This is Mixtape by @hauntcore on instagram or @tatelandgon on wattpad.

I don't own or claim this story or any of the characters in it

This is specifically for personal reading purposes.

I had to split the story into two google docs because it is so long, so when you get to the end of this doc, click the link to get the second half of the story (click this link if u want to go straight there)!

(please ignore the bolded numbers, those were “comments” on wattpad)

feel free to leave your own comments on this doc!

enjoy!

Chapter 1

11:42 p.m.

Richie's dirty, beat up shoes have a committed relationship with windowsills. Every night for the past year, Richie has been propping himself up in the window frame, glancing back at his bedroom door, and jumping the ten foot drop down to the garden residing around his house. The windowsills creak and groan under his weight, but still, their relationship with his old Chucks does not falter. Even when Richie's shoes intimately dig into the soil seconds after he jumps.

Once he's stabilized on the ground, he reaches around to pull his rusty bike from the rose bushes he uses to hide his evidence. The handles tremble and shake as Richie mounts, yet they continue to steer and persist underneath the boy's iron-fist grip.

Tonight has been bad, but it will be okay soon. It's always okay. She makes it better.

The streets are empty around this time of night, as if the world has been put away from the outside and every traffic light has gone to rest. Richie feels it creep up on him, with each kick that his legs make against the ground to gain momentum, he feels the loneliness of night time. It slithers in like the cold, and he knows it's irrational, but the boy can't help but wonder if the world is hiding from him. Sometimes, that's how it feels.

"Tozier, you're late!" He hears her shout from down the block. The cold is instantly diminished, being replaced with the warmth that only comes from the sparks and embers that reside within Beverly Marsh's hair.

"Got a bit caught up fuckin' your mom, Bev," Richie calls back. He pedals into view, the fluorescent street light opening up the world around him. Then, Bev is there, illuminated just like the angel that she is. She laughs at Richie's crude comment, and for a second, he mistakes it as heaven's choir.

"Your watch stop working? I do believe 11:30 is our usual rendezvous time," she tells him.

Richie dumps his bike against the curb, staring down at the girl who he has assigned as his own personal savior. He won't ever admit it, but he would surely be dead had he not met Beverly.

"My watch works perfectly fine, yours is just too early," he shakes his head. Bev smiles at him, a trusting smile, one that ignites something in Richie that he never feels with anyone else. She believes in him. Not many people can say the same.

"Alright, then, come on," she grabs him by the wrist and starts dragging the lanky boy across the street.

It started a little over a year ago, when the temperature was just on the cusp of cool whispers. The leaves had yet to decay and turn brown, but chilly air had nipped at their young cheeks all night. Beverly Marsh had phoned the Tozier house and kindly requested to speak to Richie, who didn't get many callers. She said to meet her across the street from the QwikStar gas station once his parents were asleep, and the boy had not asked why. He simply agreed, and watched the clock for the rest of the evening, silently urging his parents to succumb to their drunken slumbers as they did every night.

Upon arrival, Beverly had smiled up at Richie, and said "Shall we eat?" Her hair was still long at the time, and Richie will never forget the way she pulled her ponytail over her shoulder to protect her neck from the cold.

Beverly had figured that Richie did not consume the correct amount of food for a growing 15, 14 at the time, year old boy. She was right, in fact, spot on. Beverly had picked up on the vague hints her friend would drop when it came to his parents' behavior, so it was only her first instinct to begin feeding the boy and picking up where his parents slacked off.

Every night, they meet at 11:30 p.m., run to the QwikStar gas station and get as much junk food as they can, and then splurge in the 24/7 laundromat next door. Nobody does their laundry at night, and certainly nobody would expect to find two kids there either.

Tonight, Beverly has a crisp $20 bill clenched in her small hand. When Richie asks where she got it from, Bev just shrugs and mentions some favors she did for her boyfriend's friends.

Richie hates that. He hates it more than he will ever admit, only because he knows it's unfair to Beverly for the thought to even cross his mind. He is happy for her, he is, but he still can't stand the idea that Beverly has a million other people that she could easily replace him with. Richie doesn't have anybody; no friends, no family, just Bev. Bev... Bev has everybody. A boyfriend, friends, her boyfriend's friends. It drives him mad knowing that she could easily start feeding someone new if Richie were to disappear without a trace.

"Earth to Richie, earth to Richie! Ground control, Houston, we may have a problem!" Bev giggles, knocking on Richie's head as if she expects the echo of an empty chamber.

Richie blinks a few times, his surroundings coming back into focus as he regains his composure. It's not uncommon that Richie will drift into his own thoughts, but Beverly never seems to mind. She puts up with a lot, and Richie is eternally grateful for her presence.

As if on cue, he defensively says "Sorry, I was thinking about what's bigger; my wang or your fat head?"

Bev just laughs her lovely laugh and pushes Richie's shoulder. She's used to these snarky remarks, but she's also used to the reason he makes them. Not as a way to be funny or mean, but as a coping mechanism.

"I don't know, Rich, that's a tough one," she picks up a packet of peanuts, offers it to him, then places it back down when he shakes his head. "If that's the case, my head must be pretty minuscule."

"You wish, Beaver-ly," he puts emphasis on beaver. "My dick is so colossal that-"

"Beep beep, Richie," she snickers again.

Fuck up, he thinks to himself. Fucking annoying, again.

Beverly is going to grow tired of saying beep beep one day, and he knows it. Richie is terrified of the day that he is left completely, entirely alone, but for now, he needs to just appreciate what he has while he has it.

Richie grabs a packet of Skittles, hands them to Bev, and then grabs another per her request.

"What favors were you doing?" Richie grows curious.

"Oh, you know..." she trails off with that delicate air to her pixie-floating words. "Favors."

"You weren't letting them nail you, were you?" Richie scoffs. His loudmouth earns the attention of the store clerk, who looks more than tired with the children's routinely presence.

"Richie," Beverly says harshly. "Shut up!"

Richie recoils in on himself, wincing at the words and mentally degrading himself for what he's said. How could he be so stupid? So insensitive?

Bev's tone seems to soften up a bit. "No, I wasn't. None of those boys have ever seen a boob in their life, I doubt they would survive 'nailing' someone. I was helping them with their dungeons and dragons campaign."

"Dungeons and dragons?" Richie scoffs, laughing to himself easily. "What are they, fucking nerds? For fucks sake, Bee. You really let Ben drag you into that?"

"Ben didn't drag me into anything," she shakes her head, short curls bouncing against the nape of her neck. "I love being around them, they're just as much my friends as they are his. If they want me to help their campaign, then I help their campaign."

"Fucking geek shit," he shakes his head again, hands trembling at his sides. Richie can't recall a time Bev has ever said she loves being around him. "At least you got twenty bucks from it."

Bev doesn't say anything else, just silently takes their snacks to the counter and pays while Richie fumbles through the stack of magazines near the door. Beverly watches him fondly, feeling nothing but love for the friend she's had since she was thirteen.

Richie has changed over the years; certainly grown a whopping nine inches, let his hair grow past his jawline, unruly and curly, and his jawline has sharpened as puberty takes its toll on his body. Despite all these changes, he's still the bug-eyed, lanky, talkative wreck he has always been. A few disorders and traumatic experiences, sure, but he's still the same deep down.

"Hurry up, Bev. I could be banging your mom right now," he groans from the door. Bev ignores him, smiling at the clerk and taking their bags of junk food, before turning to him and leaving the gas station they've become regulars at.

"Oh, don't worry, you wouldn't need much time. We all know how premature you are, Rich," she chuckles, leading him down the sidewalk to the laundromat entrance.

"Nice guys finish first," Richie shrugs, stepping ahead so that he can open the door for her.

"Not quite sure that's how it goes," she shakes her head, but laughs regardless.

The two sit at their usual table in the far back, dumping bags of junk food down onto the initials B+R etched into the surface. Richie grabs the first thing he sees, desperate to get something in his stomach.

After a few bites of the sickeningly sweet Twinkie, Richie brings his eyes up to Beverly, his sweet best friend, and he feels guilt run through his body.

"They were fighting," he says quietly, in a muted tone. He doesn't want anybody to hear him, and it's very rare moments that Richie actually lets his volume stray this far from its usual projection. "They were fighting again. I couldn't leave because I needed to be there if he... if he started hitting her. That's why I was late."

Bev is silent, absorbing the vulnerable side that she doesn't get to see very often. She knows Richie has it rough at home, but he doesn't like to talk about it. She thinks he's embarrassed by it, but she doesn't know why he would be.

"It's okay," she says quietly, reaching out to brush her honeydove hand against his. "It's okay. He... He kissed me today. A... a deeper kiss. I couldn't move."

Richie feels disgusted with himself, shaking his head and pulling his hand away from Beverly's. How dare he complain about his problems when he knows she has it so much worse? Richie feels sick from his own ignorance, so, he shakes his head and changes the subject.

"So, you excited for your birthday?"

Chapter 2

The selection that resides within girl's products is one that will always baffle Richie. Why are there so many different brands? Who needs fake eyelashes? What's wrong with their real ones?

Richie has no idea what the difference between eyeshadow and eyeliner is, besides, Beverly never wears makeup anyway, why bother?

Instead, the nervous boy carries himself further down the drugstore aisle, finding himself lost in a sea of colors brighter than need be. He carefully reads the sign above their display, acknowledging that this is nail polish, and deciding that would be his safest bet.

Beverly's birthday is this Saturday. Technically, her birthday is on Thursday, but the party that Richie was formally invited to is set for Saturday afternoon. A sleepover, he was told. At Ben's house.

Richie has met Ben a handful of times, but none of them ever stuck to his memory. Ben is chubby and short, but then again, everyone is short in comparison to Richie. All he knows is that Ben has a group of friends that Beverly adores, and Richie has started mentally preparing himself for the isolation and discomfort he will experience the entire party. He desperately wants to skip it, but he can't do that to Bev. It would be unfair.

