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There weren’t a lot of places Reggie could turn too. Sure, there was Luke’s place, or Alex’s... or even Bobby’s if he was desperate enough, but it was late. It was late, and he usually called before showing up at any of his friend’s houses. It was a level of respect to both his friends and their parents.
It was too late to be making phone calls to people’s houses, even if he did have a phone to call someone with—which he certainly didn’t. Pausing to make a call would’ve been the stupidest move Reggie could’ve pulled.
He’d disappeared quickly out his bedroom window, still reeling from the feeling of his dad’s palm smacking across his cheek bone. There’d been blood too, Reggie’s windowsill looking more like a murder scene than that of a pristine white edge.
He wasn’t entirely sure where he was bleeding from—it had been a fight or flight situation where flight seemed like the only reasonable response. He’d turned around and hightailed it up the stairs with his father on his heels.
His dad clearly hadn’t expected Reggie to make the two story jump out the window, catching uncoordinatedly on the old tree by his window, shimmying down to the ground where he didn’t even bother to grab his bike before booking it down the street.
His dad had been watching him, lip curled in a scowl from Reggie’s bedroom window, clearly deciding the younger Peters was faster and a lot more balanced than his own alcohol riddled mind. It wasn’t worth the chase, apparently.
When Reggie deemed himself far enough away that he wasn’t sitting prey for his father, he finally let his feet catch on the pavement, breaths coming out sharp and ragged. He was exhausted. His head felt heavy, and his feet dragged, and he was a bit concerned at the lack of pain he was in.
It had been a hard hit, Reggie remembers—just from how his head had flung to the side with the uncoordinated slap. He was sure, if he looked in a mirror, or any reflective surface, he’d be bruising pretty bad already.
Reggie really didn’t understand what had happened. He’d been running on adrenaline since his father’s shouts had caught his ears.
It had started the same as every other fight. Snide remarks that turned into insults, that turned into shouts of anger, that eventually turned into a full-on screaming match.
But it had been different this time. His father had been different. Even from tucked away in his bedroom, Reggie knew something wasn’t right. His dad didn’t... sound right?
His words slurred, and things got intense far too fast from Reggie’s liking.
It was like his father had walked into the house with the sole intention of starting a fight with Reggie’s mom. Usually, it just happened from being in each other's presence, or a poorly timed comment about money, or the mortgage, but this time he was looking for it.
Reggie had shuffled from his bed, tiptoeing to his bedroom door to hear better. He continued on, pausing at the top of the stairs where he could just peek down if he shifted to the perfect angle—which he’d memorized over the years.
The shouts were loud—angry. His mom’s shrilly screech of ‘you’re drunk!’
Followed by a slur of curses Reggie could both make out and couldn’t all the same. His dad was obviously wasted, and if his voice wasn’t enough proof of that, the nearly empty bottle of scotch in his hand certainly was.
Instantly Reggie was uneasy.
Fighting, sure. It was normal for them. It was normal for him, as much as he hated it. It honestly wasn’t a day in the Peters’ household unless someone started a fight.
But they were usually sober when they interacted. They were sober, and things were usually kept pretty civilized—well, for them, at least.
The alcohol was a new addition. An unknown variable. Reggie wasn’t good at math, but he knew that wasn’t good.
It put Reggie on high alert. He didn’t have a lot of experience with intoxicated people, but from what he’d seen on television, or on movies, it wasn’t usually good.
It wasn’t until his dad reached for him mom, that Reggie finally left his safety of his hidden observation area, stumbling down the stairs two at a time to put himself between the two.
His mom had never been a particularly good mom, but she was still his mom and he loved her. He’d be damned if anything happened to her.
Reggie’s father had yelled, attention and rage being directed to Reggie now that he was in view.
The man had thrown the glass alcohol bottle at Reggie, narrowly missing his body and instead shattering against the wall, remaining alcohol bleeding down the paint and puddling on the ground, seeping under the shattered glass.
Reggie’s mother had taken that as the distraction she needed, slipping passed both the men and leaving hurriedly out the door. Reggie could barely hear her car starting and pulling away over the ringing in his ears as the shatter replayed in his head.
That hadn’t been the end of it though—his father hadn’t taken long to notice the missing person, and then his full-fledged rage was on Reggie, the remaining person.
He shot forward fast, before Reggie could even register the moment.
The hit was hard, sending Reggie stumbling backwards, into the mess of glass and scotch on the wall and floor. His dad took an intimidating step towards him once more, but tripped over his own feet, losing his balance and slamming into the side table they had decorating the hallway at the bottom of the stairs.
Trapped between the stairs leading up and his dad blocking the way down, Reggie had pushed himself up unsteadily, sprinting up the stairs and shutting himself in his bedroom, where the only escape of his room—the mess he was in—loomed over his hazy head.
Out the window.
He prayed briefly before opening his window and launching himself out, just as his father finally caught up, throwing Reggie’s bedroom door open and watching the blur of scotch-stained flannel and mussed brown hair fleeing out the window.
His landing could’ve been better, and Reggie was sure the branch he’d grasped for dear life had stabbed into his hands, but he had far more important things to be thinking about that that.
