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swankymikehanlon-blog · 7 years ago

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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

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