Richie's fingers dance along the glassy bottles of nail polish, every color he could possibly imagine all lined up for his personal choosing. What color does Bev like? He feels as if he should know. She's mentioned it before, hasn't she? Maybe Rich is just a terrible friend.

He spends ten minutes deciding between two shades of blue, eventually giving in and falling victim to the color that resembled the sky. As Richie turns on his heel, ready to sneak away with the varnish for his beloved friend, he bumps his shoulder right into another person's face.

"Ouch, ouch, my nose!" A soft, high pitched voice carries up to Richie's ears. The words have poise in them, as well as a hotheaded temper that makes Richie's chest constrict nervously.

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"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Richie looks down at the person he's bumped into, being met with the widest Bambi brown eyes he has ever seen. The kid has smooth, tanned skin, with clusters of freckles eating through the cookie dough of his cheeks and nose. His feathery hair is neatly combed to the side, giving Richie a clear view of every long eyelash decorating the boy's hot whiskey eyes.

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"It's fine," the boys says, his face twisting up as he takes a step away from Richie.

Richie stares for a moment more, just out of curiosity of the boy's actions, and then shakes his head. "Your nose is bleeding, kid. Must've bumped my shoulder pretty hard."

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"What!" The boy instantly panics, bringing his dainty hands up to his face so very frantically. When he pulls his polished fingers away, the ruby gems of blood trickle down his knuckles. His chest expands with each breath he takes, and Richie swears the boy's eyes are going to pop out of his head. Distressed, the kid side steps Richie and starts rushing down the aisle, his tiny legs spilling out of very short gym shorts. While staring after him, Richie shakes his head and looks back down to the nail polish in his hand. He's sure Bev will like this, but if not, he has a bigger present that he is positive will excite her.

434

Upon returning home, cautiously stepping through his front door instead of his bedroom window, he approaches his parents at the dining room table.

"Hey," he announces his arrival, only to receive nothing in response. His father reads the paper, puffing a cigar so carelessly, while his mother pours another glass of scotch. "Beverly's birthday party is on Saturday. Is it alright if I go?"

As if he hasn't been heard at all, his mother continues pouring until the amber liquid climbs the glass and threatens to spill over the brim. Richie takes a deep breath in, his heart thudding roughly in his chest, and he tries again.

"Can I go to a sleepover this weekend?"

His father lifts his eyes from the paper just long enough to acknowledge Richie standing there. The man waves Richie off, mumbling "Fine, whatever."

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Richie feels the words pierce through his chest, so, in a dejected fashion, he retreats down the hall and to his room. As he goes, he can hear his mother's voice slurring words that are loud enough to make his blood boil.

"He's staying with that Marsh girl? I've heard about her. No good with boys, that one."

Even worse, his father's reply. "Who cares if she wants to tramp around with the kid?"

235

Richie shuts himself in his room and digs through the pile of shit on his desk until he finds his Walkman and headphones. He hates being called the kid. Why can't they ever admit that he's their son? Why can't they call him by the name they chose? Why won't they admit that he is their child?

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Richie feels all of these thoughts swirl around in the dangerous pools of his brain, flickering like lighter flames and sewer drains all at once. He turns the volume up on his tape deck as loud as he can, letting his favorite mixtape of all time fill his head until he can no longer think.

218

He needs the music sometimes. He can't function without it. Richie isn't drawn to the melodies, but moreso, the words and what they say. He finds it hard to speak up most times, and when he does, he usually gets a quick "beep beep." Music fills in for that, explains what he's feeling without him ever having to open his mouth.

200

When the familiar words of Freddie Mercury singing "I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me," reach his ears, he squeezes his eyes shut and let's the words fill him up inside. Carefully, as to not damage his precious tape deck, he raises the volume to deafening levels. Richie can't think badly of himself if all that his surroundings will allow him to feel are the sweet melodies of his favorite songs compiled onto mixtapes he crafts with precision for each mood that he has. They mean the most to him, and he fears what would become of him if anything were to ever happen to his darling songs.

576

Richie lifts himself out of bed, digging around in his pockets for the nail polish he shoplifted, setting it on top of the box that's already been wrapped and is ready to be delivered. Inside, a pack of cigarettes and a brand new butterfly switchblade knife, a combination of items that couldn't be more Beverly if he tried. He feels the need to one-up her, especially since she was the one who gave him this Walkman on his fifteenth birthday.

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But still. Richie fears the sleepover, knowing very well that he is going to be the outsider. He doesn't want to even bother going, but after everything that Beverly has done for him over the years, he would really be a shitty excuse for a human being if he were to skip out on her special day.

For a brief second, he gets a flash of red, and he wonders if everything turned out okay with that little kid he bumped into today. Looking at it in retrospect, he probably should have followed the kid to make sure he was alright, but in the end, Richie was frozen by his fear of annoying someone once again.

205

Even then, Richie still can't help but think about how that kid had eyes like a mid-July sunset and a voice like a mixtape.

Chapter 3

Richie isn't one to pay attention in school, everyone knows that. Usually too busy running his mouth to focus on the lesson, and yet, he still somehow manages to get good grades. His peers are baffled by this, but it makes sense to Richie. If he gets good grades, he will be something worth being proud of. He's had this mentality since the day he picked up his first book and started studying religiously.

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Richie doesn't need to study much anymore, it's all already been drilled into his mind enough for him to grasp simple concepts as soon as they're given to him. However, that doesn't stop him from hanging out in the library most days. Beverly has a different lunch schedule than Richie, so instead of subjecting himself to sitting alone in the cafeteria, Richie finds solace in the quiet airs of the library. Not many kids come here, who would? Everyone has their friends to visit during lunch hours, not many people are introverts like Richie.

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Except Ben Hanscom.

136

Richie sees him everyday, always in the same chair, but he doesn't bother going up to the kid dating his best friend. Instead, Richie keeps his head down and beelines to the very back table that is hidden by bookshelves. There's no particular reason that he avoids Ben, he just doesn't want to overstep boundaries and assume they are friends because of a certain redhead they have in common.

121

Today, Richie steps in and glances at the kid sitting in his usual place. He's pouring himself over a book thicker than Bev's dumb head, so Richie quickly ducks down and starts making his way to his usual table.

"Hey, Richie! Rich!" Ben calls out.

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Richie stops, the hair on his neck standing up and goosebumps rising beneath his skin. He slowly turns, lifting his hand to adjust his glasses. He doesn't reply, but he does look at Ben to acknowledge he heard the other's calls.

"You're coming to Beverly's party this Saturday, right?" Ben asks.

"Yeah," Richie looks to the floor, then out the window. "Is that cool?"

"You hadn't RSVP'd, I wasn't sure," Ben says.

Richie looks at him so that the other boy can feel the guilt when he says "I didn't get an invitation. Bev asked me."

"Oh," Ben's round cheeks begin to flush red. "Do you think that she likes chocolate or vanilla cake?"

"Shouldn't you know? You're her boyfriend, for fucks sake," Richie looks away once more.

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"But you're her best friend," Ben seems unaffected by Richie's cold attitude. "I trust your judgement better than my own."

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Richie's jaw tightens as he grinds his teeth together, and through a clenched mouth, he mumbles "She likes red velvet."

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"Thanks, you're a lifesaver," Ben writes something down on the back of his hand with a purple pen. "And ice cream?"

"Cookie dough," Richie sighs, his hands loosening on the straps of his backpack. Not everyone is out to get you, dumbass he tells himself.

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"Wow, that's a contrast," Ben raises his eyebrows, and then says "She's a wild one, isn't she?"

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"Yeah," Richie's entire defense falls, a small smile forming on his face as he thinks of the wild child that is Beverly Marsh. A lit firecracker of a girl. She's like dynamite. "Yeah, she is."

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"Do you think that you could show up around six instead of seven? Me and the others are planning to surprise her."

"The others?" Richie tilts his head, his rough exterior hardening once again. He's reminded that this party will be absolute hell, he only knows one person there and he probably hates the rest.

"The Losers' Club," Ben says as if it's obvious. He makes another note on his hand, and then says "Actually, scratch that. Could you keep Bev busy until seven so that she doesn't show up early and ruin the surprise?"

109

"Okay," Richie says.

"No, I should have Mike do it. Less suspicious," Ben scribbles something out, flipping his hand over to write on his palm.

"Okay," Richie says again.

"Unless you want to wait with Beverly?"

"Okay."

"No, you should help set up. You know her best."

"Okay."

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Richie glances at his lonely table, and then back at the seat across from Ben. Taking a deep breath in, Richie walks forward to take the seat across from the kid. Ben watches with wide eyes, while Richie digs in his bag to pull out a notebook.

"Here, you'll wash those plans right off your hand," Richie says, followed by "Or rub them off on your dick. Either way, write it down, Chubs."

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Ben's eyes widen at Richie's comments, but he doesn't disobey. He quickly transcribes all of their plans, including which ice cream flavor their favorite ginger prefers. The two sit and make plans, including things like what board games to play in order to keep everybody from getting tired and which records to play on Ben's dad's record player.

When the bell rings and Richie grabs his bag off the floor, Ben says "You're not as bad as everyone says, Richie Tozier."

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Richie stops, his hands freezing and growing heavy with anxiety. Not as bad? What are people saying?

185

"What do they say?" He asks curiously.

"N-Nothing..." Ben shakes his head, quickly gathering up his things and scurrying out of the library before Richie can press him for details. Richie stands cautiously, dazed and confused, but quickly shakes his head or else he will be lost in his thoughts all day.

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Later that night, when Richie makes his free fall descent into the rose bushes below his window, and he meets Bev under that streetlight he's grown to love, she smiles and kisses his cheek.

101

"What was that for?" He asks, touching his jaw where her lips once were. "You finally got the hots for me, Beverly Marsh? Craving my magnum dong?"

