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Max was starting to think he wasn't cut out for football. Four games, four losses in a row. He was tired of explaining himself. He didn't want to tell his Dad that he messed up again. That man saw him as a quarterback and nothing else. If he wasn't good at it, he was better off quitting. He pushed open the locker room door, and the rest of his team automatically turned away. They didn't want to face his wrath if he happened to be mad. He wasn't. He was just tired and disappointed in himself. Richie looked up from tying his shoes the moment he heard the door open. He must've noticed how dejected Max looked because he jumped right to damage control.
“Hey. You did your best. I mean- you could've, not pushed that guy, but nobody's perfect.”
“Helpful.” Max grabbed his gear bag, scanning the bench for Richie’s and grabbing it for him. Richie offered him a grateful smile, which he ignored. He walked out, gear bags in hand. He wasn't exactly in the mood to accept Richie's gratitude. Richie followed him out with a sigh.
“C'mon, don't beat yourself up over this, Max. It's not the end of the world.” Richie grabbed Max’s arm, and he shrugged it away. Richie sped up to match Max’s pace. He wasn't going to let him sulk. “Max.”
“I've fucked up too much this year, Rich.” Max turned to meet his gaze, letting Richie see how disappointed he was. Richie's eyes softened. “Sycamore is supposed to be easy to beat.” He huffed, pushing the door open and holding it open while Richie walked through. Richie gently bumped his head on Max’s shoulder as he walked past. His way of saying thank you. He never let the little things Max did go unnoticed. Max never really realised he did little things like that until Richie thanked him for it. “I'm tired of fucking up.”
“Everyone has off days.” Richie grabbed Max’s hand, interlocking their fingers as they walked along. Max still had to stop himself from pulling away, even after all this time. There was still a part of him that felt shame. It was hard to shake when he still lived with his dad. He shuddered to think of what would happen if his dad saw him holding hands with another boy. Richie seemed to notice the discomfort, because he loosened his grip on Max’s hand. Max squeezed tighter. It was okay. He could let himself love. Even though it scared him.
“I don't think I've been on this entire fucking season.” He muttered after a while, kicking a pebble as they walked across the parking lot to get to Richie's car. Technically, it was Paul’s, but he let Richie borrow it a lot. Richie tapped Max’s leg gently with his foot, frowning.
“That's not true. You wouldn't be the quarterback if you weren't good.” Richie’s kindness always felt so foreign. Max was used to the people in his life affirming the overly critical things he said about himself. He would never succeed if he didn't push harder, he would fall behind if he didn't keep going even when it felt impossible. Richie made him feel like he was extraordinary for doing nothing at all. “They all believe in you because you're great.”
“I could be doing better.” He muttered, clearing his throat loudly to drown out a potential response. He opened the driver's side door for Richie before sliding into the passenger seat. He threw the gear bags into the back seat. Richie gave him a look.
“Just because you're not perfect in every way– you are, by the way.” Richie cut himself off with a laugh when Max pretended to slam his head against the dashboard. “You're still so good at what you do. Even if you don't think you are.” Richie patted Max on the shoulder, turning to face the wheel and starting the car. Max watched him, wondering how someone could be that kind. It felt like talking to an angel sometimes. “I can see you staring, buddy. Save that for later.”
Max huffed out a laugh, elbowing Richie, who yelped in faux-pain.
“Ow. Don’t think I won't crash the car.”
“You wouldn't. You like me too much.”
“Don't challenge me, Jägerman.”
“I don't think you realise how far I'm willing to go for the bit, Lipsch-” Max trailed off when he heard his phone ringing. Every ounce of joy drained from the car in an instant. Richie’s face shifted the same way Max’s did. He knew who it was without Max even having to say it.
“I should answer it.” His breaths were shallow now.
Richie looked apprehensive.
“You don't have to do this now.” He replied, with a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. He hated the phone calls about as much as Max did. He hated what they did to him.
“You know I have to.” Max let out a shaky breath, answering it and holding the phone up to his ear. Richie pulled over, watching Max’s eyes carefully.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” His dad's voice cut through the air like a dagger, even through the phone. Max visibly stiffened.
“Still at the game.” He mumbled, taking in a shaky breath. He was wincing a little, like he was waiting for something.
“I thought we said you were meant to be back for eight.”
