#then chapter 3 is richie recovering from his ed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

takealottodragmeawayfromreddie · 6 years ago

Text

Filling the blanks - Chapter 5

Playlist on Spotify (mostly songs about Heaven and duel related stuff and 1980s hits)

Pairing: Richie x Eddie x Bill (Reddie at the start).

Summary: During his last moments, Eddie realized he had something to say, but before he could finish the sentence, he was gone. Now he’s stuck between life and death and he knows he won’t be able to rest until he takes care of what he started. The only person he trusts enough to help him is Bill.

Or: The ghost AU where Eddie’s spirit can get inside of Bill’s mind to ask him for help to tell Richie he loved him.

Warnings: Canon Divergence (IT actually kills Audra) and, of course, death of major character. Some internalized homophobia in this chapter (still some use of the F-word). Stay safe.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

AO3 LINK

Playlist on Spotify (mostly songs about Heaven and duel related stuff and 1980s hits)

Special thanks to my lovely beta-reader @golden-marauders who is always extra nice and good at what they do.

The last time Eddie saw Richie crying, he was about to say a sentence that was meant to never get finished. Now that he did it, now that he said it, now that the unbearable weight of silence is lifting off of his chest, he doesn’t feel any better and Richie is crying again.

“You…” he starts, covering his mouth with both hands as tears finally fall from his eyes, “No, you’re lying. This is all… this is too fucked up, Bill. Please drop it.”

Eddie sighs and tries to walk towards him, reaching out, as if one touch could be enough to demonstrate he’s telling the truth. But Richie won’t let him. Instead, he jumps back as if his fingers could burn him. When he lowers his hands and closes his fists —not as in an attempt of physical aggression, but in a coping mechanism that looks almost child-like— Eddie notices his lips are trembling. He had never seen him this vulnerable before.

“Just leave,” Richie begs, voice broken, “It was a super funny joke, okay? I don’t care anymore. I promise I don’t care anymore. You don’t have to say sorry or anything at all, alright? Just get out of my house, please.”

“Richie…” Eddie pleads, in the same tone.

“Bill, please, I’m telling you it’s fine, okay?! It’s fucking fine. I’m not mad, I just want you to leave.”

Eddie wants to insist. Even after that word and how it made him think he didn’t love Richie anymore for a brief instant, Eddie wants to take his honesty to the end and make sure his friend believes him. They both need that. However, he can’t get any sound out of his throat. Damn, he can’t even get air through it.

Richie’s eyes go wide and all supplication disappears when he stops for a second and sees what’s going on. Eddie wraps a hand around his own neck as his expression mutates from merciful to completely terrified. His breathing speeds up and becomes frenetic, desperate.

“What?” Richie asks, worried for the first time in the whole night, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… Fuck, I can’t…”

F-fuck, no…

Bill understands quickly and tries to take control again, but be it because of Eddie not wanting to let him or because of his reaction being too strong for allowing him to do that, he can’t. It’s like trying to wreck a brick wall only with his mind, and he keeps hitting against it as their vision goes blurry with every thrust.

Eddie is all alone in this. He arches his back and runs a nervous hand through his hair, gasping like a fish out of water while Richie watches, frozen, still incapable of facing what’s going on.

“Beep beep, Bill, you’re starting to freak me out,” he warns. It’s not a threat; just a warning.

H-he’s not me!

“Richie, please…” Eddie implores, “I can’t breathe! I’m having an…”

Please, do s-something! Richie, h-help him, he’s not… l-lying!

Bill throws his metaphorical fists against this imaginary wall, hoping Richie will listen. He knows Eddie is not okay. Even without a body to feel it, he can tell.

“What the fuck? What do you want me to do? I…”

Eddie’s face turns red and his legs go weak, causing him to fall on his knees. Using his good hand, he frantically checks his clothes.

“Where my… where’s my in-…” he mumbles, sounding more and more out of his mind. And then he remembers, “Shit, I left it in my other body!”

“Man, seriously, this is…” Richie starts, confused and uncomfortable, his eyes going everywhere but in Eddie’s direction.

“Please!” Eddie cries, “Please help me, I can’t breathe. I really… Shit, I’m… I can’t…”

R-Richie, please! You know who h-he is! You know it’s Eddie!

Eddie looks up at Richie with pleading eyes, hand still on his own chest, breathing still fast. Richie hesitates. He’s clearly scared and something inside him has to tell him this is serious, but disorientation won’t let him react. He stares down at him, eyebrows curved with concern and fear. His thumbnail is trapped between his shaky lips.

“Please…”

Richie sighs, still shocked, still panicking, but with a new-found determination that can only be awaken by deep trust in a friend.

“Okay, you really wanna go all the way with this. I know what to do, get up.”

He takes his hand and tries to pull him up. However, it’s like grabbing a string and he just manages to get him a few inches away from the ground before he falls again.

“What—?”

“Sorry,” Eddie breathes out, “I can’t… I don’t control this arm.”

“Oh my fucking God,” Richie grumbles before recovering a heaviest confidence in his voice, “Fine, let me…”

He lowers himself and puts his arms around Eddie’s waist. Eddie rests his hand on Richie’s shoulder as they finally succeed to get him up. Then they go back to the corner sofa and Richie makes sure he’s alright.

“You good?”

Eddie nods.

“Awesome, I know what to do, just… Wait here and don’t you move, okay?”

“Like I could go anywhere!”

“Keep up the amazing work!” Richie shouts, rushing out of the living room, upstairs.

Eddie lays back against the back of his sit, sighing while trying to get a grip of his breathing.

You’ve got to… c-calm down, Eds. Richie’s gonna h-help you, yeah? J-just breathe with me. In and out.

Bill guides Eddie for the next minutes until Richie comes back, only to pass in front of them at the speed of light and rush into the kitchen. They hear water running and doors being opened and slammed, before their friend returns, still running and holding up, like it’s some kind of war trophy, an object Eddie can’t identify.

He doesn’t get to ask what it is, because as soon as he opens his mouth, something made of plastic goes in and shots a sweet substance into his throat. He closes his eyes when he recognizes the feeling, his breath easing down, his muscles relaxing.

“That’s it,” Richie says, “So much better, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie quietly confirms as the inhaler leaves his mouth.

Richie sits beside him and rubs his back in comforting circles.

“How you doing, buddy?”

“I’m… I’m okay now… Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Eddie rejoices in the possibility of breathing normally again for a while, but once his eyes are open and he rationalizes what happened and what’s laying on the coffee table, the only thing he can do is wondering why.

“Why do you… Why do you have this?”

Richie seems taken aback by the question, but he soon laughs it off.

“Oh, you mean this old thing? Well, I…”

He closes his mouth, looking for the right word to say. Or maybe the most acceptable way to explain it. His hand is no longer rubbing Eddie’s back.

“Go on?” Eddie encourages.

Richie sighs, scratching the back of his neck.

“You probably don’t remember this but… One day, when we were kids, you… I mean him… I mean…”

“You’re talking about Eddie?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you can say ‘you’.”

He doubts for an instant, but almost immediately nods.

“Alright, so… your mom said really shitty things to you. Like, super heavy stuff. And you were so upset you came to hang out with us and you… you forgot your inhaler. And that same day, you had an attack.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Eddie concurs, “It was horrible.”

“We managed to calm you down, but… we thought we’d lose you. Until It, I never thought… I never thought there could be anything in the world that could scare me that much.”

He reaches out and grabs the inhaler again, staring down at it and turning it around between his fingers.

“So I began to carry this thing around. In case you forgot yours.”

Eddie is speechless. He takes the inhaler from Richie’s hands and looks at it, too. The weight of it, its texture, its shape… its realness is overwhelming.

“Rich…”

“And when you found out about the bullshit it turned out to be, I remember I went and asked my dad what ‘gazebo’ meant. He chuckled and said ‘I’ll assume you mean placebo’ and then explained it. I asked him how could I make one and he answered that anything could be a placebo if the person who was taking it believed it would help, but the easiest way to do it was with water and sugar. So I started to fill the inhaler with that.”

“But… we knew it was bullshit. We knew it didn’t work.”

“Maybe it didn’t work… but it did help you.”

Eddie can’t help but smile. A soft, barely noticeable smile.

“It did help,” he agrees, “Thank you, Richie.”

“I never knew why I couldn’t get rid of it. I didn’t remember you or anything that happened, but I felt like I had to keep it. When I saw you in the ground, gasping, I understood… I understood everything.”

After finishing the sentence, Richie runs his hands over his face while releasing a frustrated groan, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Fuck, this is so messed up,” he growls, “How can…? Ugh, I can’t believe you’re here. But, I mean… it has to be you. Bill was right, why would he lie to me about this? He wouldn’t joke like that. Not even I would joke like that!”

“Richie—”

“And… and… damn, we fought a demonic clown! What the hell? This shouldn’t freak me out as much as it does. This isn’t that weird!”

“To be fair, it is a bit weird,” Eddie chuckles.

Richie doesn’t laugh. Shocked as he is, all he can do is remain silent, his mind working intensely to review every detail of their meeting. Eddie can’t tell at what point he began to believe them, but now that he does, it’s clearly a lot to take in.

“Shit,” Richie suddenly gasps, moving his hands away from his own face.

“What?”

“Sorry, nothing, it’s just…” He smiles, shaking his head, “My cheek kinda hurts, you know?”

Eddie frowns, confused. And then he remembers.

“I’m sorry about that,” he mutters.

“It’s okay, I deserved it.”

Richie shrugs, downplaying the importance of the matter. Even though it makes Eddie feel better for a little while, they can’t pretend it didn’t hurt both of them. They can’t pretend he didn’t confess his feelings and they can’t pretend that word wasn’t said. Of all the creative ways Richie always had to insult people, none could be as harmful as that one. And still, he chose to use it.

“I’m sorry, too,” he finally declares, quiet and ashamed.

Eddie stares at him.

“You know, for calling you a fa—”

“It’s fine, just don’t repeat it,” he answers, hand in pocket and a sad look in his eyes.

He stands up from the couch, ready to leave the topic behind, the feeling of betrayal too strong to let him sit beside Richie without breaking down. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want any more fights over something he can’t change. Over something he no longer wants to change.

“Eds,” Richie insists, “you know I didn’t—”

“Seriously, Richie, it’s fine,” Eddie interrupts him, “You just said what you thought. It’s not like no one ever said that to me before. It just hurt to hear it from you.”

“But that’s not what I think!”

“Really?” he questions, turning back at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Really! I only said that ‘cause I thought Bill was joking. I thought he was disrespecting your memory, that’s all. If I knew it was you, I wouldn’t—”

“Good to know you wouldn’t call me a faggot in my face.”