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She smiles at him, and under the faux lights, he can see her eyes twinkle so beautifully. The stars don't compare to Bev, nothing does.

125

"Ben told me about today," she says, holding her arm out and wrapping it around Richie's bicep. "Thank you for being nice to him."

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Richie shrugs, embarrassed that word got back to Beverly, but not surprised. "Whatever. The nerd threatened to kill me with his samurai sword if I didn't help him."

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"Help him? With what?" She tilts her head in confusion. It strikes Richie that Beverly doesn't know what they were talking about, nor will she know. Not until Saturday, at least.

"Math," Richie replies, guilt pawing at him as the two cross the street. The chilly November air pushes Beverly closer to Richie, the girl trying to find some kind of warmth within Richie's side. "Equations or some bullshit, I don't know."

"You don't know what you were talking about?" Beverly laughs.

"No," Richie shakes his head, opening the door for her. "I don't."

"Regardless, thank you for being nice to him. It really means a lot," she sighs so heavenly, the sweet air ghosting against Richie's neck. "I hope you guys can be friends. The Losers too. I think you would really like Bill."

209

"Stuttering Bill?" Richie shakes his head, following Bev down the chip aisle of the gas station. The girl piles junk food into her arms with no reply, and so Richie says "What kind of nerds call themselves losers?"

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"Better to beat others to the punch. If they call themselves losers, it takes the fun out of it for others," she explains as if that logic makes any sort of sense.

"Weirdos," he scoffs, but then gives an apologetic look when Beverly punches him in the gut.

"My weirdos," she says defensively.

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Richie nods, his throat going dry as soon as the words leave her mouth. Her weirdos. Her friends. Ben said that Richie is Beverly's best friend, but the insecurity that resides within Richie tells him otherwise. Bev doesn't need him. She doesn't even want him. She tolerates Richie, only because she feels bad for him. That must be it. She must pity him.

246

As Beverly leans down against the cookie rack, Richie opens his mouth to cancel his invitation to the sleepover. He's not going to subject himself to such suffering, he already knows he will be miserable all night.

But then, just then, as he's about to utter those words, Beverly looks up at him with her excited blue eyes and says "Don't act like you're not one of my weirdos either, ToTo. You happen to be my favorite one."

559

Richie's heart flutters at the nickname, one she hasn't let past her lips since they were thirteen. She could never remember how to pronounce Tozier, and so ToTo seemed like the only logical solution.

314

"Mhm," Richie looks over the aisle with ease, out the gas station windows, and over at their bikes collapsed beneath the street light.

Bev is silent for a moment, and then she says "Bill lost his brother, you know. He... He doesn't like being at home either."

Richie snaps his gaze back down to her, trying to figure out what exactly this girl is implying.

"What, you mean he can't just go to the store and get a new brother? Doesn't he know he can pick one up for the low price of $19.99 plus shipping?" Richie jokes, earning another punch from Bev.

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"You ass! Don't say that shit around him, Richie!" She warns the boy, then says "I don't know. It would just be nice if we could invite him out with us. You and I both know how hard it is to be at home when home is no longer safe."

Richie's vision blurs, so he uses the excuse of cleaning his big glasses so that he can wipe at his eyes. He will never let Beverly see him cry, but tonight, he can't seem to help it.

She's already replacing him.

Chapter 4

Richie stares down at the address on his hand, then up at the house his bike is stopped in front of. It must be the right place, there's a pile of bikes in the front lawn, as well as a collection of balloons tied to the porch railing.

123

Taking a deep sigh in, Richie prepares for everything that he's gotten himself into. Fuck You, Beverly Marsh he thinks. Fuck you for making me love you so much.

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Richie discards his bike against the tree, leaving it out of the tangled mess of other bikes in fear of it accidentally getting stolen. He pulls his backpack tighter against his spine, then ascends the stairs to knock on the front door.

Ben's mother answers, happily guiding Richie into the basement, telling him that if he needs anything she would be more than happy to help. Richie smiles, shrugs her hand off his shoulder, and then cautiously descends the staircase to the basement he hears chatter bubbling from.

As soon as Richie turns the corner and interrupts the group's excited conversation, he feels the pressure of eyes piercing into him. Richie stands in the doorway, his hands tight on his bag straps, and considers turning back around to escape this mess he's gotten himself into.

"You invited trashmouth?" He hears a harsh whisper.

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"Shut up, Stan. He's Beverly's best friend," Ben replies, slapping a tall kid upside the head.

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"Richie T-T-Tozier has fuh-friends?" Stuttering Bill struggles to get out.

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Richie dips his head down, flinching for a few brief seconds, before looking to Ben and asking "Do you have the decorations?"

101

Ben seems to snap out of it, nodding quickly and waving Richie over to a massive department store bag filled with streamers and packages of balloons.

"Here, why don't you and Stan set the streamers up since you're the tallest," Ben hands the rolls of decorations to Richie, then waves a reluctant Stanley over. The two share a look before Richie begins unraveling the streamers.

"Eddie, how about you blow the balloons up?" Ben holds up a bag of red balloons, his face hopeful and excited about making this party perfect for the girl he loves.

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"You want to make an asthmatic kid blow up balloons? Wow, you should get an award for smartest ideas, Ben. You're practically fucking Einstein," Richie hears over his shoulder, which makes him smirk. He doesn't look, but the voice sounds flowery and sharp all at once. The definition of float like a butterfly, sting like a bee truly takes form in those quick-witted replies. Richie smiles, and continues decorating.

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After finishing up the streamers, Stan immediately retreats to Stuttering Bill's side. Richie watches the two, then moves to inhabit a vacant chair in the far corner. He holds his bag close, very close, and watches as the four kids move about the basement comfortably. It's obvious he's the outsider, and he really just wants this night to be over, yet Bev hasn't even arrived yet.

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Richie pulls out his Walkman, placing the headphones over his ears and pressing play on his most anxiety-reducing mixtape. He finds comfort in the song, letting Hotel California by The Eagles serenade his busy mind.

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Richie lets his tape play through three times before Beverly and Mike finally arrive. She yelps in surprise when everyone jumps out, and Richie can't help but let his eyes soften upon seeing her excited expression.

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Richie doesn't join their circle, instead just moves his chair closer and watches the way that Beverly fits right in. He keeps his headphones on, but slides one side off of his ear so that he can listen in on the conversation. Nothing important, just complaints about Bowers and school courses.

Then, suddenly, with no warning at all, a small figure presses into Richie's side and causes the taller boy to jump up.

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"I was trying to figure out where I've seen you before," the boy says, and when Richie looks over, he sees a button nose and rose tinted cheeks facing the other kids in the room.

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Richie is rendered speechless, completely in shock at the mere proximity of this tiny human beside him. The smell of vapo-rub and cough syrup fills his senses, and just as he's about to move away, the boys looks up at him with familiar rusty copper eyes.

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"You gave me a nosebleed on Tuesday," he says, his voice soft and quiet. It's as if he doesn't want anybody else to hear the two of them talking, like these words are for Richie's ears only.

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"Was that you?" Richie pretends as if he doesn't recognize those freckles.

"Yeah," the boy rubs the very nose that is in question. "I thought you gave me a blood clot in my brain."

111

"That's... ridiculous," Richie squints his eyes.

The boy smiles up at him, gentle and inviting, and says "My name is Eddie."

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Eddie. A perfect name, a very perfect name.

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Richie nods, leaning a bit away and says "Richie Tozier. I'm here for Bev."

"I figured," Eddie says, elbowing Richie's side. "Why else would you be hiding away in the corner with some cheap cassette player?"

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Richie shoots him a glare, and then sighs in defeat. He doesn't have it in him to be tough, not tonight. "It's not cheap. It was a gift."

"Got any Elton John on that thing?" Eddie asks, nodding down at the tape deck in Richie's hands.

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Richie feels his eyes widen, and then he quickly nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, hold on."

Richie leans down to unzip his backpack, shuffling through the various mixtapes he carries with him at all times. He finds one with the label LOVER in red marker, and he quickly exchanges it with the tape currently in the Walkman. Eddie watches him curiously, so Richie feels the need to preform more quickly. He holds the headphones up to his ear, fast forwarding through the tape of love songs until he finds the singer that has been requested.

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Upon stopping the tape, Richie reaches over and slides the headphones over Eddie's ears. Eddie smiles, covers the headphones with his hands, and then looks up at Richie with excited eyes.

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The world slows.

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In that moment, where two boys are crammed into a worn out recliner, and their friends sit on the floor only a couple feet away, Richie experiences what it feels like to have his breath taken away. The world shrinks down to this chair, this ugly chair, and Richie can hear every single song on that LOVER tape overlay and play throughout his mind. The scent of cough syrup becomes overwhelming, soon replaced by the sickeningly sweet aroma of flowers and honey. Eddie blinks slowly, his unsweetened tea eyes dripping down his freckled cheeks, and Richie watches his nose scrunch up as he lets out a quiet giggle.

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Richie's heart races, heat coursing through his veins, bones aching when firecrackers ignite between his ribs. He looks over to see if anybody else is seeing what he's seeing, but he's only met with meadows of wildflowers that blow with the wind.

Eddie reaches up to remove the headphones, holding them idly for a moment before he says "Listen. This is a good song."

Richie knows it's a good song, that's why he put it on a mixtape. But still, when Eddie slides the headphones onto Richie's ears, Rich feels as if he has never heard the notes before in his life. The words are brand new, and shock his brain with the sheer amount of meaning that they now have.

"But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song, it's for people like you that keep it turned on."

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Richie hears the words. He does. He hears them for the first time, with Eddie's hands clasped tightly against Richie's ears in an attempt to amplify the music, and my god does Richie hear the words.

"Eddie! Stop terrorizing trashmouth!" Stanley scoffs.

