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They’d been dating for two years already when Richie makes a suggestion.
It’s a quiet night in their shitty little apartment, their little haven away from the world. Jason’s on the couch, thumbing through his reading for class later this week— Max had often told him that he was never gonna be cut out for college, saying he was shooting a bit too high for a crony, but…Max had also told him he was a god, so…
Here he was. A nearly finished associate’s degree, a boyfriend of two years, and a shitty little apartment. He’d have to move outside of Hatchetfield to a bigger school if he wanted to get all his qualifications to become a guidance counselor, but…baby steps. Community college first. No need to rush and stress himself out over things one, three, five years in the future.
Jason was pretty committed to the whole thing. He knew that what happened to him and Richie and everyone else in high school was happening at schools all over. No one had at Hatchetfield High School had been there for them…no adult had stepped in, had even listened. So…maybe Jason would be that adult for someone else. Another Richie, another Ruth, another Jason…maybe even another Max. Before it was too late.
He hadn’t seen Max in years.
Richie is at the desk they had squeezed against the far wall, the table still wobbly from where Ruth had secretly shortened one of the legs after a fight between her and Richie over a blind date and a sweater and a cat, or something. He's sketching, though Jason isn’t sure if it's for fun, homework, or a commission. An extensive network of furries were currently paying for the groceries, alongside Jason’s early morning barista job at Beanie’s and Richie’s occasional ushering at the Starlight Theater. Ruth had convinced him to get that job primarily so he could come see her shows for free.
She had managed to deliver her three lines in Macbeth perfectly. Jason had clapped so loud.
“How’s this?” Richie asks, holding up a drawing of the single roundest penguin Jason had ever seen in his life.
“Cute.” Jason says, setting his book aside and walking over. He stands behind Richie’s chair, wrapping his arms loosely around his shoulders “What’s it for?”
“School.” Richie says, chewing on the end of his pen “Prof said we’ve got to get better at drawing kid’s stuff. Big market for illustrators.”
“I’ll bet.” Jason agrees, leaning down and kissing him on the top of the head. Things are so…different, now. He feels lighter, more free, like he didn’t have to hold back his feelings anymore (and they were still strong, so strong, always strong) and he could be as open with affection as he wanted. He gives compliments freely and openly, longish speeches and meaningful “I love you”s. It really is nice to not have to be quiet.
“Oh!” Richie says suddenly, straightening up a bit. He twists around some in his chair to look at Jason “So, it turns out that Ruth has a dress rehearsal on one of the days she planned to go to that anime con in Clivesdale…”
He looks down, fiddling with his hoodie strings, as if suddenly embarrassed “We don’t have to go if you don’t wanna, but she bought two tickets, and—“
Jason’s hands move to Richie’s shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. Richie’s eyes snap back to his, and he leans down, kissing him on the lips.
“I’d love to go with you.” He says, and Richie’s eyes widen.
“Are you sure? I know this isn’t really your thing, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I just thought—“
“Richie.” Jason says, smiling “I would love to go with you. I mean it. Yeah, I don’t know much about a lot of this, but if it would make you happy, it would make me happy. Even if it is in Clivesdale.”
Richie hums, nodding, more to himself than to Jason, and Jason smirks a little, beginning to massage Richie’s shoulders, pressing his fingers into the back of his neck. Richie drops his pen, immediately leaning into it.
“You’re a godsend.” He says, closing his eyes as he leans his head back. Jason just chuckles a little— Richie had a tendency to get stiff in his shoulders and upper back after hunching over the desk drawing for hours and hours on end.
“I know.” Jason says “You’re lucky.”
Richie laughs, stretching out his arms in front of him and popping his wrists “Getting an ego, Jepson?” Richie asks, and Jason just smiles, leaning down and kissing him again.
“Never.”
Jason keeps a hold of Richie’s hand, smiling fondly as he tugs him around the convention center, pointing at this and that and whatever. Jason has never seen any of these shows in his life, has no idea who a lot of these cosplayers are supposed to be, but Richie’s eyes are bright, and he seems excited. Jason asks questions, triggering long, charming rambles about things he does like and irritated, almost vindictive rants about things he doesn’t. Jason soaks up everything he can, hanging on to Richie’s every word, even if he only understands parts of it.
He’ll listen, though, because Richie is excited, and happy, and Jason loves when he’s happy.
They’re walking at a decent pace in one of the emptier halls of the venue, which has several booths manned by various t-shirt printers, button makers, and overpriced Funko Pop salespeople. They’re at one that sells key chains that the girl at the booth clearly made, which Richie looks through almost giddily as Jason watches with his chin resting on his shoulder, their fingers threaded together.
“Pop quiz,” Richie says, holding up a key chain that Jason immediately recognizes as being a girl from the show they had just started watching together. Her name escapes him, though.
