Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Richie hated his soulmate. He hadn't met them, but good lord did he hate them. Out of all of the universes he could have been placed into, he drew perhaps the shortest stick possible. Instead of words on his arm or a piece of string tied around his finger, he had a jet black handprint, well fist-print, right on his jaw. Completely unable to be hidden or covered up, just a constant visual cue that the first time his soulmate touched him was with a punch. I mean, what else could have happened for his mark to be there?

The thoughts were shaken from his head as the car rolled a stop just outside Hatchetfield High, where his uncle had insisted, he attended (something about everyone hating Sycamore which was apparently the other high school on the island). His parents shipping him off to live with his uncle Paul was supposed to just be for the summer while they sorted out what to do about his 'issues' but as it turned out, living with Paul was so much better than being home. Suddenly he didn't have to worry about being yelled at because he didn't like certain foods or deal with their constant misgendering and deadnaming.

So, his move to Hatchetfield was set in stone.

"Are you okay, Rich?" Paul spoke, hands resting on the steering wheel. His mark was spread over the tips of the fingers on his right hand, a fairly standard sight to see. His soulmate was clearly a normal person who so happened to brush their fingers against his. Why Richie couldn't be that lucky, he didn't know.

The teen nodded pulling the Dangonronpa shirt he wore away from him slightly so it wouldn't stick to his binder, more on reflex than anything. The patterned button up he wore on top covered most of it anyways. His usual heavily layered style was toned down just a bit, wanting to make and actual good impression for once. Gone were the days of being known as the weird weeb 'girl'.

"You'll do great, I know it." Again, Richie nodded, picking up his bag from the cars floor and holding it to his chest. With a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped outside, leaving the safety of the car to instead brave the unknown.

"Bye Paul," he muttered as he closed the car door, gingerly stepping away. He opened his phone to check the email the school had sent him the other day with his locker number and code. As he finally reached it, the hall was almost entirely empty. He was confused for a moment until he checked the time and realised it was already 8:44 so first period was just about to start. And lucky for him, he had biology which was in the science building while his locker was by the English rooms on the literal opposite end of the school.

Two flights of stairs and 3 panicked glances at his phone screen later, he made it to the right classroom 2 minutes late. There was a chance, a slim chance, but still a chance, that he wouldn't be screwed over yet. With all the confidence of a wet cat, he knocked at the locked door and watched as Ms. Mulberry walked towards him with a glare.

"Why are you late?"

"I'm new, I was just sorting out my locker." Ms Mulberry scowled but let him in without another word. He stood awkwardly for a moment while he observed the classroom. There were precisely two empty seats, one in the front corner nearest to the teacher's desk next to an off-putting short haired girl and the other a few rows back next to a boy with long black hair, glasses, suspenders, and… a fucking bow tie? He looked back to the girl, seeing her hot pink 'WWJD' bracelet and silver cross necklace. He took his chances with the funny looking nerd.

"You like Danganronpa?" the boy sitting next to him asked, voice broken from what had to be either a late puberty or an extremely drawn out one.

"Uh, yeah."

"You should talk to-"

"Mr. Spankoffski, something to share?" Ms. Mulberry interrupted, shutting up the both of them. Until that was, Richie let out a muffled snicker, loud enough for the nerd beside him to hear but thankfully not the teacher.

"What?" he whispered, clearly not too perturbed by getting in trouble.

"Spankoffski? That's your last name?" Richie tried to keep the laughter out of voice to be nice, but it wasn't exactly easy when the knowledge that someone with the last name Spankoffski was sitting next to you

"It's Polish." A glare from Ms. Mulberry shut them both up again.

Class attendance was called, the Jesus girl being named Grace and Mr. Spankoffski responding to Peter. No one else was really of note. The class itself wasn't too big, no more than 20 names being read out and certainly less than that actually getting responses. The forty-five minutes passed uneventfully, almost entirely consisting of reviewing the syllabus and repeating the same class rules he'd heard from at least 30 different teachers at this point. The bell rang at nine thirty as they were dismissed, let off to go to their next period.

"Richie, right?" Pete hurried to walk next to him, their steps falling in sync.

"Yeah."

"What do you have next?"

"Advanced English."

"With Miss Wood?"

"Uh yeah, I think so."