“Spaghetti man, come on, you know I didn’t mean it like—”

“Don’t call me one of your stupid names right now!” he shouts, “Don’t call me one of your stupid names after calling me that.”

Richie’s eyes open wide at the sudden change in his tone.

“Eds, calm down, you know I didn’t—”

“No, no, please don’t say that again, it just made it worse,” he cuts him off, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Don’t go ‘oh, if I knew it was you, I wouldn’t have said I think you’re a faggot, I would have just keep it to myself’. It’s fucking horrible, okay?”

“But I really don’t have a problem with that, Eds! Really, it’s no big deal. I’ve got a lot of friends who are… who are like… like you!”

“Great, what do you want? A medal? You can’t even say it!”

“You don’t get it, it’s hard for me!”

“What? What is so fucking hard for you?”

“To… to accept you’re like them!”

Eddie feels his blood burning with anger.

I-I’m gonna fucking k-kill him…

“Why?” He reclaims, “Why, Richie? Why is not wrong for them but it’s wrong for me?”

“’Cause that’s what they wanted, Eddie!”

His voice comes out so loud it resonates in all the walls. It even feels like it resonates in the whole city, and now everyone in LA knows what they’re discussing. It’s scary and a part of Eddie wants to shush him, tell him to speak lower so no one will find out about his secret. But he’s not like that anymore. He doesn’t have to hide anymore. And all it’s left is confusion.

“Who?” he softly asks.

Richie looks down, not answering.

“Who wanted that, Richie?”

Eddie hears him gulp and waits. Seconds after, Richie slowly raises his head, looking at him in the eye. He seems troubled.

“Everyone,” he responds, voice barely above a whisper, “Bowers and his stupid friends, the idiots at school… Fuck, even your mother at some point. At some weird point.” He sighs, “Everyone in that hell town. And they were right.”

“Richie…”

“Look at this place!” Richie explodes, standing up and opening his arms to show what he means, “Pretty fucking amazing, don’t you think? Well, I bought it. I bought it on my own, no help from my parents or anything. I came to LA with nothing and here I am now.”

Eddie watches in silence.

“Look at my teeth.” Richie points at his own mouth, “See? Got them fixed! I got everything fixed. Life fucking smiles at me and asks me to take it home. No more huge glasses or people beep-beeping me. The whole country laughs at my jokes. I’m one of the better dressed men in this fucking city, goddammit! I fuck actresses, supermodels, pop stars. I can’t even get out of my house without a hot twenty-something beauty giving me her number.

”They said I wouldn’t make it, huh? They said I’d die a virgin, huh? They said I wouldn’t go anywhere. Well, joke’s on them! I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted. People think I’m hilarious, people think I’m smart, people want me to sleep with them. Go tell the thirteen year old nerd in Derry he would come this far. Go tell all those assholes that that loser would come this far.”

“Richie—”

“Oh, but wait, I’m not the only one. Haystack got hot, got the job of his dreams and married the woman he’s been in love with since he was a kid. Bev designs clothes for the gods, practically. She faced her abuser and won her own life over. Stan had a nice life. Sure, It fucked it up, but before that he got a wife he loved and he was happy with her.

”Bill became famous. He took all the shitty stuff that happened without even realizing it and turned it into something people would make him rich for. He married an actress and he was respected and no one cared about his stuttering anymore. People only wanted to hear what he had to say.

”Mike survived hell. Mike really survived hell. He sacrificed himself so all of us could live our lives. And yeah, maybe he didn’t make it as good as he deserved, but he still had a good job. He worked with books and history and all the nerdy stuff he loved so fucking much. It wasn’t perfect but it was something.

”We all made it. We all proved them wrong. Richie is actually funny, Ben is hot, Bev is more than just her body, Bill is more than his stuttering, Mike is more than the black guy and Stan was more than the Jew. But—”

“But Eddie was still the faggot,” Eddie quietly nods, looking down, “Is that what you’re saying, Richie? Is that what you think about me?”

Richie sighs.

“Ugh, why do I always have to be the bad guy?” He mutters, “No, Eds, that’s not what I mean at all! I just… I just really wanted them to be wrong about you, like they were about everybody else. I didn’t want them to win.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. Bill has been completely silent for a while. Richie takes the beer bottle from the table and takes a sip.

“They didn’t win, Richie,” Eddie suddenly clarifies, “They almost won, they were winning, but… they didn’t win.”

Richie just stares back at him, puzzled.

“I know they thought I was just a faggot, but I’m starting to wonder if that’s what you think, too. ‘Cause… I’ve got a job, too, you know? Not only a job, but my own business. I loved cars and I made them my living. I drove for actors, musicians, politicians. All kind of famous, respectable people that maybe you fucked at some point of your life. They trusted me with their safety ‘cause I was good at what I did.

”I had my own place, too. A very nice place. And a woman who loved me more than anything waiting for me there. That’s something I think you don’t have. I mean, I don’t see it anywhere.

”I was successful, I did everything I thought I wanted to do, but I wasn’t happy. Forty fucking years, Richie, and the only moment of true happiness I ever had was when I was dying. ‘Cause I finally understood. I finally had something that money couldn’t buy. And it felt amazing. It was the first time all that success translated into something I could really feel as mine. I would take those five minutes of ‘being just a faggot’ over years of ‘proving them wrong’ anytime.”

Eddie hasn’t stopped to really look at Richie until now. Although he seemed to be doing that during the whole speech, it was just to make a point and he didn’t care about how Richie was reacting then. Everything that mattered was showing how sure of his words he was. He was just trying to feel powerful. He couldn’t tell his mother and the people from Derry all of this, but he could tell someone who needed to listen. That was enough.

Now it’s time to analyze the consequences of that decision. It won’t change anything, he already said what he had to say and he isn’t planning to take it back, but he wants to reap the fruits of what he sowed.

Richie has his arms crossed and is looking down at his own feet. It’s strange, because Eddie expected a burst of attacks and insults, the kind of stuff that used to happen when someone confronted Richie when they were kids. Or simply a smartass response, something for his compressed fury to hold on. But he’s standing there, biting his lower lip, looking like a child who got called out by his parents.

He’s not that far away from what Eddie is saying. He’s close enough for Eddie to reach out and grab him and take him out from the bubble he is trapped in. Just the smallest of pushes…

“Maybe you should start asking yourself if proving them wrong is that worthy,” Eddie concludes, “For me it wasn’t. Do you think that you being unsatisfied with your perfect life will teach them a lesson? ‘Cause I think that’s what they really wanted.”

Richie doesn’t reply. He stays still, so encapsulated by his own, indecipherable thoughts that he’s no longer in the scene anymore. Eddie waits, but nothing happens. The bubble doesn’t pop.

D-drop it, Eddie. You did what you… h-had to do. Let’s go.

Eddie nods and turns around, walking towards the exit.

“Goodbye, Richie. Have a nice life.”

You deserve b-better.

His fingers are almost around the doorknob when it happens. Richie says something.

“Did you really mean that?”

Eddie turns back at him, skeptical.

“Mean what?”

Richie inhales deeply.

“You know… that.”

“I meant everything I said, Richie.”

“Yeah, but… Bill said you were…” he gulps, “In love with… with me.”

The answer takes a while to come, but when it does, there’s no shadow of reluctance on it. Confident as a bullet between the eyes.

“Yes.”

“Is that true?”

Eddie nods seriously.

“You’re in love with me?”

“Yes.”

“Not as friends.”

“In a homosexual way.”

“Yes.”

“In an ‘I would suck your dick’ kind of way.”

“Well, maybe not at this particular moment. I’m pretty fucking pissed off right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Richie exhales the smallest amount of air and sits back on the couch.

“Shit, this is… this is a lot,” he mumbles, “I… I don’t know what to tell you… When… when did it start? How did you realize? I know most people just wake up with the revelation that Richie Tozier is the hottest man on Earth, but… you? I thought you were better than that.”

“Could you talk like an adult for one second, please?” he complains, walking back to him, “This is not a joke for me.”

“Damn, Eds, I seriously hope it isn’t, ‘cause you’re giving me a heart attack.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Eddie whispers, sitting next to him, “This was such a stupid idea. Falling in love with you is such a stupid idea in general.”

“I know, right?”

“I’m sorry I told you.”

“I’m kinda sorry you did, too… You’ve… you’ve given me a lot to think, you know?”

“It’s always dangerous to make you think too much,” he chuckles.

Richie giggles, too.

“I could live without knowing it,” he admits, abruptly saddened.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t leave without telling you.”

“I don’t…” He releases a breathless laugh, probably feeling as stupid as Eddie feels, “Fuck, I’ve got to be really honest here, alright?”

“That’s all I’m asking from you.”

“I never… thought about you… in that way, you know? Well, I never thought about any of the Losers in that way. I just… I didn’t think about it. I never saw you like… more than a friend.”

Eddie can’t hide his disappointment. He knew it would happen, but it still hurts.

“I get it… Thanks for—”

“No, wait, there’s more.”

“Oh, fuck, there’s more…”

Richie turns a bit on his seat, now facing him. His lips are parted and convulsing in an almost imperceptible way, perhaps revealing that there are words behind them fighting for coming out. Eddie notices the thick ball of spit sliding down the insides of his throat. This has to be the hardest thing to say for him and Eddie is willing to wait all night long if he must. He came this far to tell his truth and he won’t leave without hearing Richie’s.

“Look, Eds, you never gave it a thought, as far as I know. I didn’t do it, either. It never crossed my mind. But… fuck, this really changes everything, doesn’t it? It’s like when a girl you’ve never been interested in says she wants you and then you start thinking ‘do I want her, too?’ I mean, that kind of thing.”

Eddie’s heart flips.

“Who am I in this situation?” he manages to ask, voice walking on a tightrope, “The girl?”

“Yeah! I-I mean, no. I mean… Fuck, this so hard to explain. I just… I’m just sitting here, trying to remember everything. I feel like… like I missed something. Like It’s still got a part of my memory. A super important part when it was obvious you wanted me and I didn’t notice. Some kind of hint, I don’t know. This is a mess.”

“No, it isn’t,” Eddie corrects him, almost smiling and taking his hand, “I feel like I missed something, too. It all hit me in one instant, too. But you know what? I didn’t question it. I didn’t review my whole life trying to find the exact point when I started… loving you. ‘Cause I didn’t feel like I had to justify myself. This is not a trial, I didn’t do anything wrong. That’s why I can’t tell you when I realized. I don’t have that answer, and if you really understood how I feel, you wouldn’t need it, either.”

