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Max scrolls aimlessly on his phone for hours at night, that’s just how his insomnia works. He spends a majority of his time on Instagram, definitely not stalking his friends who seem to be having fun without him. Not that he minds, he didn’t like leaving the house anyways.
Checking through his recommended follows, he finds an account called simply “R”.
The bio says R uses he pronouns, that he’s 18, and a MI cosplayer.
Max scrolls down to his actual posts, noticing the different look for each and every square on his page.
On one post — from last night, actually — R has on a red skin-tight latex-looking suit and an orange pigtail wig with matching red clips.
The caption reads: “halloween’s almost here !! what’re u gonna be :P”. Then, there’s a few hashtags below. Max has to turn his phone and think for a moment before figuring out what colon P means — it’s supposed to be a face.
There’s a couple dozen comments, but Max doesn’t bother to read them. He instead admires the blue of R’s eyes (no doubt using colored contacts), and the makeup. From the red under his eyes to the orange to red ombre of his lips, topped off with a clear gloss, down to the faux freckles on his nose and cheeks.
R is smiling softly at the camera, posing in a selfie with his free hand doing a peace sign.
Max begins to scroll through his account. In every post, R has some sort of colored contacts in his eyes, heavy makeup on, a costume, and a styled wig.
He recognizes none of the characters, but every one of R’s posts are beautifully done.
Max ends up spending the entire night stalking R’s posts, following him and liking the newest post.
The next day at school, the principal announces the Halloween plan for Hatchetfield High; students can wear their costumes to school.
Max decided to look back into R’s account for inspiration for his costume, ultimately settling on a ghostly version of himself.
He heads towards the store in his beat up car, listening to some music as he pulls into the parking lot.
There, he grabs white face paint, a cheap yet colorful eyeshadow palette, and some brushes.
Max settles at the bathroom sink a few days later — Halloween — which is the only place in his vicinity with a mirror. He finds himself glad that his dad isn’t here, that he was arrested a few weeks ago, that he’s gone from Max’s life for now. He’s been a lot less vicious to the nerds in Hatchetfield ever since then, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders the moment the police busted down the door.
His dad would hate to see him in makeup, even like this.
Max sighs, looking in the mirror before opening the package of brushes. There’s a large, thick one, probably best for applying the face paint. He does so, making sure it’s spread evenly. He adds some blue veins stemming from his neck, and black eyeshadow around his eyes.
He throws on his usual outfit, consisting of his letterman, a tee and some ripped jeans.
Walking into school, he notices a few different costumes. He sees, most notably, Stephanie Lauter and her boyfriend Peter Spankoffski in matching Spiderman and Spiderwoman suits. Steph has ripped jeans and a jacket over the suit, while Pete just wears sweatpants.
With them is who Max used to call Flemwad, and he isn’t actually sure of her first name. She’s dressed up as what looks like Princess Leia, according to Max’s friend Kyle.
Grace Chasity is there, too, although she’s not dressed up.
Then, someone Max actually recognizes heads towards them.
Definitely an overachiever at Hatchetfield for Halloween, wearing red contacts and a cutely styled powder blue wig, as well as a white button down, a red bow at the collar, and a blue skirt with thick straps, similar to suspenders. On top of that, there’s white knee-high socks and mary jane shoes.
His makeup is perfectly done, with puppy liner and soft, pinkish red lips and a few fake freckles decorating his face. A small amount of blush is placed on the tip of his nose.
“Dude, Richie, you look sick,” Steph says, just loud enough for Max to hear from his locker, “Rei Ayanami, right?”
He peeks over, and realizes something major — R stands for Richie.
Max’s thoughts all leave for a second before one very important one comes up: ‘am I attracted to Richie Lipschitz?’
He’s always been dorky and weird, sure, with cute — cute? — piercing blue eyes, and a crooked smile. Richie’s dialect really encapsulates his nerdy manner, too, but in a charming way.
No, he was not falling for Richie Lipschitz.
Richie must’ve caught him staring, because he sends him an awkward wave. Max quickly grabs his books from his locker and heads off.
At one point during fifth period, Max’s teacher put on a movie. Richie dismisses himself from the class, and Mad immediately follows, curious. He watches the boy head to his locker, fishing for something before heading to the bathroom. Max heads in after him.
Richie jumps when he hears footsteps leading towards the bathroom, sighing when he sees it’s just Max.
He never thought he’d see the day where he was relieved to see Max Jägerman.
“Hey,” he hums, trying to screw the cap off of what looks like eye drops.
“Do you need help?”
“No, no,” Richie chuckles, “my hands just won’t stop shaking.”
“Here, let me,” Max reaches his hand out, and Richie begrudgingly gives him the bottle. Max opens it quickly.
He hands it back to Richie, unsure of what to say.
“Why’d you follow me in here?”
“Uh…” Max thinks for a moment, before admitting the truth. “I actually, uh, found your Instagram a week ago. Thought you were really cool, and I was just kinda shocked to figure out it was you.”
“You… didn’t know it was me?”
“No,” Max says with a chuckle, “not until I saw you with Steph.”
“You know, when you followed me, I immediately called Ruth. She was like, ‘follow back! See what he wants!’”
“I just thought you were pretty-” Max cuts himself off before recovering, “-cool. Pretty cool.”
Richie’s blush is still noticeable under the foundation and concealer he wears.
“Thanks, Max.”
“Oh! Do you need help putting in the eye drops?”
Richie cocks a brow, which Max finally notices are blue as well.
“Sure,” Richie eventually decides, handing Max the eyedrops. Max grasps his chin gently, tilting his head back.
Max does the drops as normal, watching Richie get comfortable in his grip. He does two drops in each eye, per Richie’s request, before allowing the boy to settle his head back to normal. “Thanks.”
“Those contacts are really pretty,” Max says.
“Thanks!” Richie begins his ramble, explaining where he got them, who he originally bought them for, and what characters he plans to use.
“You should do my makeup sometime,” Max eventually suggests, “like, the whole… cosplay thing.”
Richie stares at him dumbly. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Max nods, “I think it’s really cool.”
Max had never noticed how adorable Richie can get when he’s excited.
“We could do Madoka and Homura,” Richie suggests, “you’d be a really cool Homura, especially with the black makeup you got going on right now.”
“I based it on your makeup,” Max chuckles.
“Oh! But… they are a couple, if that makes you uncomfortable I can think of some other duos-”
Max places a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “That sounds perfect, actually.”
Richie’s face is blank for a moment, before he looks down, embarrassed.
“O-Okay!”
That weekend, Max comes over to Richie’s house. His uncle is gone for the weekend, something about a business trip with CCRP.
They settle in Richie’s room, and Richie’s already wearing black contacts and a pink, puffy dress. His makeup is half done, only needing eyeliner, lashes and lipstick.
Once he finishes his own makeup, he pats the side of his bed for Max to sit down. Max does so, and Richie warns him that it might feel weird.
“Uh, foundation and concealer can be cold. And wigs can give you headaches,” he says cautiously.
Max nods, closing his eyes as Richie begins to apply the makeup.
When Max is in the wig and costume, he notices that the sleeves are a big short for him. Other than that, it looks… nice? He feels pretty. Not as pretty as Richie, but he’s not sure if anybody could reach that.
They take a few pictures, and Max doesn’t want to admit it, but when he asks Richie to send them to him, it’s because he wants to make it his lockscreen.
Before he leaves, both boys back in their normal attire, Max leans in and kisses Richie’s cheek gently.
“We should do this again sometime,” he hums.
Richie, red faced, nods. “Yeah!”