#i've always had this headcanon that this canonly happens to richie

[richtozicr]

LOVE’S GONNA GET YOU KILLED       -----         BUT PRIDE’S GONNA BE THEDEATH OF YOU. 

TW FOR HOMOPHOBIA, HATE CRIMES, BLOOD, AND SLURS.  ( inspo. )

It’s hard to hear that a ton of different arcades are shutting down. It’s kind of depressing. The town over- the place that many would go to flex on people that didn’t live in the area- had lost their arcade a month ago. It made Derry’s arcade more popular. But it also brought a lot of strangers into Derry that Richie doesn’t actually know.

There’s a redhead that shows up one day and Richie is immediately captivated by him. He sits back, watching the other play Street Fighter with amazement. It doesn’t take awhile for Richie to realize he’s not paying as much attention to the boy’s gameplay and is now watching all the freckles on his face. Bright blue eyes trail down to the other’s lips before he catches himself and looks away fast. Guilty. He feels like a sinner. That’s what the church calls him. Not him, specifically. God, no one knows. Bowers has maybe a hint of knowledge. The same with his gang. Their murders flash through his memories. Brief seconds. Bowers is locked up for good. He’s safe. For now. It’s nothing to panic about.

He doesn’t even realize due to the fact that he was so caught up in thinking about everything that the redhead is now talking to him. His eyes dart up and Richie clears his throat to pretend like things are okay.

“You can play now, if you want,” is all Richie hears, as his eyes glance over at the high scores. TZR. Second. He rushes to the machine and looks at the high scores. Second?! He’d been top ranking in Street Fighter for three years straight. He looks at Rank #1. JMS. He turns back around to face the other and looks severely impressed.

“Woah, you’re insane,” is all he can get out. “Do you know how long it’s been since anyone’s even remotely tried to get top?” He asks, pushing up his glasses so he can just stare at the other. Richie is amazed. “I’m Richie, by the way. Most everyone calls me Trashmouth,” he sticks his hand out for the other to actually shake. Richie is more than excited to make another friend around his age who actually likes Street Fighter. The stranger shakes his hand, accepting the invite for friendship.

The stranger’s name is Jaymes. He lives another city away. Around a 25 minute drive. Richie wonders if this shit stain of an arcade is even worth it, but he’s also sure maybe he’d be the same way as this guy if Derry’s arcade shut down. Richie wonders what Jaymes’ score was back in his original arcade. How’d he get so good? Especially to beat Richie?

He spent the next two hours until the arcade closed just playing with Jaymes. The entire time, Richie felt like his heart was being thrown into his throat. This boy was cute and they had a lot of mutual interests besides Street Fighter. He figured that this would actually be a good way to be able to start getting friends that weren’t the losers club---- seeing as they had all started to slowly stop hanging out with each other. He still saw Stan, and he still saw Bill, and even he’d joke around with Eddie here and there, but it was like they were in high school now--- things changed. Bev had moved away and it was just difficult for any of them to care anymore. 

It was good for the first few weeks. Great, even. Richie tried not to stare at Jaymes a certain way, or smile around him, but by god, he was hot and Richie couldn’t help but stare sometimes. He’d hope that Jaymes didn’t notice. He really did hope that Jaymes didn’t know. He remembers the day he asks Jaymes if he wants to catch a movie and that he heard great things about Edward Scissorhands. To Richie’s shock, the other actually agreed.  

Richie had been waiting the whole week for the date-- well, though it was just literally the two of them catching a movie. It wasn’t a date. That’s what he kept having to remind himself as he got ready. He chose a muted colored hawaiian shirt this time, instead of opting for the more colorful ones he had suddenly acquired at the start of the decade. Something subtle. Something that wouldn’t gather too much attention to the two. Two boys seeing a movie together that wasn’t an action film? Especially since it was a romantic movie, according to critics. They were playing a risky game.

The movie had gone splendidly, though halfway through Richie had been distracted by the fact that Jaymes had actually held his hand. It was secret. Under the security blanket of their popcorn box---- no one would know either way. It had made Richie want to throw up he was so nervous. But he remembers glancing over and pushing his glasses up in the dimly lit theatre to look over at his date. Jaymes was just smiling back and Richie could have sworn he saw the other wink at him as they continued to hold hands throughout the rest of the movie. 