Richie looks down, conflicted.

“Jesus fuck…” he whispers.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… you’re holding my hand.”

Eddie looks down, too, and finds out he never let go. The warm presence of the back of Richie’s hand under his palm is terrifying. Everything that he can feel through Bill’s five senses is overwhelming somehow, but Richie’s fingers between his is another level of shock he isn’t prepared to tolerate. Still, he keeps holding his hand, experimentally caressing it with his thumb.

“Oh, yeah,” he confirms, “Want me to… to let go?”

Richie goes stiff.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, really. It’s just…” he gulps, “It feels… different… weird.”

“Oh… you mean good weird or—”

“Good weird,” Richie states, without a shadow of a doubt, “Definitely good weird.”

“Good weird is good.”

“Yeah… it’s good.”

They stare at their hands, mesmerized. They seem to fit together so perfectly, like they were meant to be. Eddie feels embarrassed for thinking that, for becoming such a cliché. He recalls the moments in their childhood when Richie would return from playing in the mud or holding frogs, and try to touch him with his dirty hands. Or when, in cold winter days, he would put them on his cheeks, making him screech from the freezing feeling. Or those legendary birthday parties, always finishing with Richie eating cake without a fork and running after Eddie with his fingers painted with chocolate just to freak him out.

He used to want Richie’s hands so far away from him. He used to hate them so much… and now he feels like he couldn’t live without them. Even without being actually alive, even after dying, he knows he would die again if Richie stops this.

Eddie looks up to his eyes again and Richie imitates him. He didn’t remember his eyes were so big. Maybe the glasses magnified them, but he never thought about them regardless that attention-calling trait. It’s like he never looked at him until now. And by the way his friend is staring back, he could say this is the first time Richie looks at him, too.

Then Richie chuckles.

“Holy shit, this is so embarrassing,” he confesses, shaking his head, “I’m sweating. I feel like an awkward twelve year old.”

“That’s how I feel all the time,” Eddie says, smiling.

“Fuck, man, it’s horrible,” Richie keeps laughing, “How do I make it stop?”

“I don’t know! I just… I don’t know.”

They stay like that for a while, irresistibly amused by their own unease. It’s the best thing they can do, now that their friendship is ruined, for better or worse. There’s no way they can dance around it forever. Be it for a nice closure or a temporal pain in the heart, this will take their relationship to a different place. A place that is scary for both of them, a place that could break them, but different, after all. They both know they need different more than anything.

“I can’t believe this,” Richie whispers, leaving all the jokes behind, “Shit, Eds, you’re here. I can’t… You came back, I’m talking to you. I never thought I’d get to talk to you again. This is… this is fucking insane! I feel like I’m going insane. You’re sure you aren’t It, right?”

“I promise you I’m not It,” Eddie smiles.

“I… Damn, I need you to understand how weird this all is,” he insists, running his free hand over his cheek, making him jump a bit, “’Cause I know it’s you. Like, I really know it’s you. But it’s also Bill. I mean, this is Bill’s face. And I’m so fucking confused.”

“It’s okay. I’m confused, too.”

“There’s so… so many things I want to say. So many things I could never even begin to—”

“Try, Richie,” he murmurs, altering between looking into his eyes and paying quick stares to his lips, “Please try. I wanna hear everything.”

Richie’s fingertips travel down the line of his jaw, until his thumb reaches his lower lip and gently caresses it. Eddie closes his eyes at the touch. It’s measured, tentative, like they’re testing unknown waters and don’t want to drown. Without even realizing it, he gives Richie’s thumb a soft peck.

“I’m so sorry, Eds,” Richie finally breaks, “I can’t believe I left you there. I knew you hated it, I knew you’d be scared, and still I—”

Eddie slowly opens his eyes.

“Stop that,” he begs, “You didn’t leave me there. Can’t you see? I’m here. Bodies mean nothing. When you’re gone —and I hope it happens when you’re very, very old—, you’ll understand that bodies mean nothing. They’re just… they’re just the shape we take to move around the world and feel sensory stuff, nothing else. I’m not in the sewers, I’m here with you. That piece of flesh is rotting and will never be found, but we’re sitting on your couch having a conversation right now. So please don’t apologize. You did what you had to do and I’ll never hate you for that.”

“I… Look, I know you’re right, but you don’t get it. You don’t know how much it fucking hurts. I watched my best friend die. That shit… that shit isn’t rational, it’s like Jackie Chan kicking you on the chest. It just… it hurts so fucking much and you can’t see that.”

“I know it hurts, Richie. Really, I do. It hurt to see you cry, too. That’s why I smiled. I didn’t want our last moment together to be a horrible memory or a traumatic thing. But it really hurt me to see you crying and how I couldn’t do anything to fix it.”

“Why did you have to do that, Eds?” he whimpers, “Nobody asked you to do that. We got ourselves in that place, you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Would you let me die?”

Richie frowns.

“Sorry, what?”

“I’m asking you if you would let me die… if I wasn’t already dead. Would you have left me there, staring into the deadlights?”

“What kind of stupid question is that? Fuck, Eds, of course I wouldn’t.”

“Then why is it wrong when I do it? ‘Cause I didn’t do it out of pure friendship?”

Richie exhales a humorless laugh.

“No, really, tell me. Is it about me being gay for you? You think it makes it some corny big gesture from a romantic drama? Some Titanic bullshit?”

“Man, are you fucking serious? I’m glad you saved my life, I don’t care about the reason, but I’m kinda sad you had a horrible death, what’s so homophobic about it?”

“I told you I love you, you fucking asshole, and you can’t even give me a proper answer, but you’ll just say ‘nothing homophobic going on here’.”

“I just don’t have a proper answer! Sorry, Eds, I don’t! I’m fucking confused. I never looked at a man, and I know that’s something ‘straight’ guys say all the time, but it’s the truth. And now I’m not sure if I’m just thankful ‘cause you saved my life and sad ‘cause you died or if I’m…”

He goes quiet before saying it, but Eddie knows well enough. The only reason why he doesn’t interrupt him, is because he’s aware how bad Richie needs to say it. That’s a necessity he can definitely understand.

“I think you get the picture,” Richie finishes, ashamed.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“I know you didn’t come here to hear me say ‘I have no idea of what the hell is going on…’ I know you needed a ‘me too’ or a ‘fuck off.’ I’m sorry, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Don’t call me that. But… I guess that’s better than a ‘fuck off’,” he chuckles, “It isn’t a ‘fuck off’, right?”

Richie smiles, too.

“Not a ‘fuck off’ at all.”

“But it isn’t a ‘me too’, either,” Eddie sighs.

“Look, Eds, the thing is…” Richie starts, squeezing his hand for the shortest moment, “I don’t know.”

Eddie looks up at him, perplexed.

“What?”

“Guess this is one of those things that would be a lot easier if you really were here now. Like, your body. Don’t get me wrong, Bill’s eyes are stunning,” he laughs, “but… I wish I was looking at yours. Your real eyes, that now feed the family of a hard-working worm who—”

“Beep-beep, Richie.”

“Sorry, got a bit carried away. I just think… it’d be so… I mean, it shouldn’t be that complicated… if… you know… Ugh, I really want to ask you something, but I don’t know the straight way to say it.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh.

“Then say it in the gay way.”

Richie lets go of his hand, closes his eyes and inhales deeply, like an actor who is preparing to come out to stage. Damn, maybe he does that before acting. And now he’s doing it because of Eddie.

“Alright, I’ll just… say it, okay? But don’t get me wrong.”

“Richie, no one ever gets anything you say, just do it.”

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it! I’m just taking my time, ‘cause… Well, here I come… Can I… Can I kiss you?”

The request takes Eddie by surprise, giving him no chance of camouflaging his shock. His expression doesn’t go unnoticed for Richie, who doesn’t waste a second before start explaining himself.

“I mean, it’d really help me to figure out if… if it’s a ‘fuck off’ or a… ‘me too’… But, I mean, you don’t have to do it. I won’t make you do something you don’t wanna do. I’m not even sure I wanna do it, I just think it would help. And, you know, people say I’m a good kisser. Like, a girl once told me I was the only guy she knew who took his time and didn’t go for tongue-on-tongue action too soon, and that’s when I was nineteen, so it says a lot…”

“Richie—”

“And my ex-girlfriend, not the latest one but the one before her, went crazy when I did that thing… You know, the thing of…” He does a weird movement with his lips that makes Eddie want to run away and never come back, “And that’s a very popular thing. And I was in a romantic comedy like, four years ago, and Vogue said it was one of the best kisses of the year, so—”

“Richie, I—”

“What I’m trying to say is that you won’t be disappointed, if that’s bothering you, but you don’t have to do it if you—”

“Will you fucking listen to me?”

Richie shuts his mouth and gulps.

“Rich, there’s nothing I’d like more than kiss you right now, really, but… this is not my body. I’m not the only one you should be asking for permission.”

They both stay in silence for a while. Richie looks disenchanted, but Eddie can tell he knows he’s right. After everything Bill did to make this last goodbye possible, the goodbye life decided to take away from them, they can’t disrespect him like this. He’s their friend above everything else. Even above their questions.

D-do it.

Eddie jumps at the sudden voice inside his head. Richie goes alert like a hunter’s hound.

“What?” Eddie asks, dazed.

“Is he talking to you?”

“Shhh, I want to hear him…”

Do it if you w-want to, Eddie. It’s okay.

“Bill, are you… are you sure? This is still your body and still your decision. You’ve got the last word on it…”

I-I know. And I’m sure. You both need this… c-closure. I’m not stopping you.

“Fuck, this is… but do you really—”

Eddie, you asked me to t-trust you. Now I’m asking you to… t-trust me. C’mon, kiss him like you mean it.

There’s a complicity in his tone that makes Eddie smile. Richie, who only can hear a half of the conversation, is impossibly confused.

“He said yes?”

Eddie nods, practically shining with happiness.

“Fucking God, he said yes!” Richie exclaims, so excited he almost sounds like he just proposed. Then he takes Eddie by the chin and makes him lean to the side, shouting into his ear, “Thank you, Billy!”

“You know he can still hear you when you talk normally, don’t you?” Eddie groans.

“Oh, don’t you try to change the topic on me, Eds. C’mere and give daddy a kiss.”

And this is the moment when I leave you guys alone.

“Only if you don’t ever call yourself daddy again.”

“No promises,” Richie winks, putting his hand on Eddie’s chin again, this time to bring him closer to his face.