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With an impact that hurts as if he's just returned to Earth, Richie's head snaps over to the group of kids all staring at the two boys.

Eddie laughs and stands to his feet, stepping over Richie's bag to settle in between Bill and Mike. Richie feels embarrassed, his cheeks flushed and chest tight and wound like a toy. He catches Beverly's eyes, and the girl smirks at him as if she knows exactly what's going on in Richie's mind.

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The problem is; Richie doesn't even know what's going on. He has been swept up in a whirlwind of confusion, his brain deleting all common sense and logic that it once possessed.

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"Richie, why don't you start us off with presents?" Ben interrupts Richie's confusing train of thoughts.

"Uh," Richie flushes even harder, his chest pounding. "O-O-Okay."

"Look, Bill, he sounds like you!" Eddie laughs. Richie's brain feels as if someone has poured pop rocks and cola right into his skull, fizzling and vibrating around in excitement and terror.

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Richie stands up, picking up his bag as well, and joining the group the best that he can without disrupting their natural circle. He sits next to Beverly, pulling presents out of his bag and setting them on the carpet next to Bev's leg.

While everyone else gets up to retrieve their gifts, Beverly begins unwrapping what Richie nudges towards her. She opens the cigarettes first, laughs, and says "You know I only smoke Marlboro, Rich!"

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Richie smirks, then says "Damn, what a shame! More for me," and attempts to take them back. Beverly holds them close to her chest.

She opens the knife next, squealing with excitement and unfolding it like she's done it for years. While watching her flip the blade around so carelessly, Bill manages to stutter out "Holy s-s-shit."

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"You better treat her right, Ben, or she'll slice your balls off," Richie interjects with some of his usual humor. Mike and Eddie giggle, which catches Richie's attention.

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My god, Richie has never loved a sound more than that one.

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"I don't know, Tozier. Keep it up and you'll be the one with no balls," Beverly points the knife in Richie's direction, but clearly has no malicious intentions.

"You're just jealous mine are bigger than yours," Richie scoffs, nudging the final gift towards her.

As Bev unwraps it using her new knife, Bill leans over and whispers just loud enough for Richie to hear "D-Do girls really huh-have b-b-balls?"

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"What? No, you idiot," Stanley replies. "Are you serious?"

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Bill shrinks in on himself, looking down at his fidgeting hands, and suddenly Richie remembers what Bev said about him losing his brother.

"Haven't you heard? Bev isn't a girl. She's practically Bigfoot," Richie replies to Bill's question.

Eddie must hear this, because this time, he lets out a loud burst of laughter. The noise takes Richie by surprise, and when he stares across the circle to where the petite boy is, he becomes enamored with the way Eddie tilts his head back and covers his face.

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"Nail polish..." Beverly gently says, bringing Richie's attention back to her. "It's beautiful, Rich."

"It matches your eyes," Richie says, then, to cover up his embarrassment, he says "Or whatever. I only know what color they are because you're always staring at my hot piece of ass."

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She shoves the boy, and then pulls him in for a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Richie. I love you," she whispers in his ear, and then gets pulled away by Ben, who is begging her to open his gift next.

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Richie fumbles around with his pockets until he finds a lighter and his cigarettes, quietly stepping away from the other kids to head out the basement door. He cups his hand around the flame, bringing the flame up to his mouth, and then takes deep puffs as if he's the asthmatic one.

"T-T-Trashmouth," a voice calls over his shoulder. Richie looks over, fully expecting Bill, and not being disappointed. "S-Sorry. Richie."

Richie waves him off, cigarette balanced between his fingers. "Don't worry about it, Bill."

Bill takes a few steps forward, rubbing the sides of his arms, shaky breaths floating through the air in clouds of fog. If Richie didn't know any better, he would think Bill was smoking too.

"B-Bev talks about-t you a l-l-lot," he looks towards the sky. Richie's eyes linger on a scar etched through Bill's eyebrow, and he wonders how it got there.

"Can you blame her? I'm irresistible," Richie shrugs.

Bill laughs, then says "S-S-She thinks w-we should be fuh-friends."

"She also thinks that Batman is cooler than Superman."

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"B-Batman is cooler than S-S-Superman," Bill frowns.

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"You're crazy," Richie shakes his head. He looks over at Bill once more, watching the way his body trembles in the cold. Without even thinking of it, Richie shrugs one of his jackets off and drapes it over Bill's shoulders. The shorter boy seems grateful, but he doesn't comment on it.

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"I'm sorry about your brother," Richie says, then feels embarrassed by his big mouth. He curses under his breath, then quickly says "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"N-No, it's okay. T-T-Thank you," Bill exhales like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. "Everyone p-pretends like it d-d-didn't happen. It's n-nice to hear someone not afraid of h-hurting me."

"Yeah, well," Richie shrugs. "You'll get tired of it soon, I promise. I never know when to shut my mouth."

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Bill watches Richie toss the cigarette, gently stubbing it with the toe of his boot, then go back inside.

For the rest of the night, Richie sits at the end of the couch, headphones on, and mixtape after mixtape playing to distract him from what's going on. Beverly doesn't bother him, she is aware of how hard it is for Richie to deal with being left out. She thinks it's unfair that they're all friends except for him, but she appreciates him coming anyway.

This behavior lasts well into the night, after Richie tucks himself deep into a cocoon of blankets next to Beverly's sleeping bag. He turns the volume down despite the headphones, and rewinds the parts of the songs he feels needs to be heard more than once.

Richie's watch reads half past one in the morning when another body stirs in the basement. Richie watches a silhouette sit up, and when he slides his headphones off, he's met with the heavy breathing of an asthmatic kid.

Richie rolls over, touching Beverly's freckled shoulder. "Bev," he shakes her, voice whispering as to not wake the others. "Bev. Wheezy is having a heart attack, wake up."

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"Mhhmb," Beverly mumbles, shoving Richie's hand off of her shoulder. "He has nightmares. Leave him be."

"Shouldn't you do something?" Richie asks, confused about why she's not waking up to help her friend. As he asks, he can hear the panicked breaths turn into shallow cries.

"He... falls back asleep... he's fine..." Beverly rolls over, shoving her face into her pillow.

Richie lies back down, facing the ceiling, and listening to Eddie sob so quietly that it's obvious he's trying not to be loud. There's a kind of choking noise that comes with trying to be invisible, and it's one that Richie is far too familiar with.

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Richie sits up, unable to listen to Eddie's crying any longer. After moving his blankets around, he lets out a deep breath and tries to figure out if he will regret this or not. How bad can it be? What's the worst that could possibly happen?

"Alright, come on, Shortstack," Richie whispers into the dark air of Ben's basement. Eddie's crying temporarily stops, but it resumes all too quickly, now with the hint of embarrassment. Richie tries again. "Come on, come lay down. You're having a bad dream? Come sleep over here."

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The silence that follows is so long that Richie comes to the conclusion that Eddie has fallen back asleep like Beverly suggested that he would. But, before Richie can lay back down, he begins to hear the crinkle of a sleeping bag and the shrill of a zipper.

The small boy crawls across the carpet on his hands and knees, slowly making his way up to where Richie's voice was heard from. Richie holds the blanket out invitingly, making sure to move his leg after Eddie accidentally put his hand on a spare knee.

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"Okay, come on, there there," Richie whispers, wrapping the warmest blanket around Eddie and letting the boy settle down beside him. Nobody else seems to wake, so they must be moving quietly enough. Eddie's no longer crying, just sniffles.

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Richie reaches down for his tape deck, headphones attached, and then slowly puts them over Eddie's head like before. Eddie's breathing stops altogether, and then resumes at a much more steady rate.

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In the darkness, Richie watches as the boy stops shaking, his shoulders slumping down, and then eventually fills the air with the deeper kind of breathing that only comes when someone is asleep.

Richie stares at him for a moment, the moonlight illuminating the side of Eddie's face and haunting the edges of his angelic features.

Fucks sake, he's pretty.

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Richie sighs, laying flat on his back, and rewinding the tape each time that it finishes. Eddie sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night, while Richie stares at the ceiling and picks apart everything he has done wrong to end up here at this point in his life.

Chapter 5

As it turns out, Richie has quite a number of classes with little Eddie Kaspbrak.

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He never took notice of the kid, mainly because Richie has a tendency to daydream and stare longingly out windows during lectures, so he never quite takes notice of his classmates unless one were to talk to him.

This Monday, however, when the autumn sun is cascading in through the windows and creating slotted designs on the desks, Richie takes notice of the short boy standing up two rows over from Richie's assigned seat.

Eddie is wiping his desk down with a disinfectant wipe, carefully holding his bag up so that it doesn't touch the surface, and Richie wonders what was spilled there before Eddie arrived.

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He straightens his posture, adjusts the glasses on his nose, and opens his mouth to call out to the asthmatic. Before the words can leave his mouth, he hears a group of girls taunting the boy.

"Hey, Kaspbrak. Got any new birth control pills?"

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As if hearing their cue, a bottle of pills rattles in Eddie's fannypack while he turns to face the teasing group. His face falls, his eyes sullen, but it doesn't last long. He takes a deep breath in, furrows his brows, and quickly defends himself.

"Yeah, I'm saving them for your mom," he growls.

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Richie smirks, turning his head back to the window but still listening in for another sign of the boy's voice.

"Yeesh, you on your period, too? Got any tampons to spare him, Greta?"

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"I'm sure he has the whole pharmacy in his second fanny pack, don't you?"

Richie waits for Eddie's quick witted response, but instead, silence falls over his ears. Curiously, he looks over to see what's come over Eddie, only to be met with a despondent face. Richie's chest tightens, and he feels the need to spit the word 'whore' out of his mouth just to put Greta in her place, but then he remembers Beverly.

Her voice is as clear as a crystal, chiming through his mind in her stern and bossy tone. "Don't call girls bitches, or sluts, or whores. They are not worth any less because of who they sleep with, Richie Tozier!"

