When Sanders goes for a run, he likes to be alone.

And it's bad enough that Maxon took his shower time. Now he wants to run with him.

"My early training's every MWF," he says brightly, jogging alongside him. "So I can run with you every TTH. But let's keep our shower arrangement, I think that works for everyone."

Sanders doesn't give him a response. He keeps running.

Maxon matches his pace. He's not fazed by Sanders's aloofness—he's still smiling. "So. Rush. Why aren't you and Cal together?"

Gee, Sanders thinks. I have no idea.

"She's cute. Smart. Hardworking. Oh, man." He laughs loudly. "You can't believe how hardworking she was. She was so conscious of her grades and shit, she always forgot to eat. But she was sleeping in class all the time."

Sanders has had enough of their high school memories. He jogs faster.

Maxon catches up with him, chuckling. "I didn't know she was in Bellevue because she didn't tell me. I always thought she'd go for a prestigious university or some shit, she was smart enough to get in. It would've been nice if I knew, though—"

"Dude." Sanders stops. He pulls his hood down and faces him. A muscle in his jaw ticks. "You have a girlfriend."

Maxon blinks. "Yeah, and I'm very much in love with that girlfriend. Don't see how that's related to Cal."

He's clueless. He's fucking clueless.

Sanders sighs. Pulls his hood up again. "Never mind."

"Okay..." Maxon is still confused, but he lets it go nonetheless. "Oh, why don't we all go out and watch a movie tonight? I can buy tickets. It'd be good to see my roommates outside of our, you know, room. House. Whatever."

"Sure," Sanders mutters. His running slows when he sees the convenience store. "Whatever. Listen. Go on ahead. I have to stop by somewhere."

"Okay!" Maxon says. He waves at him. "See you later, bro!"

Sanders gives Becks her almond milk. Tells her he loves her, but it doesn't sound the same.

It sounds like a rotten fruit ready to burst. Mess everywhere. Drowning in a deep ocean with no wetsuit, or snorkel, or mask. Falling headfirst out of a helicopter with no parachute. That's a great way to die, actually. Plummeting down to the clouds, going where the wind takes you, falling asleep in the sky.

It sounds like being terrified.

*

Sanders has a Google Sheet.

Fine. He will admit it. He has a Google Sheet with every little thing related to Becks. It's vital information. It's crucial information—he's updated it every time he learns something new, something odd, something terrible or beautiful. His memory will fail him if he doesn't write it down.

Becks knows about this. She scrunched her nose when she found out and said, "Why do you have Google Sheet about me? Why am I not surprised?"

There's information about her family members (just their names and ages and profession), school history, favorites, fears, pet peeves, likes, dislikes, and extensive paragraphs about all the times she cried and all the times Sanders wiped her tears so that there would be no repeat. Ever.

There's also the specific food she orders from each of the restaurants near their campus so Sanders doesn't have to ask.

So Sanders knows a lot of things about Becks.

Sanders knows Becks is afraid of the dark. They lost their power once and Becks screamed, clutching his arm.

He would've let her stay like that if she wasn't so scared. Their phones were out of reach, lying somewhere. Sanders sighed. "Fine. I'll save you."

He stomped his foot, and his light-up Sketchers (a gift from his mom) came to life.

Becks laughed. She laughed so hard. It was the first time Sanders made her laugh—it sounded like a cat wheezing out a hairball.

Sanders knows Becks can be...soft-hearted. He bought her a plant once and he watched her water it every day for four months.

"Four months!" Becks screeched, chasing him around the apartment.

Sanders was laughing, tripping over his feet, trying to get away.

Adan was there. She asked, "What're you talking about?"

"Nothing," Sanders says.

"That's how long you watched me water a fake plant, I'm going to strangle you, Sanders—"

"Can you even reach my neck? And I've decided to take your threats against my life as your way of flirting—whoa, hey, Becks—!"