"You're with me and Ruth then, I can show you the way." It was one of the very few classes that Pete knew he had a friend in. Sure, PJ and Reese took a bunch of his extension courses as well, but they only ever really hung out because they were all 'nerds' and there was safety in numbers. Ruth had focused on more creative fields, relishing in her four units of English. Why anyone would ever want to do that much text analysis put Pete as a loss for words. Even the mandatory two felt like torture half the time.

Awkward silence filled the space between them as they walked. As they reached the class though, a wild redhead girl wearing headgear leapt from her seat and rushed over to the pair.

"Hi Ruth," Pete spoke with a tired smile on his face, gesturing for Richie to follow as the girl, 'Ruth' apparently, dragged him over to the seat next to hers.

"This is Richie, he's new." He waved awkwardly as he was introduced, not sure what else to do exactly.

"That's a Danganronpa shirt!" she said excitedly, pointing at the Ibuki merch he wore.

"Oh, yeah. I liked the anime, so I started playing the games."

Ruth nodded and was quiet for a moment as she thought before she spoke again, "why's your voice so high?" Both the other nerds stiffened at the question, the bow tie kid kicking her under the table. Richie subconsciously tugged at his shirt once more.

"I'm a la-te bloomer, I guess," he over enunciated his t's on accident, an unfortunate verbal tic that always seemed to come out when he was stressed.

"Ignore her, please. She suffers from a chronic lack of a filter." Pete's glare wasn't even remotely scary, but it seemed to get the point across to Ruth as she looked down sheepishly and mumbled an apology. Richie offers her a small smile in response.

"So, where did you transfer from?"

"Uh, King High School in Detroit."

"You're not from around here."

Richie shook his head, "no, but my uncle is. I'm staying with him."

Their conversation was cut short as Ms. Wood entered, commanding everyone to take their seats and stop talking. There were a few more people in this class, around 25 or maybe 30, though a good chunk, Pete included, were only here because they were forced to take English and doing standard would've either been shameful or just even more boring.

It was more of the same dribble repeated from first period: syllabus, class rules, bell ring, get let out on time thankfully.

Periods 3 and 4 passed just the same, with Richie having art third and his singular free period fourth which he spent watching anime on his laptop in the library. As the bell rang, students flooded out of the building and towards the cafeteria. Richie stalled as he packed away his things for the soul purpose of avoiding the crowd, though it had the added benefit of allowing him to catch Ruth and Pete push through the flood of students, spot him, and walk over.

They lead him to the cafeteria, claiming their usual table off towards the far end of the lunch hall once they had gotten their food. While they walked back, Richie's eyes lingered on a flyer pinned to the bulletin board advertising the open spot to play the school's mascot 'Zeke the fighting nighthawk'. It sounded like it could be fun. Hey, maybe his 6 years of dance and gymnastics lessons might actually pay off for once! He kept walking before he could properly consider it.

"Do you think Jägerman got first lunch? I can't see him." Pete asked once they sat down, suspicious of the lack of insults and punches being hurled.

"I don't think he's here today. I was talking to Reese in extension English and apparently his whole group is absent."

"Jägerman? Who's that-?" Richie asked, flinching just a little as the t sound was yet again exaggerated. Thankfully, Ruth and Pete either didn't notice or graciously chose not to comment.

"Max Jägerman. Star quarterback of the Hatchetfield Nighthawks. He'd beat the snot out of you in he saw your shirt."

"So, he's just a bully?"

"Worse. He's a literal monster." Somewhere in the back of Richie's mind, an intense electric guitar riff played out before fading as Pete chimed in again.

"You're lucky he's not here. Ruth's right, he'd have a field day with you," he gestured to the inky print on the weeb's jaw, "especially with your soulmate mark there."

"Oh yeah, where's yours?" Richie asked, scowling just enough to go over the other boy's head.

"On my shoulder," Pete responded matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I forgot to ask, what subjects are you doing?" Ruth asked, changing the topic to the relief of both the other nerds. The conversation devolved into school related topics, only stopping once the bell rang, forcing the nerds to go their separate ways.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't share advanced math, his fifth period subject for that day with either of them (though he did find out that Pete was in his extension 1 class so that was good). His teacher, Mr. O'Neill, was rather relaxed though, so it wasn't so bad sitting by himself.

