Chapter Text
Richie ran his thumb over the words of a wrinkled flyer, big bold black letters that read: “Halloween Rave” contrasting with the warm orange of the paper, a smiling pumpkin graphic decorating it, it was no use having seconds thoughts since he was already standing outside the big, abandoned warehouse where the party was happening, booming music and neon lights coming from said building flooding the empty woods nearby the area.
You could hear the alcohol poisoning from miles away, his sneakers sank into the wet dirt as he walked to the entrance, a big rusty metal door standing in front of him, he looked down at his make-shift costume, since he decided to go at the last minute he didn’t have anything prepared, not that he usually dressed up for Halloween, and the flyer said “no costume no entry.”
So he did one with what he had, ripped and dirt-stained pants and a white shirt he had stained with some red paint, and of course, his green letterman jacket, which was more worn than new. He was supposed to be a zombie, but he looked more like roadkill with the makeup he had done. Whatever, he was already here.
He took a few steps more and reached the door, he struggled to open it, it was heavier than he expected, and as soon as he did the music became even louder, and the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat hit his nose, the warehouse was packed to the rim with other people around his age, some older some younger, all of them intoxicated with the poison of their choice, the DJ was some dude who worked at the gas station but surprisingly made the people dance, not that it took much.
The loudness and chaos around him fitted him quite right, already known as, what way too many adults in his life called him, a lost cause, Richie felt right at home at this drunken wasteland, his hand going up to mess up his hair, trying to make it match his costume, self-conscious of how bad it was as he saw other people on the party had actually put in effort on theirs, he took a deep breath. He weaved his way through the crowd of drunk and high teenagers.
First things first, he headed towards the drinks table. A few people waved at him as he walked. But he honestly didn’t recognize anyone, but it was nice, it was one of the perks of being popular, people you don’t even know already like you!
He wiggled his way past a girl hoarding all the tequila and snagged one of the bright red plastic cups from the edge of the table. He was ready to whip up what would probably be the deadliest, headiest, and alcohol poisoning-inducing drink at the party, mixing in whatever alcohol he could get his hands on without bothering to mix it with anything that wasn’t intoxicating; he was there to get wasted and nothing else.
The booming sound of a loud, generic floor-filler song filled the room, Richie found himself bopping his head slightly to the beat while he struggled to make his way through the room, he didn’t want to be near the drinks table since it was where all the boring people who didn’t dance were, and Richie was nothing near that. He kept his red cup up, trying not to spill it.
Richie lifted it to his lips, ready to take the first sip of his probably radioactive drink, his face soured as the cold liquid went down his throat, burning him from the inside out, a drunken stranger’s hand patted his back, another pushing the red cup and Richie forced himself to drink it.
“Shot! Shot! Shot!” The stranger cheered, which, why would he yell that if that clearly wasn’t a shot— but whatever, he kept shouting and making a few other people also cheer him on as he finished the entire cup; and most of his time at the party was spent like that, downing whatever drink crossed his path and bouncing around different friend groups, or talking with complete strangers, messily dancing and becoming dizzier as the seconds flew, his perception of time slowly blurring.
Richie didn’t know if it was the music, the small talk or the alcohol flowing in his system that made him get so in the mood to do stupid shit, more than usual at least, and so, he wasn’t sure how, when, or why but he was currently on top of a table, a crowd around him that were dangerously close to moving the table and making him fall, as he downed half a bottle of vodka after shotgunning a few beers, he would probably die from alcohol poisoning after this but Richie didn’t really care, as long as it got him excited, as long at got him even a tiny taste of adrenaline, even if it was just a bite.
The glass bottle fell to the floor as he finished it, almost breaking, but luckily it didn’t, the people around him shouting, a sea of blurred words he couldn’t quite understand that Richie answered with incoherent cheers, before a familiar hand dragged him down and away from the center of the party, like a sack of sand.
“Rich? Hey, can you hear me?” Pete tried reaching out to him, snapping his fingers in front of him, trying to catch his attention, but he was too out of it; the neon lights flashing above them and the loud thumping of the speakers matched his heartbeat. Peter snapped him back to reality by yanking on his hair.