“Uhm…” Jason hesitates. It’s on the tip of his tongue.
“Re—“
“Rei!” Jason exclaims a little too loudly, snapping his fingers, and Richie laughs, nodding as he puts it back.
“Yep.” He says, and Jason makes a big show of pumping his free fist in celebration.
“Fuck yeah.” He says, and Richie laughs a little louder.
“I think I’m gonna get this one.” He says, holding up one of a man Jason’s definitely never seen in his life.
“Your key ring has more key chains than keys.” Jason says as Richie passes the money to the girl.
“Yeah.” Richie shrugs, taking it and immediately adding it to his extensive collection “I like the lack of functionality.” He says, dropping them back into his backpack. Jason just snorts a little as they move on, hands swinging between them. Richie’s palm is sweating, as usual, but Jason’s never really minded, and they’ve been together for so long that he hardly even notices.
Jason hums a little, glancing around the hall, before his eyes land on Richie’s feet. He squints a little, then lets out an annoyed grunt. Richie looks at him, brow furrowed.
“Jace?”
“Are you wearing those platform shoes again?” Jason asks, and Richie stares at him for a moment, processing, before bursting into laughter.
“I was waiting to see how long until you noticed—“ He says, between guffaws, and Jason lets go of his hand, crossing his arms.
“You know how much I hate it.” He says, huffing a little, and Jason just smiles.
“What? Hate being so short?” He asks, straightening up a little to wave his hand over Jason’s head. Jason rolls his eyes, snatching the hand out of the air and once again interlocking their fingers.
“You’re an asshole.” He says, and Richie just laughs again. Practically ever since they started dating, and even before, they had squabbled over who was taller. Ruth insisted it was Jason, and Steph claimed it was Richie, and Pete consistently made the argument that they were both exactly 6’1. Recently, Richie had bought platform shoes that gave him a subtle, but noticeable, two inches over Jason, ostensibly just to fuck with his boyfriend— no wonder Jason had more trouble than usual resting his chin on his shoulder.
“You love that I’m an asshole.” Richie says, kissing his cheek before they resume walking again. Jason just grumbles half-heartedly, mostly for the bit, but Richie ignores it.
“You hungry, Jace?” He asks, and Jason thinks for a moment. He hadn’t eaten since early this morning, when he woke up a full two hours before Richie, and it was now nearing one in the afternoon.
“I guess so.” He says, and Richie nods.
“Alright, food court’s this way. Away!” He says, before suddenly tightening his grip on Jason’s hand and pulling him closer to the wall, breaking into a light sprint. Jason rolls his eyes fondly, pivoting to keep up as Richie tugs him along.
“Asshole…” He mutters, though he’s smiling nonetheless.
It’s in the food court where things get a bit hairy. He’s fine at first, and Richie stops tugging him when they get inside. The room is…significantly more crowded than any of the halls they’ve been to so far. Plus, it’s much bigger, and on the far right across from the food is a stage, thumping loud music with some pink and green lights flashing around as some dance group performs. Jason’s sure he would be able to appreciate it if not for the loud sounds of people talking and nearly screaming at each other, each seemingly trying to be the loudest in the room. His hands itch to cover his ears, but right now nothing could get him to let go of Richie’s hand.
It’s fine. He can handle it.
Richie looks at him, and frowns, pulling the two of them out of the doorway and near the wall.
“You good? It’s loud in here.” Richie says, though Jason can more see his mouth moving than hear it. At first, Jason wants to tell him no, he’s not, but then he thinks…they’re here for Richie. He’s not gonna let something like noise and a crowded room ruin the day for his boyfriend, like he’s been ruining things since high school. He still feels bad about the time they had to leave Steph’s twenty-first birthday party early because it got far too loud far too fast, culminating in Kyle accidentally breaking a glass, which made a horrible shattering sound, which Jason couldn’t stand—
Richie is staring at him. His eyes are far too blue.
“I’ll be okay.” Jason says, forcing himself to speak. Richie seems unconvinced, but Jason just smiles, squeezing his hand.
A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Max sarcastically congratulations him on not being a jackass.
Richie finally nods, seeming a bit uneasy himself, and looks over the crowded room, seemingly trying to find the shortest line.
“Alright, let’s shove our way through.”
Jason nods, charming Jason Jepson smile slipping from his face once Richie’s convinced.
Static builds in the base of his skull. They begin working through the crowd, and Jason bites down on his lip hard as shoulders brush against him, elbows go into his sides and large platform cosplay shoes stamp on his feet. At one point, Richie gets whacked in the head with a fake key blade, and grips Jason’s hand tighter. It’s hot in here, and a new song starts, high pitched frequencies sending little daggers directly into Jason’s brain as he forgets all sense of hunger and resists the urge to throw Richie over his shoulder and bolt.