Sixth period was physics, again alone, as Pete was in the other class and Ruth didn't take it. And unluckily for him, he got Mr Little, perhaps the most boring man he'd ever met. After a gruelling 45 minutes, the final bell ringing came as a god send.

The bus ride home was thankfully empty enough for Richie to put his headphones on max volume and not worry about anyone hearing what he was listening to. Stepping into his empty home, his bag was discarded in his room as he went to grab a snack for himself. Paul would be home in about two hours so he'd sort out dinner some time before then. For now, though, he was free to lie down and rewatch Evangelion again.

'Literal monster' Max Jägerman could be dammed, he was going to make the most of this year. He'd already found two people he liked, most of the teachers seemed alright, and he hadn't been called a humiliating nickname yet! Hatchetfield High was going to be good. It was going to be so much better here than in Detroit, he was sure of it. He was going to make sure of it.

Because here, he belonged. And besides, how bad could one negative influence be?

Chapter Text

The crowd erupted in cheers as the clock displayed on the TV reached midnight. The teen next to Max shouted something about the start of senior year, but it was lost in the yelling around him. He honestly didn't really get why everyone was cheering, school sucked. But whatever, if it meant being at one of Steph's parties, he didn't really mind how much sense it made. The spiked punch in his solo cup burned with hardly masked vodka as he gulped it down, adding his own cheers to the mix.

Eventually the crowd dissipated, the group of 30 that were huddled around the screen splitting off to go back to their friends or grab another drink. Max found himself in a cannonball contest, stripped to his boxers and dark shirt and jumping in to the freezing water of the Lauters' pool. According the panel of judges, consisting of Stacy and Brenda, Kyle won. It was rigged from the beginning, though, considering the disgusting crushes they harbored on each other.

"Whatever," he muttered, pulling jeans over still damp skin. The denim was almost sandpaper like and twice as uncomfortable as you think it was, but that was dulled by the alcohol flowing throw his system. Still damp, he smiled at Steph who was holding out another drink for him."You're the best," he'd tried to say, though it kind of got cut off into an unintelligible gurgle as he took a sip halfway through speaking. She handed him a crumpled pile of clothes, a mix of someone else's shirt and his Letterman jacket that were both discarded near each other in the grass.

"You excited for school to go back?"

"No. Who actually is?" Max responded, sitting down in the grass as he slipped his jacket on, placing the other shirt somewhere beside him.

"Aww come on, you're telling me you don't want to return to your kingdom?" Steph sat down next to him, "how else would you loyal subjects thrive?"

Max hummed an affirmative response, "they do need their God."

"You think we'll get any new students?" she asked, looking away from the jock beside her and instead looking forward, past the pool and over at her house.

"We always do. For whatever reason, people just can't seem to stay away from Hatchetfield."

"Hey, it could be worse. They could go to Sycamore," she pointed out.

"Fuck Sycamore," Max raised his drink to the sky as if clinking it together with other glasses before taking a swig.

"Fuck Sycamore," she concurred, letting out a breathy, laugh.

"Jägermeister!" A voice from inside the house rang out, signaling the jocks exit. He chugged the remaining liquid in his cup, letting it fall to the ground. He stood, walking back inside with a small grin plastered on his face.

Steph sat in the grass for a moment longer by herself, pretending to ignore how close Kyle and Brenda were in the pool. With a sigh, she looked up at the sky and the full moon. She stood, walking after Max, back into her house, but he was gone by now, off doing something else, mingling with some one else. Her thoughts were distracted as Stacy called her over for whatever she wanted to shriek about this time.

The default Iphone alarm sound blared through Max's room, startling the jock awake to a very unfortunate realisation: today was not only Monday, but the first day of school. There was also his horrific hangover induced headache which was certainly not helping his case. September could suck his dick, it still felt like summer so he was going to treat it like summer and go straight back to bed. As he rolled over to shut up the piercing sound coming from his cell phone, a wave of nausea hit him like a truck. There was a faint remnant of regret in the back of his throat, but it was covered by the taste of vomit as bile rose and masked it completely.

In an instant, he bolted upright, stumbling towards the bathroom with a pained groan. He fell to his knees over the toilet as he spilled the mostly empty contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowel. The back of his throat burned with last nights mistakes. Damn that Lauter bitch and her parties. Damn the mayor for being out on a stupid nerdy politics related trip. Damn- he again cursed Steph out mentally as he threw up once more.