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With one last glance at Eddie, who is now slumping into his seat and trying to appear as small as possible, Richie gives up and focuses his attention towards the lecture that's beginning on the board.

The guilt pools through his body like a gallon of grease soaking through paper bags. The entire class period, he tries so hard to focus on taking notes, but his eyes stray. And they keep straying. And they stray to the same spot, same person, every time. Richie will catch himself staring, look away, and then feel a magnetic pull back towards Eddie's tiny figure. How come he didn't talk back to those girls? Why did he just accept defeat? Richie has never been one to give up so easily, comebacks and insults live in this throat and scratch to get out.

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When the bell rings, Richie is the first one out of his seat. He doesn't bolt towards the door like the rest of his classmates, instead, he climbs over the two rows of desks that it takes to reach Eddie Kaspbrak.

Eddie, who is carefully packing everything into his backpack, stops his actions when he sees two pairs of dirty converse standing in front of him.

He looks up, his eyes wide and full of wonder and amazement. There's forests in his eyes, Richie can see each individual leaf and log and branch and fauna.

"Oh, sorry, am I in your way?" Eddie stands up quickly, stepping aside to offer the seat to Richie.

"Got any tampons?" Richie asks, narrowing his magnified eyes.

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Eddie flinches away, avoiding Richie's eyes. Without another word, he pushes past Richie and starts to leave the classroom.

"No, really, Eds! I'm sure you've got some vagasil in the cute little purse of yours," Richie follows the kid, entering the hall and walking close so that he doesn't lose the short boy within the crowd.

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"Knock it off, trashmouth," Eddie bites, and then shakes his head and keeps walking.

"That's not what your mom was saying last night," Richie presses on, trying desperately to get Eddie to snap. "Or were we not loud enough? I'll come over again tonight to make sure you really hear us this time."

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Eddie is silent, ducking his head down and turning down the hall. Richie reaches out and grabs the backpack strap, pulling Eddie in before the boy can escape. Eddie's eyes widen, and when he looks from Richie's tight grip up to his face, Eddie looks more terrified than what Richie would ever like to see.

"Why don't you defend yourself?" Richie asks, his voice much more softer now. "You shouldn't let people talk to you like that."

The hotheaded boy frowns, scrunching his face up and saying "What, and get my ass beat? Great idea, genius."

"Who the fuck is beating your ass?" Richie is in disbelief that anybody would ever see a face like Eddie's and still feel the compulsion to hurt such an innocent being.

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"Who do you think?" Eddie tries to wiggle free from Richie's grip, but Rich only tightens his fingers around the strap and pulls Eddie closer. "Henry Bowers. Always Henry Bowers."

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Richie's head closes in on itself at the mention of the old name, but he doesn't let it show on his face.

"Fuck Bowers," Richie huffs. Eddie's eyes widen in fear, and as he slaps his petite hands over Richie's loud mouth, he looks around to see if anybody heard Richie's proclamation. The taller boy tilts his head up, freeing his mouth of Eddie's silencer, and says much more loudly "Fuck Bowers!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!" Eddie takes cheap shots at Richie's torso, but Richie doesn't flinch at all under the tiny fists.

"Why do the girls tease you?" He asks instead. "Gretta and the other bitc- ...girls."

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Eddie's cheeks flush a pink color that Richie could learn to love it he sees it enough. The boy shakes his head quickly, and then quietly mumbles "They call me... girly boy. It's stupid."

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"Are you?" Richie asks. His hand slides from Eddie's backpack down to his wrist, where he softly takes Eddie's petite hand and uncurls each finger. Clean, cut nails, all polished so carefully, except for one. His pinky finger is painted the exact shade of blue that Richie bought for Beverley.

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Eddie pulls his hand back, and then lets out a frustrated breath when the bell rings and the halls clear out around them. "Great. Now I'm late."

"So skip," Richie shrugs.

Eddie's eyes nearly pop out of his head. "S-Skip? Are you insane? Do you know what my mother would do if she found out I wasn't where I was supposed to be?! She would put out a search warrant for me!"

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Something about the words search warrant and the correlation that they have with missing posters makes Richie's palms itch with fear. He shakes the thoughts aside, and doesn't reach out to grab Eddie when he starts walking away.

"Fuck your mom," Richie says, leaning against the locker next to him. His eyes drop down to Eddie's shorts, and then the knees that buckle when Eddie notices he's being examined. Richie smirks, raising his eyes agonizingly slow, and then says in his favorite sarcastic tone, "Oh wait, I already am."

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Eddie lets out an exasperated huff, shaking his head and quickly rushing down the hallway. Richie is about to turn away and start heading to his next class, when he sees Eddie's head lift over his shoulder, and then the words flow out and carry down the hall to reach Richie. "You're incorrigible, Richard Tozier."

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His full name sounds foreign to him, but coming from Eddie Kaspbrak's mouth, he smiles.

"I don't know the meaning of the word," Richie jokingly calls out after him.

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Eddie looks back and smiles, saying "I'm sure you don't."

Richie smiles, watching Eddie until the boy disappears down another hall, and then allowing himself to lean back on the locker and let out a happy sigh.

He barely knows Eddie Kaspbrak, and yet the kid can somehow make him smile more in one day than Richie has in the past five years.

Chapter 6

"What do you know about Eddie Kaspbrak?" Richie asks, looking over at his only friend. The two sit on the curb outside the gas station, sharing the slushee they could barely afford.

The laundromat is closed down for renovation, so Richie and Beverly continue their usual nightly routine while perched under a street lamp.

"Eddie? He's a sweetheart, I love him," Bev says, hogging the slushee to herself. Richie doesn't mind, he dislikes blue raspberry anyway.

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"Yeah, but, like," Richie vaguely gestures for her to go on, but she doesn't pick up the subtle hints he's trying to put down. "What's he like?"

Beverly stops, her blue eyes coming over to interrogate Richie. "Tozier, are you trying to make friends?"

Friends, boyfriends, same thing, right?

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"Yeah, sure, lets go with that," Richie tries to play it off as if it's no big deal. The truth is, Eddie Kaspbrak has been on his mind every night for the past four days. Richie is lucky that he excels so well in school, otherwise he would be lost from always staring at Eddie during their lessons.

"He's a hypochondriac," she says. "If you sneeze near him, he suddenly swears he has the Black Plague."

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Richie's mind wanders back to disinfectant wipes, pieces of the puzzle starting to fit together nicely. "And?"

"And what?" She raises an eyebrow.

"...What does he like? Books? Movies? Video games? Does he like Streetfighter?" His voice is full of hope, images dancing across his mind of taking Eddie to the arcade and showing him Richie's high score. "What kind of music does he like? Does he like Queen?"

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Richie's main stipulation when he meets someone new is simple; they have to listen to Queen.

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Bev knows this too, she was grilled about her favorite Queen songs the day that her and Richie met in middle school gym class. That was the year that Richie went through his growth spurt. His gym uniform had been a size small when he ordered it in August, but when December snow had fallen over Derry, Richie shot up to 5'10 with legs so long that his shorts had barely covered his rear.

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"How tall is he?" Richie then asks, his own thoughts interrupting Bev from answering any questions. "5'5? 5'6?"

"5'3?" Beverly responds. "Maybe 5'4. He's been growing."

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Richie's heart grows to the size of the moon, and he dramatically puts a hand on his chest, whispering "Oh dear god, his cock must be just as small."

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"Ew! Don't talk about his dick, Richie! That's my best friend," Beverly slaps Richie's head, the boy's glasses falling far off of his nose and nearly slipping out from behind his ears.

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Richie winces, pushing the glasses up and trying not to think of his own mother's rough hands. "Whatever."

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Bev softens up, remembering that Richie isn't as tough as he presents himself to be. She gently rests her cheek against his shoulder, rubbing her slushee-stained fingers across his knee in an attempt to comfort him.

"He does like Queen, but only what he hears on the radio. He's not much into Zeppelin, but he does like that Elton singer. What was it? Elton..."

"Elton John," Richie's heart flutters with the memory of listening to Your Song with Eddie's leather colored eyes staring up at him. Even from the moment they met, things with Eddie were... different. Special. Like someone put a hazy pink filter over the world around him.

"Yeah, that's the one! Elton John, and Michael Jackson, Prince, of course, and that one song that's always playing on MTV. Take On Me?" Bev doesn't know much about music despite playing the piano. She knows sheet music, but not musicians. Richie loves her anyway.

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"Take On Me," he confirms. "A-ha."

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"Aha what?" She asks.

"That's the name of the band, Bee," he chuckles.

"Oh," she slurps what's left of the drink, then says "He likes comic books, Richie. He loves comic books. He might like Streetfighter, but he's more of a Space Invaders kind of guy. Be nice on him, ToTo. No jokes about his mom. He's got it rough."

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"What's wrong with his mother?" Richie stiffens up defensively, his blood hardening at the idea of things not being rainbows and sunshine for such a heaven-sent boy.

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"Not my place to say," she says quietly.

Richie remembers the way that Eddie's head fell down when Richie had made that joke about sleeping with Eddie's mom. It makes sense, of course it does. He's a hypochondriac with mommy issues.

"Is he..." Richie trails off, his eyes floating upwards to play with the stars. He doesn't know how to ask this question, especially since it's one he's never thought to ask about someone before. Richie doesn't care about sexualities, nor does he make assumptions about boys that wear nail polish. "Is he a nancy boy?"

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"A nancy boy?" Bev lifts her head, looking at Richie in surprise. Richie has never shown prejudice towards people of that orientation, why would he ask now? "No, Eddie's got a crush on Greta Bowie."

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"Greta?!" Richie chokes, feeling his world expand and collapse around him. "Are you serious? She's a cunt! She fucking bullies him!"

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"The heart wants what it wants," Bev shrugs her shoulders. She's just accepting it? She doesn't think it's fucked up that Eddie is pining after someone that Richie watched verbally abuse the boy?