“Ow!? What the hell, Pete?” One of his hands went up to the spot where Pete had pulled at as if that would make the pain go away, he tried his best to focus on what the other boy was saying, but right now the words were just meshing up together, the only words he could make up right now were the lyrics of the song playing on the background
“You aren’t listening. How the fuck did you get wasted already?” He snapped his fingers again, catching Richie’s attention. “Are you gonna give me a ride or what?”
“What? Right now?”
“No, dumbass-” The jock smacked him on the back of his head as a wake-up call, and it was just enough to get Richie back to reality for a few more seconds “When it’s over”
“When what’s over?” Richie asked, with the most genuine confusion he could muster in his voice, before Pete smacked him on the head again, a bit harder this time, making him wince and hiss at the jock.
“The party, Rich.” Pete spat out, juggling a half-empty beer can he was drinking and Richie’s flopping body, forcing to stay steady by pushing him into a nearby wall, holding the other jock by the shoulder, not caring how rough his hold was. “Y’know, the one you’re in right now? Fuck, are you high or something?”
He didn’t answer, simply steadying himself and batting Peter’s hand away, rolling his eyes and accidentally making himself dizzy with that, Richie forced himself to snap back into consciousness, before Peter spoke again.
“You can’t even walk and it’s only twelve-” The jock sneered, taking a jug of his drink, passing down the sour beer like it was nothing. “How’d you even get this fucked up so early-”
“Jesuss— Yeah, I’ll drive you home, Cinderella.” Richie hissed, pushing himself off the wall and grunting, shooting a glare over at his teammate. “Can you stop being a whiny bit—" He stopped at the familiar feeling of nausea gnawing at his stomach and coming dangerously close to his throat; he instinctively covered his mouth with one hand and pushed past the other boy, desperate to find the nearest bathroom or trashcan.
Pete called out for him but he couldn’t understand what he was saying, he tried his best to keep his legs steady, uncoordinated steps making his way through the warehouse, Richie felt his vision get blurry as he faded in and out of his own mind, the neon lights and the groovy techno on the speakers blinding and overwhelming his senses.
He didn’t even know how but he now was walking up metallic stairs, gripping the handles with all his strength, trying not to fall because God that would be embarrassing, there were still more people on the top floor, most of them already passed out drunk laying on the floor or making out leaning against the wall, but it was less crowded than in the main area and a little more calm.
He tried his best to keep his eyes to himself, focusing instead on what to him was like an oasis in a desert: a trashcan.
Richie hurried, and as soon as he was near enough to the trashcan, he bent down, pushing someone on the way, but he didn’t care now, he leaned against the wall, bent down, and began to vomit into the already dirty and… half-burnt? trashcan. A few people near Richie started walking away, not very interested in watching the scene, but for the drunken teen, it was a good thing; he had a little more privacy.
Richie flinched as an unfamiliar hand reached out to him, gently holding his hair back as he retched into the trashcan, the thought of moving his face away from the trashcan to get a look at who it was crossed his mind but he didn’t want to risk vomiting on someone, so he just stayed there, resigning himself to accept the help.
“Uh.. Are you okay?” The stranger called to him, awkwardly patting his back as he waited for Richie to finish. He continued only for a few more seconds, taking deep breaths when he finished, wiping his face with the sleeve of his mysteriously, already stained letterman jacket.
“What?” He asked, maybe a little too loud, he was always a little too loud, with narrowed eyes at the blurry figure holding his hair, deep blue eyes meeting his, an oddly familiar brunette looked down at Richie with a mix of worry and pity, the stranger let go of his hair, a sheepish voice speaking up again.
“It’s just.. well, you don’t seem-” The stranger was interrupted by more puking coming from Richie, who had luckily reached for the trash can just in time. He patted his back again, slight disgust on his face.
After Richie took a few more seconds to breathe, he burst out laughing, lazily resting his head on top of his arms, supported by the rim of the trashcan, not the most hygienic place to rest, but did he care? No, the boy crouched next to him, awkwardly patting his shoulder, trying to comfort him in his own weird way, Richie’s laughter died down. “Oh man… I’m so fucked”
“You probably shouldn’t have downed that entire bottle in one go.” He accentuated some of the words strangely, huh, weird, Richie thought, almost saying it out loud. The stranger jumped when Richie laughed dumbly again, already way too drunk to have a coherent conversation.