Slowly, on shaky legs and with a killer headache, he rose to his feet. He lent against the sink basin, his hands supporting his large frame as he rinsed out his mouth with the tap water. Seeing himself in the mirror, he looked awful. Signature cocky smile down turned to a soft frown, brown curls sticking up in every which way and dark circles hanging under his eyes. His clothes from yesterday still hung on his body, a dirty shirt and distressed jeans, his Letterman discarded somewhere on his messy bedroom floor.

He was glad his dad was working early today so he wouldn't have to face him like this, so he could avoid the consequences of last night too. Reaching to his medicine cabinet, he located ibuprofen and took one more than recommended, dry swallowing them with a bitter grimace. He slunk back across his room, falling to his bed with a quiet groan while he waited for the painkillers to kick in. The room was dark thanks to his blinds and he was eventually lulled to sleep.

Some time (two hours) later, he woke up again, not even remembering when he fell asleep. His throat was raw and tired and his stomach was practically eating itself out of hunger. Breakfast, that's what he needed. A cup of shitty instant coffee (because that's all his dad bought) and two bowels of cereal later, he was starting to feel a bit better.

He considered going to school for a moment, he'd be fairly late, but he could still go. Then he remembered it was school and he'd rather do literally anything instead of attending.

And if his hangover was anything to go off of it was more than likely that Kyle, Jason, Steph, and half of everyone else who attended were also going to be absent. It was the first day, anyways, so what if he didn't listen to the stupid magic rock story Ms. Lautre told to her class at the start of every year.

Not that he had anything against her, she was one of the few teachers that he was actually able to learn from. But the story did get boring when it would be the third time he'd heard it. Either way, it wasn't worth going out of his way and getting in trouble for being late.

Whatever, the school would be fine without its king for one day. He was sure the peasants among them would spread the word just fine. His mind went back to what Steph had asked him the other night, about the possibility of new kids. The handful that had likely joined their cohort may require some... rough introductions at some point. A toothy grin slid onto his face. A punch or two would do them good. His eyes dropped to his right hand, curling it into a fist so all that could be seen was the inky stain that covered his knuckles. He let the first drop, smiling to himself once more.

A new kid might actually be nice to fuck around with, fresh meat and all that. He had one more year of high school left, before he was shipped off to whatever college offered him a football scholarship. He had one more year as a God. He was going to make it count. And part of that meant making damn sure nothing changed.

But hey, how bad could a few new faces be, huh? If he was lucky, the school would get another nerd and he'd get another punching bag.

Wouldn't that be a riot?

Chapter Text

Richie always hated Tuesdays. Somehow, year after year, as the class schedules got released, Tuesdays always ended up sucking the most. And somehow, year 12 was no exception. He glanced down at his phone screen, seeing the three periods of maths and the two periods of physics he had today. The one saving grace was Chemistry fourth period, but the day was far beyond saving.

Whatever, it wasn't like they were going to do much anyways, they never did the first few days. Unluckily for him, Paul had to work early, leaving him to figure out his own way to school. The bus stop was a good five minutes away and a senior on the bus was killer weak. His only other option was taking the twenty-minute walk and risk stinking for the rest of the day. Hyperhidrosis sucked at every opportunity and all the Lynx Africa in the world couldn't stop that.

He decided on the bus; he could handle that this morning. After putting his noise cancelling headphones, he stepped out of the house, the Evangelion soundtrack blasting at a mildly unsafe volume. There were a handful of other kids standing by the bus stop, almost all younger than him. The only person there that seemed to be remotely his age was a girl wearing a dark green flannel over a cropped shirt. She looked unhappy, not sad, just not happy. Her makeup was minimal, not like she was trying to look natural, like she had tumbled out of bed thirty minutes late and ran all the way here. She looked at Richie, her down turned lips not changing, before glancing at her phone once more

Richie said nothing to her, not even sure what he would. Well, he did, he would say, "you look tired," but he didn't really feel like making her day worse than it seemed to already be. Or like getting punched this morning. She looked like the type to punch. That sort of mean popular girl cliche rolled off her in droves, shooting a mix of fear and admiration into the heart of every freshman who dared think of speaking to her. Actually, maybe she wouldn't punch exactly. But she was the type to grab by the collar of some dweeb's shirt and threaten them.

