain at hearing he did not consider her a big enough draw card, or guilt at knowing she had inadvertently taken a reason he may have had off the table. A ring was certainly a seal of death on the flames of lovers past. Or at least, it should have been. Things did not often work out as they were supposed to. People could not turn off their emotions, as hard as they may try.

Taking in a deep breath, she kept her eyes away from his own gaze. Fixed on a point above his shoulder. She wasn’t able to do it; look into his searching eyes, knowing what her own would reflect. Guilt, Hurt, Hope... That would break the rules of their game. It was why she could never let herself hold his gaze for too long. He may have been able to train his eyes to show any emotion he wished them to show. However she could not change hers from expressing whatever true emotion she was working so hard at repressing. She wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of seeing it in her eyes. “Yes..” She spoke in what she hoped were mock sweet tones. “What ties could you possibly have here?”

She shifted in her seat when the topic was turned to her. That was dangerous waters. Her entire life seemed to be consumed by Finn and the wedding plans at the moment. What could she possibly talk about that didn’t lead into wedding plans? Smirking slightly, she flicked out her hair. Joking, she could do that. “What, isn’t my two-by-four cubicle glamorous enough for you Mr. Heaton?” She finally met his gaze, flattering her lashes and attempting to sound as blonde as she could. Before letting a more serious tone take over. Eyes still staying on his. “You know that was never going to be me, a famous actress. I went to school to study art, and along the way fell in love with design. This,” she gestured to her sketches of rooms and fabric samples, “makes me happy..”

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[maxwell david heaton]

London can have you.

The statement almost made a thin smile develop on his lips as he looked at Alyson with a raised brow. Not, of course, for the obligatory meaning to which she wanted him gone. Because trust him, London had been good to him, and he planned to take her it up on its offers. But for the underlying theme for the statement, just like the underlying theme to all of Alyson's snide remarks. She liked him. At least a little, bit. She must have. After all of these years, Max was well aware that she had developed a soft spot for him (what kind of a soft spot was debatable, but a soft spot none the less). The bitter words that came from her never really matched her kind eyes out of all these years, and unless she was as good as him at squashing his emotions (which he highly doubted), then the only logical reason for it was that she might not have necessarily disliked Max, but she wanted to. And for every millisecond of compassion that the blonde's heart seemed to squeeze out for him, there was an equal ratio of hate that was needed to eradicate them.

The smile faded on his lips as he, instead of returning something smart, decided to pull on the small sympathy of the truth in her comment. His voice was soft and low, almost hurt sounding as he toned it to a near mumble, "My point exactly, Alyson. No one wants me here." He shifted uncomfortably in the door way, at the accuracy of what he had said, and instead of pushing it aside, wiped a hand through his hair and took a millisecond to contemplate it. Max was sure he should have felt bad at this point - after all, it's not like his family wanted him here. Him and Finn were completely demolished, thanks to Aly. His friends? Well, what friends? The few people he had ever had the luxury of finding worth his time weren't exactly prominent in his life anymore, and Max was far from the type of person to go down his contact list in his phone and message people about his triumphant return. Not even his father's feelings on the subject of his return were certain. His welcome home party was nothing more than seeing his father on the doorstep, a pat on the shoulder, and a town car pulling up out front of the manner with a scantily clad woman awaiting inside for his father.

"Sounds so depressing to think about it, out loud. But no ties, I suppose," It was time to get his head back in the game, the 24 year old giving a slight shrug before looking down at her in her seat once more. She seemed to pretty to fit in such a bland cubicle and her shirt was a little low-cut and distracting...but he'd live. "Not unless you count some unfinished business I plan on attending to," There was a smirk as he inspected her face for some kind of reaction. Knowing the little narcissist, she'd take it as something to do with that night five years ago...which wasn't too entirely false, as far as Max was concerned. Than again, it could have been about his old ex from High School that he'd worked so hard on trying to seduce, another loose end to tie up. Aly knew of his intentions with the girl, so the comment on his business was vague enough to leave her guessing. After all, it would be something along the lines of the apocalypse if he had ever tossed Alyson any kind of straight forward answer. It was just a game, he assured himself. A game that he had mastered long ago.

