#literally just struggling not to cry or stare into the distance or get irrationally angry all the time

[artificial-condition]

I genuinely cant tell if I’ve been feeling so so so sad and depressed because of school, going full time at work, or super early and bad seasonal depression

[19tozier]

wish you were sober pt. two (richie tozier)

part two of this imagine

warnings: swearing, angst w/ a happy ending

[losers + reader are 16+]

as much as you wish it didn’t, that night after the party changes everything.

you don’t really know what to do with yourself. your heart aches to believe what richie said, but the larger part of you knows he was just drunk. he’s been your best friend for years, there’s no way that he actually likes you, let alone loves you. you just need to forget about it.

you don’t really know what to do about it, though. the logical part of you says it would probably be best to avoid richie for a while, at least until your feelings settle down again, but you’re not strong enough to do that. you’ve never gone longer than the weekend without seeing him; you don’t think you’d survive not having him within arm’s length.

but still, your blood burns whenever he’s close, so almost without you realizing it, you put distance between the two of you. not much, not enough to ruin your friendship, but enough to be noticeable. always at least one loser between you at all times, never being alone with him, talking to him really only when there are other people around. you know he has to have noticed and you feel guilty as hell to hurt him like this, but you’re slowly dying and he has no fucking clue.

you do, however, notice when sandy stops eating lunch with all of you. you notice when his jean jacket stretches over his own shoulders again. and you notice how no new girl shows up under his arm. you notice it all, and it makes you think.

hope is a dangerous thing. it can kill you if you’re not careful.

you think you’re doing a pretty good job of it, all things considered; you still laugh at richie’s jokes, you still banter with him over mundane topics, you still team up with him to rag on any of the other losers. you’ve always believed yourself to be a bad friend because of your feelings, betraying his trust and his privacy by being so in love with him. you’re certain you’re obvious because sometimes you feel like your love for him is bursting out of your skin, but you’ve never admitted it in as many words. you’ve never told anyone about your feelings for him, not even bev or stan. it is a secret you intend to take to your grave.

you only realize you’re wrong when the tension between you and richie explodes.

it starts at lunch one day. you’re all sat around your usual table, being as rowdy and out-of-control as all of you typically are. you’re sitting in between bill and bev, laughing at the story eddie tells, consciously keeping your eyes away from richie. any time you look at him, you can’t pull your eyes away because of how beautiful he is.

still, you’re only so strong, and when eddie gets distracted by bill asking him a question, your eyes flick to richie’s face. you jump when you find him already looking back at you.

he raises an eyebrow at you, a cheeky grin spread across his mouth. he’s got his hair pulled back in a bun today, a few unruly curls spilling out against his cheekbones in a way that’s unfairly attractive. you’re stricken by it, especially when he drops his eyelid in a wink. it’s so hot, you want to climb him like a tree and kiss him—

you jerk, ripping your gaze away from him. you desperately refocus on eddie, ignoring the way bev nudges you. your cheeks are flaming, something hot traveling through your chest and down your arms. you can feel richie’s gaze still on you, prickling and too perceptive. you feel flayed out under it, like he will be able to read your love for him in every line of your face.

you very carefully do not look at richie for the rest of lunch.

you almost think you’ve gotten away with it. richie doesn’t try to catch your attention again, and when the bell rings you book it out of the cafeteria before he can try and talk to you. you don’t share any classes together after lunch, and you think you can probably avoid him after school too if you pretend to talk to one of your teachers. you’re fine. it’s fine. you can do this.

you’re still thinking about it when you take your customary trip to the bathroom, the way you always do sometime during fifth period. it’s less actually having to go to the bathroom and more needing to get out of class, still jittery from lunch but starting to crash and burn out from the school day.

you’re swinging the hall pass around your finger, humming to yourself as you take the long way around, when you pass by the janitor’s closet and feel a hand wrap around your wrist to yank you in.

you squeak in surprise, your heart in your throat, before anger takes over and you whirl on who grabbed you. you can’t see in the dark of the closet but that doesn’t matter. “what the hell? not funny, asshole, who do you think you—”

the chain for the light is pulled. your words die in your throat when you find yourself looking up into richie’s face, his jaw tensed and his eyes dark.

“who do i think i am?” richie prompts when you don’t finish, glaring down at you. his arms are crossed over his chest. “well let’s see, who am i? maybe your best fucking friend who you’ve been avoiding? yeah, that sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

you gape at him, your brain still struggling to make sense of what’s going on. your voice is weak when you mumble, “i‘m not avoiding you.”

“bull-fucking-shit,” he sneers. “you’ve been avoiding me for like, two weeks now. the only reason we’re talking right now is because i pulled you in here, because if i’d have asked to talk you would’ve just blown me off.”

he’s not wrong; you probably would have. still, you blink at him, your eyebrows furrowing. “how did you know i’d be walking by?”

he glares at you, like he’s furious that’s what you’re focusing on instead of what he’s saying. “you always go to the bathroom during fifth period. you had to walk by eventually.”

slowly, the confusion fogging your brain is clearing, giving you the space you need to throw up your defenses. deflect, you tell yourself. “so what, you decided the best course of action was to skip class and wait for me in a janitor’s closet? you couldn’t have thought of literally anything else?”