Eddie closes his eyes and gives in. There’s nothing else to do. This is the actual climax of his life. Not his graduation, not his wedding, not his final sacrifice; this. All those years of surviving without living were built specifically to come to this conclusion. Once Richie’s lips meet his, it will all be over. He has to make it count.

It’s a soft touch with the slightest of pressures. They stay together for a few seconds and all Eddie can think about is how unfair it is that Bill is the writer, not him. Because this is the kind of kiss he wished he could describe in the most delightful and detailed way, using all the literary devices that would make the great authors of history claim ‘purple prose, purple prose!’ and go after him with tridents and sharp pencils like a lynch mob. But he can’t do that. He doesn’t have the words to do that.

There’s so much life in this kiss, that’s the only thing Eddie can really say about it. The whole life of any human being could be summarized with this kiss. The hesitation and gentleness of every first kiss, the hunger for new experiences of teenagers who start to discover the other’s body, the trust and dedication of two friends who know they would literally die for each other. Everything compressed in such a simple, yet so meaningful gesture.

Richie’s lower lip caresses Eddie’s upper. Still a touch, no sound or wetness required. Eddie melts against the feeling, their noses rubbing together in an almost awkward way. Richie’s hand is on his cheek and he leans the side of his face against it. They keep brushing their lips together, surrendering to the overwhelming magic of being so close after they thought they had lose each other.

That’s how it ends. They separate and slowly open their eyes, trying to control their panting. Richie was right, it is like being twelve years old again. It feels so unreal, so unbelievable… but not unnatural. Unnatural is the only thing that doesn’t cross their minds.

“I love you, Richie,” Eddie whispers.

Richie bites his lip and groans. It kind of seems like he’s about to puke, but it’s not enough to qualify as a gagging.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back.”

“I want to…” Richie tells him, “I mean, I wish I could, but…”

“You’re not ready,” Eddie finishes, a sad grin on his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t—”

“Someday I’ll be,” he hurries to explain, “Just… not today, Eds. Not when you need me to be ready. And I’m really fucking sorry for that.”

Eddie shakes his head, unexpectedly amused.

“Richie, I don’t need you to be ready. Now or in forty more years, I don’t need you to,” he smiles, taking his hand, “But, when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you… if you still want me.”

“It might take a long time.”

“Yeah, but… it’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.”

Richie looks disconcerted for a while, and then laughs.

“Oh, fuck, I remember that song!” he says, “Shit, I… I remember everything.”

Eddie looks down.

“I’m gonna miss you, buddy,” Richie confesses.

“Yeah, me too, but we’ll see each other again… Very fucking soon if you keep up the cancer sticks.”

“And there he is. I’m officially convinced you’re Eds.”

“You still doubted it?”

They laugh again. Considering the situation, laughing is getting way too easy.

“We’re really… meeting again, aren’t we?” Richie dares to ask.

“Sure, why not? I mean, you’ve been my personal hell since we were kids. Like it would be so easy to get rid of you.”

“Now you’re just being mean,” he jokes, “And right when I was starting to think you were a friendly ghost.”

Not willing to listen to more nonsense, Eddie kisses him again. This time with more confidence, more possession, and all Richie can do is take it as it comes and throw his arms around Eddie’s neck, the thought of how no woman in all his life has kissed him like this or made him feel this way invading his mind.

But as soon as it started, it’s over. Eddie backs off and blinks a few times, as if he just came in and has no idea of what is going on. Richie gets it, no matter how much he wished he didn’t.

“He… he’s gone, isn’t he?” He asks, voice low and vacillating.

Bill bites his lower lip, eyes watering. He expected this to happen and he’s been preparing himself for it, but he still needs to convince himself he’s as upset as Richie is. Whatever takes his mind off the fact he can still taste Richie’s mouth on his own.

“I-I… I think he is,” he confirms. The next thing he knows is that they’re in each other’s arms, crying. “I’m so… s-sorry, Rich.”

Richie doesn’t answer. He limits to hold him tight, almost as if he was pretending that Eddie is hiding behind those clothes and hair and face. He refuses to accept a person, a whole person with a name and a job and lots of people around them, can disappear just like that. Being life the most important possession any human being can have, it can’t be fragile and volatile enough to fly out of a body in a mere instant and never come back. It can’t be that simple.

However, he has to face it. Eddie is no longer there. He’s gone. The only thing that exists right now is Bill. His good, old friend Bill, who is showing him support and empathy in a hug that says everything. Who went through all this work just to help both Eddie and him. Bill has to be enough. He must. He should.

Richie is doing all he can to turn this idea into his new religion and philosophy, when he notices something. Bill’s right arm is not holding him anymore.

“You really thought I would leave without saying goodbye?”

Richie grabs his shoulders and pushes him away, a shook expression on his face. Eddie laughs.

“You little shit!”

“I’m sorry…” he apologizes, still chuckling, “I really am, I just… you didn’t think I wouldn’t say goodbye, did you?”

“I don’t know, you’ve been such a spiritual pretentious asshole since you transcended and discovered the secrets of the fucking universe.”

He’s kinda right.

“Well, but I wouldn’t go like that. I mean, unless Bill wants me to…”

They silently wait for an answer that Bill is taking way too much time to give.

You can s-stay as long as you w-want.

Eddie smiles.

“He’s okay with it.”

“Shit, I knew it! Thank you, Billy!” Richie shouts into his ear again.

“Okay, but you really don’t need to do that.”

The three of them laugh.

“I hate to ruin the party,” Richie says, “but exactly how long are you allowed to stay before he recurs to the nearest exorcist?”

“I’ll have to ask him…”

I’ll be in LA for t-two weeks. I’ve got to fix some… st-stuff. You know, producers and e-everything. You can stick around ‘till I go back to England.

“We have two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” Richie exclaims, hopping out his seat, “But that’s such a short time and there’s so much to see! I won’t even be able to take you to all the shitty places where I go to get drunk or get high or get drunk and high or—”

“Richie, that sounds amazing, but I’m really tired and Bill has to be up super early tomorrow. We should get going.”

“Oh.”

“But we can see each other after Bill’s meeting. We could have lunch together and then you can take me to your… shitty places to get drunk and high, if Bill doesn’t mind.”

I don’t mind.

“He doesn’t mind.”

“Uh… well, that’s awesome. My worky things are in the morning, too, so… Guess I’ll see you then.”

“I guess so.”

After a few more uncomfortable chuckles, Richie walks them to the door.

“1PM tomorrow?” He smiles.

“Don’t be late, Trashmouth,” Eddie imitates him.

“Make sure to wear your lace underwear.”

“Please don’t wear the elephant boxers.”

“I threw them away! I’m too fat for them now, anyway… and long.”

“Too much information.”

“Yeah, definitely too much,” he winks.

Eddie rolls his eyes and laughs. They’re serious again before the previous jokes even get the time to settle in.

“You think this will work?” Richie asks, “I mean… us? This scary, weird new thing?”

“Rich, we bit the shit out of a child-eating demon clown… do you really think this is weird and scary?”

“Maybe not that scary but… clearly weird.”

“That’s what I like about you.” He gently holds his hand and squeezes it. “We’ll figure it out.”

Richie nods without hiding the soft smile that reaches his lips.

“Goodnight, Eds.”

“Goodnight.”

With everything said, Eddie turns around and starts walking away, into the dreamily darkness of the garden. Once he hears the front door shutting down, he lets Bill take control again.

“That went w-well,” Bill admits.

It wasn’t a ‘me, too.’

“It wasn’t a ‘fuck off.’”

Eddie doesn’t talk.

“Y-you’ll be fine, Eddie. Just trust me.”

Always.

Tag list: @trippy-alexissss

I know there was more people who wanted to be tagged, but I lost the list with their urls so, if you want to be tagged, please let me know and I’m so sorry for these problems.

#reddie #tozenbrak #bichie #kaspbrough #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #filling the blanks #it (2017)#it #the losers club #tw// internalized homophobia #tw// death

17 notes · View notes

beepbeeprichiellc · 7 years ago

Text

Pink Lemonade

Summary: Richie Tozier finds himself in a sticky situation and is forced to hide in a closet for safety. He wasn’t expecting to find the space already occupied, and he defiantly wasn’t expecting to enjoy the company so much

A/N: *Warnings: Mention of Sex, and Loss of Virginity.* How in the hell is this fiction still going. I mean it just keeps on going and I don't want it to be too long but God, I just love it. Next chapter, whenever I get to writing it, will be a bit more angst. Angry Riche, hurt Eddie and pissed off Stan. Not what you think though.

Word Count: 2221

Masterlist

Part: (1) (2) (3) 4 (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

The first thing that Richie noticed was the smell. Fresh linen laced with lavender washed over him, practically coating him in the heavenly scent. He could feel himself melting into it, wishing that he could swim in the aroma forever. This wasn’t his own sheets, his mother refused to wash his, and yet the he could almost place the scent, almost.

The second thing Richie noticed was the sunlight that shined onto his face. He rolled over, trying to block it out but it followed him. He willed himself to ignore it, to resume his slumber but his eyes opened themselves anyways.

The third, and final thing Richie noticed was that he had no fucking idea where he was. The room was neat, everything in its place. There were no clothes on the floor, no trash anywhere in sight and he couldn’t find a speck of dust on the nightstand. This was nothing like his bedroom at home and he suddenly became worried about the night before.

Richie attempted to rise from the bed, immediately meeting the headache that swelled in his skull. There was a slew of curse words as he dropped back into the mattress. He was hung over, that much was for sure.

“Look who decided to wake up.” A sarcastic sneer came from the threshold. The trashmouth shifted his head, noticing Eddie only in boxers and a night shirt. “It took you long enough.” He yawned, passing by Richie, muttering something under his breath as he rummaged through his dresser drawer.

“Where the fuck am I?” He asked, trying to tune out the loud shuffling of the clothes. Eddie closed the drawer loudly causing Richie to wince. “And do you mind? I have a killer hangover, be a little quitter, fuck.”

“Okay.” Eddie hissed, moving to his closet. “One, you’re at my house and two fuck you. You’re at my house Tozier, I can do whatever I want.” He removed what looked like a pair of jeans before slamming the closet door shut.

“Shit!” Richie exclaimed, covering his ears. “How did I even end up here?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Eddie asked, pulling the jeans over his boxer shorts.

“I remember talking to you at the hay barrels, then I remember falling and-“He paused, looking over to the smaller boy who had taken his shirt off before replacing it with a fresh one. His body was tiny, almost all of his ribs and shoulder poking out of his skin, reminding Richie of a Halloween skeleton. The trashmouth wondered if he would break in bed. A smirk curled at the corner of his lips, “And did I puke on your shoes?”