This makes me happy.

At least she had found something that made her happy. His mother had always told him that so long as you did what made you happy, you were truly alive. Was he alive? Money made him happy. Women made him happy. Alyson made him happy. He stopped, pausing his chain of thought to mentally punish himself for putting a word on what ever it was that Alyson Kent did to him. Making him happy? Maybe it wasn't so much her, or at least that's what he assured himself. It was more of the memories of her, he was sure of it. Her face was synonymous with the better years of his life - years that involved catching fireflies and the ice cream man after school; nights spent catching fireflies or watching Disney movies and pretending they were going to get married at the rainbow slide during recess. Years that involved his mother, years that involved a family. The years that seemed to creep up on him on lonely nights in the manner when after a few shots of whiskey, he found himself questioning his purpose. Come to think of it, there was something that made him happy.

His liquor.

Making a mental note to take a shot in honor of what dignity he had left after his shift today, the man pried himself out of his own head and back into the conversation with Aly. "As far as glamorous cubicles go," He inspected it as if a critic, going along with her light hearted joke, "I would have to say it's at least top five. Beaten only by two men in accounting who, when not crunching numbers, set theirs up side to side and turned the joining wall a real life battle ship board. It speaks volumes about the men my father hires to handle our money." He wished he was joking when it came to this, but sure as anything, it was true. Floor 12, Accounting, take a right, there they were. It had become a weekly thing for Maxwell to harass them - if not only for their usage of the game. "I was unaware you went to school for art, Alyson, although I do admit it suits you. I just figured after your stunning performance as Rizzo in Grease, you would have stuck with it. It seemed to be your forte, and judging by how disgruntled you seemed when I first approached you, its apparently alot less stressful as well."

[alyson sophia kent]

ME, I WANT YOU HERE. That was what she wanted to scream. And probably should have. Again though, violation of the game. It sort of broke her heart though, to sit there and listen to him claim no one in town really wanted him around. So many times growing up, since his mother’s death, Alyson had found herself wanting to run up and shake Max’s father. Or even hit him. Especially when she had to witness Max experience important moments in his life without the man. Maybe it was just her. Fathers were something special to Alyson. Being a father should mean something. Her own wasn’t by all means perfect, but he was at least there for Alyson. He put in the effort.

The fact that Max felt that no one, not even his family were glad to have him home... Well it hurt her to hear a lot more then she was willing to let on. Despite her better judgement (and the voice inside her head that assured her he brought it on himself most of the time) she found herself having a lot of empathy towards Max. Feeling for him in his lonely existence. When she thought about him sometimes, how he must feel. The look on his face when he realised his father wasn’t at their high school graduation. She wanted to take all that away. Smooth the frown from his lips with her figure tips and assure him that there was someone in the world that truly did care for him.

That was never really in question for Alyson. She denied it to him with every breath she took in his presence, but she knew she cared for him. She denied herself the right to think on it too much though. To explore those feelings to the full extent. It was much safer that way. Just wading on the surface. Being oblivious to things meant they couldn’t hurt you. For instance the way she kept herself oblivious to the way she’d seen her mother look at Penn Prescott five years ago. They way she heard her mother talk about him now. If she ignored it, she couldn’t be hurt by it. And her childish fantasies that her parents could work it out still remained intact. She could still plan subtle things to draw them closer and remind them of the love they once shared.

Biting the inside of her lip, she gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m sure if we asked around, we could find someone in this town that is happy to have you home..” Her voice had come out much softer, more tender then she had wanted. So to cover, she coughed. As if a scratch in the throat was the reason for such emotion in her voice. “Maybe...” She started, feeling her skin tingle a little at the mention of unfinished business. “Maybe the even the person that business is with may be at least a little pleased to see you?” She attempted to throw that out there casually. She was self centred enough to assume he was referring to her and not some other high school conquest. However it was a really feeble attempt to mask her true feelings about the situation. She was loosing their little game right now, and she really, did not care.

