not my forte || reddie

One

Richie didn't know how much longer he could stand listening to Whitney Houston's  "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" for the billionth time. Not to be a sour grape or anything, it was fun the first three times.

But now his head hurt. And his legs were weak, his eyes stung behind fogged up glasses. He tore them off his face using the side table cloth to spiffy 'em up. Once they weren't dripping in sweat he pushed them up the bridge of his nose.

Richie slumped against the gymnasium's wall, which was decorated head to toe in ugly orange streamers. School dances weren't ever his first choice when asked what his plans were on a Friday night. Usually his answer would be, "Your mom." But his own Mother forced him to attend. "Richie do it for me, I never went to my homecoming and I regret it!"

He could have easily declined, "Well that's your fault." But he didn't. And now he was alone, heart way up in his throat as he watched the couples dance to the slow songs. Richies always been a lone wolf never leaving close ties with anyone. He had plenty of acquaintances, never any friends. All the people in his school were fake anyway. No one ever says what's really on their minds. No one ever cared what was on Richies mind either.

He shuffled his feet, mopping his sweat soaked hair off his face. The suit he rented was tight in all the wrong places and extremely itchy. "Fucking Rental gave me crabs." Richie grumbled itching his side. He looked around the low lit room. People were laughing, talking, dancing. Normal school dance shit. Richie checked his watch, curious to when this shit ended. He could easily be home right now on his third hot pocket and fifth movie, but instead he was stuck at a sad school event no one but the hot people who could get dates attended anyway.

A stifled sigh steered Richies train of thought. He looked down to his left, seeing a boy sitting on the gym floor. He had his head tucked in his hands looking defeated. "Who pissed in your punch?" Richie nudged the boys side with his dress shoe. The tight ones he used to be forced to wear to church in.

The boy mumbled something inaudible into his palms. His whole body seemed to vibrate violently.

Fuck, he's crying. This is great. Wonderful.

"Cmon man. Let's get you out of here this isn't what you want to be known for, trust me." Richie grabbed him by his jacket dragging the sobbing boy through the back door and out into the cool night air.

The atmosphere completely shifted. From the ear bleeding high notes of Whitney to the softened groans of frogs in a nearby lake. There was a sticky heat outdoors, one that naturally came with summer. Richie snapped back to the problem at hand, sitting the boy down on the side walk. He was illuminated by a lamppost and Richie finally got a good look at him.

He was a scrawny little thing, mouse like. Neatly combed chestnut hair and a button nose leaking snot. Richie used the back of his jacket sleeve to wipe it off. "Breathe in, breathe out." He instructed grinning as the boy slowly caught on with him.

The boy grabbed desperately around his pocket, pulling out an inhaler and taking a hit. Richie watched on awkwardly before questioning him,
"Why the fuck are you crying anyway? No one wanted to line dance with you?" He joked, scratching the back of his neck as the boy continued sucking down all that artificial air bullshit.

He eventually looked up, bright hazel eyes brimmed with tears.
"My.. my girlfriend broke up with me." The kid sputtered before breaking down again, more crocodile tears streaming down his face. "It was our one week anni-anniversary!" He sobbed weakly holding the inhaler back to his lips.

Richie who was never really much for relationships, (because he's never been in one) grumbled
"Oh fuck me sideways." And slapped the kid causing his sobs to choke in his throat.
"Shut the fuck up, man up." Richie yelled.