-Enraptured-

-Hello, my awesome readers. Here I am, writing another Maze Runner fic. Yes, I know, it's an OC story, sorry people. But I just loved these characters so much that I needed to write something else for them. I hope you enjoy it and leave a review to let me know if you did :)

2manyOTPs, this one's for you ;)-

"When you wake up, cuz your bed is feeling cold,

and you reach out, cuz you want someone to hold,

you will see

what you need..."

–Need, by Gavin Degraw

1. Get up.

2. Go to work.

3. Go home.

4. Stop thinking about him.

5. Stop thinking about him.

6. God, please, let me stop thinking about him.

Though he tried to stick to his To-Do list, Max never seemed to get those last ones done.

-o-o-o-

Working in a restaurant wasn't really that bad.

The pay was good, the customers were happy, and the atmosphere, though busy, was enjoyable. All in all, a pretty good job. Max didn't mind it one bit.

Max worked at a large, glowing restaurant in Glade City, called Starstruck. It certainly lived up to the name. It was one of the most successful restaurants in the entire, gleaming expanse of the city, which was saying something. Glade City was a place of towering buildings, businesses, and apartments. People flocked there to see the elegantly ebony Wicked Inc. skyscraper, or the lush greenness of Haven Park at the center of the city. They loved the cute little shops that had sprung up along the streets, and the much bigger buildings of the large businesses. Overall, Glade City was the place to be if you wanted to see the best of the best.

But Max's life in the city centered around one thing and one thing only: cooking. Which was why he absolutely loved his job at Starstruck. Starstruck was a large building, painted softest gold on the outside and warmer colors on the inside. A spray of black stars dotted the wall around the spidery logo on the front doors. It was a place of music and food and light. Orange lamps hung from the walls. The furniture was elegant and a dark contrast to the golden light everywhere. And at the very back, a raised section of floor held a gorgeous piano. Low, jazz-like notes glided through the air constantly, played by a pianist (or, um, used to be played anyway. Their pianist had recently had to leave and so they were left to search for someone else as a replacement.)

Starstruck was a place of beauty, a place to enjoy yourself, to even fall in love. (You may remember a scene there, when the old pianist looked up to see a black-haired boy dancing slowly with a stunning blonde, moments before a certain proposal took place outside.) Well, Max hoped it was a place to fall in love anyway. Hoped that maybe he would fall in love.

Anything to get himself to stop thinking of him.

-o-o-o-

"MAX! WHY IS THERE A FIRE IN HERE?!"

Max glanced up from where he'd been attempting to grab a jar of spice from a cabinet. "Fire?" he echoed in alarm. His eyes scanned the kitchen he knew better than his own home: steel appliances, stovetops crowded with sizzling, steaming food, ovens, the sounds of chopping and stirring and raised voices. He couldn't find the fire at first. Until he spotted the flames leaping from another cook's pan. He rolled his eyes with a sigh. "That's SUPPOSED to be on fire, Fry!" he called back to the head chef/owner.

The head chef, a stocky, rather comical man nicknamed Frypan, planted his hands on his hips. His hazel eyes flicked to the fiery pan, then the cook handling it carefully. "Oh," he sniffed awkwardly. "I knew that."

Max gave him a disbelieving look, a smirk pulling his mouth up. "Sure you did."

"Aw, get back to work, ya shank," Frypan returned. But there was amusement in his voice. Frypan had known Max from high school, and the two had been friends since he'd started working here.

"Yes, sir," Max drawled teasingly in reply. He turned back to the dish he was preparing, sinking into the familiar rhythm of the kitchen. It was always chaotic and a bit hellish, but in a good way. The way that sent fire into your veins and made you want to work, want to make something. Max loved it.

