2am | reddie

trois

richie's knuckles were covered in scars. some newer, some older. it matched the beaten up look of his shitty, hand-me-down converse. there were very few cuts or bruises that littered his skin anymore. the only thing left from his days of fights was his aggressive aura and beaten up attire. richie used to use his strength and ability to easily scare anyone to his advantage. he'd push, shove, and kick his way through life -- no matter where he was. now, the last thing he ever tried to do was hurt anyone. he hated seeing the terrified looks from everyone anytime he walked into a room. he really was trying to change.

when richie felt his fist hit the boys' -- who was a lot shorter and weaker than him, he learned -- jaw, the rush of adrenaline that filled his body, pushing through his veins faster than he could handle. the loud echo of gasps that filled the lunch hall didn't help either, only fueling his ego even more.

"what the fuck was that for," he heard the boy angrily yell at him, spitting out blood onto the floor like it was supposed to ward richie off.

he didn't do anything but stand there, a secure stance between the small brunet behind him and the slightly taller boy in front. the aching in his fists didn't go away, only leaving a constant reminder of what he'd just done.

and, scarily enough, richie didn't miss that feeling.

silence droned out through the entire hall, everyones eyes and attention on the three boys. richie swore he could hear every movement with how silent was. the pounding beat in his chest, the shuffle of every item of clothing that either slowly inched closer, or slowly inched away. the sound of people shifting in the creaky old benches.

"are you going to say anything, trashmouth?" he spat out, walking closer to richie. he puffed up his chest to intimidate, but it did nothing but cause some incoherently stressed giggles from the back of the room.

richie felt his heart crack a bit at the well-known and well remembered nickname. trashmouth. the kids harsh words hit him hard, almost like he maliciously stepped forward and stabbed him in the heart with a knife. he never knew what to say so he said it all and this is where it landed him. in a ditch of unforgiving looks and whispers along with bloody fists.

"leave him alone."

the boy snickered, looking around the room, trying to gather an audience as he raised his hands. the snicker slowly turned into a low chuckle, which evolved into a deep laugh. the boy rested his hands on his bowing knees as he crouched down, his head lowering and shoulders jumping up and down in time with his laughs. slowly, the boy looked up. richie made eye contact with him, expression unchanged as he glared.

"well, would you look at that," he smirked, slowly stepping towards richie, spitting blood on his shirt before he spoke, almost to accentuate his point, "trashmouth's got a boyfriend."

and then he lost control.

__________

eddie didn't know why he was sitting outside the principals office waiting for this boy. he dug his shoes into the cold tile floor, his hands legs -- basically everything -- shaking as he waited for the screaming and yelling in his head to stop. he couldn't believe what'd just happen, and especially since it involved him.

he listened to the soft chucking of the hands on the clock, ticking down the seconds until his fate would be set in stone.

"holy shit!" someone screamed from the back corner.

no one dared to step in the way of richie. they all stood there, puzzled as to what to do. nobody had seen a burst of anger from the tall, curly headed, boy in months. it was pure silence until this very moment, the tension between the two boys practically radiating through the entire room.