Sanders knows Becks has Sad Days. It's when she can't go to sleep and knocks on Sanders's door, and asks if she can cuddle with him, and then she cries into his pillow and shirt. There isn't really a reason for the Sad Days. There just is. So Sanders lets her cry on his shirt until it's soaked, and he also lets her eats whatever he has in the fridge. "Did you eat my donuts?" Sanders asked, raising an eyebrow. The box was empty. His label fell off. Or it was torn off. She got rid of the evidence.

Well, one half of it. Becks had white powder on her shorts. "No," she said.

Sanders fought the urge to smile. "What's that white powder on your shorts?"

"...cocaine."

And he knows she's a little nerd. Little cute nerd with glasses and Star Wars shirts and Game of Thrones funko pops and Percy Jackson books. She forced Sanders to rewatch Avatar: The Last Airbender with her and he kept falling asleep and Becks kept waking him up, shaking him, saying, "This is an important part, Sanders, watch!" But he doesn't really care about Avatar nor does he know what the fuck's the show about (the Fire Nation attacked or some shit), but he watches Becks, tries to stay awake and act like he's interested.

And he knows she's still a little afraid of his driving. The first time, way before, when they bought the motorcycle...well, it was a good thing none of them ended up in the hospital.

"I'm a confident driver," Sanders said.

"You almost ran someone over."

"...confidently."

So Sanders knows a lot of things. He knows a lot of things, he knows more than Maxon. He probably knows a lot more about Becks than her brothers and parents.

"What would you do if I got shot?" Sanders asked, biting his pizza.

Becks's eyes darkened. "Avenge you."

He spit out the pizza. "No, you call an ambulance—"

And then Sanders knew, and he asked, sweating down to his palms, "So, um, do you like bad boys?"

Becks blinked at him. "No, not really."

"Oh, thank God."

So Sanders knows a lot of things. He knows he can be sad or annoyed ("I am very upset and there is nothing that can make me feel better.") and then Rosen will sigh and call Becks ("Please get over here. He's having a dramatization moment.") to pick him up and when he sees Becks's face, he'd be fighting the urge to smile. ("Fuck.")

But he's sad and annoyed now, and Becks can't pick him up because she's out there with fucking Maxon and they're going to watch a fucking movie.

Sanders didn't show up. He's with his teammates, and they're all playing video games. Sanders is slurping a cup of instant noodles.

"What do you mean you're not coming!" Becks hisses. "Maxon spent money on your ticket!"

Sanders puts his chopsticks down. "I'll pay him back. I can't come, I have training."

"I can literally hear your friends hollering," she says through gritted teeth. "Get your ass here right now."

Sanders wants to go. He does.

He sighs. "Don't wear fucking cargo shorts, Becks. Put on a nice shirt. Jeans, too. Don't flirt with him. This is just, you know. A chance. Maybe he'll see you less like a bro."

His best friend is silent.

"Don't get any ideas," he mutters. "I'm just busy right now. I'm not trying to help you or anything."

"Sanders."

"Hey," Maxon's voice says from the other line. "Where's Rush? Is he stuck at training?"

"Yeah, I am," Sanders says before Becks can answer. "Sorry, dude. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

"It's fine," his roommate assures him, and Sanders can hear him smiling. "We'll go without you, then. Sucks, bro!"

Sanders sighs. "Yeah. Sucks. Have fun. Tell me all about it at home. Be safe."

"Don't worry," Maxon says, chuckling. "I'll make sure Cal crosses the street safely."

"Hey!" Becks says, flustered.

"Good. Have fun." Sanders hangs up. Tosses his phone on the table. Rosen grabs him by the neck so they can play against each other.

When he gets home, Maxon's jacket is on Becks's arm. There's a faint flush on her cheeks and a gleam in her eyes as she watches Maxon tell Sanders about the movie.

Flushed. Bright-eyed.

That's what he looks like when he looks at Becks. Stupid.

So, so, so stupid.