“But you never said that.” Max’s voice rose a little. He was already panicking. Richie grabbed his hand, holding it tight. He was trying to reassure him as best he could without words. Things would get a lot worse if the man knew who Max was with.
“Don't fucking start with me, Max.”
“But you didn't- you never said that. I wasn't given a curfew, Dad. I swear.” Max squeezed Richie’s hand tighter. It was a little painful, but Richie didn't comment on it. He just clenched his jaw and let him. “If you gave me a curfew I would be home.”
“Get home right now. I'm not listening to your bullshit. You think you can just lie to me whenever you want.”
Max was tearing up.
“But we're meant to be-”
“Now.”
Max’s jaw tightened. He was trying so hard not to cry.
“Okay.” The words came out as a whisper. “I'll be home.”
Max hung up, staring at the phone screen for a little while. He was trying to pull himself out of the haze he always fell into when he talked to his Dad. Richie always told him it was self preservation, a coping mechanism. He noted Richie’s hand rubbing his arm. The rhythm was comforting. He eventually gathered the strength to look up.
“You okay?” Richie asked quietly, and Max watched his eyes narrow. Max never understood how Richie could pick up on the little things. Max thought he hid his emotions well, but Richie could always tell. Max just stared back, and that seemed to be a sufficient response. Richie sighed, turning back to the wheel. “We're going back to my place.” Max didn't have it in him to protest.
-
“Max, we're here.”
Max was drifting off into his own little world. Richie hadn't chattered on the way home like he usually did. He knew Max didn't have the energy to engage. Max just wanted to get some sleep for once. He needed to figure out a way to stay with Richie. He wouldn't sleep if he went home.
“Max.”
Max felt Richie’s hand on his arm, but he wasn't ready to come back yet. He needed to think of a good enough excuse to feed his Dad. Maybe he could just run away again. He could run away with Richie and never look back. Maybe they could build a life outside Hatchetfield together. His hometown felt inescapable sometimes, but it was a really nice thought. It was the kind of thing he found himself thinking about constantly.
“Hey.” Richie was holding his hands.
“Sorry.” He muttered, avoiding Richie’s gaze. He always looked so worried. Max didn't think he warranted that much concern.
“You gonna come inside?”
“Yeah. You go ahead. I'll follow you in.” Max replied, and Richie hesitated. He looked like he was about to protest, but he didn't say a word.
“Okay.”
Max waited for Richie walk up to the doors of the apartment complex and walk inside. It felt like it was taking forever. He tapped anxiously on the dashboard, watching him disappear through the doors. He leaned his head back, resting it on the car seat and breathing slowly. In and out, in and out. He was okay. Richie had taught him this. Just breathe, keep breathing and things will eventually start to feel less bleak. Max was still waiting for the dread to dissipate. It didn't feel like it ever would.
“Okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and managed to gather the will to pull out his phone.
He dialled his Dad's number, taking in a deep breath.
“You can do this.” He whispered to himself, listening to the periodic beeps as he waited for him to answer. It never got easier. He never got any less scared. He needed to breathe. In and out, in and out, in and out. He was going a little too quickly. “You're okay.”
“What is it now, Max?”
Max chewed on the inside of his cheek. He already sounded so angry, like Max was wasting his precious time. He was probably just sitting at home in front of the couch. Like always. Nothing ever changed.
“Don't get mad. But the, uh- the car broke down. It's the, uh, the engine. You know how engines are.”
“Broke down? Where?”
“It's right beside a hotel, so we decided to-”
“Don't try that shit with me, Max.”
Max winced, his lips going dry. He needed this to work. In and out, in and out.
“I'm not lying.”
“You're bullshitting me.”
In and out.
“I promise! I wouldn't lie.” Max could feel his heart beating. He kept breathing. “Look, me and the boys are gonna stay in this hotel while the car gets fixed and then we're gonna come straight home in the morning, okay? I'll come straight home. I know it was really irresponsible and I'm really sorry.”
“No more outings after games from now on. You come home. Do you understand me?”
“I understand. I'm so sorry.”
He hung up, and Max slammed his head against the dashboard again. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and wiped the tears away. He didn't want to go inside and have Richie immediately notice that he was crying.
