Work Text:
Waiting for half time was always Richie’s favourite part of being a mascot.
The worst of his routine was over, the crowd was already hyped and the game had started. He got to take a shower, put in his earbuds and ignore the world. The locker room was his domain for a little while. It was peaceful, quiet. He was alone. It was perfect, exactly what he needed after the loud , screaming crowd. He never really got used to the noise. His coach, Tom, told him he'd learn to tune them out. He'd been wrong. But Richie had learned to ignore his body's pleas for quiet, to pretend he was doing just fine until the second that locker room door slammed shut.
He sighed slowly, taking out his earbuds and just relishing in the quiet. He already felt better.
Richie’s serenity was interrupted by voices outside the locker room door. He opened his eyes, cocking his head slightly and trying to listen. No one had any reason to be out there. Not unless something was wrong.
“Coach, I'm fine.”
“Bud, you can't even walk.”
“I just need to–I just-”
“Max, get in there and wrap that ankle. I swear to God.”
“Don't do this. I'm fine. I can play, I swear. Just let me-”
“In. Now. I don't wanna see you for the rest of the game.”
“Tom-”
“Keep it elevated. There's ice packs in the cooler.”
“I don't need one. I don't need that shit.”
“Rest up. Go. I'm not budging on this, Max.”
“I have to finish the game, coach. I have to.”
“You're not going out there with a fucking broken ankle, bud. What kinda coach would that make me, huh? A pretty shit one.”
“Please.”
“Go, Max. I'm not saying it again.”
Richie's quiet time was officially ruined when Max forced the locker room door open, subsequently crumbling onto the floor and starting to bawl.
Richie pulled himself together in an instant.
Max must've thought he was alone. Richie wasn't really in a rush to announce his presence. Pissing Max off wasn't really on his to do list. After an agonising minute of Max crying on the floor, thinking he was alone, Richie coughed awkwardly.
Max's head shot up, and for just a second, he looked frightened. Like he'd been caught doing something he wasn't meant to, like crying was some carnal sin he'd be punished for.
He quickly masked the fear with the hardened persona Richie recognised, and he wiped his eyes rushedly.
“I don't wanna fucking hear it.” He muttered, sniffling. Richie wasn't sure why he felt so bad.
“I wasn't going to say anything.” He replied, holding onto his knees to stop his legs from trembling. It barely helped.
“Well, don't.” Max held onto the doorknob, trying to pull himself up. He was wincing the entire time. Richie noticed his ankle when Max tried to stand up straight. It was completely bent out of shape. It looked agonising, and he wanted to go out with that?
He pushed himself away from the door, trying to walk along nonchalantly and failing miserably. He was clearly in so much pain and trying to ignore it. Richie stood up abruptly, grabbing Max’s arm and walking him over to the bench.
“Sit down, idiot.” He wasn't sure what compelled him to do it. He just couldn't bear to see him inflict that much pain onto himself on purpose. Max didn't try to fight against it.
“It’s fine.”
“Dude, you're gonna fuck it up even more if you move around like that. Sit down.” Richie wasn't sure where this conviction was coming from.
“I'm fine.” Max insisted, the pained wince when he moved his leg telling a completely different story.“I just need to walk it off.” Richie deadpanned him, waiting for him to either double down or wilt. “My dad is gonna be so disappointed in me.”
That checked out.
“Fuck him, Max.” Richie’s hatred for Max’s dad couldn’t be expressed in words. He had always known the guy was a piece of shit, even as a kid. They used to be friends as kids and Max’s dad had always been nasty, like he was above Richie and his own shitty parents. It was easy for him to spot abusive parents when he had a lot of experience with his own. He had the privilege of getting out of that environment, though. Max didn’t. He didn’t have his own version of Paul. From the outside, it looked like it was Jagerman against the world. Max must’ve felt that way too. “If he’s mad at you for something out of your control then he can fuck right off.”
“Should’ve been more careful.” He muttered, bitterness leaking into every word. He sounded so disappointed in himself. Richie wanted to grab him by the shoulders and tell him to give himself a break. “Could've paid more attention.”
“I doubt that, Max. You’re about as precise as they come when you’re on that field.” Richie hugged his chest, listening to Max’s tolled breaths. “What even happened?”