That night was busy, but not as busy as other nights had been in the past. It was getting late after all. People were heading home, and families were bustling their children out the doors of the restaurant. It was just about time to start closing everything up. Once the usual hectic rush of the kitchen had finally died down, Max could make his way out into the main part of the restaurant. Frypan had mentioned that he wanted to talk to Max after work, and to meet him here. Max wasn't sure what it was about and he was a little curious. He paused by one of the tables to wait. The restaurant looked strange and empty with no one in it. As he stood patiently, he shrugged out of his white jacket, instead wearing only a T-shirt. He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. He didn't like quiet, lonely moments like this. They made him think of—

"Hey, there he is!" Frypan's loud voice made Max jump out of his thoughts. He looked up to see the head chef striding to him, arms spread in welcome. A wide smile split his face. "Max! I'm happy you waited for me, because there's someone here I want you to meet."

Max groaned at that. "Fry, I swear to God, if you're trying to set me up with some guy you found..." he trailed off in despair. Frypan's attempts at matchmaking royally sucked.

Frypan pointed at him sternly. "Hey, I can a shucking WONDERFUL matchmaker. It's not my fault that you happen to be gay and incompatible with EVERY MEMBER OF THE MALE SPECIES."

"Wow, way to hurt my feelings," Max pouted in feigned hurt. He placed a hand over his chest. "You just broke my heart, Fry."

"Yeah, yeah, go on and whine then," Frypan quipped, grinning widely. "Next time, don't come crawling to me when you wanna find a new man, okay? I have enough problems with my own relationship."

Max snorted. "WHAT relationship?"

"Shut up, I happen to be in a very happy relationship."

"Being emotionally attached to food doesn't count as a relationship."

"Okay, you know what?" Frypan chuckled at Max, tossing his hands up in resignation. "Enough of the relationship-talk. I still have to introduce you to our newest employee and he's probably wondering why I'm making him wait."

Max blinked, surprised. New employee? Surely they didn't need any more; the kitchen was full enough and they had plenty of waiters and waitresses. What else—Ohhhhh. Right. Max broke into a delighted smile. "What, you mean you found a new pianist?"

"Damn right I did," Frypan replied proudly. He puffed out his chest like he'd just accomplished something incredible. "He's pretty good, too. Can't wait to start work."

"Great!" Then Max cocked his head confusedly. "Wait, so why's he showing up here so late? We're already closing up today."

Frypan shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, he said he'd just finished school in New York," he explained slowly, "and apparently this was the earliest he could get here. He starts working tomorrow, of course, but I told him he could come check out the place if he wanted." Then something like a knowing gleam lit in his gaze. "And uh, when I mentioned you worked here...he wanted to see you."

Max's brow furrowed in puzzlement. Some new pianist wanted to see HIM? Why? "Me?" he asked aloud. "Why would he want to see me?"

Frypan's lips curled up into a smirk. He cleared his throat and threw a casual glance over his shoulder. He seemed satisfied with whatever he saw, because when he turned back to Max, his smirk was even wider. "Welllll," he began teasingly, "I actually think you might already know each other..." And with that, he stepped aside. And revealed the man just now walking into view from the front entrance of the restaurant. The figure was gazing around in faint awe at the lovely, arcing walls, but when he spotted Max, he halted.

Max felt like his breath had been stolen from his lungs. He could only stare. No. This couldn't be real. The person who'd been plaguing his thoughts every day since high school couldn't really be standing in front of him. The person he'd imagined walking in here so many times. The person he dreamed about. He tried to take a breath and it was shaky. His heartbeat stuttered.

"Max?" The figure took a couple steps forward, his eyes widening in shock. Then the shock faded into happiness. "I can't believe it's really you. It's been...wow, it's been...five years since I saw you."

Max felt his pulse jump at the sound of that voice. "Brian..."

The man, Brian, smiled and slung his thumbs in his front pockets. "Yeah, it's me," he replied warmly. "Same as when you last saw me."

"I can't believe this." Max shook his head, but a broad grin was curving his lips. He couldn't help the joy that burst inside of him like fireworks after the initial shock of seeing Brian. Brian. His best friend. His truest, closest friend. The boy he'd dated for four years in high school. Four of the best years of his life.

Frypan was glancing between them as though he expected them to start making out right then. "Aren't you glad I found this shank?" he asked Max, stepping up to Brian and clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Knew you two would know each other. I remember you were pretty close in high school. And I hit the jackpot when I found out this kid just got outta music school," he added, pointing his thumb at Brian.