From there he’d sprinted.
His steps faltered, body begging to just sink to the ground and be left alone.
He wanted to sleep, but he really couldn’t sleep here.
He couldn’t show up at Luke’s house, or Alex’s in fear of waking up their parents. He didn’t want this to be made into something bigger than it was, and he certainly didn’t want the embarrassment of it all to flood his cheeks as he tried to explain—as he tried to come up with anything but the truth.
And, God, what if their parents caught sight of him? Saw him for what he really was? How could he face his friends ever again? He didn’t want to lose the safety of Luke’s, or Alex’s houses, and their... their normal parents.
Bobby was out of the question too. He liked the guy, of course, but he’d never show up at Bobby’s place in the state he was in. He hadn’t known the rhythm guitarist as long as the rest of the band, and Reggie still wasn’t completely sure about him—even if he was incredible on the guitar.
There was only one place he could think of to go.
The studio.
Reggie’s own personal safe haven.
The studio was nothing more than a garage at the end of someone’s driveway. An older lady, who Luke’s mother worked with, owning the place, allowing them to rent it out for considerably cheap. The woman hadn’t been in the garage once since purchasing the house, leaving it and the clutter of the previous owner's possessions untouched.
Luke’s mom had casually mentioned the trio looking for a space to practice to her, when the older lady had mentioned needing to hire someone to clear away the clutter in the garage. The woman had liked the idea, and thought putting the garage to use instead of it just sitting untouched was a perfect idea.
Luke’s mom had then suggested to the three of them—pre-Bobby— and they were quick to jump on the offer. They cleaned the place up and payed rent to use it as a practice space that was out of Luke’s basement. Reggie was sure Luke’s mother just wanted them playing elsewhere, which was fine. His parents would’ve hated them practicing near the house as well.
This was a while back, before Luke decided that the three of them, and Sunset Curve, were gonna be huge, so Luke’s mom had no problem with trying to help them out with their hobby. She didn’t quite have the same mindset anymore.
The woman who owned the garage had let them have the space for the first month for free after cleaning and organizing what was out there. After that, it was one hundred dollars a month that the three of them worked their asses off to cover between small gig, playing at the pier for pocket change, and their conjoined earnings from mowing their neighbor’s lawns and doing yard work.
But it was such a great space. Worth the rent entirely.
The old pull-out sofa bed Luke had found on the side of the rode and brought over using all three of their skateboards (Alex’s had never been used, but his parents still bought him one when they noticed Luke and Reggie both had one). None of them had been big on skateboarding, and usually stuck to their bikes for transportation. But the skateboards had come in handy with the couch, so they weren’t completely useless.
They’d set up Alex’s drums, and there were stands for both Reggie’s bass and Luke and Bobby’s guitars when the instruments happened to be there. Bags in the loft had spare clothes for when they needed them, and the bathroom was an added bonus to their little paradise.
And, on top of that, the lady owning the house didn’t have the greatest hearing, so the three of them didn’t need to worry about noise complaints, or being kicked out so long as they took care of the space.
Reggie was so incredibly thankful for the studio now. For a place to be. A bed (pull-out).
He made his way towards the studio. It was about... twenty minutes from Reggie’s house on bike, so a bit over forty-five minutes on foot.
He arrived a bit after an hour. He’d figured out early on that he wasn't in much a state to be walking, so he figured he’d made good time.
He always had the key to the garage on him, it was the one thing he never found himself misplacing, just because of the significance behind it. The promise of a quiet, safe space that Reggie would rather die than lose. His house key was left here and there, returned by neighbors, or classmates when he dropped or forgot it while fiddling with it anxiously, while the garage key barely left his pocket long enough to switch pants, or unlock the door.
It was dark in the studio, the light off, and no sound to be heard. The house above was just as dark, so Reggie made sure to keep quiet as to not disturb their landlady, even if she barely heard them when they walked up to give her each month’s rent.
Reggie scuffed his sneaker against the driveway as he dug his hand into his pocket, searching for the little bronze key.
It was there, like it always was, and he was quick to retract his hand with the little piece of metal clutched to his palm.
He fiddled with the key for a second, before stepping close to the door and finally slipping it in the lock to let himself in.
He was still so tired. His face was finally starting to hurt, and he knew, when practice flew around tomorrow, Reggie would have to have come up with a story up to par with the bruises he was sure were already deep and dark on his pale skin.
He wondered briefly if his friends would believe he’d gotten into a fight—he didn’t think they would.
Reggie creaked the door open, stepping in slowly and pulling the door shut softly behind him. He pressed his palm against the door as he clicked the lock shut, before turning and leaning against the door in exhaustion.
Reggie gave a sigh, reaching up to ran his fingers through his hair.
“Are we being robbed?” A groggy voice called from the direction of the pulled out, pull out bed. The one Reggie had failed to notice wasn’t a couch like usual when he’d first stepped in. Reggie almost jumped out of his skin, hand lifting to his chest where his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.
It was only when Reggie’s heart slowed to a normal rate as he connected the voice to Luke’s that he relaxed just a smidge.