“Fucking timberwolves quarterback shoved me.” Max was getting choked up again. He tilted his head up, clearing his throat loudly to mask it. “He knew what he was doing.”
“So what you're saying is,” Richie smiled dimly, and Max’s jaw tightened a little, “it was unavoidable.” It was like he didn’t want to be justified.
“Shut up, smartass. It’s not that simple for me.” Max snapped back, and Richie sank down in his seat a little. “He’ll be pissed no matter what my excuse is. If I’m not on that field and dominating , then I’m nothing.”
The rage bubbling in Richie’s chest was scalding hot.
“Fucking hell, Max.” Richie stared him down, trying to get him to meet his gaze. He could hold eye contact when it was important. He'd learned a lot from Paul, who held intense eye contact any time he spoke to anyone. He valued eye contact more than anything. Richie usually found it a little harder to meet someone's gaze, but he wanted to see Max’s eyes looking back at his. Max turned his head away, wiping his eyes again.
“Just don’t tell anyone you saw me crying.” He whispered, and Richie decided it was kinder to ignore the cracks in his voice as he spoke. “The Jagerman doesn’t cry.”
“My old friend Max used to.” Richie replied quietly. Max’s eyes widened. “A lot.”
Max met Richie’s gaze for just a second, and there was something different about it. It felt like Max was actually looking at him for the first time since he'd entered the locker room. Like Richie had unwittingly broken through some kind of barrier. Max pointedly cleared his throat again and grabbed the first aid kit, finding an excuse to turn away. He fumbled with it for an awkward ten seconds before getting it open. His hands were shaking. Richie watched him try to clumsily wrap his ankle with the bandages. It was a little painful to witness. He was too prideful to ask for help, though.
“Let me do it.” Richie knelt down beside him, grabbing the bandages. Max immediately tried to protest.
“I can fucking-”
“I know.” Richie wrapped his ankle gently, and upon getting a closer look at it, it was definitely broken. Max was watching him carefully, like Richie was doing something extraordinary. “You mean to tell me star quarterback Max Jagerman never had to wrap an ankle before?”
“I’ve never had it wrapped.” He replied awkwardly. He sounded a little confused, if anything. “Didn’t think I needed to.”
Richie pursed his lips. The anger was back.
“Well, now you know.” He managed to force a warm enough smile for Max’s eyes to light up just a little. Richie stepped back to let him examine his newly wrapped ankle.
“It feels better.” He said after a moment.
“I can imagine.” Richie replied. “It was real fucked.”
Max huffed out a quiet laugh. Richie wasn't trying to be funny. Silence settled between them again, and Richie sat back down. He kept his eyes fixed to the floor. He could feel Max’s eyes on him.
“Thanks, shitlips.” He smiled dopily, but there was a hint of caution there. He was testing the waters. Richie glared for a moment.
“Don’t mention it.” At least he was smiling again.
“I don’t wanna go back out there.” Max rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. Like he was trying to escape reality. Richie knew the feeling. It was easier to pretend he was somewhere else most of the time.
“You don’t have to. The game isn’t over for another-”
“In general.” Max cut across him. “I meant, just in general. I don’t want to go out there. I don’t want to face–anyone.” It took Richie a long time to figure out what the tremble in Max’s voice was expressing. He was frightened. Richie had his guesses as to what, or who , he was afraid of.
He hesitated. For a long time.
“You could-” He was saying it now. The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You could stay with me and Paul for a while.”
“You’d let me do that?” Max turned to look at him, his eyes narrowed slightly. Richie had never seen him like this before. Richie was offering him an out and he was desperate to hold onto it.
“I guess so.” He replied.
“Why?”
“Because you're– upset .” Richie wasn't really sure why. He didn't owe Max anything at all, but still felt the need to be gentle with him. He'd probably never get the same in return, but he just got the sense that Max was close to breaking. He was more subdued than usual, more afraid. “I'm not gonna leave you here to get yelled at for something you can't control.”
“You hate me.” Max whispered. It wasn't a question.
“Projection, much.” Richie shot back, and Max winced a little.
“I don't hate you, Richie.” He murmured, running his fingers through his hair and sighing quietly. Richie could tell he meant it, which didn't really make sense to him. He certainly showed his non-hatred in an interesting way.