She did a double take, looking back at him and seeming to recollect something. A sly grin came over her face as she stepped towards him, her hand holding her phone dropping by her side.

"You're new, right?" Richie nodded, "what year are you in?"

"Senior," he replied, looking at his hands as he fidgeted with them rather than facing the horrors that came with eye contact. How his parents didn't realise he was autistic, he had no clue. Thank God for the autistic mess that was Paul, though.

She laughed under her breath, at him, not with him. The thought of calling her out crossed his mind, painfully tantalising, but then he remembered the crucial detail that it would be awful for him in every timeline. She looked like she was going to say something, but the bus arrived before she could.

"See you around," the word 'geek' was left unsaid, but they both knew it was implied. She stepped on in front of him, heading to the very back to sit with two girls and two boys he didn't recognise from yesterday. He took one of the empty seats near the front, not surprised to see no one he knew. Of course, it would've been to much of a coincidence that Pete or Ruth shared his bus.

He arrived at school too early for his liking, a whole 30 minutes before the morning bell would ring. Entering the gates, he spotted the Jesus girl from biology standing out front and passing out flyers to the very few people who took one. With his headphones half on, he heard a group of older boys behind him yell out to her.

"Oh, look, it's chastity belt!" Richie replaced his headphones before he heard any more of their demeaning nicknames for her. He didn't take one of her fliers, nor did he say anything about the comment. He should have. He knew that. He knew what it was like to be there and force a smile while everyone around you laughed. After a glance over his shoulder, he spotted the girl from the bus stop with that group. He saw her mouth move as she said something, probably another insult if he had to guess from the way the kids around her snickered.

He b-lined to the library, not wanting them to see the Pokemon shirt he was wearing under his button up and vest combo and shift their sights on to him. It was pretty empty, all things considered, a few underclassmen milling about, and-

"Richie!" Ruth's voice yelled out, waving him over quite obviously. At least he didn't have to suffer through the morning alone.

"You get here early?" Pete asked, looking up from his laptop to see the weeb taking the seat opposite him.

"When I take the bus," he responded, really hoping it wouldn't become a regular occurrence. "What are you doing?"

"Looking at our assessment timetable for the year," Spankoffski responded, turning his laptop around to show him the poorly formatted PDF containing what was essentially their cram schedule for the next year.

"You do chem and physics, right?" Richie nodded.

"Ha, sucks for you both the exams are on the same day this term," Ruth's smug smile grew as the collective groan from both the science nerds.

"You're lucky, half of your stuff is major works, so you get a whole year," Pete grumbled. He rolled his eyes as she smiled and nodded along, pleased with herself.

"Where are PJ and Reese? They should be here by now," she commented as her demeanour shifted, glancing at the time and frowning. 

"We usually play cards with them in the morning," Pete filled in, noticing Richie's look of confusion.

20 minutes later than they should have, the two missing nerdy prudes wandered in, looking shaken up.

"Jägerman's back," was all the ginger said as she sat down, deck of cards placed in the centre of the five of them. The other three shot her looks of sympathy, not saying anything about it as the cards were shuffled and three were dealt out to all of them.

Ruth suddenly changed the subject with "Richie, do you know how to play Mao?" Upon his negative answer, the other four looked at each other with devious expressions.

"We'll start a new game, then, I'll be the chairman. The only rule is that you may be told this one," she said, clasping her hands together like a stereotypical villain about to monologue their evil plot.

"What?" Richie responded, looking around to see everyone else smiling expectantly.

"Just watch. You'll learn eventually. The name of the game is Mao," Ruth declared before she picked up her cards, causing everyone else, including a belated and confused Richie, to do the same. She flipped over the top card, revealing an ace of diamonds. Pete looked woefully unimpressed as he knocked on the table and Ruth took the next card in the deck and slid it face down to him. 

"So, what do I-"

"Excessive verbosity," she stated, sliding a card over to Richie and somehow causing more confusion than before. Having no idea what else he even could do, he copied Pete, knocking on the table and adding a Jack of clubs to his rapidly growing hand.