“How many robbers do you know that actually have keys to the place they’re robbing?” a tired, sarcastic retort followed a second later. The second voice, Alex’s, also came from the direction of the bed. “Is that Reggie, or Bobby?”
“Sorry,” Reggie whispered, opening his mouth the continue, only to be cut off by Luke humming a tired reply of ‘Reggie’ to Alex’s question after just the sorry that apparently identified himself. Reggie snapped his mouth shut, before opening it once more and continuing, “I didn’t know you guys were here. I’ll... I’ll go.”
“Why would you leave?” Alex called back, sounding a little more awake as Reggie watched one of the laying figures on the bed shift up to a sitting position, hand reaching up to rub at his eye. “We were just sleeping, what’s up, Reg?”
“Nothing... I, nothing.” Reggie shook his head, even though he knew his friends probably couldn’t see him in the pitch black of the studio.
“Nothing?” Luke’s mumble filled the silence. His face was smooshed in one of the two pillows they kept stashed away for if anyone, Reggie—or, today, Luke and Alex, needed them. Besides, band sleepovers were totally a thing, and Reggie couldn’t lie and say they didn’t all crash after a late band practice together occasionally. Because they totally did. “What time is it, anyways?”
Reggie watched silently as Alex tossed the blanket off himself, then shifted tiredly so his legs were hanging off the bed. Feet planted on the cool concrete of the floor, looking as if he was getting ready to stand up.
“I don’t know,” Alex ran a hand through his own hair, “I can’t see the clock in the dark. Can you get the lights, Reggie?”
At the prompt, Reggie shifted away from the door, and the light switch as well. Light meant being able to see, and make out details. Lights meant Alex and Luke would see the bruises on his face before he’d even had a moment to think of an excuse that wasn’t Reggie being hit by his father.
“The lights will wake you up more,” Reggie muttered weakly, pulling the sleeves of his flannel down to cover his hands. They felt gross and sticky—possibly dried with blood—but it could just as easily be the scotch residue mixing with anxious palm sweat. Either way, it was uncomfortable.
“That’s kinda the point, yeah,” Alex replied. Reggie could almost see the blonde’s raised eyebrow, even in the dark.
“No, no,” Reggie frowned, hoping he didn’t sound as much like he was begging as he thought he did. “It’s alright, you guys sleep. I’ll leave. I, uh-”
“We’re up now,” Luke drawled from the bed, flopping onto his back before sitting up as Alex had done. He shook his head, bedhead even more rumpled than before, “hit the lights, man.”
“No.” Reggie refused softly, taking yet another step away from the light switch and the door. Even though he kinda wanted to just sprint out the door. Alex and Luke were faster than him though, and he’d be caught at the door he’d stupidly locked, before he could even attempt to get away.
“No?” Luke responded, voice heavy with confusion, “why not?”
Reggie racked his brain for an answer that didn’t sound completely stupid, all the while Alex finally stood up, bare feet slapping on the floor as he walked towards Reggie and the doorway, “I’ll just get them.”
Alex froze a few steps away from Reggie, eyeing him thoughtfully in the dark, “Reg... have you been drinking?”
Reggie froze too, looking down at himself, only to remember the scotch making his flannel, shirt and the ass of his jeans stick uncomfortably to his body. It was on his skin too, and Reggie was almost positive he smelt like he’d been passing time in a bar instead of in his home like he actually was— he was sure he smelt like his dad had smelt when Reggie had gotten close enough to him.
He’d gotten used to the smell by now, but he knew it totally smelt strong.
“No,” Reggie swallowed, “I wasn’t.”
The three of them were sixteen now, old enough to know the smell of alcohol from their parents, or high school parties where underage drinking was the thing to be doing if you wanted to be considered ‘cool’. They’d all tried alcohol too, one evening when Bobby had managed to swipe a medium sized bottle of vodka from his parents, as well as a singular shot glass the four of them had passed around.
Reggie was sure the bottle and glass were still hidden somewhere in the studio, since none of them had been particularly into the idea of getting wasted. Alex had called it quits at one shot, hating the taste, Reggie and Luke had followed behind after a second shot, and Bobby had screwed the cap back on with a sour look on his face after his third.
It was more to just try, in the safety of their studio and see for themselves why there was so much hype behind drinking, but Reggie really hadn’t been impressed by it. It was actually pretty gross. Left an awful taste in his mouth, and certainly didn’t give him that drunk high everyone talked about.
“Dude,” Luke called from the bed, finally starting to sound more awake, “you smell like you’ve been throwing back shots. I can smell it from here now. I thought you didn’t like booze? Where’d you even get alcohol?”
“I wasn’t,” Reggie promised, shuffling his feet anxiously. He didn’t quite like being accused of drinking. It was almost worse than them figuring out about his parents. “I... don’t.”
“Why do you smell like it then?” Alex questioned, and Reggie could see the blonde’s nose curling at the intense smell of scotch. “Where have you been?”