“You saw me? Fuck.” The jock chuckled mindlessly, propping himself at the wall behind him, sitting on the dirty and rusted floor of the warehouse, only making the stranger grimace. But Rich didn't really care that much about anything, really, much less about sitting and staining his already dirtied jeans on whatever concoction of fluids was spilled there.
“Yeah… Pretty much everyone did-” Richie interrupted him again, reaching for the trash can again and puking his brains out,
The jock stayed still for a few seconds, his head buried on the trashcan and his usually infuriating voice suddenly silent, the stranger reached out, to see if he was still conscious, only for Richie to straighten up and chime, starteling the other boy. “It was pretty sick, wasn’t it?” He bragged, his vision slowly focusing on the boy in front of him, a faintly freckled face framed by a thin pair of glasses, he stared down in concern, and Richie laughed again, at the thought that anybody could ever be worried about him.
“It was something-” He mumbled awkwardly and shifted his gaze to the side to avoid making direct eye contact with Richie, who read the room, and he stayed silent for a moment, contemplating the suddenly very interesting-looking concrete floor.
The blinding reflections of neon lights were interrupted by the stranger’s shadow, he looked up at the boy again. “Hey… do I know you from somewhere?” Richie dragged the last words, letting them slip from his mouth as he was lost in thought again and tilting his head to the side like a confused dog.
The boy bit back a nervous laugh, shifting in his spot. “Uh, no, I don’t think so-” His hand went down to his pocket, taking a small cloth, probably the one he used to clean his glasses, and handing it over to the jock. “I mean, you probably don’t."
Richie furrowed his brows, using all his mental capacity to try to remember him, but all the different kinds of alcohol flowing in his system didn’t help, he let his mouth hang slightly agape, only opening it a lot more as he remembered the boy across him, a slightly surprised look on his face.
“Holy shit- you’re that boy Pete used to make fun of in junior year? The one the firefighters had to help out of a locker because it got stuck?- Aren’t you?” He pointed a finger at the stranger, jabbing it into his shoulder. “Shit, what was your name?.. Matt? Mark?”
“It’s Max-” The name rang a bell in Richie’s brain, the boy standing in front of his spread and puked self looked embarrassed at the memory, finally making eye contact with the jock as he moved away from him, almost on instinct.
“Max,” He repeated weakly. Richie made a poor attempt at trying to carve the name into his memory, but he gave up and pushed it to the back of his mind. “Holy shiit, dude, you were stuck there for like three periods-” Richie poked at Max’s arm, making the shorter boy jump a bit, and Richie backed away, catching how Max's brows settled in a furrow.
“Yeah, not..” The stranger, Max, shivered at the sudden memories, his eyes focusing on the floor, and he grimaced at the sudden realization that Richie now knew who he was. “Not the best year for me.”
“Holy shiiiit.” Richie whispered, dragging it out, narrowing his eyes as he went back to supporting his head on the rim of the trashcan, his arm flopped back in place as he processed everything, an awkward silence falling on them until he spoke again, “Fuck man, I’m sorry.”
“You’re- What?” Max looked more confused than surprised, which, fair, he had blurted out that apology without much thought into it, not even knowing why he was apologizing exactly. Richie moved slightly, now facing him.
“Sorry, Pete was like a complete asshole in junior and I didn’t do anything.” He spoke drunkenly, some words blending into each other and a few Ts mispronounced or skipped. “So like, sorry.”
He was still shocked at the fact that Richie, of all people, was apologizing to him, the gears in his brain working slower than usual as he let the apology sink in, a conflicted expression on his face. “Oh, it’s… okay?” It wasn’t, really, but he didn’t want to have this talk right now, next to a trashcan.
“I was such a jerk, dude…” He reminisced. He hadn’t been as bad or physical as Pete during that year, but some of the things he said to the nerds still weighed heavily on his mind, even if he didn’t really want to admit that.