“Coulda fooled me.” He huffed, a little bitter. Max grimaced.
“It's complicated.”
“Uhuh. Just like remedial algebra I bet. Super complicated, but only to you.” Richie was starting to think he was flying a little too close to the sun. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the angry retort, but it never came. Max just laughed thinly, barely smiling.
“Fuck off, Richie.” He glared over at him, and Richie offered him a middle finger in return. Polite as always.
“I mean it, though. If you need somewhere to go.”
“Paul would be pissed.” Max huffed. He knew Paul well.
“Yeah.” Richie couldn't deny that. Paul liked his meticulously planned out nights, and this would really put a wrench in things. “But he'd understand. He always understood.”
This wouldn't be the first time Max came over to evade his father. It happened a lot when they were kids. Richie wasn't really old enough to understand, and Max was much too cagey to talk about it. Paul had seen the signs, though. From the start he'd known that Max was a kid he needed to keep an eye on.
“I don't know why you're still so fucking sweet to me.” Max squeezed his eyes shut. He was on the verge of tears again. Richie’s heart jolted a little.
“I'm an absolute peach to everyone, Maxwell.” He replied loftily, trying to avoid directly responding to Max's statement. “No special treatment from me, buddy.”
“I don't see you inviting Steph over.” Max replied, fidgeting with the sleeves of his letterman jacket. “Her dad sucks too.”
“She's never asked.” Richie shrugged, staring at his nails in an attempt to seem nonchalant. He felt like an idiot.
“I didn't ask either.” Max replied bluntly, his eyes fixed to Richie, who was now pointedly avoiding his gaze. Richie coughed awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn't joke his way out of that one. He grabbed the head of his nighthawk costume, muttering something about halftime and walking out. Max reached out slowly, like he was planning on stopping him. He pulled his arm back, his expression unreadable. Richie didn’t stick around to figure out what it meant.
>>>
“Richie, get your shit together.” Brenda nudged Richie’s arm with her pom-pom, glaring up at him. “You’re distracted.”
“Yeah. My bad.” Richie huffed, shaking his head like that would bat the thoughts away. He couldn’t seem to focus on anything. Paul was in the stands as always, cheering him on. His girlfriend, Emma was at home sick, so he was by himself tonight. He didn’t seem to mind. Paul was usually very conscious of the people around him, but he seemed to abandon shame when he was cheering for Richie. He was proud of his kid, that’s the reason he gave when Richie asked him about it. His smile was a little dimmer today, like he could tell something was off. He was a little too attentive. It was harder for Richie to pretend to be okay when Paul was psychoanalysing him at all times. It was his nature.
Richie sighed sharply, trying to concentrate on the routine. He couldn't let them down. But he still found himself worrying about Max.
What if he collapsed again?
What if he was still crying?
Why did Richie care so much?
He needed to focus. Paul was visibly frowning now. Richie started to walk along the field, riling up the crowd.
The cheers were deafening. He hated it.
He turned around to face the other side of the field, and he saw Max leaning against the stands with Tom beside him. He was smiling a little. Richie froze up for just a second. A murderous glare from Stacy and Brenda set him straight, and he turned his back to Max.
“Don't freak out.” He whispered, audible to no one but himself. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to walk along the aisles and wave at the crowd. He did this all the time. It shouldn't have felt as difficult as it did. “Stop freaking out, Lipschitz.”
Richie waited for the whistle, and sprinted back out to the locker room the second he heard it. He watched the players run back onto the field, missing their quarterback. Tom was walking Max back to the locker room and he was visibly close to tears again. It was tearing him apart, not being able to play. Richie felt awful. He still wasn't sure why.
>>>
Richie sat down on the bench, finally letting himself properly breathe. Halftime always took any remaining energy he had left after the start of the game. He just wanted to go home and sleep forever. But he had to figure out what he was going to do with Max. His phone buzzed with a new notification and he knew it would be Paul asking what was wrong. He didn't even need to check.
Paul Matthews: Hey buddy, everything alright?
You seemed a little off
Just wanted to check in!!