“I- I-” Reggie stammered as Alex finally took the last few steps to the light switch, flicking it on and momentarily blinding Reggie. It had been dark outside, and in here too, so his eyes had been adjusted to night vision. The sudden light made everything go white, before Reggie’s eyes finally adjusted to the light, face falling at the look of complete shock on his friend’s face.
“Reggie,” Alex’s voice came first, breathy and so very concerned.
“What?” Luke’s hurried voice called, already on high alert with just the tone of Alex’s voice. Reggie could hear him hopping up from the bed and his own socked feet padding along the floor. “Christ,” Luke’s own voice took the same shocked edge as Alex’s.
Reggie squeezed his eyes shut, stepping back as his friends stepped towards him.
“What... what happened to your face?” Alex breathed out, moving faster than Reggie’s stumbling pace, sleep wiped away almost instantaneously and replaced with his completely wide-awake self. Before Reggie could even reply, Alex was cupping his chin to inspect the damage. Luke followed right behind, observing over Alex’s shoulder.
“It’s nothing,” Reggie stuttered out, trying to pretend like everything was fine, when none of them knew it was. He could try though, and maybe... maybe they’d be swayed into thinking he was good?
Reggie tried, halfheartedly, to pull his face from Alex’s gentle hands, but the hands just followed his head along, shifting to get a better grip on his face.
“That,” Luke glared at the bruises, before looking Reggie right in the eyes, “is definitely not nothing, Reggie.”
“I’m fine,” Reggie added, lifting his own hands to hook over Alex’s wrists, hoping to pry away the blonde’s protective cradle off his jaw.
It didn’t work-- but, then again, Reggie really didn’t have the heart to really try to pull Alex off, not when his face was falling by the second. He hadn’t drawn his attention away from the bruise yet, but he was clearly trying to process it if the way he was gnawing on his bottom lip anxiously was anything to go off.
“You are not fine,” Alex’s voice came out as a whisper, thumb stroking a feathery line along Reggie’s cheekbone. Reggie tried not to react—to not move when Alex made contact-- but he did. He winced away from the gentle touch, and Alex pulled back like Reggie’s reaction had send a course of electricity through him.
“Sorry,” the blonde whispered brokenly, taking another step away and just... looking Reggie up and down. “What happened?”
“It really was nothing,” Reggie pleaded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you guys would be here...”
“So what? You just wanted to come here, beat to crap, and not tell anyone until tomorrow?” Luke summarized, voice taking an edge of frustration, as his arms crossed across his chest.
“Uhm,” Reggie frowned, leaving the ‘yeah’ no one wanted to hear unsaid. The boys both clearly got the memo, frowns deepening. It was painfully obvious that’s what Reggie expected to happen.
“Why?” Alex questioned, “why didn’t you want to tell us?”
“We coulda helped,” Luke's soft voice carried on, eyes dropping to the floor. “We’re best friends, Reg, we’re here for you.”
Reggie appreciated the sentiment. He really did. But this wasn’t something he could just come clean about. It wasn’t something that he thought everyone and their dog needed to know. His homelife was his problem. It had always been his problem.
Reggie had known since he was young that his home life wasn’t normal. That other kids didn’t jump at every opportunity to be out of the house. That it wasn’t normal that Reggie liked school--
Not even that he liked school... not school-school per se, with the books, and the studying—and God, the tests. He didn’t like that part of it at all, but he liked the actual place. The building, and what it provided. Somewhere to be eight hours a day, with people and food (not great food, but food was food when you were desperate) and... just the concept of being out.
He’d always known that made him different, but it had really sunk in until meeting Alex and Luke, who both hated school and what it stood for with a passion, waiting anxiously to ditch school grounds when the day was done, while Reggie had always moved sluggishly to draw out the time before he was to return home.
It was just like when he’d jump at the offer to hang out at Luke’s house, or Alex’s-- or even Bobby’s, who the three of them were still getting to know.
Sleepovers were a safe haven whenever they were offered, and Reggie was sure he’d not declined one since his first one when he was seven years old. Anywhere was better than his own house, where arguments lasted hours, and things were slammed around in anger.
And God bless sleeping at someone else’s house, just so he didn’t have to sleep at his own.
A sleepover had been Reggie’s first real awakening to just how different his parent, and homelife was to everyone else. How his own homelife had differed from his peers, even way back then. What seemed normal to Reggie, was far from the truth everywhere else.
Reggie hadn’t really noticed anything different about his home life from his friends, and peers homelife until he’d experienced a normal environment.
As it turned out, normal kid’s parents didn’t fight late into the evening like a cat and a dog picking a fight with each other. Words loud and digging into each other like feral animal’s claws and teeth.
Normal parents hushed swear words when their child was around, and reprimanded them when said child uttered the bad words, where Reggie was sure he knew the whole dictionary of cuss words from age two and up, just from listening to them going for each other as he was falling asleep at night.
It was that first sleepover when he was seven years old that he experienced a domestic family. A warm meal on the table. An expanse of toys littering the floor, well played with and clearly loved. It was the family gathering around the table for a meal Reggie hadn’t had to microwave for himself.