Alyson rose an eyebrow at the young man before her. Bemused expression tugging at her lips. Battleship? Now that was something she’d like to see. Letting herself laugh, she threw her head back. The image of Max stalking in there, chest puffed out, scaring them shitless, threatening to fire them suddenly popping up. It was actually amusing. When he wasn’t toying with her, she actually enjoyed hearing about some of his other victims. At least they deserved it.

Just as her laughter had subsided, it was flaring up again. Her performance in Grease? He even remembered that? Really, it was Kayla who was the budding young actress, or at least who had been back then. Alyson had just done it for the fun. Which it had been, snogging Finn on stage all over the place. Finn. Biting her lip, the laughter faded. It was only a matter of time before he came up in conversation. Or conversation pulled him to her thoughts. It was strange, when she was around Finn, or just generally she loved that he was always on her mind. The moment Max appeared though, she fought hard to keep him from her mind. Almost as though her thoughts of Finn would hurt Max.

Shaking her head, she pulled a smile to her lips once more. Reaching under the table to fiddle with her ring a little. “That was fun, but despite what my personality may lead you to believe, I actually never wanted to spotlight like that. Give me a paint-brush and someone to snuggle with and I’m Happy..” She stopped dead, face stricken. She hadn’t even realised what she was saying. Crap, now he was going to bring Finn up, wasn’t he?

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[maxwell david heaton]

"Mmm...Maybe," the response wasn't necessarily for her more so than it was for himself, the low tone cracking through a slowly developing smile on his lips as the scene played out in his head. It was an amusing thought: Aly dragging him along with a sign on his chest that had a name on it, going door to door and asking them if they had missed him like some retarded mental case or some lost dog on a leash, trying to find his owner. Leashes. Alyson. His mind delved itself into darker waters with the thought of a collar around his neck and the blond at the other end of the chain. It was an arousing thought. One that certainly softened the blow of just how genuinely pathetic it was to be joking about it on Max's behalf.

Growing up feeling unwanted was something that he had grown accustomed to...Although, maybe unwanted was the wrong term. Impartial was more accurate. Never before had his father gone out of his way to do something that was spiteful to his son - or atleast, Max was under the impression that he hadn't. It didn't come off as if he resented his son's presence, but than again, Heaton Sr. had never gone out of his way to do something to show his affection either. Daddy & Max time consisted of crunching numbers and wine tasting functions to save-face for the growing company. When ever there was more than the average seven minute grace period in which they were in each other presences, it was almost ensured that the cellular device the offspring grew to hate would make an appearance to cut him off. The sentiments were his mother's department. Well, his mother and Aly's.

Of course, the words would never dare be spoken out loud, but Maxwell had a habit of associating the fair-haired tart to his happier times. Times when the question of whether or not some one within a fifty mile radius truly cared about him and times that didn't involve a parental unit who forgets he exists. Happy times. Long gone, happy times. But happy times indeed. This didn't mean that he wanted them back, though, Max reassured himself, as he shifted to resituate his back against the side of her cubicle. Some things were better off in the past - his old life, his mother, and his feelings for Alyson Kent all the same. After all, he wouldn't be the same man he was today if they had all stuck around. A textbook narcissist couldn't be having that, now could he.

Still, he thought to himself, the smile on his lips growing a little stronger as he could feel the scar in his cheek pinch in...it didn't explain why back when he was five years old, when ever he would see her he had the urge to flail and wave. And how twenty years later, that urge still hadn't subsided.