Eddie cringed. “Yeah, you did. You also puked in the car, the sidewalk and on my favorite hoodie so thanks for that.”

“Man, what a party foul.” Richie joked, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah hilarious.”

“Okay so how did I end up at your place?” The trashmouth asked, suddenly aware of his almost nudity. “And how did I end up in only boxers.”

“Well after you fell off the barrel, highlight of my night by the way, I took you to Beverly. She told me she couldn’t take care of you because she was already chasing down a drunken Mike, Ben was helping. Apparently the football team had stripped and were seeing who could streak closest to the fire.” Eddie shook his head, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. Richie couldn’t help but imagine Mike, fully moon, trying to jump the bonfire with Bev and Ben rushing after him. He smirked as Eddie continued. “Stan wanted nothing to do with you, shocker there, and Bill was Stan’s ride. So lucky me, I was stuck with your dumb ass.”

“So you took me here?”

Eddies shrugged, “Where else was I supposed to take you? I have no idea where you live and I had to drive your truck, which is a piece of shit.”

“I bet your parents are pissed.” Richie joked, rubbing his head and reaching for his glasses from the bed stand.

“Dad’s dead, Mom’s out of town.” He replied matter-of-factly.

“Huh.” Richie retorted, “And you just undressed me for fun or?”

He could see the blush that spared across Eddie’s face, his gaze dropping to the floor. “No. You were fucking filthy so before you were totally gone, I had you strip and I washed your clothes.”

“Uh huh.” Richie mused, a shit eating grin crossing his face, “If you wanted me naked in your bed Eds, all you had to do was ask.” He leaned over, running his hands down Eddie’s back causing him to jump up in surprise. “Purrrrrr.”

“Oh fuck off trashmouth.” Eddie hissed, standing from the bed in a huff. “I should have just left you out there with the rest of those idiots.”

“Oh calm down princess, it was a joke.”

“You’re impossible.” He hissed, walking out of the bedroom. Richie could hear him storm down the steps, hopefully going to grab his washed clothes. The lanky boy rose form the bed, feeling the dull throb of his brain but ignoring it. Lazily he walked around the room, taking the odd cleanliness. His hands ran themselves across his dresser, accumulating little dust. Richie smirked, unable to stop the bubble of emotion that began its way up his throat.

God, Eddie was such a dork.

His eyes caught the picture frame that was pushed back to the back of the dresser, practically hidden by Eddie’s book bag. Richie pulled the photo closer, immediately noticing his small friend. It must have been years ago, the Eddie that was in the picture no older than five or six. He was holding an enormous baseball bat that had to be more than twice his size. Behind the child was a man, his face fixated on Eddie’s hand placement, a genuine smile spread across his face. Slowly, Richie traced the small boy’s face, feeling his heart swell at his adorable, overzealous smirk.

“That’s my Dad.” The trashmouth jumped at the sound of Eddie’s voice, nearly dropping the picture. He fumbled slightly, managing to recover not so smoothly. The other boy only smiled, placing the clean clothes on the bed. “That was taken a week before he was diagnosed.”

“Diagnosed?”

“Cancer.” Eddie replied, his voice void of emotion. “He died less than a year later.”

“Oh I’m sor-“

“It’s fine.” He replied, shrugging off the entire situation. “That was a long time ago.” They stood there from a minute, Eddie’s eyes down casted, brows furrowed as if deep in thought. Richie debated whether or not to say anything, his stomach twisting painfully, but it passed as the small boy spoke up. “Your clothes are washed so hurry up and get dressed.”

“Can’t take all of this sexiness?” Richie joked, making a rather crude motion with his hips.

Eddie cringed, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “No, I want you out of my house. It’s bad enough you contaminated my sheets. Who knows what sexually transmitted disease you’re carrying.”

“Nothing that your mother doesn’t already have, I made sure of that.” He retorted, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head, his voice muffled by the fabric. “You’re okay with herpes right Eds?”

His host rolled his eyes, snorting as he turned to leave out the room. “You really need to stop calling me that.”

Richie smiled, shaking his head. He stumbled somewhat, trying to follow his friend and put on his pants on at the same time. He stopped at the top of the stairs, buttoning up his jeans. “You fucking love it Eds.” He cooed at the boy descending down the staircase. Eddie only flipped him off in response.

The trashmouth hurried down the stairs, eager to catch up. He hopped the last two steps, landing loudly on the hardwood floor. There was a smirk on his face when Eddie picked up his shoes and keys from the coffee table. “Here.” He bit, shoving the items into Richie’s hands. “That’s everything.”

“Awe, you’re too good for me.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at the sentiment, walking into the kitchen. Richie looked at the door as he pulled his shoes on, feeling his chest tighten. He knew he should go, he had already burdened his friend with his drunken self and he knew that was a handful, but he didn’t really want to leave. At least not alone. “Hey Eds?” He yelled, not moving in either direction.

“What?” He replied, practically groaning.

Richie grinned, “How about I take you out to breakfast, I kinda owe you for last night.”

Eddie appeared, scrunching up his face. “It’s noon Rich. You’ve slept all morning.”

“Okay lunch then.”

“I don’t know.” His host started, fidgeting with his fingers. “I’ve got to clean those sheets and-“

“Oh come on, it’ll be like an hour, two tops.” He could practically see the wheels in Eddie’s head turning. Richie bit his lip, waiting for an answer that seemed to take forever to come. He jingled his keys nervously and Eddie sighed.

“Fine.”

The diner was small and smelled of hotdogs for whatever reason. Richie guided Eddie to a booth near the back where a prissy teenager took their order. The trashmouth talked mostly, filling the air with his nonsense. He was relatively surprised when Eddie responded to his babble, actually putting his input into the one sided conversation. The whole thing was comfortable, their interaction with one another light and placid. There were a few jokes thrown around between them but it was all in good fun and Richie couldn’t help appreciate the sense of calm that Eddie brought out in him without even trying.

Soon though the small kid grew quiet, his gaze settled on something out the window. Richie noticed, instantly felt his body tense. “Got something on your mind Eds?” He asked, shifting his weight in his seat.

“Can I ask you something?”

Richie was taken aback by the question, the seriousness in his voice forcing the trashmouth’s stomach churn. “Sure.”

“It’s kind of serious.” He replied meeting his friends gaze. “I don’t want you to make one of your dumb ass jokes about it.”

“I will try my best.” Richie replied, putting his burger down and whipping the mustered from his mouth. “Shoot.”

Eddie paused, his eyes darting between the trashmouth and what remained of his food. “How do you know when you’re ready for sex?”

Richie nearly choked, he could feel his face become red with embarrassment. His mind fought to respond but his fat mouth beat him to it. “Well you see, when you get aroused your penis gets hard and then you stick it in-“

“Forget it.” Eddie hissed, “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you.”

“Whoa hey, look I’m sorry I didn’t mean that.” Richie managed as Eddie slid out of the booth, shaking his head and huffing in disgust. “You just took me by surprise.”

“Thanks for lunch.” He replied coldly, tossing his napkin onto the table.

“Come on Eds.” Richie pleaded, feeling his heart pound against his chest. “It was a joke.”

“It’s always a joke.”

“Eddie.” But his friend ignored him, turning to leave the quaint diner. Richie reacted, grabbing hold of his forearm. “Please, just sit back down. I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I promise I won’t” The trashmouth pleaded. Eddie glared at him, unmoving. “I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Eddie sat back down on his side of the booth. Richie watched as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, grimacing every so often. Richie took in a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. When he exhaled, he could feel the air become thick with their unspoken anxieties. “I um-“ He started, adjusting the glasses on his face. “I lost my virginity when I was fifteen. It was with Betty Ripson, on the couch in her basement.”

“I thought you were-“

“Bisexual.” Richie finished, shrugging. “I like them both. Anyways, I didn’t know if I was ready. It was her first time too so we were both clumsy and awkward and it was absolutely horrible.” He chuckled, the memory of his adolescence nipping at his brain. “Look, I’m not sure if I’m the person you want to have this conversation with. I don’t have the best reputation when it comes to knocking boots, and we’ve already covered that we both have different views on love vs sex.”

“I feel like a prune.” Eddie confessed, “I mean there’s this guy that I like and I don’t know, I’m worried that the lack of sex would drive him away.”

Richie stomach knotted painfully. He could feel his own jealousy claw at his chest but he swallowed, forcing down the ugly emotion. “You should never feel pressured Eds. If you want to wait till you love someone to have sex then do it. It’s your body, your decision and you should never do something that you aren’t comfortable with.”

Eddie smiled, his face blushing at the out of character speech. “Thanks Rich. That was actually-“He paused shaking his head, “Nice.”

“Hey I can be all gushy if I want to.” He replied, winking at his friend. “Just call me the love expert.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Good choice.”

Tags: @decaffeinatedpostmoon

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it #it 2017 #it au #it fanfiction

510 notes · View notes

swankymikehanlon-blog · 7 years ago

Text

The Losers: Always and Forever

Chapter One Chapter Two(Part One) Chapter Two(Part Two)

7 teenagers, of different high school backgrounds, would rather die than become a breakfast club 2.0. At least, that was the thought initially.

Words: 37,693

Warnings: None

Chapter 3: I Still Believe

Tuesday, September 26, 10:23 a.m

“STANLEY MOTHERFUCKING URIS!”

Stan’s head banged the desk above him and small muffled groan fell from his lips. Richie Tozier strolled into the vacant classroom, boots clanking along the worn down marble. Stan got out from under the desk, rubbing his temple as he glared at Richie.

“So, what were you doing under the table, giving ghost head?” Richie jumped up on the desk in front of Stan, randomly pulling out an apple from the chest pocket of his jacket and taking an obnoxiously loud bite. His feet kicked the air, closely to Stan’s face in a teasing manner.

“No, I was looking for something.” Stan got up from the floor, tucking the chair back in it’s place. Richie took another bite as Stan leaned against the opposite table.

“So I’m guessing this is our new place since we can’t continue our rituals behind the school.” Richie propelled himself off the desk as he hurled the apple into the black trashcan the sat next to the open door. He strolled to the whiteboard, picking up a blue marker and began to write more than inappropriate things on the board.

Stan snorted as he stood next to Richie. His fingers draped over the metal bar which held more markers. Since the door was open, the thought of any authority walking in paranoid the shit out of Stan.

“Hey Stan, look it’s your dick!” Stan’s attention was drawn towards the doodle of a small limp ‘Rick and Morty’ pickle. Stan rolled his eyes as he rubbed his palm over the drawing, smudging it completely.