PJ went next, placing a king of diamonds atop the ace of same suit, following along (joined with Pete and Reese) as Ruth spoke, "praise king Mao."

"Praise king Mao?" Richie repeated on a delay, relaxing as no card was given to him. At least, he thought that was a good thing. Reese then put down a king of clubs, causing everyone to repeat the phrase once more. It seemed to play much like Uno, suits instead of colours and ranks instead of numbers.

As the game went on, Richie's confusion only grew. He held 7 cards, a mixture of penalties from not doing things he didn't know he had to do, and plain awful luck. Sat literally next to him, PJ only had one left and a joyous evil glint in her eye as he remained without a single spade and knocked on the table, now holding eight.

"Mao!" she said excitedly, putting down her final card. He watched as everyone put down their cards, Pete, who had also been on one card, scowled as he revealed the 9 of spades he was going to play (and win with) had PJ not beat him to it.

"So, Richie, you get it yet?"

"No."

"You understand what we had to go through, then," Pete grumbled, still salty over his loss.

"Aw come on, it's fun."

"Guess who first taught us the game." Richie didn't have to with the huge smile spread over Ruth's face.

"You wanna play again?" Richie nodded, not before a moment of deliberation. They still had at least 15 minutes before they had to go to class and everyone else seemed like they were having fun, even if he was rearing to ask PJ and Reese about what the hell 'Jägerman' had done.

He'd had bullies before, plenty of them. But if they really were so shaken up, and he was a 'literal monster' as Ruth had said, maybe there was something more to him. He was pulled from his thoughts as PJ, the new 'chairman', started the game.

He kept a watchful eye, quietly observing as Reese, Ruth, and Pete all took their turns, confirming his perception of the rules. As he placed down a 7 of clubs atop the discard pile. As the game progressed, once more, Richie was losing horrifically. The game finished as the time neared 8:45, causing the group to split off and head to their own classes which, for Richie, was an agonising double maths.

He didn't actually hate maths, kind of the opposite, he liked it most of the time. That was, except for quadratics. He fucking hated quadratics. It wasn't confusing or all that hard, no more than most other topics, really. It was just super boring and repetitive and everything everyone who hated maths thought the entire subject was. To make it worse, he was totally alone. Shoved into the back left corner with an empty seat beside him, he was left to do his head down and not be noticed at all, like usual.

Chapter Text

The bell marking the end of period three rang out in the extension 1 mathematics classroom, causing a sea of clicking and rustling sounds and computers and workbooks alike were shut.

"What do you have next?" Pete asked, packing away his math book and laptop.

"Chemistry, I think. You?" Richie responded from the desk next to him

"Software engineering," he said excitedly, standing by the other nerd's desk as he was waited for him to get his own things in order. The maths block wasn't too far from the science building, certainly closer than the English building was. Unfortunately for him, his locker was still all the way down there and carrying all of his books would have been hell.

Richie let himself be excited as they walked out of the room. He liked chemistry, after all, and if he didn't enjoy that, then the whole day would be awful and may as well have never moved. He took a deep breath and let his head clear.

"Micro-Peter's got a boyfriend!" A voice sounded from behind the pair, causing Pete to tense up and start walking faster and Richie to look at him, then behind himself, to the jock that was approaching.

"What's his problem?" Richie grumbled, matching his pace to the other nerd's.

"Oh, what was that? Speak up, bitch, I didn't hear you!" another called out. Despite the voice in the back of his head that was full of clever comebacks and witty remarks and the longing for putting onboxious jerk in their place, Richie stayed silent. He tried to be invisible, slinking in on himself as if that would make him disappear.

He just had to make it to his locker and then the science rooms, he did that, and he was going to be fine. There was no way these kids would hurt him, not when he'd done absolutely nothing, that wasn't fair. 

He knew well enough that wasn't how bullies worked. He knew fairness meant nothing to these people, if it did, they would have never yelled in the first place.

He looked back over to Pete, the boy was rigid and tense, clutching his maths textbook to his chest. He felt himself to the same. He felt pathetic, really. He was sure the other nerd did to.

"M-my locker's this way," he stammered, muttering a "see you at lunch" under his breath before turning left and taking off. Richie whispered a goodbye, but he doubted it was heard. Turning the opposite direction, he kept his head down, just hoping they'd leave him alone. It was a dumb hope, of course.