Brian had blushed at the words "pretty close," and he lowered his gaze in that bashful way he did when he was embarrassed. Max couldn't take his eyes off of him. Brian was wrong; he wasn't the same as when Max last saw him. That Brian was short and boyishly cute, with floppy hair and a bright smile. This Brian was...gorgeous. He was taller, of course, and Jesus, he'd filled out. His shoulders were broader, and the sleeves of his black shirt showed off the curving muscle of his biceps. His wavy hair was long enough to fall into his eyes, and it was so dark, it was nearly black. And his eyes were like leaves in autumn. Max could drown in them.

"Yep," Frypan went on, nodding importantly. "I'm pretty good at finding quality employees, if I do say so myself."

Brian cast a glance up at the ceiling. "Normally I'd disagree with you, but this time you're talking about me, so I'll let it go," he joked.

"Good to know you still got your sense of humor, shuckface," Frypan flashed back.

Brian just laughed in reply. When his gaze turned to Max again, it was glowing cheerfully. Max ignored the way his stomach lit up with butterflies.

Frypan suddenly clapped his hands together, almost making Max jump. "Well, Brian, you wanna try it out?" he asked, and gestured with a hand at the piano.

Brian's eyebrows rose. "Right now?" he asked uncertainly. "Aren't you about to lock up?"

Frypan flapped a hand dismissively. "Eh, Max can lock up for me. He's done it dozens of times. Right, Max?"

"Oh, um." Max forced some confidence into his voice; Brian had seemed to steal it all from him. "Sure, no problem. Guess that means I'm staying late too."

"Guess you're right," Frypan agreed with a wink.

"Don't worry, Max," Brian put in assuringly. "I won't play too much. Maybe ten minutes, so you can get out of here."

"It's fine." Max smiled, putting all his fondness into it. "Play as much as you want."

Frypan seemed satisfied with the whole situation, and the fact that he'd made it happen. That chef could certainly be a bit cocky sometimes, but he was mostly just a good-humored cook who loved having fun. Max had always enjoyed working for him. He watched as Frypan exchanged his goodbyes with Brian, waved brightly to Max, and then practically bounced his way to the doors, happy the long night was over. Part of Max longed to be able to go home too. But a bigger part of him wanted to stay wherever Brian was as long as he could.

You see, it wasn't that Brian and Max had broken up because something had gone wrong. Nothing had gone wrong. They'd started dating their freshman year at Glade High and had been inseparable throughout high school. It had always been something like a crush at first, nothing serious. But as it went on and they grew older, it turned entirely different. They weren't some school couple that could break up and move on. They were in love. They went everywhere together, holding hands like in the sappy movies, stealing kisses behind doors, laughing at secret jokes only they found funny. Max had never imagined his future without Brian. But then Brian was accepted into a prestigious music school in New York, while Max was planning on going to culinary school in Glade City. The distance and time between them was too much. They both agreed that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work out and it might be best to go their separate ways. And so, they had. That was about five years ago. They should've been fine.

Max wasn't fine.

He was watching Brian make his way to the sleek, ebony piano, watching every line of muscle in the other man's body, and he knew he was far from fine.

Brian sat on the bench in front of the instrument and ran his fingertips reverently over the keys. "Wow, this piano is just...beautiful," he commented. A tinge of sheepishness entered his words, as though he wasn't used to saying the word "beautiful" that much. "Do you know where Frypan got it from?"

"I'm not sure," Max replied, folding his arms to lean on the piano and look down at Brian. "He said he got it from a friend when he first opened the place. It's been here ever since."

"People like it?" Brian asked.

Max chuckled. "Of course. Otherwise, you wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"You have a point there." Brian's voice was light with humor and he flashed Max a brief, shining smile. Then he turned back to the black-and-white keys before him. Pausing to shove his sleeves up to his elbows, he positioned his hands over the instrument. His head was cocked, as though trying to think of a song to play.