"You're fucked, Marsh," Richie stands to his feet, his face hot with anger and embarrassment all at once. He feels the familiar sting against his eyelashes, so he quickly pushes his glasses up to press his palms into his eyes as if that will stop the faucet from leaking. "You're a shitty friend."

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"Richie?" Bev gasps, shocked and upset that Richie would ever mutter those words. "Excuse me?"

"If he's having nightmares, you fucking comfort him. If he's getting picked on, you fucking stand up for him. And if Bill loses his brother, you fucking acknowledge it," Richie climbs onto his bike, nudging the kickstand to the side. He stares down at Beverly, already regretting what he is saying, but he knows that he's telling the truth. "And if I tell you that my parents have been fighting, don't try to one-up me to see who has it worse."

Richie's hands shake on the bike handles the entire time that he rides home, the silent neighborhoods only locking him in with his own thoughts. Should he turn around and apologize? Would she accept his apology?

Richie pulls up his driveway, taking notice of the light shining through the kitchen window. Carefully, as to not make too much noise, Richie drops his bike behind the bushes and quietly starts climbing the rose trellis. Richie is careful to where he steps, doing his best to avoid trampling any of the roses that have spiraled up and curled around the picket fence. His window is still open from when he jumped, and as quickly as he can, he pulls himself up using only his upper arm strength.

Richie's head spins with all of the mistakes he's made, tonight's choice of words seeming to be the biggest of them all. How dare he speak to Beverly like that? She tolerates so much of Richie's behavior, suffers through so many insufferable traits, and this is how he repays her? By daring to call her a shitty friend?

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He feels the familiar pressure in his chest, so before he can spiral into another fit of anxiety, he puts his headphones on and flips through his stacks of tapes to find the one he listened to with Eddie. Beautiful Eddie. Eddie, who likes Elton John and Space Invaders.

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To distract himself from all the bad thoughts that he is letting run naked and free through his mind, he pulls a notebook out and digs through his desk drawers until he finds the exact pen he's looking for. Purple, with green ink. His favorite for making mixtapes, the only pen that he allows himself to use. Richie has little quirks, tiny little black holes in his mind that make him act funny sometimes. But it's okay. Beverly always accepted them.

She might not anymore.

Richie shakes his head, turning the volume up even higher than it already is, and uncapping his pen so that he may begin listing all of the most lovely songs he can think of.

TO EDDIE KASPBRAK; he titles the page, making sure that his words are neat and eligible. FOR WHEN YOUR NIGHTMARES ARE TOO LOUD TO SLEEP, TURN THE MUSIC UP EVEN LOUDER.

Chapter 7

Mornings are lovely. Despite their common reputation, Richie is generally a morning person. He likes being awake, especially when it's just reaching the cusp of dawn and the world has yet to catch up with the singing birds.

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However, after a night of restless dreams and repressed memories ricocheting around his brain, Richie feels nothing but animosity stir in his blood when he is being woken up by a timid knock on his door.

He lifts his head, glaring at the door in question, and shouts "Fuck off, cockgobbler!"

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"It-It's B-B-Buh-Bill," a shaking voice penetrates the wooden door, barely registering in Richie's sleep-clouded mind.

"Stuttering Bill?" Richie sits up in confusion. "Why the fuck are you in my house?"

"Your mmm-m-mother let me in," he's clearly nervous, he's stuttering much more than how he was when he was comfortably speaking with Stanley Uris at Beverly's birthday party.

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Richie stands up, pushing his hair aside and stepping over piles of dirty clothes to fling open his bedroom door. He squints, his eyes appearing much smaller without his glasses to amplify them. "Your mom was letting me in last night too."

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"T-That's disgusting," Bill shakes his head. "Can I c-c-come in?"

Richie glares at him more harshly before finally stepping aside and making room for Bill Denbrough to come in. It's rare, he'll admit, but Richie can't say that he's surprised.

"What are you here for, Big Bill?" Richie glances out his bedroom door before quietly closing it behind him. He kicks aside some the mess on his floor, embarrassed that he didn't prepare for company, but it's not as if Bill particularly warned Richie he would be coming over.

"B-B-Beverly," he says as if it's obvious. Bill looks at Richie, and then starts taking in his surroundings.

Richie's bedroom walls are covered in scraps of papers and napkin debris with fractured poems penned into them, the occasional Queen magazine page ripped out and taped to the wallpaper. Next to his bed, there's a stack of playboys that comes up to Bill's knees, and beside that, a holy bible. Richie's desk is cluttered with pens and tapes, some empty, some not. Next to that is a bookshelf that has a large vacancy of literature and instead holds a collection of vinyl that would make most kids jealous.

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"And?" Richie moves papers aside on his desk until he finds his discarded glasses, pushing them up his face until Bill's blurry outline finally comes into focus.

"S-She wuh-wants us to b-buh-he-bhe-be fff-f-ffriends," Bill looks far more embarrassed than Richie is, the kid's eyes looking everywhere except for Richie's stained boxer shorts.

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"She mentioned that, yeah," Richie rolls his eyes. Upon noticing Bill's discomfort, Richie searches for a pair of shorts on the ground, pulling on the first pair that he can find and wiping at the crusted mustard on the waistband. "So? Is that what you're here to do? Befriend the trashmouth?"

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"Y-Yes. She s-s-said... she s-s-said you nnnnn-nn-needed space away from her, but I n-need to tay-tay-take care of you," Bill repeats the words that were spoken to him over the phone this very morning.

To be exact, she had said "I'm afraid I can't come with today, Bill. But you know who would love to go with? Richie. You guys should invite him. He'd love to meet Eddie."

"Richie? Richie the t-t-trashmouth?" Bill asked her, surprised she would miss out on Saturday afternoon swimming.

"The one and only," she giggled, happy and sweet. "He doesn't need me right now, Bill. He's had enough of me, but he needs you guys."

Bill didn't quite know what she meant, but he still wrote down the address and headed out to go to Richie's house. Now, here he sits, avoiding eye contact with the very person he was sent to befriend.

"Great, so now I have a fucking baby sitter? For fucks sake, Marsh, you tryna kill me?" Richie curses out of his window like the word will somehow travel to Beverly's home. "Just how pathetic does she think I am?"

"N-Not pathetic," Bill whispers. "Just luh-lonely."

112

Richie hates that word, he really does. But he's not one to deny any friendship given to him, so, biting back his usual insults, he says "What do you plan on doing to sweep me off my feet, Stuttering Bill?"

"The q-quarry," Bill looks at Richie, then back down to his lap. "With the other Losers."

"What, you wanna swim in it? That's fucking disgusting," Richie scoffs, earning a bit of a nervous jump from Bill.

"Eddie... Eddie likes it..." Bill mumbles.

425

Richie falls silent, his central nervous system coming to a complete halt at the mention of Eddie Kaspbrak. With the sudden information that he'll be seeing Eddie, Richie jumps over a pile of dirty clothes to ravage what is left in his closet. He doesn't want to look like trash, not in front of the asthmatic boy with a vocabulary wider than Richie can comprehend.

115

"S-So you'll come?" Bill asks.

"What does it look like I'm doing, dumbass?" Richie snaps, but then quickly softens up and says "Yeah, I'll come. It's just you guys, right?"

"Yeah," Bill promises. "Me, Ben, Mike, Stan... Eddie, too."

"I heard you the first time," Richie says, changing his shirt to a clean Hawaiian print button up. Instead of having his usual graphic tee underneath, Richie does every button, and then tucks them into a clean pair of shorts. He doesn't seem to mind changing in front of Bill, but then again, Richie doesn't really care what anybody thinks as long as it's about him. Attention is attention, and Richie will take what he can get. "Eddie is going. I get it."

113

"Bev said-"

"Yeah, Bev probably said I'm in love with the fuckin' kid," Richie shakes his head, gathering up his bag and shoving his Walkman inside. "Tell me, Big Bill, do you always do whatever she says?"

117

"Um... y-yes," Bill replies matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"B-Because she's... she's always t-t-there for me," Bill mutters, tripping over his words quite nervously. "S-S-She's a good fuh-friend. My b-best friend."

112

"Yeah," Richie grumbles, his stomach in knots as he glares at the photo of him and Bev taped to his wall that was taken in the yearbook. Richie didn't buy a yearbook, of course, but he stole one and cut the page out before returning it to its owner. Bev looked so happy there, smiling at Richie like he put the sun in her sky. Her hair was down to her waist, then. Richie wasn't as tall. As much as he wants to be angry with Beverly, he can't be. Bill is right. "Yeah, you're right. Come on, dude."

Richie has been to the quarry plenty of times before, but never to swim. Not because he disagrees with swimming, but because he prefers the arcade to the outdoors. Nature is gross and sticky, arcades are fun and wonderful.

316

Richie and Bill ride in silence. Not that Richie minds, he has his headphones on, but Bill will occasionally look over to see what exactly it is that makes Richie so much better than the rest of the Losers' Club. Why does Beverly love him more than anybody else in her life? More than Bill? More than Ben? What makes Richie Tozier so much more special?

161

"Oh, great, we're going to get an STD from swimming with the walking AID's epidemic," Stanley comments as soon as he sees Richie Tozier riding alongside Bill.

361

"The only STD's he has are from your mom," Eddie punches Stanley's shoulder.

237

Rolling his eyes, Stan says "That's your best comeback? 'Your mom'? Geez, Eddie, you sound as dim-witted as trashmouth."

193

"S-Shhh-Shut it, S-S-Stan," Bill whispers, glancing over at Richie setting his bike against a tree. He still has his headphones on, so he's oblivious to their conversation, but Bill remains quiet anyways. "D-Don't say anything to him t-t-today. Bev said he's having a b-bad day."

