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The snapping floorboards rang in Max’s ears as he felt the ground below him splinter and crack as the already old and dusty floor broke under his feet. He felt his life flash before his eyes, everything so clear now as death looked him in the face, holding a hand out for him. He felt tears well in his eyes as he began to fall backwards.
This was it.
He wouldn’t even make it past high school.
He wouldn’t get to see the big game against Clivesdale. High school would be his peak because he didn’t even have a choice.
He felt cold, shivering through the breeze from the broken windows of the Waylon Place. He closed his eyes, knowing he didn’t want to see what was on the other side just yet. They weren’t closed for long though.
“Holy shit,” there was a voice, a beautiful voice. One of an angel’s. Was this the after life? Did he die already? He felt a pounding heartbeat against his chest, Max’s own heart beating too, their chests colliding.
“Richie you mad man!” another voice, one less angelic, “Max are you ok?!” and another one, this one female. He tried to make that one sound beautiful in his mind, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Max’s eyes were now open, he was looking at the Waylon Place’s old ceiling. He felt a hand rest in his hair as he was led off the stairs.
And there was silence again. Pure, unmoving, silence. What was there to say, after all? He felt the hand in his hair move to his neck, Max instinctually burying his head in the shoulder of his savior. He shut his eyes as tight as possible, his breaths so fast and his heart so quick he felt like at any moment they would just stop all together and he’d be left dead on the floor. He felt small tears touch the bottoms of his eyes, and he refused to let them fall any more than they already had.
“Max,” the angel's voice was back, his guardian angel, “You ok?” Max realized he was now the only one hanging on, he wasn’t being hugged anymore, there was no more hand on his neck, no one holding onto him like his life depended on it.
“Yeah,” was all Max could say, before the angel put his arms around him again. Max by now knew who it was, he was an idiot but not that much of an idiot. The angel wasn’t stuttering now, not feeling pain by his flick-it tickets or punches to the face. He was beautiful, a masterpiece of creation, “Thank you, Richie,” his voice was quiet, a whimper even.
“Don’t mention it,” Richie’s breath was short, Max could tell he had been holding it.
Max let go, whipping his face with the sleeve of his varsity jacket. He looked at Richie, who gave him the warmest smile he had ever received. Max felt himself get lost in his eyes, their beauty lost on him no more as he truly took in the look of pure gold that he hadn’t seen before. He wanted to jump into his arms, to hold him and never let him go again. He still saw the angel that saved him from falling, the person who he had tortured for years didn’t let him die. How fast Richie must have been to catch him, how much energy to save his life, a life that didn’t deserve to be saved.
He could never admit that he could never look at Richie the same way now, never like the angel he was. He would never be able to express to anyone the beauty he saw that day, the thrill of his near death experience followed by viewing the most gorgeous creature in this world or any other.
Never could he say to anyone, and especially not to Richie, how beautiful he was in the moonlight, how delicate Max felt when his hand was in his hair, how all his senses were heightened when he felt the first tears form in his eyes, the first in years. No, never could he tell anyone, no matter how much he wanted to.