Richie wasn't surprised.
richie: yeah im all good
Paul Matthews: Max Jagerman had a pretty nasty fall, worried us all for a second
He alright?
richie: yeah about that
his ankle is like . definitely broken and he doesn't want to go home
Paul Matthews: Richie.
richie: HEY HEY NO HEAR ME OUT
he's upset
aaaand i feel bad
Paul Matthews: Where are you going with this bud
richie: i kind of
want him to stay with us tonight
HEEEEY OKAY NOW LISTEN STOP TYPING
he's scared !
Paul Matthews: Bud
You don't owe him anything
richie: i knoooowww
but i want to help him
i dont want him to go home when hes all upset like this
we know what his dad was like
:(
:(
:/
Paul Matthews: ALRIGHT
You're gonna be the death of me
Go on, invite him over
richie: thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you
Paul Matthews: Just know I'm not happy with this at all
richie: have i ever told you that youre a really cool and hip guy :3
Paul Matthews: Don't even start
Max entered the locker room a few minutes later, holding onto Tom's shoulder. He limped over to the bench, sitting across from Richie with a sigh.
“Take it easy, alright?” Tom gave him a thumbs up, walking out.
“I'm fine.” Max huffed, answering the question Richie hadn't even asked. For someone who appeared to live for attention, he really hated people fussing over him. Richie didn’t say a word, watching Max’s shoulders relax a little when he sat down. He was always so on edge. Always ready to run from a threat only he could see. “Your routine was good.” He added quietly, like he wasn't supposed to be saying it.
“Thanks.” Richie hugged his chest, trying to act normal. Whatever normal was. Max shifted uncomfortably.
“I never got to watch it before.” He was staring again. Richie met his gaze, forcing himself to hold eye contact. He had never really noticed how tired Max looked, how much sadness was locked behind his eyes. It was always there, Richie had just learned to tune it out over the years.
“It's nothing showstopping.” He replied, huffing out a dry laugh. “Definitely not worth shattering your ankle for.” Richie immediately regretted saying that when Max wilted a little. “Bad joke.”
“It's fine.” He replied, but his miserable tone wasn't really selling it at all. “You really know how to get the crowd going.”
“Yeah, that's kinda my thing.” Richie was trying to sound as dull and bored as possible, like he wasn't actively freaking out. Max nodded. He closed his eyes again.
“They're driving me wild out there.” He muttered, sniffling.
“Yeah, it's loud, huh.”
“That doesn't bother me. I just wish I was out there.”
Richie frowned.
“You want an earbud?” Richie pulled out his earbuds, offering one to Max. He stared at it for a solid five seconds before reaching out and taking one. Richie scrolled through his Spotify, trying to find a song they would both like. “What do quarterbacks even listen to? I feel like you're the type of guy to just–not listen to music.” Max’s cheeks reddened a little.
“I don't really-”
“Bullshit. What do you listen to?” Richie tilted his head, watching Max struggle to think of an answer. He looked embarrassed.
“I guess I like musicals.” He admitted, and Richie was sure he misheard him.
“Really?” Richie abandoned the bored persona he had going on, letting a smile leak through. Max lit up a little, nodding. He looked happy that Richie was remotely interested in what he was saying. He clearly wasn't used to it.
“Yeah. I like Hamilton a lot.” Max's eyes were alight in a way Richie had never seen before. “I just don't really talk about it. My dad doesn't, uh-” Max trailed off, and the joy was gone as quickly as it came. Max bowed his head down, blinking away tears again. Richie wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he was allowed to cry if he needed to. It was a little too soon for that. “He doesn't like me watching things like that.”
Richie’s eye twitched. He was going to try to ignore that, for everyone's sake. He put on the Hamilton soundtrack, and they both closed their eyes. They were both trying to go elsewhere.
Richie wondered what the world in Max’s head looked like. It was probably a lot more colourful than his actual life. It shouldn't have been a surprise to him that Max was so unhappy.
>>>
Richie helped Max out to the car after the game, all while he insisted the entire time that he was fine and could walk by himself. Richie let go of his arm for just a second to prove a point, and he could barely walk on his own. They made it to Paul's car, where he was leaning against the door, waiting. His arms were crossed, and Richie could tell he wasn't happy with this. Max used to come by almost every day when they were younger, but it obviously wasn’t a common occurrence anymore. Paul knew fragments of the torment Richie endured in school, enough to know that Max was involved. Richie didn’t really like to talk about it.