"Pleased? Yes, well...about that unfinished business..." There was a soft laugh from his thick lips as he looked at her blue eyes. She had taken the bait. Of course she would. He knew she would, but there was always something so gratifying about predicting people. It was time to have some fun with it. "Funny story, actually. Truly, humorous. So, I leave Lampton, right? Unfinished business left, well, unfinished obviously. Yet, silly me. I thought it would be left unfinished, I mean, obviously, I can't just assume that business would sit still of course with out me. But - and this is the funny part - all of the hard work I had put into letting myself take part in this business, this risky, beautiful, satisfying business...well, there was no business at all!" He dropped his jaw for theatrical emphasis, and continued, "My business partner wasn't even the one to tell me that business was compromised. It was actually my father's mother's maid. Funny. Right?

"I had high hopes for this venture, too..." Shaking his head in disappointment, he paused to stare longingly at the ground. Deep down in his bones, he didn't like how true the stare felt, but it was a small price to pay when it came to pushing Ms. Kent's buttons. She was getting married to his cousin after all. And with the stunts Aly pulled between telling her father she he forced himself upon her to showing up on his doorstep crying in his arms, Max could confidently say that she deserved it. "Good thing we never got married in elementary school, then, eh?" As if nothing had happened, he pulled a smile back onto his thick lips when she spoke of cuddling, "We would have never worked out. I'm not much of a /snuggler/."

[alyson sophia kent]

Fuck. Shit fuck fuckity shit fuck. He knew. He knew. He had to. There was really no other explanation for his comments about the business being no longer an option for him. Alyson had gone and taken it off the table by letting Finn put a ring on her finger. He’d had no qualms conducting his business with Alyson when she was just dating his cousin. Now though, it seemed like a different story. Who knew Max Heaton had a line he wouldn’t cross? Alyson sure had no idea she’d gone and made herself completely off-limits to the man now standing in front of her.

A sudden nervous chill was sent down the girl’s spine. What was she supposed to do now? Deny it? Come clean? Either way he knew and he did not find out from Alyson and he was clearly miffed. Cheeks flushed a dark colour and she shifted nervously in her chair. He was right. She should not have let him find out like that. He was one of her best fucking friends and she hadn’t even bothered to track him down and tell him herself. It wouldn’t have been that hard, either. She knew people who were still in contact with him. She had just been scared. A coward.

Telling Max made it real. Made it not just some little fantasy. It also made her reservations real. She knew the type of person Max was, and knew he would not take something like that casually. He was never one to keep his thoughts and opinions to himself. Why she knew he would not come out and say ‘don’t marry him, be with me’, she knew he’d make his distaste for the situation very clear to her. And Well, Alyson Kent just didn’t think she could deal with that. Which made her a rather selfish person, didn’t it? Thinking only of herself, and not how Max would feel when he found out.

In her defence, she really had not expected him to show up in the month leading up to the Wedding. Had she known, she may have considered making an effort to tell him. Maybe. Biting the inside of her lip, Alyson felt the all too well familiar feeling of tears swell up behind her eyes. Great. Just bloody great. She was going to cry in front of him. That was bleedin’ fantastic. Cursing herself, she stood up. Cheeks still flushed a dark pink. “Well..” She started, her tone defensive, and perhaps a little defiant. “Well..” She repeated. Words not exactly flowing.

“It’s not as though I owe you anything.” She said carefully, working at keeping her emotions in. “You don’t have a claim over me... You didn’t even..” She paused, feeling herself venturing into dangerous territory. “It’s not like you made even the smallest bit of effort to try and have the claim you could have had on me either. We—And then you just left my life. What? Did you think i’d just sit and wait for you? Ha!” by now the tears were dribbling from her eyes, but Alyson ignored them. Stepping over to him with a fierce set look in her eyes. “I’m marrying Finley Heaton.” She told him, taking a step closer and lowering her voice. Eyes still set in anger. “And there is not a single thing you can do to stop me..” It was like a dare, really... I dare you to say what we both feel and stop me...

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[maxwell david heaton]

Well...