Max wondered what life would be like if he had someone like Paul fighting in his corner. Richie’s parents had been just as bad as Max’s dad was. But he had Paul to figure it out and get him out of that environment before it destroyed him any more than it had. It was hard to shake the jealousy, even though he was glad to see Richie giggling and happy. Max felt like a broken person. He never had anyone to pick up the fragments. Max was left to fend for himself, and his heart burned when he saw people who didn't have to. The envy dwelled every time he saw Richie laughing with Paul. It poisoned everything. Max desperately wanted that kind of love. Maybe he'd have it if he wasn't so scared.
Max let himself inside, and he was immediately greeted by Paul and Richie, who were both sitting on the couch. Richie was dangling upside down from the couch, his head inches from the floor. Paul was sitting on the armchair across from him with his laptop.
“Hey bud! I'm sorry about the game.” Paul looked like he really meant it.
“Thank you.” He muttered, choosing to sit beside Richie. He kept his head bowed down, pretending to listen to Paul and Richie as they chatted. He was exhausted. He just wanted to float away for a while. Travel to the reality where things are bright and hopeful. Living somewhere sunny with Richie, free from his Dad. Not shackled by anything.
“Max, do you think you're gonna stay over tonight?” The mention of his name brought Max back to reality. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Paul was looking at him expectantly.
“Oh, uh. I was thinking so. Yeah.” Max cleared his throat awkwardly. “Please.”
“Of course, bud.” Paul offered him a kind smile, and he continued to stare at his lap. Richie sat up. Max could feel his eyes burning into his head.
I thought you had to go home soon. Why do you want to stay? Are you allowed to stay?
He could hear all the questions that he didn't want to answer. He wanted to sleep. Badly. They all sat in silence for a while. Max was too tired to think of something to say, and Richie was waiting for him to meet his gaze and give him an explanation.
The silence was eventually broken by Richie's phone ringing. Max jumped and grabbed his own phone, feeling the knot in his chest loosen when he realised it wasn't his. He looked up at Richie, who was staring at the screen with his brows furrowed.
“Ruth.” He pointed to the screen. “I need to take this.” Richie answered the call and shut himself into his bedroom, which left Max with Paul.
“How have you been, Max?” Paul said after a minute or two of silence. Max wasn't really sure what to say. He didn't really have the acting skills to sell happiness.
“I've just been going.”
“Going?”
“Just been. Trying to keep going.” He was trying to keep his voice as dull as possible. Letting emotion leak through wouldn't bode well. He'd already almost cried in front of Richie today. Paul was staring at him, watching him carefully just like Richie always did. “Things are okay.” He added weakly.
“Are you okay?” The question caught Max off guard. Maybe he should've expected it. He raised his head, feeling his face heat up. He didn't think he had an answer to that one.
Max debated telling Paul why he was upset. He didn't like putting the weight of his problems on Richie’s shoulders, but it did get a little hard to carry it alone all the time. It weighed him down, suffocated him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to give Paul a watered down version of what happened.
“I just–fucked it all up today.” He replied. Paul frowned.
“Everyone loses sometimes. You're allowed to have an off day.”
“But it was my fault. I lost my temper.” Max shifted uncomfortably.
“What happened?”
“It's stupid.” He muttered.
“Don't say that.” Paul shook his head. “It's not stupid if it's bothering you.”
It was obvious where Richie got his quips from. It was like he was talking to an older, wiser version of him.
“The quarterback of the other team. He just-” Max steadied himself. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have right now. “Said some shit.”
“About what?”
Max swallowed thickly. His eyes flickered over to Richie’s bedroom door. Paul seemed to understand.
“He was just trying to get a rise out of me. And it worked, because I'm a fucking idiot.” Max let out a sharp sigh, ignoring the tears that decided to resurface.
There were rumours floating around that Max had a thing for Richie. Most people thought it couldn't possibly be true, but they spread it anyway because it was funny , apparently. It drove Max insane, having to act like it wasn't true. It irked him even more when people used it against him. Like he'd be some kind of freak if, God forbid, the rumours were true.
“I shoved him and I got in trouble for it. I failed everyone.”
“You're too hard on yourself, Max.”
Paul had the kind of aura Max dreamed of having. Maybe he could be that kind someday, if he got some help. “You're a good kid. You don't need to bully yourself like that.”