Richie’s gaze seemed lost, looking into nothing and everything at the same time, his eyes wandering to Max’s awkward, failed attempt at a smile, then going back to nowhere. “I hadn’t even really thought about it, fuck.”
“Yeah, you kinda were… but you weren’t the worst,” Max said quietly, trying to reassure him, while Richie spoke again, still staring into the vast nothing.
“Like, a total dickhead.”
And that bluntness gained him a timid chuckle from the other boy, who looked at him with a conflicted, yet oddly amused look in his eyes. Was he also drunk? The brunette shifted a bit on his spot, Richie’s eyes focused on his movements, on how his slightly confused expression quickly changed into a subtle, awkward smile, a small, breathy laugh escaping from his mouth. “I don’t think dickheads feel bad about their actions… So, you’re more like a jerk.”
“A jerk.” Richie echoed, blinking away the dizziness in his eyes, and without he could even realize, a small smile curved at his lips too. The jock propped himself up again, straightening and leaning on the dingy wall. "I'll take that over being a dickhead any time. How'd you even scale if a jerk is worse or better than a dickhead?"
The nerd simply chuckled, not sure how to answer that. He shifted on his spot again, cautiously setting down on a cleaner spot of the floor, crossing his legs just like Richie. "I don't think there's much thought behind it... It just kinda sounds better. I doubt anyone wants to be called 'dickhead' over being called a 'jerk.'" Max fidgeted with the rim of his sleeve and the ties of his shoes. Richie noted that. He moved a lot for someone who looked like he'd rather be invisible.
"You talk weird," Richie blurted out, without a single thought in his head.
"I talk..." The nerd stopped in his tracks, glancing over at the puked jock who had somehow strikes conversation with him. His voice dropped a bit. "Weird?"
"Yeah, you talk weird, man," Richie repeated without a shame or worry in the world, shifting on his spot too. Wanting to settle Max's fidgeting hands so the shorter boy could stay put, it made him itch for some reason, even if he himself also couldn't stay put. "But like, smart weird, not funny weird, like a teacher or something. But a cool teacher, y'know?"
"...Right." He simply nodded, not noticing the small, airy chuckle that he let out. "I didn't realize I talked weird."
"Smart weird," Richie corrected, holding one finger up and using the trashcan as support as he stretched his legs, brushing by the other boy's shoes just ever so slightly. "It's kinda nice."
Max felt oddly warm, and maybe it was the fact that they both were drunk, one more than the other, or maybe it was the music, or just the general mood, but right now, Richie didn’t look as scary as he did in school. Sure, he was still cautious around him, and he sure as hell hadn’t actually forgiven him, but right now, actually talking to him, the green neon light reflecting on his eyes, Richie looked nothing like he did in junior year. The unusually calm silence was broken by a question from the taller of the pair. “Can you help me get up?”
He quickly got up on his feet and reached out to help him get up, which he briefly realized wouldn’t be as easy as he thought, Richie was heavy, but he did as best as he could trying to balance himself, standing on his two feet being this drunk being his greatest achievement of the night so far, he laughed mindlessly again, turning around and supporting himself on Max’s shoulder.
“You’re.. very heavy-” The boy mumbled as Richie tried to keep his balance on him, he tried not to buckle under the weight as the other laughed again, Max wasn’t used to doing this much physical effort, the most he did was carry his backpack to school and even that got him tired, Richie’s makeup smeared on his neck and collar.
“Hell yeah, I bulk.” His breath reeked of alcohol, not any in particular, just, alcohol, which just worried Max even more, he was taller than Max but it wasn’t that big of a difference, and still, he was leaning down to talk to him, clumsily supporting himself on the other boy and the wall, Max’s face soured at the smell, moving his face away and making the jock laugh again, his eyes wandered the hall they were at, a few locked areas catching his eye.
Richie knew the warehouse had been abandoned for a few years now, maybe since he was in elementary school? He didn’t know why hadn’t he come here to explore before, he had already been to half of Hatchetfield, but now he was here, when he was walking up here he saw a barricaded area, and any idea looked like a good one to him right now, the gears in his head tuned in, and he turned to Max to ask him “Hey, wanna ditch?”
