It's not what he expects Brian to say. Then again, he doesn't know what the fuck he's expecting. He guesses there's a part of him that remembers every time he fucked up at Princeton, every lecture he got back home, even though there's nothing to make him think this'll be anything like that.

In some ways, he wishes Brian had freaked out on him. That might be easier.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I don't..." Max starts, but it feels like bullshit, because he knows it's not enough. Because he doesn't know how he spent the past few days and doesn't even know who he could ask about it.

Max pauses again. There's a moment where he thinks about joining Brian on the couch, but thinks better of it, keeping his distance on the other side of the living room.

"I can't keep fucking doing this."