It was his friend’s mom following them up to his friend’s room, and making sure the two of them were tucked in, and warm enough. A loving kiss planted on Reggie’s friend’s head and a friendly goodnight called down to Reggie who was set up cozy on the floor in a sleeping bag.
Then... it was quiet. The whole house—the parents downstairs, and older siblings in the next rooms over... it was all quiet.
Reggie hadn’t known what to do with the silence in the room. There were no shouts. No shatters of glass being thrown, or furniture being shoved around. It was like... the whole house quieted down for the seven-year-old who was tucked into bed.
And it was weird.
Reggie hadn’t bothered mentioning it. Not the next morning when he was greeted fondly, and a plate of breakfast was set in front of him. A breakfast of steaming pancakes, instead of stale cereal he served himself, sometimes floating in water if the milk was gone, or worse, chunky.
Warm, and tasty. So completely different from anything he had at home.
He didn’t say anything, but it certainly put things into perspective for him, even at seven-years-old. He wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box—his father had told him so on multiple occasions, but he was bright enough to figure out that what he saw everywhere else was closer to normal than what was waiting for him at home.
Reggie never said anything about it though. He never saw a point.
And it wasn’t even the fact Reggie didn’t want anyone to know—it was the fact he was embarrassed that’s how it was. It was embarrassing that he didn’t have what these kids had.
He was embarrassed to bring anyone over to his house, where his parents were nowhere to be seen unless they were barking insults at each other in the living room. Where there was nothing for Reggie to offer as a snack—just old, wrinkly fruits and a container of cookies that had been on the counter for about a year that Reggie probably wouldn’t eat if you paid him.
He was embarrassed to hand in homework that definitely hadn’t been checked over by a parent. Having to look the teacher in the eye and lie about someone checking it over for him. Having everything be wrong because no one was there to sit with him, and explain it to him. The look of ‘is this kid stupid?’ in his teacher’s eyes because it was always wrong. No matter how hard he tried to grasp the concept being taught.
He was embarrassed to not see his parents waiting for him at the end of the school day. To look around the school yard at his peers running to hug their parents, or pleading for a couple more minutes of playtime before they went home. Having to duck his head as he pulled his backpack straps to keep his hands from wringing together anxiously as he started the forty-five-minute trek home.
It was embarrassing more than anything. That he didn’t have what everyone else seemed to have. That’s not something Reggie wanted the whole world to know. He didn’t want to be teased and ridiculed for that as well-- being teased for being dumb, and an airhead were definitely enough for him.
And it was just even more embarrassing that Alex and Luke both had amazing parents. Sure, they didn’t see eye to eye a lot, but they were always there waiting. They cared where Luke and Alex were, and they noticed when they were gone. Luke and Alex both had curfews, and got grounded—Reggie didn’t have that.
He was lucky if his parents noticed him before launching into never-ending arguments and exchanging loathing words between the two of them.
And it only made him feel worse knowing Luke and Alex’s families. Knowing that they had people waiting for them, and they had warm meals to enjoy as a family. That their parents would notice if they just... didn’t come home.
And now, to add insult to injury (or in Reggie’s case, injury to insult), Reggie was showing up with a swollen cheek, and what he was sure was going to turn into a noticeable shiner. Given to his by the person he’s supposed to trust, and who’s supposed to love him wholeheartedly.
“It doesn’t matter,” Reggie breathed out finally, wiping his nose on the edge of his flannel sleeve. “It doesn’t matter. You guys don't need to be worried about it.”
“But we are worried,” Alex stressed, eyes pleading at Reggie to let them help him, “Reg, you showed up here like... like that. You’re hurt, and you wanted to come here and be alone... We could’ve...”
“Who did this to you?” Luke jumped in, looking angry-- but not at Reggie. Reggie could decipher between anger directed at him, and for his sake. It had taken a while, but he was getting there, “if it was those assholes from school who pick on you, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“It wasn’t,” Reggie shook his head, moving to sit on the edge of the pull-out. “It wasn’t... anyone from school or anything.”
Luke’s mouth dropped open, confused for a second before he hardened his expression again.
“Where were you, Reg? Where were you, and why do you smell like you’ve been drinking? I know you weren’t; I couldn’t smell anything on your breath. It’s just--” Alex gestured awkwardly, “everywhere else.”
“I wasn’t drinking,” Reggie huffed, scrunching his nose up at repeating himself again.
“We know,” Luke’s voice was small as he stepped up to Reggie again, following him across the room to the bed, where he stood in front of it, “but... what happened? Did... like, you get mugged or something? Someone you know? What the hell happened, we’ve got nothing to work with here, man.”
“And where did you get the alcohol?” Alex carried on, “that stuff’s expensive and we’re not even old enough to buy it... you’re covered in it, Reg. You smell like you’ve been bathing in it!”
Reggie’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as he finally noticed the uncomfortable stick of his clothes. It was awful. “My clothes are soaked,” Reggie told them as he finally stripped his flannel off. His white tee wasn’t much better, an amber brown stain of scotch soaked into the light fabric. Reggie stood from the bed, suddenly aware of the scotch on the ass of his jeans that was probably soaking into the couch.