The boy looked at him with a suspicious face. He raised an eyebrow and questioned him, “And… go where exactly?” Richie gestured towards the end of the seemingly endless hall, to the more secluded and, honestly, deteriorating part of the building. His eyes followed the directions of Richie’s fingers to a barricaded area, and Max hesitated to even answer. "...I don't think we're allowed in there."
"Aw, c'mon dude- What's the point of going to parties if you don't do stupid shit?" The jock patted him on the back, a bit too roughly, making him stumble a bit before he gripped the wall for support. "It's practically screaming for us to go there. Why else would they put all those wooden barricades there? We'll just go take a look, and we'll come back-"
Max knew it was a bad idea, that they would probably fall to their death with how rusty and rotting the floor seemed to be. Richie knew too, yet he didn't seem to care much. But…he had already put himself out there and went to the party, right? The least he could do was do something at the party, instead of just standing around and drinking alone like he was doing before talking to Richie. "...We'll only take a look?"
"And then we'll come back, safe and sound." Richie’s eyes lit up, and he leaned over to Max, invading his space a bit as he tried to persuade the nerd. "C'mon, we might find weird... uh, nature science stuff, or whatever you're into."
He blinked a few times at the jock, shifting a bit so Richie wasn't basically all over his face, and Max's gaze flickered between the end of the hallway, and the drunken teenager resting on his shoulder. Max took a deep breath before he turned back to Richie, who was way too excited for simply exploring an abandoned warehouse. "...Okay, but we'll just look around, no touching or jumping."
"Fuck yeah," The jock didn’t think twice before walking clumsily towards the barricaded hallway. His legs were wobbly, and one of his hands was using the wall as a guide, the other trapped over Max, dragging him into what seemed like a genius idea to his drunken, sleep-deprived brain. Maybe it was, who knows? Richie surely didn't. While Max held onto Richie, not trusting him to actually be able to walk on his own.
They walked past the few people remaining on the second floor, who were either drunk off their minds or making out in less than comfortable positions. The hallway seemed endless and dizzying, but they walked until the only two people were them. When they stood in front of the end of said hallway, barricaded with rotting wooden planks, Max turned to Richie, about to ask him if he was sure about this, but the jock was already gone.
He bent down the wooden barricade, crawling into it without warning, and Max tried to follow behind, not wanting to leave a more than drunk person loose on a place like that; he didn't want to have Richie's death on his conscience, no, sir. Not today. So he crawled down the wooden planks too, both staining their clothes with dirt and dust, but they went in.
"Rich?" The rusty metal floor creaked under their weight, their steps were cautious and steady, breaking glass shards that were lying on the floor and stepping on trash as they went deeper. Max looked around, trying to find the jock amidst the darkness of a hallway who seemed equally infinite as the one before. "Richie?"
At one of Richie’s steps, the floor creaked all the way to the end of the hall, a horrible scream-like sound making their ears hurt. That's how Max found Richie, looking down at a whole fucking hole in the floor, and he rushed, keeping one hand over the jock's letterman to keep him from falling. "Rich-!" He whisper-shouted. "Jesus, don't walk away like that..."
Richie simply chuckled, settling back up and rising to his feet, dragging Max along with him. "Relax, I was just lookin' around." He walked further into the dark hallway, not even waiting for Max, simply expecting him to follow.
"You could have fallen- You can barely walk straight, you shouldn't be sticking your head down in holes on the ground!" Max whispered, rushedly, his voice slightly faltering at the sound of glass breaking under his foot, and he rushed back to Richie, grabbing the jock by the sleeve of his green jacket, using it to keep him straight and also not loose sight of him. The floor creaked and screamed as they both went deeper, passing by the empty rooms that were once used as storage.
"Okay, okay, sorry-" One hand came to grab Max's, moving it away from Richie's sleeve in a surprisingly gentle manner, instead settling it around one of Richie's belt loops, locking them. " There, now if I go around sticking my head in more holes on the ground, you can yank me up."