Every word was like a knife in his chest. It was what Max desperately wanted to hear from an adult. But it still felt like poison filling his ears. He wasn't meant to hear things like that.
“Football is the only thing I'm good at. What's the point if I can't even do my thing better than everyone else?”
“Who says you have to be the best at something to be worthy of praise?”
Max paused. Paul was watching him carefully.
“If you love football, and you're having fun, that's literally the only thing that matters. Max.”
Max stared down at the floor, his eyes locked to his filthy shoes. He felt a little bad for walking into the house with them on.
Paul talked too much sense. He saw through everything.
“I don't even know if I like football.” He whispered, like it was a sin to say it out loud. Paul hummed quietly, urging him to keep talking. “I don't know. Maybe I'd like it if the stakes weren't so high. I feel like I'm dying every time I step onto the field.” Max didn't have the vocabulary to describe how it felt to play. It was similar to how Richie described the asthma attacks he had when he was a kid. He couldn't breathe, his chest hurt, his vision blurred, he felt like he was going to die. It was the same every time. “I dream about breaking my leg sometimes. I'd have a real reason to take a break.”
“Too much pressure for a kid.” Paul muttered, and Max wasn't sure if he was talking to Max or himself. “I'm sorry you're being put through this, Max.”
Max squeezed his eyes shut. He knew he’d start crying again if he acknowledged that. It was all so new to Max. Words that kind weren’t meant to be aimed at him. He took a moment to pull himself together before raising his head to look at Paul. He looked so sad for him, like the sight of Max was breaking his heart. Max didn’t want to be pathetic. He wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable like this.
But Max knew who he really was. He was a scared kid who had to grow up and be brave no matter what, because it's how he was raised. A child forced to act like an adult.
“It's okay. Character building and shit.” He eventually managed to respond, purposefully deepening his voice to mask how upset he felt. Paul’s eyes darkened a little, like he'd heard it all before.
“No one should have to go through what you're going through. It's not building your character, it's whittling you down.” Paul put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “You're more than what you're being boiled down to. You're more than a quarterback. My kid loves you, bud. He doesn't care that you're a star quarterback, he cares about you. You deserve to be appreciated without having to earn it.”
Max coughed to pretend he wasn't crying, yawned to excuse the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Something in my eye.” He whispered pathetically, knowing Paul didn't believe him but still wanting to hold onto his pride.
“It's okay.” Paul whispered back. Those two words managed to say so much. He kept the reassuring hand on Max’s shoulder, like he knew he needed it. He needed something to anchor him. Paul didn't say a word. He let Max slowly pull himself together.
Max’s head shot up when Richie’s bedroom door opened. He rushedly wiped his eyes, sitting up and clearing his throat.
“Sorry about that, Ruth dyed her hair green on a whim and now she's–” Richie trailed off when he saw Max. “Woah. Hey.”
Max felt ashamed.
“I think I'm gonna go home.” He croaked, wincing when the words didn't come out how he'd hoped. Too quiet, too weak. Richie’s eyes widened a little, and he met Paul's gaze. They seemed to be having an entire conversation with eye contact alone. Paul stood up and let them have a moment to themselves.
“What happened, Max?” Richie sat down beside him, grabbing his hand. Max kept his head bowed down.
“Nothing. I just- I need to go.”
“Max, I didn't even know you were staying until you said it and now you want to leave?” Richie wasn't giving up on trying to make Max look at him. He just couldn’t. He'd cry again, and he had already embarrassed himself enough.
“Please. Can you just ask Paul to take me home?”
Richie sat and watched him, for a long time. He sighed.
“Alright.” He stood up. “Okay.”
–
“Just around the corner, isn't it Max?”
Max felt his stomach start to turn when they turned onto his street. He couldn't go home.
“Oh, uh. You can just stop here. I can walk the rest of the way.” Max grabbed the door handle, ready to open it when Paul stopped the car. Richie was still frowning at him. Like how you'd frown at a lost puppy.
“Okay.” Paul turned around to say goodbye. “Thanks for stopping by, bud.” Max managed a weak smile, and he let himself out of the car.
“Text me when you get inside, Max.” Richie stepped out of the car to pull Max into a hug. He held it for longer than usual, like he didn't want to let go. Max’s heart hurt.
He walked slowly down the street, waiting for the car to turn out of sight. He watched Richie and Paul drive off, and he sat down on the curb in front of his house. He texted Richie that he was home and okay.