"Yeah, probably from-" Stan starts to say, but is quickly shut down by a swift punch to the jaw by Eddie Kaspbrak. Stan covers the bruised area with a delicate hand, exclaiming "Ouch! How the hell did you even reach me, you gremlin?"

671

"Beverly isn't coming?" Ben asks, looking over Bill's shoulder as if the redhead will strut out from behind the trees with her warm gaze and daring smirk.

"N-No. We-We're supposed to be sss-spending time with Ruh-Ruh-Richie," Bill explains, motioning towards the tallest boy standing by a tree and gazing upwards with a lost look on his face.

"God, just kill me now," Eddie complains.

371

"He's such a-" Stan starts to insult Richie once more, but is punched in the jaw by Eddie for a second time. While Stan complains, Mike grows tired of their bickering and charges towards Stan, throwing the boy over his shoulder before backflipping off of the steep ledge. Stan's screams can be heard all the way down to the bottom, where a cocoon of splashes echoes throughout Derry.

512

Ben laughs, taking this as his chance to follow. He cannonballs in beside the two, followed by Eddie dramatically pirouetting of the cliff ledge like a ballerina. Richie takes notice of this, the graceful bow of Eddie's arms catching his attention, so he removes his headphones and looks to Bill for guidance.

"J-J-Just jump off," Bill explains, fumbling with the button of his pants as he gets undressed. Richie watches for a moment, and then decides to follow along, reaching for the top button of his shirt and cautiously undoing them.

Once he's stripped down to the very boxers that Bill saw earlier this morning, Richie turns and safely puts his Walkman inside his bag, hiding it under a fallen branch next to his bike. Once he's finished, he steps up to the edge with Bill, the two staring down at the deep abyss waiting for them.

Richie takes a deep breath, glancing over at Bill, who seems to have done this a million times before.

"Are you s-s-scared?" Bill asks Richie. The tone doesn't sound mocking, not in a way to tease Richie for being a baby, but more... concerned. Richie is unfamiliar with the feeling.

"No," Richie lies.

"The fuh-fuuurr-first time is always s-s-scary," Bill comforts him anyway. Bill reaches over and let's his fingers slide against Richie's palms, filling the spaces between Richie's knuckles.

450

Alarmed by the affection, Richie immediately goes to retract his hand, but Bill holds on. Richie seems confused about what's happening and why it's happening, but he can't deny how... nice it feels. He doesn't... he doesn't know how warm and safe affection can be, and so therefore, this new experience washing over him is one that is terrifying and enticing. His fingers grip hard and tight onto Bill's hand, and the fear of having to let go suddenly seems more scary than the jump below.

144

"You r-r-ready, trashmouth?" Bill asks.

Richie tightens his fingers once more, letting his thumb graze against Bill's knuckles in an attempt to explore foreign territory. "Okay, lets do it. Let's jump."

Bill looks forward, his bare feet stepping closer and closer to the edge. Richie follows him, unsure of what to do, but desperate to feel more human contact than just what is sparking from his hand.

And they jump.

Chapter 8

After what feels like hours, the Losers all drag themselves back up to the peak where they had left their bikes and belongings. Thankfully, nobody like Henry Bowers came along and stole their clothes, but that's the least of Richie's problems.

While everyone else gets dressed, he frantically scrambles with foliage to find the bag he's hidden. Dripping wet and soaked to the bone, Richie couldn't care less about dressing himself. He needs to find his backpack. He needs to find his music.

His heart rests at ease when he finds it tucked under a nonconspicuous branch. Checking to make sure everything is fine, he pulls out his Walkman and headphones, inspecting every surface for scratches or damage.

"Got any new songs?" Eddie Kaspbrak asks.

Richie lifts his head up, looking over his shoulder at the now completely dressed boy. He feels embarrassed and exposed at his lack of clothes, but Eddie pays no attention. Instead, he comes and kneels beside Richie, peering into the bag curiously.

"Y-Yeah..." Richie breathes out, offering the headphones over to Eddie. The small boy takes them in his dainty hands, sliding them over his head while Richie scrambles to get dressed. He's glad he picked out these clean shirts, he would look like a fool if he had stayed in the spaghetti-stained PacMan shirt he was originally wearing when Bill came over this morning.

227

Richie watches the others with anxious eyes, all of them joking around with one another and having fun. His attention comes back to Eddie, who is smiling up at the trees and focusing on the music. Richie watches the way that spotted kaleidoscopes of sunshine stream in through breaks in the leaves, kissing sunlight freckles all over Eddie's polka dot nose. Halos of light glow within his irises, and Richie has to physically pull himself away from staring too long.

"Richie, Eddie! We're going to bike down to the parlor!" Ben calls out, making Richie jump in alarm.

Hearing this over the music, Eddie slides the headphones off of one ear and says "Go on ahead! We'll meet you there!"

152

Stan gives Richie a curious look, but definitely one that isn't as hostile as his usual glares. Maybe he's warming up to me, Richie thinks. He quickly shakes his head, shutting the idea down before it can even take shape in his brain. Don't get too comfortable, dumbass. They're only tolerating you because Bev pities you.

141

Interrupting his thoughts, Eddie throws a towel over that smacks Richie right in the face. "Dry off!"

"You want me using your towel?" Richie holds the material in his hands, noting the distinct smell of bleach and disinfectant spray radiating from it.

"Yeah," Eddie nods, holding the tape deck in his careful hands. "Dry your hair. I don't want you catching pneumonia and giving it to me."

189

Richie falls silent, rubbing his messy hair with the towel as he watches the other boys start pedaling away. Richie feels a slight discomfort now that he's alone with Eddie, but he doesn't think Eddie is bothered at all.

"How come you stayed behind?" Richie asks, insecurity evident in his voice. He curses himself for sounding so stupid, reaching down and pinching the skin on his thigh as a form of punishment.

214

"What, and leave you all alone?" Eddie shakes his head. "What if a crackhead came and, like, murdered you?"

418

Eddie stands up, still far shorter than Richie, and clips the Walkman to his belt loop. Richie watches him with attentive eyes, still holding the towel up to his hair. Eddie smiles at the curls plastered against Richie's forehead, and with slow movements, he moves the headphones from his ears over to Richie's head.

"This is a good song," Richie comments, his head nuzzling into Eddie's palm as the boy pulls his hands away, just in the slightest way as an attempt to keep the human contact lingering for a second more.

"I've never heard it before, but I think I love it," Eddie grins, unzipping his fanny pack and pulling out hand sanitizer. Richie stares at him in confusion, watching as he undoes the lid and then hold it out patiently.

Richie's brain catches up, and he holds his hands out, palm side up. Eddie squeezes a bit of hand sanitizer onto each palm, and then places the bottle back into his fanny pack. Richie moves to rub his hands together, only to have Eddie take them between his own and start rubbing the gel all over Richie's hands.

272

Holy fucking shit. What the hell. Oh my god.

467

"You gotta get all the cracks," Eddie explains, his tiny hands working so gently against Richie's busted up knuckles. Richie's heart pounds in his chest, following time with the song that's playing on the tape. Play The Game, Queen. Eddie doesn't seem to notice the fact that Richie's fingers tremble, or that his cheeks blush redder than the polo shirt adorning Eddie's petite frame. "That's where all the bacterial diseases like to hide."

287

"O-Oh," Richie stutters, then feels like a fool for being so flustered. He can't pinch himself while Eddie is holding his hands, so he lets his left shoe collide harshly against his right ankle. It'll leave a bruise for certain.

198

"Okay, there we go," Eddie nods, releasing Richie's hands and reaching down for the volume. As he turns it up, Eddie says "Watch out."

Richie pulls the headphones down before they can deafen him, the music pounding so loudly that it can be heard clearly from the two miniature speakers. Richie wonders what exactly it is that Eddie is trying to get at, but he doesn't question the boy's methods at all.

"Your friends are probably waiting," Richie says. His words don't have their usual bite, but then again, he tends to speak much softer whenever it's with Eddie Kaspbrak.

"Let them," Eddie shrugs, taking Richie's hands once more. Richie inhales sharply, a soft rattle rumbling between his lungs that only reminds him to quit smoking. Eddie smiles up at him fondly with wide, curious eyes, ones that resemble every forest creature that Richie has ever seen. As if Eddie were a deer, Richie moves slowly. Don't scare him off. "Do you know how to dance?"

338

"Dance?" Richie repeats.

Eddie holds their hands up, two entwined messes where Richie's fingers appear ginormous compared to the fragility of Eddie's. Where Richie's knuckles have split open and bled from all the times he's punched brick walls, Eddie's delicate fingertips overlap the wounds and begin to heal what Richie assumed to be permanent damage.

190

"Dance," Eddie nods confidently.

Richie doesn't question it, just begins to move forward and backwards in time with the music. He's actually quite good, but the only living soul who knows is Beverly Marsh. Richie loves to dance, his hips can sync up with just about any song to play on MTV.

166

Eddie, however, is not as graceful. He trips and stumbles over Richie's shoes, his legs getting tangled when Richie takes broad steps, and he has to drop Richie's hands to tightly hold on to the tall beanpole's waist. He laughs and giggles, sounds that project much more clearly than the music spilling out of the headphones, and Richie can't help but admire the smiling boy with the most enamored gaze that Richie's face is capable of producing.

107

"Have you ever heard something so beautiful?" Eddie giggles, his hand sliding up Richie's chest to tap the headphones dangling around the taller boy's neck.

195

Richie stares, breathless and in shock. Eddie's giggle is more comforting than any song that Richie has on any of his mixtapes. This sound alone can fill up the cracks and crevices inside Richie's mind, this singular giggle can make him complete again.

"No," Richie exhales, an airy sigh that is full of all the flowers and bumble bees that the world has to offer. "No, I haven't."

Richie holds his arm up, spinning Eddie in the beams of sunlight that dance alongside the two boys. The cord of the headphones wrap around Eddie's waist, pulling and tugging Richie in until the two boys are chest to chest.