As he did reach his locker, they had been suspiciously quiet aside from some painfully obvious snickers that they seemed to think he couldn't hear.

"And who are you, huh?" one of the jocks asked, metal making a loud clanging sound as he leant against the locker next to his.

"Richie Lipschitz," he said, his voice coming out strangely small. The boy beside him smirked and nodded to the other, who then took the nerds left side.

"You're new, right?" the left one spoke. Pathetically, Richie agreed, just hoping he'd get to his class before they could do anything else. "I'm Jason, that's Kyle."

"Come on, we'll show you around. Where's your class?" The smirk spread across his face was devious, in a way he couldn't quite describe. Social cues may not have been his thing, but his intuition was rarely wrong.

Curse Pete for having a locker on the other side of the school.

"S3, I know where it is," annoyance slipped into his voice, a mistake given how the two jocks reacted. Kyle's smirk dropped for just a moment as he scoffed and shot a look to Jason.

"We're just trying to help," he spoke with faux innocence, fooling no one.

"Come on, we'll show you a short cut," the other said.

"No thanks." Richie shut his locker door, attepmting to step out and hurry his way to class, but a hand on his shoulder spun him and forced him back. He hit the locker with a loud clang, the cold metal seeping through all of his layers.

"And just what happened here, huh?" Kyle's finger poked at his jaw, almost gawking at the inky black mark covering it.

"Looks like your soulmate hates you. At least enough to punch you," Jason teased, as if the weeb wasn't well aware.

Richie furrowed his brows, the familiar urge to lunge and send his fist careening into whatever the first body part he could hit filled him, but he didn't act on it. He didn't need to be known as weird and violent and especially not on his second day.

He pushed off of the locker, twisting his body to force the hand off of his shoulder. Something was yelled from behind him, but it was lost as he pulled his headphones from his bag and placed them tightly over his ears. A hand grabbed at his forearm, trying to pull him back, but he jerked away, only pausing when he bumped into a figure much bigger than himself that had happened to be walking towards him at precisely the wrong time.

Richie mumbled an apology under his breath, the words barely audible, due to both the volume and the speed at which he spoke, if only because he was anxious. The tardy bell rang, shrill sounds filling the school and shooting dread through the nerd's body. His walk sped up to an awkward half jog as he tried to not be egregiously late.

Stepping into the science class, he gave a vague excuse to the thankfully lienient teacher and took one of the few empty seats in the middle of the front row, next to a kid that rolled their eyes, sighed, and shuffled their stuff over as soon as they saw him. He felt sort of ashamed, they clearly wanted to be left alone, but the guilt was quickly overridden with embarrassment as the teacher chastised him for having his headphones on.

On his way walking back from the science building to the cafeteria, he couldn't help but look over his shoulder again and again, just to make sure the boys from before hadn't magically reappeared. They hadn't, of course, the crowd of kids all trying to file into the one building had seperated him from literally anyone in his class. Unfortuantely, that also meant he was seperated from anyone he knew, lost trudging in the sea of people that had to be at least somewhat unsafe.

Headphones, again fished from his bag, weren't enough to spare from the noise, not even music at maximum volume could cover it. In every pause, every quiet moment between the instrumentals, there were voices, what felt like hundreds of them, all trying to talk over each other and all crafted just to attack him. That was a stupid thought, of course, it was just idle conversation that didn't involve him at all.

He kept his head down until he reached the cafeteria, seeing Pete at the same back table as yesterday doing something on his phone while he waited for someone else to show up. He passed by the flyer for the football mascot position again, sitting down opposite to him silently. The bow-tied boy look up and his expression immediately turned apologetic.

"You okay?" he asked tentatively, his phone making a soft thud as it was placed on the table.

Richie wanted to be angry. He was, how could he not be? But it felt strangely misplaced. He really couldn't blame Pete. Hell, he did the exact same to the jesus freak that morning.

"Yeah," he eventually responded, too true for his own liking. Pete just nodded, biting the inside of his lip like he thought no one would notice.

Ruth arrived before the silence stretched out for too long, filling the once tense air with conversation and lame theatre kid gossip. Richie didn't particularly care, but it was better than sitting in his own discomfort, so he indulged her (and learned a surprising amount about two kids called Trevor and Rudolph in the process).