The static grows as large, electronic signs along the walls begin playing bright, colorful ads, Coca-Cola and the Mario Brothers and the Clivesdale Event Pavilion’s new renovation. His free hand reaches to grip at his corded necklace, running his fingers over it repeatedly in an attempt to get some semblance of control back.
His grip on Richie’s hand is slipping. Suddenly, and for some reason, people are yelling, screaming in glee, and someone accidentally elbows him in the back of the head. Too many people are touching him at once and his skin is on fire, it’s too hot, it’s too loud, and the neon lights are searing into his skull. Jason wants to curl up into a ball on the ground, he wants to run, he wants to be away, away, get out, get out, get out—
He blacks out for a moment, body taking over for his mind as it becomes replaced by dull static, the smell of body odor and fried food making him nauseous. Jason, on autopilot, releases Richie’s hand, sprinting for a door, any door, shoving through the crowd in a way reminiscent of his football days. He thinks he hears Richie calling his name, and the voice that sounds like Max is laughing, or maybe that’s just the girl in the maid dress talking to her friend. His panicked eyes find a door, and he shoves through into a thankfully less populated hall. People are staring, their eyes digging into him like the lights and music, and his static-filled brain changes directives, looking for a place to hide. There’s a little empty space by the escalator, out of immediate view, and Jason sprints over as his chest heaves, slamming his back against the wall and sliding onto the floor. His hands come to either side of his face, covering his ears as the static buzzes in a way that makes his eye twitch a little. Jason begins to rock himself back and forth, Max’s voice scoffing about what a fucking freak he was sometimes.
He’s not sure how long he’s there, maybe five minutes, five hours, five days, definitely not five days, before the pair of hated platform converse enters his field of vision.
“Hey.” Richie says softly, sitting next to him, but keeping his distance— he learned a long time ago that Jason reacted poorly to touch during and after sensory overloads.
Jason can’t help but feel guilty among the static. They were here for Richie, and he’d ruined it, like he always ruined things, always—
“You didn’t ruin anything.” Richie says, and Jason realizes that he was speaking out loud “Don’t say that.”
Jason just shakes his head, nails digging into the skin around his ears. Richie frowns, but still doesn’t touch. Instead, he digs through his pin-covered backpack, pulling out his phone and a pair of earbuds.
“Jace?” He prompts, and Jason looks at him as Richie holds out the objects in offering. He hesitates a moment, before reaching out and taking the earbuds, hands shaking, and putting them in as Richie turns on the soft, ambient piano music he uses when he can’t sleep. Jason lets out a slow breath, leaning his head against the wall, untying his necklace so he can repeatedly thread it through his fingers. It’s silent for a moment, and Jason lets the music fall over him, clearing the static away apart from an underlying thrum that’ll probably sit with him for the next couple of hours.
Finally, Jason sighs, looking back at Richie, who smiles, and offers his hand, palm up.
Jason takes it, squeezing it tightly “Sorry.” He says, genuinely, his voice a little rough and Richie shakes his head.
“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have made you go in there.” Richie says, and Jason raises an eyebrow.
“You didn’t make me do anything. Not your fault.”
“Yeah, but—“
Jason just huffs, leaning his head on Richie’s shoulder “Not your fault. You asked, and I said I was fine, and you respected that. It’s on me.”
Richie hums, and the sound clears just a bit more of the static from Jason’s brain. His hand is shaking a little, and Jason frowns, knowing that while Richie doesn’t have the exact same problems he does, he still has trouble with crowds and loud noises and the like.
“Sorry I abandoned you in there.” Jason says, and Richie shakes his head.
“It’s fine. I know you just kinda need to bolt sometimes. I was…I was okay.” Richie says, giving him a very small smile. Jason pulls out one of his ear buds, offering it to Richie wordlessly. His smile widens as he puts it in.
“Thanks, Jace.” He says, and Jason just nods, closing his eyes. It’s silent for a while again, when Richie speaks up.
“If you— we can go home, if you need—“
“No.” Jason says quickly, opening his eyes.
“Jace, you wouldn’t be ruining it for me. I don’t want to be here if you’re not gonna be doing well.” Richie says, and Jason shakes his head.
“I want to be here. I just need a minute to be…” He waved his hand vaguely “…functional. I don’t want to go home early though. We came to Clivesdale for this shit.”
Richie huffs out a laugh, and squeezes Jason’s hand.
“True. Okay. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
“Mhmm.” Jason says, turning his face inward against Richie’s shoulder. His voice comes out a bit muffled “Now hush.”
“Yes sir.” Richie says, laughing a little.