"What're you gonna play?" Max asked aloud, intrigued. He'd never heard Brian play piano before; that was something special and sacred that the musician kept to himself.

Brian shrugged with one shoulder indecisively. "I dunno..." he trailed off into thought. Absently, his fingers picked out part of some, upbeat song. It was a bouncing, cheery tune, something you expect to hear from pianists in old movies. It sounded horribly complicated, yet Brian's fingers danced over the keys with ease.

"Shuck, Brian," Max remarked, watching in faint awe. "You're really good."

Brian's mouth curved into a half-grin, acknowledging the compliment. He never glanced up from the piano once. After a couple more seconds, he abruptly switched a different song. It was much much slower, his fingertips gliding from one end of the piano to the other. It was music that sank into a person's soul, urged them to lose themselves in it. Heartbreaking and exquisitely beautiful, it sounded like a love song of some sort.

Max stared, enraptured. It was just so lovely, he couldn't believe that Brian was actually making it. His green gaze flicked down to see how Brian's slim, musician's fingers pressed into the keys. Then he looked at the way Brian's eyelids lowered when he played, showing crescents of amber irises beneath. A stray curl of dark hair slipped down near his right eye, unnoticed. Max felt himself start to melt.

When Brian finished the song, he let the final note hang in the air for a moment. It was suspended in the room, nearly tangible, before fading into nothingness. Letting out a breath, he looked up at Max questioningly.

Max continued to gape in shock. He tried to snap out of it and find words. "Brian, you're...incredible."

Brian gave a little, nervous laugh, a blush rising in his cheeks. "Thank you," he replied sincerely. "I thought you'd like—"

He was stopped when Max suddenly, inexplicably, reached out and brushed that lock of hair out of Brian's face. Max didn't know how he'd ended up there, sitting on the bench next to Brian, but that was where he was. His fingertips lingered too long near Brian's ear. Brian was watching him, lips parting slightly in surprise. A flicker of something passed over his face. "Max, I..."

A bolt of panic fired into Max's heart. He snatched his hand away. "God, I—Sorry," he stammered quickly. He knew his face was burning, and his pulse was racing, and he couldn't look at Brian anymore. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing."

Brian's gaze was fixed on the piano again. He appeared to be fighting with himself. "It's—it's fine," he managed. "I just...wasn't expecting it, that's all."

Please, let's drop the subject now, Max thought pleadingly. Please, please, please.

He wanted to forget that it ever happened.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted to pin Brian against the piano and kiss him until he forgot his own name.

He shook his head to clear it of these thoughts. "Well...I guess I'd better lock up now," he said quietly. He kept studying his shoes, shoulders hunched forward in shame. How had things gotten so awful so quickly?

Brian was silent for a minute. Then he let out a long breath. "Yeah. Okay."

-o-o-o-

Max didn't turn on any lights when he got home, save for a single lamp in the living room. It glowed softly from its coffee table, illuminating the otherwise-darkened walls. Stars winked from a pitch-black sky outside. He didn't want to look at them. He trudged through the rooms, dragging his feet over the floor. In his bedroom, he changed out of his work clothes and into pj's, which for him were just black pj bottoms and an old, blue track team tee. Then he made his sluggish way back to the living room and crashed backward onto the couch. He sat there briefly, running his hands back through his mussed, auburn hair. Signing, he snagged the remote off a table and flicked on the TV.

He must've searched through a dozen channels before the screen turned into a blurry rainbow of colors. Startled, he realized there were tears escaping down his cheeks. "Shuck it," he muttered, wiping at his face with one arm. "It's not like he came back for you; what were you expecting?" Saying it out loud just made it that much worse. The TV clicked off. And the remote hit the wall next to it with a hard snapping sound before clattering to the floor.

Max buried his face in his hands, a single, broken sob leaving his chest. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was alone every goddamn night, it wasn't fair that he'd lived five wasted years, it wasn't fair that Brian was back and as far away as ever. It hurt so bad, his heart breaking all over again. He remembered those first nights without anyone, when he'd struggled to fall asleep, missing someone else to hold him. He'd fought every single day to forget what it felt like to fall in love and have it ripped away from him. He hated every agonizing part of it. And now Brian was here and he was bringing all of that with him, and he seemed just FINE. He'd gotten over Max.