He didn’t want to go inside. It wouldn't be the first time he slept outside to avoid going home. He was okay.
But it was really cold. Max pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his hands, and watched his breaths mist in the air. Max’s phone buzzed on the concrete beside him, and he watched a notification pop up.
richie: you sure?
He didn't text him back. He just closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the cold biting at his skin. The air felt sharp, but he would still choose it over facing the screaming he'd face if he walked inside. He'd choose it in a heartbeat.
He would've chosen Richie, but he'd embarrassed himself. He couldn't stay over after crying in front of them both.
richie: i wish you'd stayed
Max put his phone face down. He was tearing up again. He tilted his head up and watched the sun disappear behind the trees. He watched the stars start to appear. That was one of the only good things about Hatchetfield. It wasn't populated enough for light pollution to have any real impact, so the stars always shined brighter. Max wished he was smart enough to know about astrology. He'd love to be able to point out the constellations to Richie. Maybe that was lame.
Max didn't think he was being that hard on himself. He just needed to push himself particularly hard because that's what was expected. He had to be disciplined. He couldn't let emotions override everything else the way he had today.
But he was so tired. It would be nice to just sit and look at the stars.
–
“Can you drive around the block?” Richie had a feeling. Max was terrified of going back home, and Richie knew him well enough to know he'd rather hide outside. He would rather lie to Richie so he wouldn't worry him. But Richie knew him too well.
“Why?” Paul asked, but he was already turning. He probably knew.
“I just have a feeling.” He replied, checking his phone again. Max was ignoring him, which fuelled his theory even more.
“I need to figure out how Max can stay with us for a little while.” Paul muttered, keeping his expression neutral. Richie felt his heart jump a little. He knew Paul had always had his reservations about Max. Whatever they'd spoken about must've changed his mind. “Maybe more than a little while.” His grip on the wheel tightened a little as they turned back onto Max’s street. Richie leaned forward in his seat, waiting for Max’s driveway to come into view. Richie’s face plummeted when he saw him.
“Oh, Max.”
Paul slowed down the car and Richie let himself out before the car had even stopped. Max was sitting hunched over on the curb outside his house, visibly shivering. His eyes were glossed over. He hadn't even noticed Richie walking towards him. He was elsewhere.
Richie sat down beside him, tapping his arm gently. He was still gone.
“Max.”
Max winced, blinking and turning to meet Richie’s gaze. He looked a little disoriented. He looked so sad.
“Rich? Why are y–”
Richie pulled him into a hug. Max buried his head in his shoulder.
“I'm sorry.” He choked out, and Richie hushed him.
“Don't. I don't even know what you're sorry about.”
“I'm just. So tired.” He whispered, and Richie’s eyes started to water a little.
“I know.” He whispered back, letting Max cry into his shoulder. “Let's go home.”
Max thankfully didn't try to object. Richie was going to drag him back to the car either way. Richie stood up and held out his hand. Max took it after staring at it for a moment, and they walked back to the car.
“Hey, buddy.” Paul turned around to offer him a weak smile. Max just slid into the backseat and leaned against the windowsill. Richie sat beside him.
“Hi.” He mumbled, trying to smile back. He didn't really have it in him.
“Don't worry about going back home tomorrow. I'll figure it out.” Max looked a little hesitant. Richie smiled reassuringly. He didn’t think it would help much, but he hated seeing Max so uneasy. “Somehow. I've done it before.” Paul added, a little quieter.
Max seemed to be at a loss.
“You don't have to say anything.” Richie told him.
“Okay.” Max sighed quietly, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen a little. Richie was glad. He wanted Max to feel safe with him. Max badly needed a safe haven, and Richie wanted to be that. “Okay.”
Max’s eyes were already fluttering shut. The bags under his eyes were almost purple in tone. Richie watched him carefully, silently praying he'd doze off. God knows he needed it.
“Sorry for crying.” He whispered, his voice slurring a little. Richie shushed him again, shaking his head.
“Don't apologise for that, Max. It's a good thing.”
“Hmm.”
Max rested his head on Richie’s shoulder, and his breathing slowed until he was quietly snoring. Richie didn't dare try to move it. He tilted his head to rest it on top of Max’s. They would be okay.