Chapter Text
Max doesn’t know exactly how he ended up in this situation - no fucking clue at all. That seems to be a common occurrence in his life: being led from one thing to another without a care for tomorrow or yesterday. And yet here he is - after school, painting a fence for the school’s upcoming play - chicken mono or whatever it’s called.
He needs the extra credit, and one of his teachers offered to drop his lowest grade in algebra if he stayed after school. After the big game, football practice isn’t as important - even the coach knows it. He struck a deal with Coach Houston to show up late to practice in order to split his time with the theater club. He immediately understood after Max fessed up and told him he needed the extra credit and that he was trying to do better. Sure, Richie’s been helping him a lot, but his grades from the beginning of the semester were still tanking his overall grade.
The actors are rehearing downstage, and he can hear Ruth in the distance yelling at Trevor again. It’s kind of a calming atmosphere - the chatter backstage, the actors hesitantly voicing their lines, the sawing of wood nearby. Kind of peaceful, oddly enough.
“It’s weird seeing you out of your letterman,” A familiar voice laughs behind him and Max whips around.
Standing there is none other than Richie, haloed in light from the stagelights above. He’s encased in this fuzzy glow, looking as brilliant as if he were a dream.
“Hi, 色男.”
“You know, I’m half convinced that’s a slur,” Max jumps up, brushing the wood shavings from his jeans. He hopes he’s hiding his embarrassment at being caught helping the loser theater kids. Heaven forbid Richie thinks he’s actually a part of the cult.
“Good,” Richie grins cheekily, leaning forward. “Are you helping the theater out? Didn’t know you were-”
“I’m not!” Max coughs. “I’m just like - bored, I guess. Whatever, they needed help. What are you doing here, Lipschitz?”
“Physics club.”
“Nerd. Should join the smoke club instead.”
“Says the guy in theater club.”
“I am not-!” All of Max’s anger melts away when he sees Richie smile and he can feel his own lips upturn. “Okay, shut up. What are you even doing here - like here in the theater?”
“Well, I was going to say bye to Ruth, but then I saw you - and I just couldn’t help myself.” Richie shrugs in that way of his that is so unbearably adorable that Max has to use every ounce of his effort not to squeeze him to death.
That’s been happening a lot lately - more and more.
Now it’s pretty much when Richie does anything, actually.
“Couldn’t help yourself? What, are you, like, obsessed with me or something?”
“Well, actually I thought you were the swedish exchange student, Rudolph - you know, super hot, super Swedish-”
“Oh yeah right, like I’m not the hottest guy in the world!” Max jokes. “Super hot, tall, star quarterback and football captain-”
“No girlfriend-”
“Hey! That’s entirely by choice!”
He can’t pretend this stupid, whirlwind feeling spinning up in his chest isn’t something - because he’s never felt like this with anyone, not a single hot chick or date or anybody. It should be freaking him out but it’s not at all - totally not. Not. At. All. No-
“What?” Max says,when he realizes Richie has been saying something, and he completely missed it.
Richie’s eyebrows furrow in concern and he reaches up toward Max in a way that has the latter flushing. Are they gonna kiss right now - what is happening?
But the back of Richie’s hand finds his forehead instead. “Are you running a fever? Please don’t tell me you’re sick again-”
“I’m not-” Max has to look away from Richie’s wide, distracting eyes “-sick or anything - jesus, Rich.”
“Are you su-”
He grabs Richie’s wrist gently and guides it away from his forehead. Now Richie is the one who turns a bright red.
“Richie, I’m fine. Pinky promise. Leave it alone.”
“O-okay then. Fine. Good. Well, how long are you gonna be here?”
“Well, I’ve got this and then football practice, why? You want a ride home?”
Richie grins. “Well, that would be nice, but I’m actually talking about the movie night tonight. When do you wanna get snacks? I’ll pay if you’re driving.”
“You? Pay? Please,” Max scoffs. “You’ve never paid for anything in your life.”
“That’s not true! I paid for coffee this morning!”
“You get a discount because your uncle’s dating the barista!”
“You also get that discount, Max! We’re always together!”
Somebody whips past behind Richie and would’ve clipped him if Max hadn’t grabbed him by the hips and pulled him close.
“Sorry!” The stagehand calls behind him, totally not smug - and oh shit, Richie is very close to him - he’s got his arms wrapped around Richie and there is somehow negative space between them-
“Uh-” Max says, super smartly.
“Max.” Richie is bright red, but he’s smiling all the same. “You - ああ - can….let go of me-”
“Ah - ha- right!” Max steps back immediately. “Sorry.”
“No, no! Don’t be sorry! You literally saved my life.”
“Yeah I did. I guess we’re even now.” That last part just slips out. Richie totally saved his life back in Waylon Place, but they will never be even, because he owes Richie a thousand times over. Richie just keeps saving his life, somehow - and sometimes, when Max is alone and staring up at his uneven ceiling, he’ll imagine what his life would be like without him. And it’s cold, dark, and desolate without him.
“Buy me latte and prove it,” Richie grins, trying to look smug but ultimately just being the cutest thing this world has ever seen. Max would buy him a million drinks if he wanted. Anything for that sparkly-eyed smile.
“You’re not foolin’ anybody, Richie - you can’t handle espresso without getting the zoomies and then crashing out! I’ll buy you an iced caramel frappe with oat milk - cause you say you’re lactose intolerant but then you’ll get extra whipped cream and crushed oreos on top and make it my problem if you don’t take your lactate pill.”