Paul walked forward and pulled Richie into a hug.
“You did great, bud. As always.” Paul ruffled his hair and Richie grinned, pushing him away. He felt a little guilty when he turned back to Max and saw how miserable he looked. Paul must've noticed, because he gingerly patted Max on the shoulder and offered him a kind smile. “Your ankle alright, buddy?” Max nodded without a word.
“It's fucked. Probably fractured.” Richie interjected, knowing Max would never say that himself. Max opened his mouth to object, but he didn't have a rebuttal.
“Ouch. We probably have pain meds at home.” Paul stared at Max for a moment, sizing him up. He did it every single time Richie brought a friend over. The circumstances were a little different this time. Richie opened the car door, helping Max into the car. He once again tried to insist that he was fine.
“Yeah yeah, big tough guy, ankles made of pure titanium. Doesn't feel pain. We got it.”
Max glared, but there was no real hatred behind it. He stopped complaining, though. Paul started the engine and they all drove home in complete silence, occasionally interrupted by Max’s phone ringing. He silenced it as soon as it went off every time, looking increasingly more sickened when he put the phone down afterwards.
“Telemarketers.” He forced out a weak laugh, his hands shaking like a leaf. Richie exchanged a worried look with Paul through the rear view mirror. Max’s phone rang again almost as soon as he silenced it, and he looked like he was about to vomit.
“Max?” Richie couldn't bear seeing him like that. Max tried to force a smile, but there were tears in his eyes that he couldn't seem to blink away. His phone rang again and he made a noise in the back of his throat. “Max.”
“It's- it's fine.” He whispered, his voice breaking. Paul was driving a little faster than usual. “It'll stop. It'll stop.” It felt like Max was trying to convince himself as well as Richie.
>>>
They both settled down in the living room, claiming the room for the night. Paul brought out a few blankets and pillows, throwing them over and aiming for Richie’s head on purpose. He giggled quietly, pushing them away. Max was sitting on the floor with his ankle propped up on a cushion, and Richie was curled up on the couch above him.
“You kids want tea or anything?” Paul asked, and they both nodded. Paul walked out to the kitchen, leaving the two alone. Neither said a word. Max stared down at his ankle, trying to move it and wincing as soon as he tried.
His phone rang again. Richie reached forward to silence the call at the exact same time Max did. Max’s hand landed on top of Richie’s. They stared at each other for a torturous second, one that felt more like an eternity. Max pulled his arm back, swallowing thickly. Richie’s cheeks were red hot.
He turned on the TV to break the suffocating silence.
“Uh, you got anything you wanna watch?” He asked awkwardly, and Max shook his head.
“Just put on one of your nerd shows.” He muttered, and Richie threw a pillow at him. He whipped his head back with a smile, feigning offence. “Ow.”
“Poor you.” Richie mocked, putting on the Pokémon anime. It was his go-to when he wasn't sure what to watch. Neither of them were really watching it. The noise gave them a reason to not speak to each other. Richie watched Max’s eyes start to flicker shut, and his head lolling forward every minute or so. He snapped his head back up every time, forcing his eyes open. He was fighting a losing battle, trying to stay awake. How long had he been up to be this tired?
Paul returned with the teas a few minutes later, noticing right away how exhausted Max looked. He placed the mugs down on the coffee table, leaning against the doorway and absently staring at the TV. His eyes were thoughtless.
“You think you’re gonna stay over tonight, Max?” Paul asked, and Max jumped a little, the mention of his name startling him awake. He stared at Paul, his eyes widened a little like he was in trouble. He was trying to find the right words.
“I don’t know.” He replied eventually, pursing his lips. “I–uh. I don’t know.” He clearly wanted to, Richie could tell.
“You can if you need to.” Paul assured him, offering him another kind smile. Max nodded slowly, staring down at the floor. Paul lingered in the doorway for a second, waiting for a response that he wasn’t going to get. “Think about it.” Max nodded again.
Watching Max desperately try to stay awake was a little painful. Every time his eyes closed, he would force them open again. His eyelids were tinted purple. He yawned for what must’ve been the twentieth time, and Richie tried to stop himself from staring.