Max wasn't stupid. He'd never gotten over Brian.

His body trembled as he struggled to control his tears. I love you, he thought uselessly, and it left him in a voiceless whisper. I love you, and I've always loved you, and you've ruined me because I can never love anyone else again. He sobbed again, harder this time, and his chest ached with it.

A sudden knock from his front door made him glance up. Sniffling like a little kid would after crying, he dragged his hands over his face. He hoped he could erase the last of his tears before he saw whoever was at the other side of the door. Pushing up off the couch, he padded past the open kitchen, to where the front door was. His hand closed on the knob and he pulled it open. His heart stopped.

Brian was standing in front of him, hugging himself in the chilly night air, still wearing only a shirt and jeans. His eyes rose from the ground when the door opened and fixed on Max's face. His shoulders slumped, and an expression of sadness and raw, aching want flashed over his face.

Max stuttered in disbelief. "B—Brian?"

"Max." Brian seized the front of Max's shirt before he could react, and hauled him forward until their mouths connected.

Max felt as though a lightning bolt hit him. His mind reeled and he burned with the unasked question: did this mean that Brian still...?

But he didn't ask. He just flung his arms around Brian, pressing their bodies flush against each other. He was kissing like he'd been starving for this, all desperate, breathless heat and the sweet taste that could only be Brian. It was so much softer than he remembered. Brian released a low, pleading sound and pushed Max back into the house. They didn't break the kiss as Brian kicked the door shut with his heel and backed Max up against a wall.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Max was aware that he was wearing pj's and that maybe he should be a little embarrassed. But he was too drunk with Brian to care. He only wanted THIS; one hand gripping low on Brian's hip, the other sunk deep in his silken hair, Brian's mouth tasting of sugar and honey and passion. Max couldn't get enough. The soft curve of Brian's bottom lip was too tempting and Max caught it between his teeth. Brian's gasp met his ears and made him want to hear more from him. Brian hastily pushed his hands up under Max's shirt. His palms slid over the hard muscle of his stomach, memorizing every ripple of skin. When his fingers splayed over Max's chest, Max let out a moan. The feel of Brian's skin on his was utterly intoxicating.

Brian broke away first, fighting for air. "Max," he gasped out, his gaze filled with desire and some other, deeper emotion. "God, I didn't know..."

Max lifted his hands, cradling Brian's jaw. "What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, and the name left him as easily as it had years ago.

Brian's eyes glistened. "I'm sorry," he blurted out brokenly. "I'm sorry I made you think I didn't want you anymore, and I'm sorry I left. I never forgot you, Max, not once. After all these years, I'm still—I'm still in love with you." He shivered at the confession and continued in a shakier voice. "And I know that you might want to move on, but I swear, if you give me a chance, I'll do everything I can to make you happy. You mean so much to me, more than you'll ever know. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He didn't finish. He nuzzled into the curve of Max's neck and rested his head there, trembly, arms wrapping around Max's waist.

Max felt the joy light up inside of him, enough to nearly make him cry all over again. He looped his arms around Brian's shoulders and hugged him close. Inhaling Brian's wonderful scent of burning wood and autumn, he nosed his hair affectionately. "Oh, Brian," he whispered. "My life's been...been hell without you. I couldn't move on, even if I wanted to. I love you."

Brian made a sound that was close to a sob. "I love you, too," he murmured hoarsely. "God, so much." He stayed there, his chin on Max's shoulder. He touched his lips once to Max's neck.

Max simply closed his eyes, holding the love of his life, finally.

And this time, there was no way he would ever let him go.

-PS: I was thinking of making this a two-part story, and the second part would be the scene that takes place AFTER this one: Max and Brian together for the first night in five years (it would be rated M). If any of you want me to write that for you, let me know in a review and I'd be glad to make it happen ;)