“My masterpiece.” Richie’s shoulders shrugged, dramatically, as Stan took the marker and drew the sketch of an odd...duck...with glassess?

“If that’s supposed to be me, I’m not even mad about it.” Stan smiled as he gave the duck a leather jacket.

“So are you gonna wear glasses from now on or are you just getting paid to look the opposite of cool?” Richie mocked a shocked expression and released a surprised scoff. Stan stepped back from his masterpiece and admired it, complimenting himself on the detail he put into the jacket, placing the pins of Richie’s jacket into their respective places.

“Everyday, I get prouder and prouder of you, my prodigy.” Richie put his hand in the air and waited for a high five that would come after a few minutes of awkward silence. They both sat there, reading the amount of profanity that was written on the board, courtesy of Richie’s creative hand.

“I got detention again.” Stan’s face palm echoed through the classroom and made Richie scrunch his face.

Tuesday, September 26, 10:30 a.m

Ben had a hop in his step, a bright glow on his cheeks as he walked down the mildly crowded hallway. There wasn’t a particular pinpoint of his sudden burst of happiness but it seemed to spread to everyone as he greeted them with a toothy grin. His face was beaming with something Derry High, Derry in general, hadn’t seen in a while. True happiness. As he walked past the gym he heard a faint whistle and soft rumbles of bodies whacking the floor. Ben stopped, curiosity and concern molding his facial features as he looked through the door window.

Inside the gym there was a group of boys and the P.E teacher. Two boys were fighting each other on a thick mat, as the others watched with studying eyes. Ben absentmindedly opened the gym door and walked in, now a few feet away from the commotion. He only realized he was in the gym when Mr. DeVou snapped his fingers.

“Ben, what are you doing here?” Ben swallowed the lump in his throat shock and confusion coating his face. The rest of the boys looked at him weirdly and Ben felt a blush rise over his cheeks.

“Oh, um, I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t-”

“Do you wanna try out?” Ben looked at Mr. DeVou with even more confusion. He didn’t even know what he was doing here, let alone something like ‘try out’.

“Try out what? Sir...” Ben pressed his fingers into the straps of his backpack, anxiety creeping up his spine. He tried not to notice the whispers coming from the boys standing behind Mr. DeVou but the way they looked at each other and at him with apparent discuss made him want to jump out a window.

“Well, this is Wrestling tryout’s son, you wanna try?” Ben opened his mouth in an an ‘O’ shape as he puzzled the pieces together. The mat plus two boys fighting each other made sense. But Ben grew hot in the open gym and excused himself, leaving a snickering group of boys and a disappointing Mr. DeVou. Ben came out of the gym with a grim face. He came into school happy, glad to be there, now all he wanted to was cry in his bed.

He walked to the bathroom where the insecurities got the best of him. His face was beet root red, tears streaming down the sides of his face. He didn’t know why he was so emotional. Like his happiness, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin. Maybe it was the whispers, the looks, the secret pointing at the gut the spilled over the khaki shorts he wore. Maybe it was all three, and maybe the main reason was because he was just Ben. Ben Hanscom, the fat-ass that roams the halls looking for love like the Hunch-Back of Notre-Dam. He hated the names and taunts that had been giving to him. He hated that he agreed with them even more.

Tuesday, September 26, 11:00 a.m

Mike picked at his lunch, ham sandwich looking ever so appetizing. His friends laughed at some stupid joke someone had told. They all sat at one table, even though their where only six chairs, some sacrificed their legs and ate standing up. Mike had never had to sand up, he’d kill them if they made him. After all, he is their captain, and everything he says, they do. But lately, Mike wasn’t feeling his whole roll as the self-entitled jock that everyone thought he was.

“Mikey, you haven’t spoke one word today, you doing alright?” Kenny, a guy straight out of ‘Grease’ the movie said through a mouthful of overly chewed food. Mike rolled his eyes as Kenny giggled, spewing a few chucks of mystery meat on the table.

“Gross, Kenny.”

“Anyway, Mike, you sure you okay, I mean you barely touched your food.” Chris nudged Mike’s leg with his own as he pointed to the stale tray of sopposedly edible food.

“I never eat the ham sandwiches, and I’m a vegan, remember.” Mike flicked a piece of ham at Kenny’s face but it was deflected by his hand. His friends dismissed the topic as they started talking about Friday’s game. They were going to go up against a school called Hawkins High, a high school that wasn’t even in their district. Mike heard they were good, but not as good as his team.

“We’re totally gonna pawn their asses!” Kenny managed to scruff even more food down as he fist pumped the table. Hoots and hollers erupted from the rowdy football players as they continued to eat. Mike drifted out from the conversation, cafeteria tray pushed away completely as his looked over his healing fist.

They were purple and blue, discoloration around the outlines of his knuckles and did in fact hurt like a bitch. He had to be delicate with his hands for however long, which was difficult since football required your hands for everything. As he toyed felt the mismatching colors Eddie walked into the cafeteria with a metal lunch box in hand. His small footsteps would sound like pin drops if the room was silent, but for now they were just one of the many sounds of lunch B.

He passed by Mike’s table, heart beat picking up Mike watched him. It felt like forever when he got to the empty table. Sure enough his face was red, hands definitely a little clammy. Even though Bill rarely talked all Eddie wanted was for Bill to be sitting right in front of him, engaging in the comfortable silence of eating lunch.

Eddie opened his lunch box, taking out a container filled with fruit and opened it, odor of mandarins filling the air and wafting into his nose. He hadn’t notice that someone had finally sat in front of him, watching him eat the baby oranges with content.

“Hey Eds.”

Eddie chocked on one mandarin, citrus hitting the back of his throat and burning. Eddie slammed his fork down, startling himself and Mike in the process. Mike reached over to pat Eddie’s shoulder but Eddie leaned back, almost falling over the stool that he sat on.

“Mi-MIKE! H-HI!” Eddie’s voice was unnecessarily loud and high which made Mike chuckle. Eddie felt tears gather in his eyes, due to the burning sensation of his throat and because he just choked on a fucking mandarin in front of Mike Hanlon. Mike waited moments, hands plunged in the pockets of his varsity jacket, smile plastered on his attractive features.

“I have a question, If that’s fine with you...” Rather than ask what the whole ordeal that just occurred, Mike changed the subject, which Eddie was grateful for. Eddie nodded his head for Mike to go on, throat recovering from the brutal assault of the harsh juice. It was most likely going to be sore for a little while but Eddie didn’t really pay mind to that. He somehow turned off the switch that helped him listen and dumbly stared at Mike’s mouth, specifically the way they moved slow then fast all in one second.

“So are you?” Eddie blinked, unsure of Mike just asked. They slowly opened, wide, once Eddie realized Mike was asking him something very important. On a whim Eddie said ‘Sure’. Mike’s mouth broke into a full grin, teeth and all as he stood up.

“Great, I’ll pick you up after my game, unless you wanna come see? Or did you already plan to go?” Eddie was 100% confused. What just happened, why was Mike gonna pick him up, he doesn’t go to football games, what is happening.

“Um, pick me up?...”

“Great, do you mind if I get your number, I can send you the details.” Mike walked over to Eddie’s side and pulled out his phone. It was cased in a protective phone case, color black with gold accents around the rim of the camera. Eddie was in a haze, still confused and plane out bewildered when he stated his number out of the blue.

“Cool. Can’t wait for Friday.” Mike smiled once more before he joined his friends in the middle of cafeteria and disappeared in the heap of large boys. Eddie let out a huge gust of air that he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. Did he just get asked on a date. They only logical thing that made sense for ‘I’ll pick you up after my game’ was a date. Eddie’s mood quickly went through the five stages of grief, but all stages were denial.

Once Mike was back at his table, Kenny and Chris hyped him up, asking questions and making kissy noises.

“MIKEY BOY’S GOT A CRUSH! HE’S IN LOVE-”

“Can it Kenny.” Mike took a hold of Chris’s water bottle and took a gigantic gulp, before throwing it at Kenny’s temple.

“For a nice guy Hanlon, you sure do love throwing stuff.”

Tuesday, September 26, 12:57 p.m

Beverly was bored out of her mind. Her class had a substitute, an old lady who seemed to always forgot what grade she was teaching and somehow the year they were in. Luckily the substitute plans were basically to watch the rest of the documentary over human evolution they had began long time ago. It was obvious no one was paying attention, by the tired look son their faces or the direction of their eyes towards their laps indicated that they didn’t care. It went the same for Bev, though she wasn’t tired nor typing away at her phone. She was rather tapping her nails on the wooden desk, music from deep inside her head drowning out the audio of the documentary.

It was one of her favorites, the only song that seemed to play at Ophelia’s when she worked. Oh yes, Ophelia’s, the hidden dinning gem in downtown Derry. Yesterday, her first shift of the week had took a turn, for the better. Mike Hanlon had randomly walked in fro directions but simply stepped for one of the best vegan burgers. It was a surprise to see another teenager in the dinner, rarely had a younger person like Beverly walked in. Initially Mike hadn’t walked in for food, but he did leave with some, ordering another vegan burger to go.

She recalls talking about this week’s game against Hawkins High, a school that had only been mentioned to her once, through a friend from middle school. Jenny? Jene? June? Something that started with a J, she knew that for sure.

As the substitute snores filled the classroom, Beverly’s stomach grumbled, roaring like Godzilla in her ears. She had eaten lunch, if you count peanuts and a Dr Pepper as food. But that had always been the lunch she took, either that, or bags filled with protein nuts or granola bars. She hadn’t always been fond of eating lunch, weird, yes, but she had been a dinner person. Always having at least three plates full of food for herself, curtosey of Ophelia’s employee discount. Discount meaning completely free. It was quite a curios thing that Beverly never seemed to gain weight after eating three greasy hamburgers.

Maybe she burned it off during gym, running those miles every Thursday did help. She had always been a fast runner, always ahead of everyone in her class, surprising most of the jerks in there. She’s outraced a couple of them more than once, shutting them up for a good while. There’s a group of girls in the class that praise her every time she does and it really shocks her to realize she has a mini fan club. Once she was asked to sign a girls ‘Equal Right’s’ shirt. She gladly did, commenting on the amazing shirt as well. The bell rung, dismissing her out of her own thoughts, forcing her to get up and stretch out the uncomfortable build up in her spine.