He tried to focus on the show, but his eyes always seemed to wander back to him. He watched his eyes close and silently prayed each time that he’d let himself rest. Max’s head lolled to the side, landing on Richie’s leg. Richie didn’t have the heart to move it. He was just glad he was finally asleep.
Richie turned off the TV, trying to keep the room as quiet as possible. Max had always been a light sleeper. Richie practically dived forward when Max’s phone rang again. He managed to turn it off within two seconds, and Max only stirred a little bit. The caller ID confirmed that it was in fact Max’s dad, and not a telemarketer. Not that Richie had believed it was. Paul ran into the room, his eyes trained to the phone in Richie’s hand. He dusted himself off, acting like he hadn't just sprinted the length of the apartment.
“I heard it ring.” He looked a little panicked. Richie nodded slowly, staring at the screen, waiting for it to ring again. Paul’s gaze fell onto Max, who was now fast asleep. His eyes were twitching. “He was really tired, huh.”
“Yeah.” They both sighed. “What are we gonna do?” Richie asked, and Paul leaned against the door, frowning.
“I don’t know, bud. We can’t really send him home like this, can we?”
Richie opened his mouth to respond, once again cut off by Max’s ringtone. He declined the call, leaning forward to see if Max was awake. He had stirred a little, worry etched into his features as he slept. Paul reached out and took the phone from him.
“I’m gonna answer it. I need to figure this out.” He muttered, starting to pace up and down the room. Richie gave him a look. That sounded like a terrible idea.
When Max’s phone rang again, Paul answered it right away. He physically flinched back the second he held it up to his ear. Richie could hear a lot of yelling. Max’s brows furrowed, and his stirring was becoming more frequent.
Paul’s jaw was pushed forward, which told Richie he was livid.
“Sorry, who is this?” He put on the most passive aggressive, ‘polite’ voice he could muster. More yelling. “And why are you talking to your kid like that?” Richie was surprised Paul still had functioning eardrums. The yelling was loud enough for Richie to hear it clearly from seven feet away. And he didn’t like what he was hearing. Paul took a deep breath, holding back. He wasn’t typically an angry person, but listening to someone yell like that probably brought back a lot of rough memories. He’d had a lot of bad experiences with Richie’s parents when he was trying to get him out of that hellhole. The yelling was a little too familiar for Richie.
“Oh, I’m Paul Matthews. I’m sure you remember me. Richie’s guardian?” Paul’s eyes widened at the response he got. Richie heard his name mentioned a little too many times. Dread started to wind around Richie's gut as he listened.
Richie had never seen Paul this heated before. It was personal, now.
“Listen, man. If you’re so fucking disgusted, then you can stay away from my house. Max can stay with me tonight. It’s no trouble at all.” Paul hung up, letting out a sharp breath and slamming the phone onto the coffee table. He turned to Richie, his eyes softening. “You didn’t hear any of that, did you?”
Richie nodded slowly, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was trying to forget it. Paul sighed, sitting down on the couch beside him.
“I’m sorry, bud. I wouldn’t have mentioned you if I’d-”
“It’s fine.” He lied. “I wasn't expecting anything else.”
Paul sighed, placing a hand on Richie’s shoulder. He never really knew what to say when things like this happened. He turned his attention to Max.
“What a charmer.” Paul huffed, laughing dryly. There was no humour in it.
“Yeah. Seems like a pretty stand up guy, for sure.”
“I feel bad for him.” Paul’s gaze softened a little when he looked at Max, fast asleep. He looked so different when he slept. A little more at peace.
“I told you he was just a little sad.”
“Kinda hard to believe that when he actively bullied you, bud.” Paul shot back, and Richie pursed his lips.
“Touché.”
Paul stood up, patting Richie on the head and throwing the blankets back over him.
“Try to get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay.”
>>>
Richie managed to get to sleep after what must've been half an hour of anxiously watching Max stir in his sleep. He was talking, but Richie couldn't really make out what he was saying. It didn't look like he was going to wake up, so Richie turned to face the back of the couch and tried to get some sleep. There was no point in staying up all night, even if he wanted to. He pulled the blankets over his head, trying to block out the light coming from beneath the apartment door. He yawned dramatically, closing his eyes and trying to relax. His head was still swimming with thoughts.
He shook his head again, trying to physically bat them away. He sighed, listening to Max’s breathing pick up a little. That was worrying.
