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Vol I, Chapter I.
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Richard Forman lets out a shaky, relieved sigh the minute he steps from the threshold of the grand house containing numerous sweaty and hormonal teenagers. A cold, bitter breeze instantly passes through him, tugging at his clothing and weaving its way through his blondish locks bringing about a slight pinkish tone to his pale cheeks. Doing his best to ignore the harsh bite seeping through his skin, the teenage boy draws his jacket tight around his rigid body ─ already sensing his mother scold him for underestimating the cold night, ( not like she knew he went out anyways. )
He was well aware of the fact that his parents would go ballistic as soon as they found out about their son's night rendezvous out into the starless evening. Yet, in that moment, he didn't feel any sense of alarm or stress ─ instead, the loud music and intensity of the night left his skin tingly and his ears ringing. He'd had lost track of time. It felt like he was out of his own body, observing himself sway and sway, side to side, grasping at whatever he could, weaving his way through the careless teens that paid no mind to him. It's only, now, as he silently calms himself in the comforting presence of the night, he finally recollects his mind.
Richard shoves his other hand in his pocket, hastily fishing around the deep hole for the dated box of cigarettes nested somewhere in there. Yet, just as he was about to give up, his fingers graze the case causing the corners of his lips to quickly tug up into a brief grin. Gently placing the wrinkled toxic stick between his lips, he pats his hands against his jeans and jacket, groaning when he doesn't feel his lighter.
"Hey, man." Richie calls, his attention set on the brown haired boy not too far from him.
"Me?" He spoke, discreetly looking around him to ensure he isn't embarrassing himself by thinking Richie Forman was speaking to him.
"Yeah," Richie breathes out a laugh, ripping the cigarette so his voice appeared more clearer. "Have you got a lighter by any chance?"