“i tried!” he growls, his voice rising in volume. “i tried to talk to you about it last week and you just made some excuse and fucking left! you won’t even look at me, toots, so what the fuck else was i supposed to do?”

“not wait in a dingy ass closet?” you bite back, rising up to your full height. it’s not much, not compared to his, but it makes you feel more powerful anyways. “do you ever listen to eddie when he talks about germs?”

richie ignores you, taking a step closer to you. you mirror that step backwards. “you’ve been avoiding me since that party,” he says like you haven’t even spoken, “so something had to have happened then but i don’t remember anything about—”

anger erupts inside your chest, spilling white-hot through your veins and making your hands tremble at your sides. “that’s the fucking problem, richie,” you interrupt him, your voice cold. “you were wasted and you don’t remember anything.”

he blinks at you, his shoulders tensing slightly. “so something did happen then. what the hell was it?”

all at once you are so sick of this conversation. you wish you could go back in time and not go to the bathroom today. you wish you could go back and not have gone to that party. you wish you could go back and never have met richie. you don’t really mean that, you know you don’t, but in this moment you are so hurt and so tired that you do. you feel tears prick at your eyes.

“nothing,” you say, working to keep your voice cold and not let your exhaustion creep into it. “i’m going back to class.”

you reach for the door handle, intent on getting as far from here as you can, but richie presses his hand to the door to keep you from leaving. you glare at him, tugging fruitlessly at the handle, irrationally furious over the strength of his fucking noodle arms.

“nuh uh, we’re not done talking yet,” he snaps, his eyes sparking hotly. “what happened at the party?”

“nothing happened at the party,” you nearly snarl. it’s true, after all; nothing had happened at the party. it was only when you took him home that he had said what he did.

richie growls, stepping closer again. you take another step backwards, your back hitting the door. he’s so close now you can see the circle of brown in his left eye. “stop fucking lying, (y/n). tell me what fucking happened.”

the heat rising from his skin sets you on fire, the scent of his cologne making your head foggy and adding to the blaze of your anger. it rises and rises inside of you, quickening the pace of your heart and making your stomach clench, before finally, with the suddenness of a rubber band snapping, you can’t hold it in anymore.

“fine! you wanna know what fucking happened?” you hiss, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “i drove your sorry ass home and got you into bed and you fucking told me you wished i was your girlfriend instead of sandy.”

his brow furrows, his nose scrunching slightly as he stares down at you. “that’s it?” he asks. you nearly start screaming before he continues, “you’re mad at me because i told you the truth?”

abruptly, you’re even more angry. richie’s never been a cruel or even a mean person, but this feels like he is willingly tearing you apart. sure, he could be an asshole, but you’d never thought he would make jokes like this at your expense, nor that he wouldn’t know where to draw the line. part of you wants to punch him and part of you wants to cry.

you settle for scowling at him. “stop fucking teasing me, richie, it’s not funny.”

he rolls his eyes at you, frowning. “who said i was joking? (y/n), you’re fucking oblivious if you think i haven’t been in love with you since before we even fucking met. sure, probably shouldn’t have admitted that while i was drunk, but guess i just needed some liquid encouragement.”

his words draw you up short. he looks so sincere but you’re hesitant to believe him, certain it’s a joke. things like this don’t work out for you. you don’t get to have the cliche fairytale moments. you’re certain he’s going to laugh and yell how he’d gotten off a good one, but as the seconds tick by he just watches your face, not even trying to fill the silence that is steadily growing thicker. his expression doesn’t shift from the vulnerable earnestness it had settled into.

finally, you manage to shakily murmur, “but what about all of those girls?”

he sighs, carding a rough hand through his curls. “just a distraction. they were fun and all, but they weren’t you, doll. you’re my best girl. no one could ever compare to you.”

“and you’re not—” your voice cracks. you stop, clear your throat. try again. “you’re not joking?”

the smile that spreads across his mouth is soft, sweet, a little bit shy. the way you are suddenly realizing he has never looked with anyone other than you. “no, sugar,” he murmurs. “i am absolutely, 100% not joking.”

your breath stutters out of you, your shoulders slumping against the door. you have emotional whiplash from the past several minutes, abruptly exhausted over what is one of the most insane experiences you have ever had. and you’d bashed in the skull of a murderous demon clown at thirteen. part of you doesn’t think this is real, but if it’s not, may as well take advantage of the dream.

“hey rich?” you whisper, reaching out to touch his ribs. he shudders.

“yeah, doll?” he murmurs roughly.

you smile up at him, brushing your thumbs along his waist. “kiss me?”

he smiles back, reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear. “don’t mind if i do.”

he kisses the laughter right out of your mouth, getting close enough to press you back against the door with the bulk of his body. his hands slide around your hips, his teeth catching around your lower lip, and he whines when you reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair. his mouth tastes like the mint gum he likes to chew and the smell of him is dizzying up close, you think you might drown in it—

the sound of the bell breaks you apart, both of your chests heaving and your lips swollen. you stare up at him for a moment before you both burst into giggles.

“fuck, i love you,” he beams, kissing you again.

you grin back, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “i love you too, tozier.”

his expression goes so soft it hurts to look at, but you can’t look away. he shakes his head, still smiling. “do you wanna ditch the rest of the day and go get milkshakes with me, baby?”

you nod, slipping your hand into his when he offers it to you. “i would like nothing more, rich.”