Richie turned over again. He couldn't seem to stay still.
Another twenty minutes passed, and nothing of note happened. The tension in Richie’s shoulders started to loosen, and his eyes grew heavy. Finally, he could rest.
Richie was asleep for a grand total of two minutes before he was frightened awake by a loud yelp. Max’s head jolted up, and he let out a scream that should've woken up the entire apartment. Richie sat up, his heart beating out of his chest.
“Max. Jesus Christ. Are you okay?” Richie leaned forward, softening his voice. Max looked up, his chest heaving up and down. There were tears in his eyes.
“Where's my–phone? Where's-” Max tried to stand up, seemingly forgetting about his ankle and crumbling onto the floor. Richie practically leapt off of the couch to grab him.
“Hey, hey.” He grabbed Max’s shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Breathe.” Max was breathing scarily fast. He was having a panic attack, Richie recognised it. He didn't think Max was the type. Richie was learning a lot about Maxwell Jagerman today.“It's okay.”
“I need to fucking– go. He's gonna- I can't be here.” Max leaned forward, letting his head fall onto Richie’s shoulder. Richie let it happen, trying to soothe him as best he could. Max broke into sobs, and Richie slowly wrapped him up in a hug. Max melted into it like he'd never been hugged in his life.
“Breathe, you idiot. It's okay. You're okay.” Richie slung Max’s arm over his shoulder, guiding him over to the couch and sitting him down. Max wiped his eyes rushedly, still trying to steady his breathing. “Paul figured it out. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Why are you doing this?” Max choked out, bowing his head down.
“It's called unconditional kindness. You should give it a try.” He replied, and Max wilted a little. Richie definitely picked a bad time to fire another shot.
“Ouch.”
Richie sighed. Max was staring at him again.
“Your dad is a real piece of shit.” Richie whispered after a moment of silence. Max wiped his eyes again, more tears immediately replacing the ones he wiped away.
“Yeah. I know.”
“You're not like him.” Richie muttered, and Max’s eyes widened a little. He looked surprised, a little unconvinced if anything. “I mean it. You're sweet when you want to be. You just–don't want to be very often.”
“It's complicated.” Max looked guilty, which was rare for him.
“You keep saying that.” Richie looked at him, barely able to see Max’s blue eyes staring back. He was glad it was dark. “It really doesn't seem that complicated to me.”
“You don't know the half of it.” Max muttered, the bitterness finding its way back. Richie frowned.
“Tell me then, dude.”
“I don't work like that.” Max snapped back, his voice rising just a little bit. “Just stop fucking–interrogating me.” He sat back down on the floor, putting distance between them again. Richie thought he was getting somewhere, they had been sitting right next to each other.
“Alright, Max.” Richie grabbed his blanket, curling up on the couch again and turning his back to him. He closed his eyes, but he could still feel Max’s eyes burning into him.
“I'm sorry. I am.” Max whispered sleepily, and Richie wondered if he actually meant it. They both lay in silence for a while. A sorry wasn't going to win him over. He wasn't that easily bought.
Maybe he was.
“Richie, I can't talk about this shit. I know I'm a dick, but I'm– scared. I’m really fucking scared, and I'm sorry.”
Richie didn't say a word. He lay still, staring up at the ceiling and waiting. He waited for Max’s breathing to slow down again, the steady rhythm keeping him awake.
It was a little nice, Richie couldn't lie to himself and say it wasn't.
“I am too.” He was sorry that things didn't work out. They could've been friends this whole time, if Max hadn't valued popularity over Richie’s friendship. He wished he knew what led Max to leave him behind like that. It haunted him, even now. Something had been more important to him. Maybe it was the thought of being liked. Maybe Richie just didn't fit his image. Richie knew what people thought of him. He was Hatchetfield High's punching bag. Everyone targeted him because it was what they were meant to do. Being nice to Richard Lipschitz made you just as repulsive as he apparently was.
It must've driven Max away. He had gotten a taste of popularity and he was willing to leave Richie behind to hold onto it. Or maybe it was something else.
Richie didn't know. All he knew was that Max was fast asleep on the floor beneath him. Somehow, that was his reality. He would figure out how he felt about the past and future in time. He just wanted to exist with Max for a while.
“I'm sorry too.”