He stood up, bunching his flannel in his hands. Alcohol seeped from the flannel, coating his hands in a painful way.
“Shit,” Reggie winced, fingers tensing to protect his palms as the wet flannel fell to the floor. He’d forgotten about the cuts on his hands. The alcohol had not been a pleasant feeling, soaking into the cuts.
“Shit?” Like repeated almost like he himself was feeling the pain as well, “shit what?”
“Nothing,” Reggie sucked in a breath through his teeth, purposely wiping his palms against his pants where something- a piece of glass, or a small piece of wood from the tree- shifted in one of the cuts.
“Nuh uh,” Alex glared, “we’re not going in one big ass circle here, Reg. Show me your hands.”
Alex moved quickly so he was stood in front of Reggie, hands held out and waiting for Reggie to drop the backs of his hands into Alex’s waiting palms. Reggie knew what was going to happen, as soon as Alex had his hands, he was going to clamp down so he couldn’t pull away. Alex was frickin’ strong—far stronger than Reggie. So, he hesitated.
In that time span, Luke moved to pick up Reggie’s flannel from the floor, nose wrinkling at the assault of scotch soaked into it. “Why is there blood on this?” Luke asked softly, fiddling with the cuffs of the flannel’s sleeves. Reggie cursed himself silently for wearing the blue flannel, instead of his favorite red one. If it was red, they probably couldn’t have seen any discoloration. Stupid.
“Blood?” Alex blanched looking towards Luke and the flannel briefly before turning his hard eyes back to Reggie, hands wavering expectantly, “hands.”
And that, left no argument. There was nothing Reggie could say now to convince them he was fine. Alex wouldn’t quit until he had what he was after, and that, apparently, was a full check of Reggie’s well-being. With a sigh, Reggie finally pulled his hands from where they were hidden against his jean, and settled his hands in Alex’s.
As expected, the blond clamped his hands around Reggie’s hands, pulling Reggie closer so he could inspect his palms easier. Alex blew out a breath as the three of them looked down at Reggie’s palms.
They were a bit torn apart, rightly so between the glass he’d fallen into and the tree swinging he’d done in his escape.
His hands were dirty, dried with blood, but also small bits of glass shards and tree bark embedded. He’d been so high on adrenaline—with the escape, and with the pain on his face from being smacked-- that he hadn’t bothered to remember his hands being quite so hurt. But now he saw it, the familiar ache of pain was thrumming in his palms.
“What...” Alex cleared his throat, “what's in your hands?”
“Glass,” Reggie frowned, “and, uh, tree.”
“Tree?” Luke repeated, eyebrow raised. Reggie huffed a laugh, giving his friend a nod with a confirming mutter of the word ‘tree’ again.
Alex snorted at the exchange, trailing a finger over one of Reggie’s palms as he observed them. “All this stuff needs to come out, and then we can disinfect it, and get you a bandage or something.”
“Thank God for that first aid kit we found while cleaning,” Luke gave a nod, setting the flannel on the coffee table in order to climb the loft stairs and collect the first aid kit they’d found while cleaning the garage out.
Alex had suggested the keep it, knowing how clumsy both Reggie and Luke could be-- but so far, it had only been Alex to use it. The drummer had accidentally snapped one of his sticks while playing a bit too enthusiastically and gave himself an awful splinter the four of them had panicked over.
Luke returned, and Alex took the box from him while ushering Reggie to sit on the coffee table. Then, the two of them got to work, kneeling in front of Reggie. Alex picked away at pieces of wood and glass as he cleaned the wounds—wiping off the dried blood and scotch from his palms with a piece of toilet paper from the bathroom that Luke had wet with warm water.
While Alex did that, Luke hit Reggie with the disinfectant and wiped his hands dry with a second wad of toilet paper. He stuck bandages on the rougher looking cuts, but left the smaller ones alone. Everything got disinfected though, so Reggie bit his tongue to keep from letting out pained noises.
There wasn’t a lot in the cuts, but it was better to get it out now than let his hands start healing with foreign objects in there. That would be awful.
It felt a lot better clean and bandaged. Reggie didn’t know what he’d done to deserve friends like Luke and Alex. But he was so incredibly thankful for them.
After that, Reggie was basically swaddled in his friend's clothes. One of Alex’s sweaters, and a pair of Luke’s sweatpants. Reggie only really had flannels and jeans tucked away in the garage, but thankfully his boys liked to dress comfier occasionally. He sat on the pull-out, with his knees pulled up to his chest as he watched his friends move around the studio, tidying up, and putting his clothes and the first aid kit away.
“Thanks guys,” Reggie couldn’t help but whisper as Alex and Luke gathered and shoved Reggie wet clothes into a plastic grocery bag that had been taking up residence on the floor since their last trip to the store for junk food and drinks to stash in the studio.
“You’re our boy, Reg,” Luke mumbled in reply, not looking away from where he was trying the bag to try and contain the overpowering smell of scotch. “We’ve got your back.”
Alex gave a confirming nod as he moved to sit beside Reggie, throwing his arm over Reggie’s shoulder in a one-armed hug and pulling him into his side. Reggie nuzzled his cheek against Alex’s shoulder, just enjoying the embrace he’d been craving for so long.