Walking out of the class, she fell in step with students, brushing against speeding freshmen to get to their classes. She didn’t have a third period, credits practically achieved all in her junior year, so when the warning bell sounded, she wasn’t alarmed. Walking pass the library she caught site of someone who looked very familiar. Ben sat in the middle desk, alone, as he skimmed over a rustic looking book. He looked calm, at peace. Staring at him for a second longer, Beverly contemplated going into the library but decided against it as she caught sight of Richie exiting the school through the back doors.

“Hey Rich!” Beverly followed after Richie as they made it outside. Richie skidded to a stop as he turned around and greeted Beverly with a solemn smile. He uttered a ‘hey’ and turned around again, making his way around the building. Beverly sighed, feeling obligated to follow Richie, though at the moment Richie wanted her to be anyone else.

“Where ya’goin?” Beverly watched as Richie shuffled onto his motorcycle. Classic Richie.

“To bang your sister.” Beverly rolled her eyes, internally cheesing at the joke Richie made, jokes which he usually made. For the moment, it seemed Richie didn’t hold any resentment towards her and she felt glad, but she knew Richie was hurting. Every sad smile directed towards her, ever shift of eyes she was around, it was clear she hurt Richie. Right in the heart.

“Ha. Ha. Funny.” Beverly stood closer to Richie now, happiness growing larger now. Richie noticed the closeness and started the engine, fist gripping the break hard, feet digging into the pavement.

“Listen Bev, I know all we had was F.W.B, but I don’t think I’m ready to talk one on one like friends, okay. See you around.” Richie sped away, right in front of Beverly, stabbing the small amount of happiness that radiated through her once full heart. ‘That was a complete bust’. She spoke out loud to no one but herself. She didn’t want to blame herself, she really didn’t but in all honesty the reason she felt like crap was because she ended things like it was crap. Her and Richie weren’t crap, they weren’t even close to it. Although it had been a physical relationship only, Beverly knows that it was the closest thing to intimate Richie had gotten in a while. And to end it out of the blue made her feel like the worst kind of human being.

Leaning against the brick wall, she popped a piece of bubble gum into her mouth, feeling the rays of heat from the sun hit her freckled face. She stood there for a moment, tasting the flavor of rich bubblegum before walking back inside.

Tuesday, September 26, 2:03 p.m

Bill sat on the stool, paint brush carefully sweeping across the canvas with a light blue streak. He was thinking, carefully, tongue etched on the outskirts of his mouth, so gently as he pressed into the canvas and let go. It caused a drip effect, exactly what he wanted. Well, what he wanted at the moment, he couldn’t really tell where his painting would go. Right now it could turn into an ocean, with waves that ripple like marbles over a glossy floor. Or he could paint a brisk morning in the woods with snow covering each and individual tree.

He hadn’t decided what he was doing, he never did. It was always improve with his paintings, whatever music played or whatever he felt would guide him to create masterpieces. He had a headphone in one ear and a paintbrush in the other. The clear palette hung around his thumb and laid on his forearm as he took the white paint and smeared it with the blue, creating a milky soft sky color. He switched the paint brush in his hand to the one from his hear and began highlighting the edges of the canvas.

It was his free period, but he wasn’t alone, many other art seniors came into the room and painted, speaking to no one. He had been coming here since freshman year, being intimidated by the skilled seniors from the time. But having a detailed and creative hand from a young age earned him respect. Today it had been lonelier than usual, it was just him and two other students, who got their things and left, now only leaving Bill in the quiet classroom.

The canvas now covered in thin and thick lines of soft blue, inking the first draft of his painting. He made the choice of painting snow as he dipped his paint brush in the white and creating the outline of clumps of snow. His dominant hand had freckled of paint scattered everywhere, as well as his overalls. His overalls had already been stained countless of times by many primary colors, but now it was painted with light blue dots. He only noticed he got some on his face when someone spoke to him.

“You have some on your face.” The voice scared Bill, making him almost drop the palette on the floor. It was Stan, an amused expression on his face. Bill looked at Stan for a solid minute before looking away, shyly as he put the brush down and tried to brush the drying paint off. Stan lifted his hand, feeling it freeze int he middle of the air, slowly going back to it’s place besides his thigh, but he found himself reach over and rubbing the paint off. He noticed the reddening of Bill’s soft cheeks, imagining his own cheeks, as he pulled his hand away. Stan felt what he just did was stupid, hating himself for making the gesture of rubbing paint off of a boy’s face.

“Uh, Bye.” Stan exited the classroom, leaving a confused, but in love intrigued Bill. His face felt hot, especially the spot where Stan’s cold hands touched. He trashed the painting he was working on before Stan came in and began to paint the figure of a boy. He had curly hair, and a face of an angel. It seemed to only be minutes for his artwork to be finished. It was full of colors, reds, blues, oranges, yellows, you name it. He drew a literal angel that resembled a boy too much. He sat there, admiring the work that seemed to come to life every time he moved. He memorized every detail that found its way on the canvas and fell in love. He drew Stan, a boy he had just met. He drew a boy he really liked.

Tuesday, September 26, 3:23 p.m

Mike hated that this particular day was hotter than hell. He also hated the fact that some dumbass got the whole team in trouble. Currently they were being punished, running suicides down and back the field. The worst running exercise activity ever, don’t even try to argue. His feet burned through the fabric of his Nike’s, toes digging in the tip of the shoes. He was one of the few left that kept going, most of them throwing up last night’s dinner on the grassy ground.

He continued, used to the extreme punishment ordered by Coach. He was almost done, final run just a few feet away. Coach’s whistle blew and Mike felt his feet trip over themselves, causing him to fall to the ground. Laughs came from the sidelines, Kenny’s obnoxious laugh making Mike’s ears bleed.

“HANLON IS DOWN FOR THE COUNT!” Chris runs over and lays on the ground next to Mike and pretends to do a referee slam. Mike playfully kicks at Chris’s side as he gets up and rubs the grass off his shirt. Coach laughs as they jog back, others following suit.

“Boys, what do we have this we-”

“HAWKIN’S GONNA GT THEY’ASSES BEAT!” Kenny jumps on another players his, piggy back riding him as others yell in agreement. Coach only sighed and nodded as he folded his arms around each other. Mike smirked as Kenny jumped on another unsuspecting person, pulling both of them down.

“Jesus, Kenny, can you not be a total Alex for a second?” Alex was a senior that used to go to Derry. He was basically Kenny but 10x worse. He was the class clown, everyone either loved him or hated him, there was no in between. Mike remembered the rivalry between Kenny and Alex in junior year to be the funniest, attention hog of the school. So when Alex’s father got moved to Minnesota, of all places, for a job offer, Kenny declared himself the winner.

“Yes, we are, but doesn’t mean there work won’t be done.” Everyone including Mike groaned but listened to what else coach had to say. Mike drifted off to another place though. Earlier at Lunch he had asked Eddie to a movie. It really wasn’t his intention, he only wanted to ask how Eddie’s day was going. But when Eddie looked like he was in his own little world, Mike got a chance to look at all the little things he hadn’t seen before. How he had faint freckles under his eyes, lips had lines that resembled tree ringlets due to dryness. But he also noticed how he really wanted to hang out with Eddie, outside of school. So the words came out of his mouth before he could stop.

“So you and Eddie huh?” Chris wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulders, leading them to the locker room. Mike snorted as he opened the door and let himself in.

“It’s not a date.” Mike made his way to his locker as Chris followed, in the process of mocking Mike.

“Would you like to go to the movies with me? It’ll be totally platonic, I’ll only stare at your lips and think of your neck as the good part of the movie starts.” Chris imitated Mike, spot on. Mike took off his shirt and threw it at Chris who laughed as he caught it.

“So what, he’s cute. Doesn’t mean I wanna get in his pants.” Mike opened his locker and took out deodorant.

“Hold on, is that woman’s deodorant?”

“It smells nice okay.” Mike took out his regular school shirt and put it in as Chris walked away, throwing the workout shirt into the locker over his head. It wasn’t a date, no way. Mike was just being nice, Eddie was a cool person, sweet, charismatic, kind...

“Shit.”

It was a date. He concluded that as he walked out and typed the information out in text. He sent it with out a thought, eyes bulging at the comment he added;

Wear whatever you’d like, you look great in everything ;)

What kind of text message was that. Mike wanted to punch himself in the face. This was now definitely a date, the winky face just confirmed it. As if his presence didn’t give Eddie a heart attack the text would. Well, now that the deed had been done, all that was left was to go through with it.

Tuesday, September 26, 3:59 p.m

“Listen man, cut me some slack, you know I’m not a bad kid.” Richie stood against the gas station counter, hands pressed against the newspaper covered surface. He came to the cash register, a soda and chips was all he wanted to buy. Plus a pack of of new cigs, but that was minor detail.

“You don’t have enough money to buy all three, you can either buy the chips and drink or the cigarettes.” The man behind the counter counted the money in the cash register, not really paying attention to Richie’s slik hand. Pretending to yawn, Richie reached behind his head and into his shirt, dropping the pack of cigarettes along his spine and to the crack of ass. Thank god his shirt was tucked in, otherwise the cigarettes would have fallen straight to the floor.

“You know what, fine, I’ll take the ships and soda.” Richie pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to the man, grimacing when it was yanked away from his hand. Smiling a smile too sweet, Richie walked out quickly, relieved when the usual alarms didn’t go off. OPening the soda, he took a sip, nodding his head to a song he began to sing.

“Oh, I still believe.” Mimicking the instrumental saxophone part in Tim Capello’s iconic song ‘I Still Believe’. Now standing in front of his motorcycle, Richie placed the soda on the seat and dug out the cartoon box from his shirt.

“We need all the hope. WE CAN GET!” Richie belted out, shame just a word to him. He didn’t care that people stared at him as they filled their cars with gas. He actually pointed to them as he sang the verse over and over again, scaring a couple of them as he voiced a saxophone yet again. Drinking the soda in one go, he let out a loud burp and stuffed the chips in his pocket jacket before starting his motorcycle and driving home.

His house was empty, parents gone, off to work or off to an affair. Most likely the second one, Richie has seen hickies on his parents necks before and he knew for a fact that they didn’t give them to each other. But he didn’t really care, nothing would be different, he already lived alone. Throwing the cigarettes across the kitchen counter he took off his boots, struggling a little bit, but sighing as he free his feet. Plugging his phone into the kitchen speaker, he played his music, blasting it through the house. It was Gorrilaz, bass acting as if there was a party.

Drumming along, he walked over to the living room, picking up random laundry here and there. Going to the laundry room he threw them in a basket that was over-filled with dirty clothes, mostly Richie’s. He rolled his eyes, remembering that he had to do the laundry soon because no one else ever did. The song changed so something he hadn’t ever heard of but quickly loved it as it played longer. Toying with the pins on his jacket, Richie walked back to the kitchen and pressed his torso against the flat, cold, surface of the island. His face was cooled by it and he slowly fell asleep.