"...That's not funny." Except it kinda was, but Max abstained from laughing, and they continued their escapade through an abandoned warehouse, the metal sheets that made up the hallway continued screaming at them, urging them to turn back, and making Max grimace with each screech. "We've looked around, can't we go back now? I don’t think this place is structurally sound..."
“Dudeee, it’s okay,” Richie silenced him with a finger on top of his lips, letting go of him and instead supporting himself on the wall. “We’ll only fall like.. one floor,” he continued walking aimlessly, the creaking metal floor screaming at him to go back, accompanied by distant party noises. Richie looked to the ground, trying not to step on any scrap, a yellow ripped barricade tape standing out from all the darkness.
He was about to bend down and reach for it when a small “Woah” stopped him right in his tracks. He turned around to see Max standing in front of a door, boarded out with rotting wooden planks, a red pentagram painted on it. Richie walked over to him, kicking away any trash or rubbish on his way, and his hand went up to touch the decaying planks that barricaded the strange door. “Richie, I don’t think-”
But Richie was already trying to open it, he took a few steps back and kicked down the wooden planks fairly easily since they were falling apart on their own, his fingers traced around the pentagram on the door, feeling the roughness of the dried paint, he turned around to look at Max, his hand still on the door “Holy shit... Should we go in?”
“What? No!-” His shout was more like a whisper, Richie ignored Max’s protests, and his scarred hand grabbed the handle of the door, opening it forcefully and the screeching it let out echoed throughout the hallway, his feet moved without thinking and he was already inside the room, leaving the other boy behind. It was fairly empty, it probably used to be a storage room, dark metal shelves filled with old scrap and dust, Richie walked without thought, slowly wandering the stands, and looking at all the stuff on them, while Max went after him again, he would feel guilty if Richie accidentally got himself impaled with all the scrap metal that was there.
The room was cold, even more than the hallway outside, but at least it seemed more stable, with a tall ceiling that reached the very roof of the warehouse. Max didn't want to look up too much; he felt like something could go flying down from there at any moment. The walls were pure metal, with only one window that was also barricaded with wood, a few graffiti here and there, and tall, imposing shelves filled with all sorts of boxes that cast eerie shadows on the walls.
They both walked on opposite sides of the room, Max’s curiosity got the better of him and his eyes wandered to the dusty boxes on the metal shelves, the tips of his fingers delicately touching some old books that were lying there, as if they were going to crumble under his touch, he removed some of the dust to look at the titles, so focused on them that he didn’t notice that there were slow, heavy footsteps approaching him. A cold hand creeping onto his shoulder made him jump and turn around, knocking off the porcelain mask that had been in front of him for only a few seconds. A very drunk Richie chuckled in his face as he held his hand close to his heart. He screamed angrily. “What the heck, Richie?!”
“Sorryy- I wanted to show it to you.” He dragged out his words again, he bent down abruptly and used his remaining brain power to pick up the now cracked mask he was wearing, it was a simple blank mold of a mannequin-like face, he stumbled backward and crashed onto one of the shelves, holding onto them to not fall, his chuckles dying down slowly, he pointed to one of the stands. The lack of sleep and the alcohol mixing in his system. “I found it 'nside one of those boxes”.
“Put it back, then-" His feet shoved the remaining shards of the mask away, hiding them under the shelf beside them, and he handed out a hand to the other boy to steady him up, gripping the jock's palm tightly, not letting go of it until he made sure Richie was steady. "Who knows where it has been, and you’ve already put it on your face.”
“Dude, it’s a mask.” Richie’s arms flopped to his sides before taking Max’s hands, the mask on his other hand. “It’s probably from like… a play, or something” He shrugged off his concerns, getting pulled off the floor, and straightened up, his fingers traced the features of the mask, his eyes fixed on it while Max’s were on his hands, noticing how rough and scarred they looked, the black polish on his nails worn off, there was a small silence that barely lasted 10 seconds, maybe it lasted even less, but they both felt like it lasted an hour, and Richie hated silences no matter how short they were. “Do you think it’s haunte-” His question was cut short by his own cursing, a sharp pain suddenly shot on the tip of his index finger, little drops of red staining the dusty white of the mask, his finger had caught in one of the cracks.