Richie giggles. “Oh yeah, Mr. Four-shots-in-my-chocolate-cream-nitro-cold-brew? The largest size on the planet with enough caffeine to kill a horse? Besides, you steal the oreos off my whipped cream anyway!”
Max draws in a breath and hopes to god his eyes don’t give away how much he adores this freaking nerd.
“We can get snacks after practice if you want to wait? Or I can pick you up from your house and we can shop?”
“No, I’ll just hang around, watch you trip a bunch of times, suck up to Coach Houston-”
“Okay, okay, I get it, Lipschitz!” Max laughs. “Do you have a jacket though? It’s pretty cold today. Spankoffski will kill me if you show up to movie night a fucking icicle.”
Richie leans in, wrinkling his nose. “Are you scared of Peter Spankoffski?”
“If that guy ever learns to punch without falling over, we’re all screwed.”
“If you can teach me to punch, you can surely teach Pete.”
“I don’t think I want to. I’ve only booked one nerd into my life - I don’t think I can handle another. Now about the jacket - which you don’t have - my letterman’s in my locker.”
“What does that have to do with being cold?”
“Don’t play dumb, Rich. Big brain, secretary of the physics club, you can’t fool me.”
“I’m not trying to.” Richie grins, like the terrible liar he is. Max takes the moment to ruffle his hair, newly dyed blue at the tips, and it looks great on Richie, but that’s hardly saying much. Everything looks great on Richie. “What? Something in my hair?”
“No, it just-” Max shrugs, pulling his hand away like he’s been burned. Idiot, why did he do that? “Looks-” Perfect. You’re perfect. “-weird. Fixed it though.”
“Oh.”
You know my locker combo?”
“That-” Richie blushes again. “I just memorize codes. Also you’re ridiculously slow at opening your locker.”
“Yeah, well, you know the code. Don’t get cold alright?”
“Alright,” Richie grins at him. “Theater boy.”
“Good.” Max nods. “Hey wait a minute! That’s a slur!”
“Only to you!” Richie laughs and starts for the exit again.
“Richie?” Max calls out, because damn, he can’t stand to see him go and there is nothing in this world he wouldn’t do to keep him right there, but he can’t, he isn’t good enough, he’ll never be good enough-
“Yeah, Max?”
“Tie your shoes before you trip and eat shit.”
And if Richie looks a little disappointed by that, Max doesn’t notice, even when his heart snaps in his chest.
Steph, Richie, Ruth, and Grace all are piled in Steph’s car, driving over to Max’s house. The topic of conversation has drifted from whipped cream on hot drinks to murder and ghostly rituals. Somewhere in between, is of course, Richie and Max’s situationship.
“I just don’t understand who they think they’re fooling,” Steph laughs, one hand on the wheel, the other on Pete’s leg. Ruth tried to talk about that and got shut down immediately. Ruth was in the car with them for five minutes before they picked up Grace, and her gleeful silence spoke so loudly.
“You get one minute of questioning,” Steph had said. “Just one.”
“When?”
“Since Monday.”
“But, we’ve been - uh - dancing around each other for weeks,” Peter said with a dopey smile.
“Are you guys dating or just talking?”
“We’re dating,” Steph said with sharpness. She gives Peter the softest look. “Officially and exclusively.”
“How’s the sex?”
“Nope!” Pete squeaked. “Next question, Ruth!”
“Jesus, you’re such a prude, Pete! Fine, does anyone else know?”
“They’re about to,” Steph nodded.
“Do you actually like him, Steph? Like really?”
“Oh yeah, big time.”
Pete’s hand squeezed Steph’s.
“That goes for both of us,” Peter glanced back at Ruth with a triumphant grin.
“I mean, it’s stupidly obvious, right?” Steph glances back at the girls in the rearview mirror.
“That Maxwell Jagerman is an illicit seductress?” Grace crosses her arms. “I don’t know what Richie expects. That man is no prince charming.”
“I dunno,” Ruth picks at her head gear. “Richie’s got the letterman.”
They all gasp, and Steph brakes hard when they reach the stop sign. No one had ever gotten Max’s letterman. That was his golden currency, and not a single one of his flings or girlfriends had ever worn it. Sure, he’d give them jackets and sweatshirts, but never the letterman, and if Richie has it, that means uncharted territory.
It means something big.
“How do you know?” Peter whips around, eyes wide.
“I saw them after school today.” Ruth was about to tell them that Max is helping out the theater club, but stops. Maybe that’s a secret best kept between them. “Yeah, Richie was wearing it.”
“Well,” Steph blinks like a scandalized mother. “If he’s still wearing it when we pull up, we have our answer.”
“What does this mean?” Peter sighs. “Do you think Max will ever admit it? I mean, I know he’s changed, but no one can change that fast.”
Steph scoffs. “More importantly, do you think Richie knows? He’s kind of oblivious about everything outside of anime.”
“I dunno,” Ruth shakes his head. “For a boy who only has body pillows for comfort, he might not be able to see love when it’s right in front of him.”
“So we help them!” Steph grins evilly and Grace rolls her eyes in the back.
“If you start snapping, I’ll throw myself onto the curb as a sacrifice to Jesus.”
But Grace is smiling too.
--
ああ - Japanese, literally just means "ah"
*色男 (irootoko) - Japanese, directly translates to ‘handsome man’, but is slang for ‘playboy’ or ‘lady’s man’. It can also mean ‘lover.’