From the first splutter, the man's emotions had found itself splitting into an unnatural duality A duality that he was sure could have torn any other mortal man in two. There was a dangerously satisfying sensation that shot through him as he watched the color drain in her all ready pale complexion, Max fully knowing that his message had done everything and more that it was intended for. Upsetting the innocent was a hobby, of course. Than again, Alyson was far from an innocent. His eyes flicked to her lips. The thought of her hot vanilla tasting breath after their first real sexual encounter at Whippies four years prior was still something that plagued him, his tongue pressing against the back of his lips with a smile as she let loose another incoherent attempt at the English language. This blond harlot was a disease contracted in his childhood; she was an affliction that had eaten away to sit beneath his skin. Waiting, just under his skin. Waiting to attack his Heaton prowess and name and disassemble everything that he had learned to be.

The first tears were forming. This should have been heaven.

The discrepancy on whether the Heaton heir stored a heart in it's chest or a black hole was usually thanks to moments like these. Moments where he had torn a person down, lit them on fire, and danced in their ashes. Nothing in the world was more satisfying. Not even love. It had been a topic of inward discussion on many of occasions with his bottle of Jack Daniels whether or not this thing called love truly, truly was necessary. After all, if between copious amounts of women and the years of his youth spent reaching out had left him empty handed - love was obviously just a minor, superfluous perk that he had successfully (and thankfully dodged). How else would he have turned out so...so, flawless. Any one else would have just set him back on his progress. Especially if he had succumbed to this little harlots level. Her lips seemed like an avenue that, once indulged, would be very hard to escape from. A succubbus in Lampton, a harpish disease. What could possibly have been the bane of his existence was crying, yet for some ungodly reason...he couldn't find elation.

As the first tear actually made it's way down her cheek, he felt his words drop down his throat in the same tempo. She was marrying Finn Heaton. She didn't owe him anything. And he couldn't do a single thing to stop her. Max shut his eyes, his limbs feeling heavy and down trodden as he pushed himself off of the wall to instinctively fill the small space between them as she approached. "Or maybe..." His words were involuntarily spoken, voice soft and barely audible as if a lover speaking in bed, his hand resting itself on the woman's arm, tracing her foreign feeling, yet refreshing skin all the way up to her neck, "You just didn't invite me, because you know I'm the only man who could." Their proximity was too close to be casual, her breasts pressing softly against his chest as his lips brushed softly against her ear as he spoke. He had been here before - this place against her body, the scent of her hair. His heart skipped a beat. It felt like home.

"Alyson," Her name seemed to soft and warm in this setting, a harsh contrast to it's prior usage packed with spite. It rolled of his tongue as if a romantic plea for her to reconsider her choices, his own brow furrowing as the pain of the reality in the situation sank in. Hooking up with a woman when is merely dating some one is one thing...but getting married? Maxwell almost felt dirty as his lips felt the all too familiar urge to sink them against some part of her promising flesh. Marriage was sacred - a lesson his mother had taught him prior to her death when learning of his father's infidelity. Marriage was a commitment. It was with this thought that his other hand had found it's way to her, resting on her back in a consoling manner as his lips continued to conjure sentences with out his permission, "When you left my doorstep that night for Finn, I left Lampton. I can not claim what is not fully mine."

It almost hurt to say it out loud, almost as much as her marrying Finn. The thought of her sitting around and waiting for him was out of the question. But the thought of her at least leaving him as a viable option wasn't. It was a shaming thought looking back now to had assumed that she had felt the same that night that she had decided to show up at his door so many years ago. Shaming to think that he was the only one that had kept it in his mind after all this time as if it had meant something. He could feel his cheeks begin to turn pink from embarrassment, or anger, or hurt, or what it was and with out much thought of anything besides his own ambitions, Max did the only thing that he had thought about doing since then. He kissed her. Softly. Slowly. And lingering. His lips had found themselves against her soft cheek, his body pressing a little harder up against her own to savor to the moment. After all, after what was happening. It would have to last him a life time.

