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❝ the thing about chaos, is that while it disturbs us, it too, forces our hearts to roar in a way we secretly find magnificent. ❞

—CHRISTOPHER POINDEXTER

MY MINIATURE hands curled to fists as they rose to tap upon the gnawed door of the Tozier residence. The house was a fair size from the outside; almost appearing like a membrane to the chaos that lurked behind closed doors.

It took some time before the bickering of who was to answer the door was settled down—his mother's heavily raspy voice thrashing swear words at him as he shouted insults in defence. I wondered if she'd get angry enough to get up and slap him or if she was too drugged up to even remember what Richie was spewing at her.

Richie's scrawny figure stumbled out in a huff of agitation, eyes studying me with bittersweet emotions.

His pursed lips exhaled a grunt before speaking. "What do you want, Smith."

My eyes peeled from his annoyed expression to meet the ground. "Richie, I–I . . . "

"What, you got bored of Stan already?" He snickered dryly.

"First it's Eddie, now Stan?" I cried. "Next you're gonna squawk at me for being friends with Bill."

His perched rims slipped from the sweat beaded upon his nose, causing him to yank it up harshly with his slender index finger before shouting at me. "J–Just shut up, Stephanie! why the fuck are you even here?"

"I had nowhere else to go," I admitted sheepishly.

"What do you mean?" He questioned, his rough demeanor slowly contouring to concern.

"Richie, I–I couldn't stay at Beverly's, she has . . . issues too and you–your house is practically empty with deadbeat parents," my voice creaked wobbly. "She was so scary, Richie."

Richie stepped out on to his porch, the evening sky resting upon his chiseled features. "Who was scary, Stef?"

"My mom," I whimpered. "She wouldn't sto—"

Unexpectedly, Richie threw his front door open, commanding me to go inside. We slowly strolled into his spacious living-room, a re-run of Looney Tunes occupying the silence as I sniffled softly.

He pointed to his couch, silently instructing me to take a seat. As I applied my weight to the center cushion, the seat dipped into the sounds of creaking from the springs.

The raven-haired boy stalked to his kitchen, nothing but the sound of his heaving pours of oxygen filled the seams of the atmosphere.

Shudders—as they had in the same spot just hours ago—pierced my exposed pale flesh. I hooked my forearms around my sides as I counted the scratches seethed into Richie's door. Did he own a cat?

My mom's hits hadn't managed to impact me hard because it was merely just a smack in the face and temple, but the contracting pain radiating inside my head caused me to grind my teeth harshly.

Richie joined me back in the living-room, his classic corn flakes swimming in wisps of sugar and milk in one hand, and a glass of a steaming substance in the other.

He plopped the mug in front of me, resting it upon a small wooden coffee table. "It's tea, it'll help with the coldness."

"How'd you know I was cold?" I curiously glanced at him as he took a seat next to me with his bowl of cereal teetered over his knees, eyes glued to the television.

"You keep shivering," he pointed out tonelessly.

"Oh, it's just because I was crying really hard."

"You also have goosebumps, so it's obviously because you're cold," he countered.

I ignored his observations, slipping my tongue to the brink of the hot beverage. I blew on the drink lightly, causing it to become cool enough for me to drain into my system. As I sipped the drink slowly, the bitter taste of my tongue being drenched in sugar overcame my senses, but I refrained from bringing it up due to how grateful I had already felt towards him.

Richie glanced at me with watchful eyes, an almost pained expression buried underneath the surface of his skin as I hooked my lips between my teeth.

"Listen, Ste—," he began, "Copperhead, I know I was an asshole all day, but what happened?"

"N–Nevermind, Richie."

"No, Stephanie," he hissed, "you've gotta talk to me, shit, you have to let someone in even if you fucking hate me, I don't give a shit."

"But, Richie," I felt the edge of my withdrawn tears become hard to swallow. "What difference will that make?"

This puzzled him, sending him to a rapture of silence as he pondered through his thoughts.

I drank almost the entire cup of tea, warming up the hollow spaces puncturing my torso. Richie just studied me silently, most likely conjuring degrading insults—despite my intense lack of self-esteem.

I turned to the thick-rimmed coated eyes of the raven-haired boy next to me, unknowingly drowning in the spectrums of gold spiralling around his pupils. Richie's breath hitched as he mirrored my expression, his face slowly inching closer to mine.

Just as I felt the exhales of his breath swallowing every fibre of my being, my teeth whisked around my lips, realization dawning on me that I was about to kiss Richie fucking Tozier.

"Tozier, what the fuck are you doing?" I muttered, cheeks burning bright crimson.

"I—" he slurred, "y–you had something on your face, stupid."

My face contoured in confusion, being met with his slender fingers flicking my forehead.

"You know, you're real ugly up close," he snickered.

"Richie, it's a little weird to talk to yourself."

"Speak for yourself, who else would listen to your annoying high-pitched squeaking."

"Richie, if you need pills just as—"

Suddenly, Richie spilled his cereal on my lap, resulting into my rough assault toward his feeble arms. He hollered in laughter as I smacked him all over his lanky body.

