Gordie ran. He ran for his life. He could feel his heart beat in his chest, through his rain soaked striped red and white shirt.
It was all over.
His Keds slapped the wet pavement with every leaping stride, feet pumping on the ground like there was no tomorrow.
There might not be.
It was dark. The only thing illuminating his path, there, in the dead of night, was the street lights, the flickering, artificial light pulsing overhead as he passed under them, one by one. His flashlight was being a real asshole, turning on and off as it bumped against his hip, uselessly clipped to the belt loop of his patched up Levi's jeans.
Footsteps pounded behind him.
Shit! Gordie's mind screamed, pushing himself to accelerate, even though his throat felt like somebody had plunged a gagillion needles into the inside of his neck and dragged them all the way down to his stomach. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
He was growing cold. And out of breath. An unbodly feeling pulled across his entire persona. Numbness pricked the balls of his feet.
The person was coming closer. He could feel him sprinting. His toes were nipping Gordie's heels. Who was it? Gordie could only guess. Nothing from before that moment was clear. All he could feel was the rain spattering against the top of his head, making his chestnut hair come down over his eyes in piece-ey, dripping wet strings. The eyelashes of his chocolate brown eyes were already stuck together with both tears and rain.
Gordie felt something close around his neck. Something warm, but not warm in the way you would think. Not the kind of human warmth that you wanted to hug close to you and never let go. Not the kind of human warmth that made you want entrust all your secrets in. This was rock hard, cold panic disguised as a person's soft skin. And it had Gordie in a headlock.
The person tackled Gordie to the ground.
"Goddamn it, Lachance, what the hell is your problem!?" A voice snarled. The grip loosened, and Gordie scrambled up from the ground.
The light from overhead illuminated his face, making the young boy glow from inside. Just as Gordie's heart rate began to steady, it fluttered when he saw the boy's face.
His dirty blonde hair was pressed flat up against his forehead, tickling the edges of his light brown eyebrows, which were scrunched towards the middle of his forehead. Deep, deep blue eyes were full of worry, question and affection. His mouth was as firm as his set, chiseled jaw. The boy's hands were balled at his side, where he held onto the old .45, which was laced into the worn leather belt around his waist. His stance was very square and tall, making the boy's boxy, muscular frame look all the more so. His dirty white shirt was wet and sticking to the boy's chest, and you could see his pectorals through the thin fabric.
Gordie gulped.
"Chris." He managed before breaking down completely and throwing himself into his friend's arms.
"Gordie." Chris muttered, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Gordie's skinny frame.
"Shit, Chris." Gordie said as the tears soaked into his friends already drenched t shirt. "Shit, man. I can't…I don't…"
"It's okay." Chris said comfortingly into Gordie's hair, rubbing his thumb across his shoulder. "It's okay now."