As the movie ended, Richie left the theatre, unsure of what to say to Jaymes. The redhead had told him to walk him to his car and that he’d parked behind the theatre just to be on the safe side, and Richie believed him. They went down the alleyway next to theatre and stopped behind it. He saw a few employee cars but the workers were still definitely in the theatre. “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for coming with me. I know you didn’t have to or what----” The Tozier wasn’t entirely used to being interrupted so when the other actually leaned in and kissed him-- Richie’s heart soared. Holy shit. His first kiss. Oh god, he felt like a fucking fish. But he was so stunned.  Once Jaymes pulled back, he just saw that the other was laughing after kissing him.

What? Wait, laughing? Richie was pretty damn sure he hadn’t said any type of joke.  “Wha-- Sorry, uh,” Richie cleared his throat and felt his face was entirely heated. Pushing up his glasses quickly he looked back at Jaymes in confusion. “Sorry, like, that was my first kiss-- so I don’t really get what’s so fucking funny.”

“The funny thing is you actually were a fag. One of my boys pointed it out to me and at first I didn’t believe it. You queers really do fuckin’ think that you can just pretend to be straight to trick people into your little web, then you use them to get your own sick fantasies out of it ----” Richie looked stunned. He looked behind him after hearing a few leaves crunching in the street behind them. Oh god, had anyone seen them? Coming up on them was a group of four different guys. Maybe around their age. Richie didn’t recognize them either. 

Richie suddenly realizes what’s going on. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He has to get out of here. “No, no ---- fuck you, “ he spits, pushing at the other. “ You fucking kissed me you asshole. If anyone’s gay here it’s you. “ That’s about the last thing Richie can get out before he’s grabbed and held down by two of the guys that had come up behind them. He’s recognized them. Slightly. He’s pretty sure he’s seen them around Jaymes. This was all some fucking set up. He can’t even scream because if he grabs attention to this, someone’ll spill the beans that Wentworth Tozier’s son was kissing a boy behind the fucking cinema. It’d ruin his dad. 

The first punch is what knocks his glasses off his face. It’s in his jaw and he’s automatically regretting ever laying eyes on Jaymes. He hears one of them --- a blur, he’s not even sure how close that person is to him---- pick up his glasses and then smash them on the ground. “Fuck off, all of y--- “ his face is slammed into the brick building. Once. Twice. Richie can already taste the iron dripping from his gums. Everything is a blur and it makes him feel dizzy. He’s surrounded and he keeps getting knocked down, picked back up again and he feels a lot of pain coursing through him.

It scares him. Is he about to die from a hate crime? Oh fuck, oh fuck he might die ---- until he hears one of them after what seems like ages. He’s pretty sure it’s Jaymes but he can’t see anything. It doesn’t help that he’s crying. He’s a fucking mess on the ground. “We don’t want to kill the faggot, “ is all he hears. It’s at least mercy. One of the other friends says that Richie deserves to die because they’re just spreading their fucking diseases everywhere anyhow. Richie spits out blood as he tries to pull himself up as they’re talking amongst themselves. A swift kick to his head knocks him out fully.

It’s maybe a few hours later when Richie finally comes to, on the floor next to a dumpster---- hidden, dried blood all over him. There’s also a foul stench that is something Richie recognizes but can’t actually figure out. It’s rancid. He feels around for his glasses on the ground, hoping they’ve at least let the glasses slide somewhere near him. It takes a few minutes for Richie to find his glasses and even hoist himself up. His glasses are broken. Half the glass is missing. He has a horrible prescription, so even telling his mother or father what happened is going to be hard. That’s money they have to spend, but his mom will make some quip about how all they do is spend money on Richie. Once his glasses are on his face, the bridge of the glasses hit up against his nose and it automatically makes him revolt in pain. Oh fuck. Oh god, his nose is absolutely broken. He leans up against the wall of the cinema and looks down at the dried blood everywhere. Then he notices the permanent marker that’s on the ground. 

Oh no. 

He’s not fast. He’s honestly wishing he had just never went back to walk Jaymes to his car. As he hobbles, he’s glad that it’s late in the night. Perhaps even early morning. Once he gets to his car, he realizes the paint that’s all over the windshield and he curses. Fuck. How’s he going to be able to get this off his car? Once he unlocks his car and gets in, struggling to not sit in a position that spikes pain through his body, he turns on a car light and looks at himself in the mirror.

There’s ‘FAG’ written all over his face in permanent marker. He just takes his hand and smears the blood over the words, hoping to god it helps masking a little bit of what he says. The key turns the car over and he is relieved to know the assholes didn’t siphon his car of gas, but he’s also dreading even driving home. He punches his steering wheel and just starts crying all over again. Who the fuck is he even going to go to?

Never mess with Derry. It was too dangerous of a place. No matter how hard people marched, Richie was pretty sure Derry, Maine was always going to be the worst place to grow up no matter who you were.