And then Becks comes home one day from hanging out with Adan. There's a small plastic bag dangling from her fingers. Maxon is on her in a second, teasing, "Is that food again? It is, isn't it? Can I have some? I'm hungry."

Sanders has figured out why Maxon finds it fun to tease Becks. When he's teasing, Becks's face pulls up in this half-scowl, half-pouty, half-irritated look, and it's—it's so like Becks, there's nothing more like Becks except when she's half-asleep, too, and—and Sanders has always chased that look. He's—he's been chasing that look since the insides of his heart shuffled around to make space, make room for this new person even though she tried to kill him when they first met, since Becks told him she took up boxing because she has one older brother who can rock six-inch heels and dresses and a younger brother who has bony little wrists and terrible haircut, with acne scars and can barely get a sentence out without stammering.

Becks holds the bag out of his reach, and Maxon goes after it, laughing while Becks is yelling at him to stop, and Maxon almost stumbles over her, and Becks yelps. "Shit, sorry, Cal. I keep forgetting how small you are sometimes."

"I'm small but I be knowing," Becks huffs.

"You don't be knowing what the top shelf looks like," Maxon counters, snorting, and then Becks is grabbing his neck in a chokehold.

Later, Sanders finds, the bag has hand cream. Chapstick. Makeup. Some clips.

And then Becks is standing on a chair when Maxon and Sanders come home from training, and Maxon chuckles. "What, can't reach something? Want me to get something up there for you?"

"What are you doing, babe?" Sanders asks, blinking.

"I live here," she says. "I can do whatever I want."

Sanders sighs. "Where's the spider?"

"Under the table, please get it."

"I got it!" Maxon grabs it without a second thought before Sanders can move. He brings it closer to her, and Becks screams.

He takes it out, nonetheless. Becks thanks him quietly, cheeks flushed.

Sanders plays his game. His brother can't come because he has school, but he asks him to tell Becks: "Tell her I said hi," he muttered shyly. Sanders smacked him behind his head.

But Becks isn't even watching. Every time the ball is on the other court, Sanders steals a glance at the bleachers, and Becks isn't even—she's looking at Maxon. Maxon is cheering for him.

Sanders serves the ball. It hits someone's face.

Sometimes, they go out to visit a stall near their apartment to get these little donuts on a stick. Maxon forces Becks to come with him. He buys her an entire bag.

Sometimes, Maxon hides her eyeglasses so she can walk around the apartment half-blind. He puts on this ridiculous, innocent act—it makes Sanders sick.

"Hey," he says, one Thursday morning on their run. "When's Cal's next badminton match? I haven't watched her play. I didn't even know she was good at badminton."

"Not sure," Sanders says.

"Huh," the soccer player muses. "It's weird that you don't know something about Cal."

Sanders clenches his jaw.

There are a lot of things Sanders doesn't know yet about Becks. He's still learning. He wants to learn more. He wants to know more.

But he hates that he didn't know about Maxon. Becks has never mentioned him—aside from when she was waiting for his birthday greeting, and it never came (Sanders will have to beat up Maxon for that). He hates that he didn't know about him. That's—that will take up space in his Google Sheet. (Not now, though. He can't bear to see his name on there, under the 'likes' column.)

Sanders doesn't respond to that and asks, "How long have you and Kaitlyn been together?"

Maxon looks surprised at the question, but he answers, "Six...seven years? I don't know. I was with her when I was still dumb and young and trying to grow out a beard."

Sanders can't imagine Maxon with a beard. He's too...baby-looking. Young-looking? He looks like a puppy. "And Becks? You said you were seated beside each other for two years."

He grins. "Yeah."

"How do you do that?"

He blinks and furrows his eyebrows. "Do what?"

"Make people like you," Sanders says. "Why are you so—why do you look like a fucking puppy, man?"

Maxon doesn't know what to say. Maybe that's why Becks likes him. He's a puppy.

Sanders runs faster and drops by the convenience store.