Jason can’t help but laugh a little too.
They spend the rest of the day away from the central areas of the con, mostly lingering in the less-crowded out halls. Jason feels a bit bad, keeping Richie from seeing so much, but he reassures him that he’s fine skipping that part, and reminds him that he doesn’t love the crowds either.
They go to a few panels, of which Jason has no idea what they’re talking about, but Richie is practically beaming, and it’s nice to be able to sit in a chair while the static dissipates. They don’t reenter the food court, having learned their lesson, and instead leave the con about an hour and a half early, going to some restaurant where they pretend to not be from Hatchetfield and begrudgingly agree that the food is pretty good, for Clivesdale.
They drive home, Jason insisting despite Richie’s offering three separate times.
“You drove on the way here.” He says “And I know you wanna sleep on the way home, anyway.”
“I’m not gonna sleep,” Richie whines, relenting as he climbs into the passenger’s seat and Jason gets into the driver’s.
“Yes you are. You sleep on any drive over ten minutes.” Jason says, pressing the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot of the restaurant.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Uh-huh.” Jason says, laughing a little, until Richie turns on a vocaloid playlist out of spite.
“No!” He says, going for the volume to mute it, but Richie just turns it up.
“You’re in my world now, baby!”
“No!” Jason huffs, turning his eyes back to the road “You’re gonna make me crash.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Uh-huh.” He says, but he’s laughing a little, and Richie just smiles, switching the music to his more-reasonable-but-still-endearingly-strange driving playlist. They settle into silence, Jason tapping his fingers against the wheel as he pulls onto the Nantucket Bridge.
When he looks at Richie not ten minutes later, he’s fast asleep.
They get home at about eight, and Richie walks into the living room, flopping onto the couch like a limp noodle. Jason rolls his eyes fondly, pulling off his tennis shoes by the door.
“Get your shoes off the couch, you animal.” Jason says, and Richie just groans, sitting up and pulling off the horrible platform converse. Jason walks into the kitchen, filling a mug with water and sticking it into the microwave, searching the cupboard for the tea bags.
“Want any?” He asks, and listens for Richie’s exaggerated gag of disgust.
“Cardboard water? No.”
“It is not cardboard water, it’s green tea.”
“Not the way you make it.”
“Hush.” Jason laughs a little, pulling out the water when it’s done and sticking the bag in the tea. He walks to the couch, and Richie looks up from his phone, and drops it, making over dramatic grabby hands.
Jason huffs, sitting on the couch next to him, where Richie immediately flops over, his head in his lap. He sets his mug down and pets Richie’s hair “I thought it was my turn tonight.” He says, and Richie hums.
“You can be the little spoon in bed tonight.” He offers, and Jason taps his chin, as if deeply considering it.
“Deal.” He says, picking up his now cooled down mug of tea and taking a sip “Do you have early class tomorrow? I can walk to Beanie’s if you need to use the car.”
“I can drop you off.” Richie says, turning onto his back so he’s looking up at Jason.
“Richie, love, it’s like fifteen minutes out of the way.” Jason says, and Richie shrugs, grabbing the hand Jason was using to stroke his hair and playing with his fingers.
“Don’t care. I wanna drop you off.”
“You’d have to wake up a bit earlier—“
“Jace.” Richie says “Let me.”
Jason just sighs, freeing his hand from Richie’s grasp and returning it to his mug “Fine, fine. But you gotta let me make you a coffee— and pay for it.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” Richie says “But Beanie’s is shit.”
Jason lets out a full laugh, setting his mug down “Pete likes it.”
“Pete has shit taste. Except in relationships. Then it’s Steph who has shit taste.”
“Rude.” Jason says, flicking Richie on the forehead. Richie frowns, rubbing the spot.
“Asshole.”
“You started it.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.” Jason rolls his eyes, taking another sip from his mug and stroking Richie’s hair again.
They settle into comfortable silence, static now completely dissipated, when Richie speaks up again.
“Thanks for coming with me today.”
“Of course.” Jason says
“I’m sorry it got all…not fun, near the middle.” Richie says, cringing a little, and Jason shakes his head.
“It’s okay. It was a positive experience as a whole. And it’s still not your fault. Things like that are just…gonna happen.”
“Still. Not fun.”
“No.” Jason agrees “But you helped. And I still had a good time. Even if I don’t recognize most of what we saw.”
“Like?” Richie prompts
Jason smirks a little, knowing what he wants “Well, there was that second panel…”
With that, Richie launches into an explanation of something or other, and Jason hangs onto his every word. It’s nice, now, that they can be open like this. No one tells either of them what to do anymore, how to act, where to walk, what to say. It’s…better.
Jason takes another sip of his tea, smiling contently as his boyfriend rambles.
Things are…nice.