“What happened? Are you h-?” Max hurriedly asked him and came closer to see why Richie had screamed, while the other dropped the mask to the ground, cutting him off and causing it to break into even smaller pieces, his eyes now where it had landed.
“I cut myself with that dumb mask… fuck, do you think it’ll get infected? Like rabies and stuff?” He pressed the wound, making it bleed more, a few drops of the dark liquid staining the floor beneath them, which Max was watching so intensely, he looked at him with curiosity, raising an eyebrow at how still and quiet he was, almost as if he had frozen. “Max? Hey, Max- I was joking with that haunted stuff, y’know that right?” His hands shook the boy up, holding him by the shoulders, worriedly rushing his words, now taking in how pale the other had gotten, a gnawing feeling of worry suddenly bubbling up on his chest, did he fuck up something? “Hey? Is this because of the mask?-”
“What is that?” Max finally spoke, pointing to the floor, his eyes still fixated on it.
“What?” He looked to the floor too, realizing they were standing on top of white, chalky lines, his eyes slowly traced them to try and find a coherent path or form, one, two, three, four, five painted lines, forming a star, then he noticed another curved line, a circle, it was a pentagram. They were standing in the middle of a pentagram.
“Rich, I..." A hand quickly went up to his shoulder, making him turn around to face Richie instead of the floor, rough fingers pressing surprisingly gently at his skin, Max forced himself to look up, trying to ignore the funny feeling that bubbled up inside of him. "I don't think we should be here-”
“Oh, c'mon dude, it’s fine, it’s just chalk, it’s… just something some bored emo kid drew." The words came out a little more weird and shaky than he intended, a small reassuring smile trying to amend the sentence he had just blurted out, and it seemed to work, Max’s breath was slowly steadying, his eyes going down to the red lines beneath them, then back up to Richie, as the jock faintly grabbed Max's face, squishing him and then letting go. "It's not like a demon is going to pop out of it and eat us.”
“Yeah… It’s nothing, sorry- I just feel kinda weird.” He stumbled with his tongue, and the light touch on his shoulder was stripped away from him. Max's eyes flickered back to the weird pentagram drawn on the floor, making his stomach churn, something akin to nausea suddenly drowning him, and he turned to the jock, a slight concerned furrow on his brows. "Is it... normal to be this dizzy when you're drunk?-"
“Yeah, it’s nothing- But seriously, if you're gonna puke, then I'll probably puke too." He moved his hand away, noticing a small red stain on Max’s cheek. He had accidentally smeared the boy with blood from his cut, which was still bleeding despite how small it was. he instinctively went up to clean it off with his sleeve, but something made him stop.
Richie didn’t know why, but suddenly his limbs felt stiff, and it hurt to move. Max looked at him, confused at how he had gone quiet so suddenly. The shorter boy told him something, something Richie didn't really catch, the world was spinning around him in ways it shouldn't be. Richie tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He tried to move, but he couldn’t.
And then he saw it, a deformed black shadow was standing behind a very confused Max, blurry and strained, with the only distinctive feature it had being its eyes: a blinding neon yellow, slightly green with blue rims. The rest of it was pure black, like a spot of ink staining a painting, like it consumed all the light around it completely, the darkness of it started spreading, reaching each corner of the room, and even staining Max's neck, wrapping around it like a tentacle.
Then... a giggle, echoing from somewhere in the dark room. And suddenly, Richie couldn’t breathe.
What felt like a lifetime passed, leaving a stabbing-like feeling on Richie’s throat, once he blinked it was gone, and so was his weird frozen state, he stumbled backward, blurting out a fearful and agitated “What the fuck?!” That strained his vocal cords, as if he had been choked.
Max jumped with his sudden outburst, quickly grabbing him again before he fell on his back, probably leaving red marks on his arms, but it was useless, they both fell, Max on his knees and Richie on his back, hitting the metal shelves behind him creaking and clanking as a few things fell out, both flinching and covering themselves so they wouldn’t get hit, he had suddenly sobered up with how scared he was, his heart thumping in his ears and it felt like it was going to jump out of his chest at any moment, his eyes stayed on the shards of the now broken mask, some of them stained with his blood, it took a few, shaky, calls of his name to get him to snap back to reality.