"Sorry, Copperhead," he managed to spew in between my attack, "I'll get you a change of clothes."

He leaped out of my grasp, jogging to his room. I remained seated on his destroyed couch, furious as ever.

He brought out an oversized red hoodie that seemed to be wilting to a dull maroon colour. I had never seen him wear it before.

"This is my favourite hoodie, I never wear it outside," he explained, "although, I do make exceptions just because I feel sorry for your annoying ass."

"Uh, what about pants, smartass?"

He sprinted back to his room, returning with a pair of one of his beige shorts that would've reached the beginning of his knees. "Hope this fits, though you are a twiggy thing, aren't you?"

"Why don't you swallow a knife, yeah?" I retaliated, moving to his kitchen to change quickly.

With swift movements, I discarded the clothes glued to my torso, peeling the soaked fabric off my sticky skin.

I hoisted the shorts on effortlessly. Once I paired it with his red—maroon—sweater, his classic aroma of chamomile and cedar wafted towards me. I instinctively inhaled the scent, surprised at how pleasant it was, for him especially.

"Just when I thought you could look any worse," was the first sentence he formulated as I joined him back into the room, his gaze lingering on mine as though he was attempting to repel his eyes from my body.

"That's saying a lot, I mean, since their your clothes and all."

"But see, I make them look sculpted—beautiful if you will," he mocked a model, causing me to spill a giggle. "I turned down many modelling gigs so that I could give Marilyn the spotlight."

"Sure you did, fucknut."

He slapped his palms against his knees. "Listen to me, missy," his failed attempts of a British accent sputtered as he flung his index finger in my face.

I laughed as I moved away from him. "You're so annoying, Richie."

"Thanks," he sighed, "it's a genetic thing."

"I can tell."

"I think it's getting late, Copperhead," he breathed heavily. "Time to hit the haystack."

"Okay."

Richie left me in the living-room, sauntering back to his bedroom doing god knows what. I sat alone awkwardly, unaware of where to sleep.

My thoughts were answered as he trailed back in, carrying two large duvets and pillows, thrashing it on the couch.

"I know you're scared of that stupid clown story, so I thought I'd take the floor and you can take the couch," he said, making a bed for him next to me upon the brittle wood.

"Richie, its fine, you can sleep on yo—"

"No, I like the floor, it's nice and cold."

"You really don't have to, Tozier."

"What, you think I'm sleeping here for you?" He scoffed. "Pfft, I'm scared of beds, they make me hot and bothered."

"Ew, Tozier."

"What can I say, I've been dreaming about your mother lately," he joked, unaware of my stirring emotions.

"Oh, sorry," he murmured softly. "I forgot."

"S'okay, she's a bitch anyway."

A raspy laugh escaped his lips as he propped himself on his elbow, torso facing sideways. "That's where you get it from?"

"Mhmm."

"At least people won't bother you as much, cause you know, you're an asshole."

"Yeah, kinda figured," a fake smile grazing my lips. "Repels the jerks like you, doesn't it?"

"Stef, it's a joke, ease up."

"I know, I'm just tired, sorry," I lied through heaving exhales.

Richie whispered an incoherent sentence to himself drenched in agitation. I couldn't deceiver if he was annoyed with me or himself.

Tiredly, I plopped onto his damaged couch, the springs jolting in a loud creak. My face digging into his soft pillow as I cocooned myself in a fluffy duvet.

The atmosphere became tense; too quiet for my appeal. A thought still lingered in the depths of my mind as I tried to search for scenarios that would lead into unconsciousness.

"Tozier," I piped up, "why did you get so angry today?"

"'Bout what?" He replied, flicking his tongue across the roof of his mouth.

"I mean, first about the Eddie thing then Stan thing."

"I didn't, you were just getting on my nerves as usual," his voice breathing tonelessly.

"But then why were the losers all acting weird, like, they all went home so quick."

"I don't know, Stephanie," he heaved in agitation. "Maybe they had to go home, big whoop."

"But Bill Said—"

"Enough," he barked through gritted teeth. "Go to bed."

"Fine." I huffed, turning my body to face the head of the couch.

Moments of silence divulged us again, the brisk wind from his open window filling the tense atmosphere.

"Elementary school," he whispered as his eyes fluttered lightly.

"Did you say something, Tozier?" I asked, turning back to see him spilling words from his slumber.

"Think about elementary school." Was all he said before fully drifting to the abyss of exhaustion.

My labyrinth of thoughts recalled the memory that resurfaced through me just a few hours ago. What did Richie's behaviour from today have to do with elementary school?

A/N
[ un-edited ! ]
It's 1:45 AM and I just drove from Toronto to Niagara Falls, im literally sOoooo tired.
I also forgot I had this sitting in my drafts because I was going to proof-read it but oH wHaLe, I'll do it later.

*self-promo* (ew, Ik I'm annoying)
If you like Fillie books read my new one called 'angels' ;)