Luke tossed the tied bag of clothes towards the door for someone to take home and wash tomorrow, before moving towards the bed as well and flopping down on his stomach. Luke let out a sigh, cheek falling onto his crossed arms as he let his eyes close, “man, I’m tired.”
“It is two a.m.” Alex replied, flopping back onto his back and dragging Reggie along with him. Luke sat up briefly to throw one of the blankets over Alex and Reggie, before pulling the second one over himself and laying down, pressed against Reggie’s other side.
It was almost like his two best friends could sense he needed support in closeness. That Reggie was craving touch after his truly awful evening.
It was quiet for a few moments. Reggie assumed that his friends had fallen back asleep, and they honestly deserved it. He did feel bad about waking them up—but he’d really thought the studio would’ve been empty.
It usually was, and when they were here, it was usually a big sleepover they arranged over the phone.
“I can practically hear you thinking from here, Reggie,” Alex muttered.
“Sorry.” Reggie ducked his head, nose nuzzled against a couple strands of Alex’s hair. “I was just... wondering what you guys were doing sleeping here?”
“Oh,” Luke’s voice breathed out, “wasn’t a good night for us I guess... not that yours was any better apparently.”
Reggie stiffened, mouth falling open, “what happened?”
“My mom and I just argued again.” Reggie felt Luke shrug halfheartedly, “she yelled about the band, and told me she regretted ever buying my guitar for me—it was just dumb, and petty.” Luke paused for a second, “didn’t wanna be home any longer—not when everything was so... tense, so I phoned Alex and asked if he wanted to meet here for the night. Tried your house too, but no one picked up.”
Reggie’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as he turned his head slightly to look in Luke’s direction, even though it was pretty dark in the room. His friend was looking up at the ceiling, frown present on his face. “I’m sorry your mom doesn’t understand what the band means to you...”
“It’s alright.” Luke looked away from the ceiling to give Reggie a tiny smile, “there’s people who do understand, and that’s enough for me.”
Reggie returned the smile, then turned his head back towards Alex, “what about you?”
“My dad was just on my ass again,” Alex sighed, “found one of my sister’s old dance CD’s in my CD player and told me off about doing girly stuff. Turns out it was fine to dance when I was little, but dance is now a girl’s only activity.”
“That’s stupid,” Reggie growled, “nothing is gendered. Dancing is for everyone, Alex. You can dance if you want—and I’ll dance with you.”
“I told you he’d say that,” Luke laughed from Reggie’s other side, “you can even teach us one of those... uh, ballet moves you wanted to.”
“Sure, and watch you guys fall on your asses,” Alex teased. His attention flicked to Reggie for a second before he continued, “we’ll wait until Reggie’s face isn't bruised like a peach though; I don’t think he needs a bruise on his ass to match the one on his face.”
“I probably already have one on my ass,” Reggie’s voice replied softly. There was a longing to tell his friends. He still felt awful that they told him everything, when he didn’t give them the same treatment. They’d openly shared their troubles, and Reggie still kept his guarded.
“Reg...” Reggie could hear the sadness in Luke’s voice.
“I know you don’t want to tell us...” Alex started, “and that’s fine, but... why didn’t you go home, Reg? You’re pretty banged up, and there was glass in your hands. Why come here to be alone?”
Reggie hesitated, staring up at the ceiling. He felt like they deserved to know. Things had gotten bad enough tonight that he didn’t want to struggle alone anymore. They gave him one-hundred percent, and he wanted to give the same back to them. They deserved it—Alex and Luke are the two best friends Reggie could’ve asked for.
He didn’t want to have to lie to them, so, with a shallow exhale of breath, Reggie muttered a weak, “I was at home.”
Reggie felt both of them tense. He felt his friends freeze beside him with the words Reggie muttered. He could tell, even without looking away from the ceiling, that the information was sinking in slowly in both his friends.
Embarrassment raised to Reggie’s cheeks. He knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed, never in front of Luke and Alex, but he was. He was embarrassed of what was at his house. Of who Reggie’s family was.
Alex and Luke knew the bare minimum of Reggie’s homelife. Of what was need to know information—and that was that his parents fought. He felt bad for always going to their houses, and joining their families for dinner whenever he was invited, whether it was just an obligatory invite, or an honest invite, Reggie took what he could get.
He felt bad that he was always taking more than he gave, so he told them what they needed to hear to understand where he was coming from. Not explicit details, but a broad understanding.
His friends knew little of what actually went on in the Peters’ household. Fighting was just the tip of the iceberg. There was so much more, but Reggie didn’t want to trouble them with what went on in his house. It wasn’t right—it was Reggie’s problem to deal with.
He left a lot of it out—how intense things got, the hours Reggie spent alone. Evenings in his childhood where he’d squish himself into the cabinet in the bathroom, or the hours he’d spend locked away in his closet because it muffled the voices just a bit more than his bedroom door alone.