“Richie?-”
“There was something behind you-” Richie blurted out quickly, smashing a few words together with how fast he spoke, he looked to the red paint on the ground, both of his hands on top of his thighs as he bent down slightly, catching his breath, Max was still near the middle of the pentagram but Richie was on one of the star’s edges. He smeared some of the chalk as he fell, staining his letterman with it. His lungs burned and his eyes did too, red-rimmed like he had been out of air for hours. “There was something behind you!-”
“What? Rich- What?” Max turned around, searching for anyone else inside the room besides them, only to find nothing other than blank, grey walls and dim moonlight coming from a small window that they hadn’t seen before, a few wooden planks on the floor near it. Did they take those down? He couldn’t remember, not that it mattered. “What are you talking about?- Are you high?”
"Why does everyone keep asking that?" He groaned, and pointed his wounded finger pointed towards nothing, and he didn’t wait for an answer before he quickly grabbed Max’s wrist, practically dragging him out of the room, the boy stumbling over his feet, rushing to the dark hall and slamming the door shut once they were out, the distant beat of the music matched his heartbeat, he kept his hands on the door as if he was keeping something inside even though it was empty.
“Rich, what d-”
“I don’t know.” He cut Max short, his legs slowly betraying him as he slowly bent down and softly fell to his knees, his hands still pressed strongly against the door, his cut burning from the contact of the cold metal, he felt a hand reaching out to his shoulder. "I don't fucking know, but there was-" He breathed, panting between each word. "There was something and- And it almost-" Richie's hands went up to his own neck, wrapping around his throat softly, as if soothing himself.
“Are you sure you didn’t just... like, hallucinate it?” His tone was soft, reassuring, something Richie wasn’t used to, and therefore rubbed him the wrong way. The jock turned around abruptly, his chest falling and rising with each pant and breath, making Max jump again.
“I don’t know!” He didn’t mean to shout, he never meant to shout, but oh well. His hands fell to the ground, the cut on his hand staining with red another piece of barricade tape, he shivered, turning around to rest his back on the wall, watching his chest go up, down, up, down, he didn’t know why had he gotten so scared, and he frowned with sourness as he saw the other’s worried look.
“...Okay," A hand was placed on his chest, an odd and unfamiliar feeling of comfort coming with it, they both stayed like that for some time, Richie still processing what he had seen and Max what he had heard, he realized he hadn’t actually take time to look at the boy touching his chest… he had no fucking clue what he was dressed as. "Just.. breathe, okay? You can hyperventilate if you keep screaming-”
Max's wavy hair was now messily thrown over his face, the thin glasses that framed his face were crooked, and as much as it bothered Rihie to admit, his weird dumb motion on the jock's chest was actually working, even if Rich's heart still slammed against his ribs, like it wanted to get out.
Richie's eyes wandered over him until he saw a familiar sight of red staining his cheek, he kept staring, slowing his breath and calming down a bit, but not enough to think clearly apparently, he straightened up slightly to wipe off the stain, only smearing it more, he let his tongue poke out as he concentrated, Max raised an eyebrow at him, “Do I have something on my face?”
“Blood.”
“Blood?!” His hand was moved away and replaced with Max’s much more aggressive and desperate wiping, a slight disgust making him curve his mouth down. “Whose blood?!”
“Mine,” Richie moved his finger up in front of Max, the cut now dirty with dust and whatever was on the floor, and he grimaced at the sight of it.
He stayed on his knees, his aggressive wiping now slowing down and being absolutely useless, the red tint was now smeared all over his cheek, but at least it didn’t look like blood; just like a bruise, Max sighed, giving up as he saw the stain wouldn't go any time soon, not at least until he washed it away. His hand went up to fix his glasses, noting the small crack on the rim, and he took them off, muttering a curse under his breath. "Shit... They were new-"
And Richie frowned again, getting up way too fast for his good, he was dizzy, his hand going towards the wall and using it and the distant sound of music as a guide, he stopped after a few steps and turned around, yanking the nerd up by the wrist. “We need to get the fuck out of here—”