It seemed like an hour--no, a millisecond--before Max had retreated, his hands dropping from her body along with his lips, stepping away from her to leave her on her own. The taste of her tears were salty and slightly satisfying as his blue eyes searched her face for some reaction other than the addition of more waterworks. Some kind of a sign as to how she felt or what she wanted to do. It was pathetic. It was hopeless. It was...something out of character and something that needed to be stopped if he was ever going to stop these nonsensical urges that came along with having the disease called "Alyson Sophia Kent." He could feel his muscles tense, his heart rate accelerate. He sighed, adjusted his neck tie and vest, then sunk his hands into his hair to prepare himself for the words that came out of his mouth next. The necessary words that would keep this moment from turning into the same emotional train wreck that happened so many nights ago before he went to college. "And for the record, Alyson," his voice was firm, hard, and too cold to be considered natural, "I was talking about Gwen and Wesley."

It was a lie that he would hope stuck. For the sake of himself. And for the sake of leaving their relationship stagnant, the way it should be.

[alyson sophia kent]

There was a reason why distance was kept. She couldn’t be this close to him and still keep her head. They’d barely touched and it was already swimming. Murky waters filling her mind. Making it impossible to think beyond the moment and her desires. She felt her legs go weak. Cursing the affect his physical presence could have on her. It was fine when they were further apart. She could deal with it all then. It was when she got closer to him. That’s when things started to get much harder to handle. The thing was, in this particular instinct, she only had herself to blame. She had advanced on him. Sure, he had closed the gap. He was letting his hand move up her arm, to her neck. He was talking so close to her ear it hurt. She had started it though.. If she’d had kept her distance...

For balance. That was what she was telling herself. Her legs couldn’t keep her up on their own anymore. They needed help. One hand moved to his upper arm, balling up the fabric in her fist. The other found home against his hip. Home. Home. Max was right. It was like coming home. Just like coming home after being so far away. The sensation made her want to cry. This time though, for pleasant reasons. She honestly felt as though this was what her body had been waiting for. The chance to fit perfectly with Max’s once more. Even if it was just only once more. Her skin, her shape, it would savour it. Store it away in her memory like a treasured moment. Sacred.

The truth in his words was too much for Alyson. She bit the inside of her lip to stop from crying out. It was true. Inviting Max to the wedding was asking him to stop it from going ahead. It was a cry out to him to try and stop her. To try and do what he should have done all those years ago! And there it was. The small kernel of truth that had dictated their interactions since the first sexual encounter when she had run from him. He had told her to run. So she had. But he shouldn’t have. He should have taken her face in his hands and begged her to stay with him. Twice now though, he had willingly sent her back to the arms of the other man. Twice now he had not asked her to stay.

Before the words of response could form on her lips, something else found them. And by them it really meant the corner, right by her cheek. Even that though, was sending Alyson into a tail-spin. It was no more sexual then the way you kissed a grandmother, but for Alyson it felt completely charged; powerful. Like something real was happening. She was too scared to extend his offer and nudge his lips along so they were planted firmly on her own, but she embarrassed the moment none the less. The hand on his hip travelled up; across any part of chest that wasn’t covered by her own, to his cheek. Finger tips stroking the skin on slow, sultry movements. Her other hand gripping tighter to his arm and shirt. She wanted more. Oh so much more and yet, at the same time was perfectly satisfied with what she had. How was it that he could ignite such opposite feelings in her?

And then, all at once it was gone. He had stepped back. His flesh slipping away. Leaving her fingers groping around in the air for a moment before she let her arms fall. Blue eyes closed, breathing fast. She could still feel the heat of his lips. The smell of his breath. Oh god how she wanted it again. How her body ached without it. How it felt empty and incomplete; He made her whole. And she needed it. He couldn’t. He wasn’t going to do this to her again. She couldn’t take it. Not a third time. Opening her eyes, she set her gaze on Max. Jaw set. “I don’t give a bloody care who you are going to pretend you meant..” She murmured, her voice rough. “You are not going to do this to me. Not again..” She quickly closed the gap between them. Both hands finding his chest. Her lips pressing to his ear softly as she spoke. “Don’t. Don’t send me away.. Into the arms of another man..”

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