Tuesday, September 26, 4:15 p.m

Ben was the last out of his class, second to last being some random girl who fell asleep and was only awoken when Ben nudged her. She muttered a thank you as she walked out of class, slightly still out of it. Ben said goodbye to Mrs. Kepp and walked the empty halls. The students of Derry high always seemed to lave school quickly, never made an effort to stay and chat with friends. As Ben was reaching the door to freedom, Mr. DeVou spoke up from out of the blue.

“Ben!” He turned around to see Mr. DeVou walking towards him with excitement. Ben sighed, ready to be told off from what happened earlier in the day.

“So you wanna try out for the team?”

“The what sir?” Ben wasn’t expecting what Mr. DeVou had asked. He was obviously talking about the wrestling team but the question shocked Ben to no end. Mr. DeVou? Wants someone like Ben? To wrestle? What kind of universe-

“Yeah, you seem like you’d be a good fit!” Ben looked at Mr. DeVou with a questioning brow. Ben thought about it, wrestling did sound fun. But the more he thought about it, the more he thought it was a bad idea.

“Oh Mr. DeVou, i don’t think I’d be good-”

“You never know son, not unless you try. The next tryout is Thursday, will I see you there?” Mr. DeVou said in a voice that only meant ‘Be There or else’. With a single sigh Ben said ‘Sure’ and was left in the hallway alone. He now sat in the drivers seat of his jeep, engine on, hands clasped around the wheel, yet the car hadn’t moved for a complete ten minutes.

“What did I get myself into.” Ben dropped his head on the steering wheel, temple hitting the middle of the wheel, a honk following. His head stayed there for a good minute before he pulled out the driveway and drove home.

Tuesday, September 26, 4:30 p.m

Beverly turned on her closet lite, kicking off her shoes and unbuttoning her jeans. Yawning, she un-tucked her collared shirt and hung it up, grabbing her work outfit. Shrugging her jeans off, she sat on her bed, feeling of tiredness reaching her eyes. Her shift didn’t start until 5:30, but Ophelia’s was nearly 20 minutes away and there was always traffic around five so she technically had to leave around 4:50. There was always a bus that dropped off after school activities kids and it would take her to Ophelia’s since it was on the way of their bus drop off.

Pulling on her outfit, she went over to her vanity and touched up her face. Picking a light red she applied it to her chapped lips, accidentally over lining her natural lips. Fixing it with her pinkie her phone buzzed. She picked it up, smiling at her friends text.

Wanna go to Friday’s game and make fun of Hawkins?

She typed back a thumbs up emoji and finished checking herself out in the mirror. Taking out her wallet from her bag she attached a leather piece of string around the punched in metal hole to make a make-shift wristlet. Running a hand through her short hair she jumped down the stairs, putting on her heels that laid on the last step.

She heard the engine of her father’s rickety car and felt her shoulders drop down. She tried to make her way to the front without having to interact with him but he mt her at the door.

“Hello Bevvy.” His voice was low, smelled like complete shit and beer. She had to refrain herself from clamping her nose with her fingers.

“Hi dad. I’m on my way to work, I’m gonna be late.” Thinking he was going to grab her arm she quickly walked down the street and stood by the pole, hiding herself from her father’s stare. She wasn’t sure if her father still stood outside but she didn’t care as the bus strolled up and released the kids of the street. If he was watching her he should have lost her in the crowd of kids. Sitting in the farthest seat down from the driver she made eye contact with her father, who was still standing outside. Sinking into her seat she closed her eyes and waited to be taken to Ophelia’s.

Tuesday, September 26, 5:10 p.m

Bill took the painting home, hiding it from his parents as he passed them on his way to his room. He would die if they saw what he had drew, the way the lips of Stan were drawn so delicate, or the flowers in his hair. It may just be a painting, but his parents were very observant. Bill wasn’t ready for them to question him yet. Gerogie followed, asking what it was, repiditley.

“What’ya paint, what’ya paint, what’ya paint-”

“Georgie.” Bill laid the painting on his bed, making sure Georgie would go up and grab it. This was a daily thing, whenever Bill brought home a painting or a sketch, Georgie would pester him and try to see what he drew.

“But Bill, I wanna see!” Georgie tried to slap Bill’s hand out of the way but Bill was faster and picked him up off the ground before he could.

“Nice t-t-try, but n-no.” Bill carried Georgie into his room, throwing him onto the plush bed filled of stuff animals. Bill walked out, accidentally stepping on a lego turtle and yelling in pain. Georgie zoomed passed him and onto Bills bed. Bill raced behind him but was too late and was mortified to see Georgie staring at the painting of Stan. Bill closed his room door, hands out in front of him to brace them against Georgie’s mouth if he outed him.

“He’s beautiful.” Georgie angled his head to get a better look and all Bill could do was sigh. Taking a hold of the painting ge opened the closet and placed it deep in the corners of it, where other personal drawings laid dormant.

“You cant tell mom or dad.” Bill walked over to his bed and fell down on the comforter along with Georgie who found his way on top of Bill’s chest. With a small voice Georgie asked “Why not?”

“Because th-they don’t l-l-like it when I d-d-draw stuff like th-that.” Bill suddenly got sad, overwhelming sensation of his parents finding the painting plaguing his mind. Georgie lifted his head and looked at Bill directly in his eyes. Georgie’s eyes held wonder, curiosity, acceptance. Something his parent’s eyes didn’t hold.

“How can they not like something so beautiful?” Georgie now sat up, arms crossed over each other in slight frustration. Bill smiled sadly and pulled Georgie to lay next to him. Waiting a moment, trying to come up with a good response he shrugged and said

“I d-d-don’t know Georgie. Georgie, I don’t know.” Bill caressed the side of Georgie’s face as they laid there in peaceful silence.

Tuesday, September 26, 6:30 p.m

Stan ate in silence, the only sound he made was technically not even him, it was the clanking of his spoon on the dinner plate. His mother and father ate in silence as well, occasionally looking at each other and looking away. This was the only constant thing his family did. Eat in silence and act like their family is the perfect, normal family. They weren’t, they weren’t even a family. They just happened to three people living under the same household. Sometimes Stan thought his parents were divorced and lived under the same roof for the sake of him. But it always hurt him to know that they chose to live like this. They chose to live hostile, cold.

“Have you been practicing Stan?” His father cut deep into the rotisserie chicken his mother had bought at the store yesterday. Hey ate one piece, scuffing it down with a drink of cranberry juice, Stan’s least favorite drink. His mother finished her salad, something she always did before she engaged in her actual meal. Stan nodded, slowly, hoping to convince the man of the house. He hadn’t been practicing, he couldn’t recall the last time he opened the thick Torah. His father didn’t say anything more and went back to the eating, fork stabbing the plate entirely now.

“I’m not that hungry anymore, and I have a lot of homework, may I be excused?” Stan let go of his utensils, skidding the chair out from under the table. He waited for his parent’s approval and got up when his father nodded. He nodded, showing a sign of respect towards him and gave his mother a chaste kiss on the temple. She didn’t react, she never does, and continued to eat corn off the plate in dainty bites. Opening his bedroom door was like opening the gates of the north pole. It was always so chilling in his room, the temperature never went higher than a 70. It was a miracle he never got sick. Closing the door behind him, Stan crawled on his bed and pulled out his phone. Obviously he didn’t have homework, he just needed an excuse to get away from his parents.

Opening his phone with his thumbprint he clicked on the Spotify icon. Before he could press play on a song he noticed a blue marking on the inside of his palm. He examined it, picking carefully at the dried paint. He remembered what happened at school, how his fingers brushed over Bill’s face, transferring the solid color to his own skin, and running away as if Bill burned him. Smiling he pressed his hand to his own face, closed his eyes, and thought about the sky and its clouds.

While Stan daydreamed, Eddie sat on his bed, crossed legged, freaking out over a text message. His mother was still working, so he was currently alone. Which in a way was better than having to explain to his mother why he was going on a date with a football player. Yes, it was a date, it was confirmed. Well the actual text message never said the four letter word, but from the winky face and the perfectly put together compliment, Eddie could tell that it was one. It was only Tuesday and Eddie had already raided his closet in search for something nice to wear. He had to admit, he never did have the best fashion sense, always either wearing shorts that seemed to short or graphic tee’s that a mother of 6 would always wear.

He finally may of found something decent, a grey sweater, really more of a cardigan, but a cover nothing less. Throwing it on his bed he searched for a shirt, deciding a simple white t-shirt would be the best. Grabbing a pair of jeans he didn’t even know he had, he tried the whole ensemble on, surprising himself with how good the outfit looked. He looked presentable, minus the frustrated style his hair wore. This was the outfit, hands down. He looked good in it, at east he thought he looked good in it. Would Mike think it look good?

Groaning, Eddie plummeted to the bed, face hitting the sheets first. He laid there for a little bit, reminiscing on all the events that lead up to Mike asking him out to the movies. They had talked before detention, he had helped him in Chemistry before. Once, Mike helped him carry his history project to the classroom, getting a tardy slip but muttering a ‘It was worth it’ for only Eddie to hear. The longest time he and Mike ever talked was yesterday, along with the rest of the losers club. The Losers Club. What a great name, a solid, a-1 name. Lifting his head to breathe, Eddie took his phone and looked back at the text message Mike sent hours ago. He didn’t respond, to afraid to send something that would look desperate. But he did realize leaving him on read was really rude so he typed out a ‘Great!’ and sent it without second thought.

Right after he sent, the three grey dots appeared and went away, all in one second. Eddie paused, bile rising in his throat at the sight of Mike texting. Did he come off to strong, was the exclamation mark too much. When Eddie was about to throw his phone into the wall, Mike sent back a winky face. A. Fucking. Winky face. The whole bane of Eddie’s problems was smiling at him on a digital screen. Mike was going to kill Eddie, no doubt. But what if Eddie sent a winky face back...

Tagged: @shittystorms @asteroidbill @finnwollfhards @hazedlover @chirpchirpstanley @rose-minds

Hey, I’m a horrible person and haven’t updated in forever. In all honesty, I was loosing inspiration in this fic, but now that I’m writing it again, It’s coming back. I’m not gonna say when the next update is because I don’t trust myself with due dates. :)

#it 2017 #the losers club #the losers:always and forever #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #stan uris #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #kasplon #hanbrak #meddie #stenbrough #benverly #beverie

46 notes · View notes