About food being scarce simply because his parents forgot to buy groceries for the house when they had the option to just buy meals out while they were out and about in town, or at their jobs. Why he was always so thankful when the Mercer’s or the Patterson’s invited him to stay for dinner, because he was almost always hungry.
They forgot about him, plain and simply. Too busy with their lives, and arguing with each other about him, to remember he really existed.
The only time they remembered him was when they were arguing about who fucked him up more—using him as a guilt trip on the other. Things that were wrong with him, and how it happened to be either his mother, or his father's fault for whatever reason.
“What do you mean?” Luke finally breathed out.
Reggie turned his head to look at his friend, frowning at the genuine hurt in Luke’s eyes. Even in the dark he could make out the hurt in Luke’s usually bright puppy eyes. “Exactly what I said.”
“It... happened at your house?” Alex swallowed, “h-how?”
“They were arguing,” Reggie sighed, “but it was different. My dad... he-he had the scotch, and he was drunk—and I... he was too close to my mom. So, I... stepped in, and well, he didn’t like that very much.”
“Your dad hit you?” Luke gaped.
“What did your mom say?” Alex jumped in, just as shocked.
“He threw the bottle first,” Reggie filled in the blanks, “it barely missed me, and shattered against the wall. My mom... she took that as her opportunity to leave--”
“Your mother left you there?” Luke interrupted, “like she just dipped without you? While your dad was being all aggressive?”
Reggie could only nod, sure his voice would’ve broken with emotions. He cleared his throat, continuing on, “my dad didn’t... like that she left very much so he... y’know,” Reggie gestured to his face, “I stumbled back, fell into the mess of the alcohol and glass and then I ran to my room and jumped out the window.”
“Your room is on the second floor,” Alex whispered in shock.
“I used the tree,” Reggie gave a short laugh, even though nothing about the situation seemed funny. “And the jump wouldn’t have killed me anyways.”
“You could’ve broken an arm, or an anklet or something--” Luke expressed his concern.
“But I didn’t,” Reggie waved off. “I thought about going to one of your guy’s places, but it was late... and I didn’t want to disturb anyone. And I really just wanted to sleep, so I came here.”
“Why have you never... we had no idea.” Luke’s voice was messy with emotion.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Alex sounded hurt at being kept out of the loop.
“It’s embarrassing,” Reggie refused to look at either of them, “I know your guy’s parents have their shitty moments, but mine barely have good moments. It’s shit with occasional good. It’s always been different for me—everyone else has... these great families, and even if things aren’t always good, they are most of the time, you know?”
“It shouldn’t be embarrassing,” Alex’s whispered, nuzzling his cheek against Reggie’s shoulder, “it’s not your fault your parents are shit, Reggie.”
“That’s not on you, it’s on them,” Luke sounded a bit angrier than he was upset, “you’re amazing Reg, and it’s their problem if they can’t see that. They don’t deserve you.” Reggie would’ve thought Luke was upset with him, if it wasn't for how Luke shifted closer to him, almost in a protective kind of way.
Alex was nodding along, clearly agreeing with what Luke was saying. “As much as I’d like to keep talking about this, and sort out some details about getting you away from your asshole father,” Alex spoke easily, “we should continue this in the morning, because we all have school and I’m very tired...”
“Yeah, same here,” Reggie yawned, reaching up to rub at his eye, and wincing as he accidentally touched his bruised cheek.
“I think we should ditch school tomorrow,” Luke told them, voice tired as well, “Reggie’s more important than taking notes and answering stupid questions.”
“We’ll see,” Alex huffed, playing the responsible one of the group, like he tended to always do, “it’s up to Reggie, we’ll see how he’s feeling in the morning. And how bad his bruising is.”
“You guy’s’ll ditch for me?” Reggie asked carefully, heart swelling at the thought of his friends ditching school to hang out with him.
“Of course,” Luke sounded almost offended, “you’re way more important than anything at school, Reg. Get that through your thick skull, man.”
“Gee, thanks,” Reggie snorted a laugh.
“Real sentimental there, Luke,” Alex huffed a breath of his own laughter, before his seriousness returned. “But seriously, he’s right, Reg. If you need us, we’ll be there.”
“You guys are the best friends I could ask for,” Reggie swallowed, hoping his voice didn’t sound too sappy. He wouldn’t be surprised though, because he just felt so warm and safe inside his chest.
“We’ll always be here for you,” Alex finally turned back to Reggie, and even in the dark, Reggie could see the determination on his friend’s face. Alex sounded tired again, waning his determination. “Just don’t hide things from us, it’s not Reggie against the world, it’s Reggie, Alex and Luke against the world, alright?”
Reggie looked towards the ceiling, looking away while Alex pulled him closer, and Luke cuddled up on his other side with a content sigh. Reggie hadn’t known he needed this until he had it. He reached a hand out to grasp at the sweater Alex was wearing, as Luke’s nose pressed into Alex’s sweater that Reggie was wearing.
“Yeah,” Reggie swallowed, looking between the two in the dark, heart swelling fondly. He bit down on the emotions threatening to come out, mumbling a soft, barely audible, “alright.”
Maybe it didn’t have to be Reggie against the world after all.