322

To anybody who happened to be passing by the forest trail that the two were waltzing in, it would be easy to confuse the two as childhood sweethearts.

173

At that moment, with Eddie's hands bunched up and squeezed against Richie's chest, a smile brighter than the sun itself beaming up at Rich, and eyes squeezed shut so tightly that the bridge of his nose crinkles, Richie understands exactly how Rick Astley felt when he wrote Never Gonna Give You Up.

437

"Eds," Richie lets out, too breathless to finish the rest of his name. He feels as if he is a balloon, inflating with a feeling he has never experienced before, his organs threatening to burst if this continues much longer.

112

Eddie cracks open one eye, his smile dropping and instead being replaced by a frown. "Do not call me that."

203

Richie feels embarrassed, quickly untangling himself from Eddie's embrace and reaching out to reclaim his tape deck. Berated with his own stupidity, Richie turns, packing his bag up far too quickly.

Eddie notices the swift change in moods, but he doesn't comment on it. Beverly had mentioned before that Richie is very temperamental. "Are you coming to the parlor with us?"

"No," Richie shakes his head, mounting his bike as if he can't leave fast enough. Richie can't bring himself to look at Eddie, feeling nothing but embarrassment and rejection burning in his bones. "Why would I? You're just a bunch of losers."

265

Eddie seems unfazed, after all, he's been hearing those words for years "Welcome to the Losers Club."

300

Richie stops, his hands nervously gripping the bike handles, and he says "Do you want me to come?"

"Wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want you to come, dipshit," Eddie remarks, propping his own bike up and hopping on, literally. Eddie's legs prove to be too short for the bike he's riding, but he still insists on riding it like the stubborn boy that he is.

"Fine, fuck, fine," Richie shakes his head. "Only because you're scared of crackheads killing you."

"It's a reasonable fear! Do you know what the rate of illness is within the stereotypical drug addict?" Eddie kicks off the ground, beginning to pedal through the clearing.

Richie follows him like a magnet being pulled to Eddie. "Who the fuck is doing studies on crackheads? Where the hell are you getting your information, Eds?"

"I said not to call me that!" Eddie huffs in frustration, picking up his speed as Richie begins doing circles around the kid.

"What else should I call you? Eddie Spaghetti? Spaghetti head?" Richie continues to tease him.

225

"If you call me that, I swear to god, I will snap your fucking glasses in half, Tozier," Eddie frowns. His little legs kick and pedal faster in order to keep up with Richie's, and as a result, his lungs burn with lack of oxygen.

"Ah, you love it, Eds!" Richie laughs. For a moment, he forgets about his embarrassment and just allows himself to experience this feeling. He thinks it might be happiness, but he's not too sure. He has the undeniable urge to smile, all Eddie's doing. This must be what happiness feels like. Happiness, belonging.

184

Eddie opens his mouth to spit out some quick response, but instead, he allows a smile to take over his features as he watches Richie ride his bike in zig zag motions all across the street.

When the two arrive at the familiar pizza/ice cream duo parlor, Richie stacks his bike against the rest of the clutter in front of the shop. He lingers by the door, waiting for Eddie to catch up, while the small boy carefully puffs off of his aspirator. Richie looks away, feeling a bit intrusive. Eddie might feel self conscious about Richie watching, so the tall boy focuses hard on the store's open hours taped inside the door.

"What are you waiting around for? Go in," Eddie's hand presses against Richie's spine, shoving the boy forwards just slightly. Richie smiles, following orders and holding the door open for Eddie to enter.

"What took you guys so long?" Mike asks the second that the two enter together.

"Got lost," Eddie says quickly, shoving into the booth next to Ben. "This idiot made me take a left down Knottingham street instead of a right."

Richie frowns, sliding in to the empty seat next to Stanley Uris. Why was Eddie lying? Was there something wrong with what they were actually doing? Does Eddie not want his friends to know about the way that the two of them danced in the warm sunlight?

181

It's not anything to be ashamed of.

231

Richie looks over at Eddie, who is now ordering an ice cream sundae with more sprinkles than humanly healthy. The boy's rosy cheeks seem to be in a perpetual state of flushed, and his tight fitting polo shirt hugs around the baby fat that he has yet to lose. Richie's chest burns with yearning, his ribs feeling as if they're harvesting a winter sunset, the orange and red hues bursting at the seams to spill out of Richie like a paintball explosion.

107

Is it?

Chapter 9

For the first time in over a year, Richie does not crawl out of his window to meet up with Beverly Marsh. He wonders if she's waiting, looking at her watch impatiently, and he wonders if she's going to give up easily or persevere through the night.

Instead, Bill Denbrough sits in the middle of Richie's (now clean) bed. He's playing with the Rubix cube that Richie forgot he owned, while Stan and Rich sort through the box of tapes that Stanley brought with him.

"Hey, uh, thanks for this," Richie mumbles, adjusting the glasses on his face.

"You're welcome," Bill smiles, the simple sounds of the Rubix Cube shifting around. Plastic on plastic.

"Needed a way to get rid of these tapes," Stanley shakes his head. "What's better than a trashcan? Richie Tozier seemed like the next best thing."

110

"Oh, sure, trash the trashmouth," Richie scoffs. He stands up from the floor, heading over to his desk and opening the top drawer. Once pulling out his pack of cigarettes, he saunters over to the window and takes a seat in the frame. Neither of the two say anything, so Richie hangs out the window and smokes patiently.

381

"Have you heard from Eddie?" Stan asks.

Richie lifts his head, looking over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow at the skinny boy.

Richie had called the Denbrough house immediately after school, his shaking voice asking if Bill wanted to spend the night. Currently, Richie's parents are out of town, and Rich hates being in this house all alone. Bill said yes, and then called back ten minutes later. Stan wanted to come with, and Richie couldn't say no. The two were on Richie's doorsteps only a mere fifteen minutes later, holding sleeping bags and a box of cassette tapes as a welcoming gift.

131

Richie did everything he could to make the two comfortable, making microwave popcorn and bringing cans of soda up whenever they slurped the last of their previous cola. Richie had never had guests over, not even Beverly. He wanted Bill and Stan to have fun, but more predominantly, Richie wanted them to like him.

"N-No," Bill's voice answers, so Richie's heart relaxes. He has a paralyzing, irrational fear of Eddie's friends discovering the thoughts that circle around Richie's mind when he thinks of polkadot noses. "He hasn't g-gotten permission from his mmmm-m-mother yet."

"She'll never give him permission," Stanley whines. "She'll have a stroke the second he asks her."

"Asks her what?" Richie turns around in the window frame. He holds his arm far out, careful to not let any of the smoke billow into his bedroom with the wind. Just because his parents aren't home doesn't mean the smell of nicotine doesn't linger.

"We were all planning to go camping. Do you want to come with?" Stanley informs him.

275

Richie scoffs, looking over at his desk, feeling the hurt impact him roughly. Still, his exterior hardens, and he spits out "What, a pity invite?"

"No?" Stan responds. "It hadn't come up until now. Do you want to come or not?"

Richie feels his cheeks burn, finally meeting someone who doesn't put up with his bullshit the way that Beverly does. Bev. A pang of guilt eats at him when he imagines her shaking in the cold, waiting for the boy that will never show up.

"Um... I've never gone camping before," Richie timidly admits. Nobody has ever invited him.

"It-It-It's fun," Bill chimes in, letting out an excited chirp when he completes one side of the Rubix Cube. "No adult s-supervision... get t-t-to stay up as long as w-w-we want..."

112

"We're doing that now, genius," Richie comments, taking one last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out on the side of the rose trellis and letting it drop to the ground below.

"I know," Bill says. "B-B-But it's more fun in the woods."

168

Richie sighs, telling himself to ease up and stop acting so defensive. He's trying to befriend these two, not give them an ass beating.

"Okay," Richie says. "Sounds cool, I guess. When?"

"N-Next weekend. Not this weekend, buh-but next," Bill tells him.

120

Richie nods, clambering back into his bedroom and reclaiming his spot on the floor next to Stan. He takes some of the tapes in his hands, flipping through the labels with a mild sense of satisfaction on his face. For an OCD loser, Stanley has an impressive taste in music.

188

"I'll be there. You sure?" Richie asks, then punches his leg for being so insecure and pathetic. Neither of the two see it, and if they do, they don't mention it.

"Wouldn't invite you if we didn't want you to come," Stanley says, mumbling the same words that Eddie told him just last weekend.

Richie laughs, actually laughs, and leans over to hit Stanley's shoulder. The noodle boy rubs his arm, but otherwise continues sorting tapes.

125

"H-Hey Richie?" Bill asks, his hands coming to a halt on the Rubix Cube. Richie looks up at him curiously, tilting his head to the side and urging the nervous boy to go on. "H-H-How do you dress s-so c-c-cool?"

393

Richie looks down at his clothes; a Guns 'n' Roses shirt hidden beneath a baggy flannel. He's never thought of himself as a particularly nice dresser, he just wears what he thinks he's comfortable, or whatever will fit his long figure.

122

"Don't you know? Richie digs in Macy's dumpsters," Stan giggles, causing Richie to roll his big eyes.

"Whatever, at least I don't shop at the Gap," Richie quips. "Honestly, Bill, if you wanna raid my closet, go ahead."

159

"R-Really?" Bill's eyes widen in surprise, caught off guard by Richie Tozier's unusual giving personality. From all the rumors he heard around school, he never would have assumed that Richie would be so... kind.

"Sure, go for it. Have a fashion show. You too, Stan," Richie waves the two off, completely unbothered by the idea of giving two strangers his wardrobe.

So, thus commences the ridiculous runway of Bill and Stan trying on every article of clothing hanging up in Richie's closet. Most of the outfits are awful, gag-worthy, hot messes, but every once in awhile Stan will find a pair of jeans that look better on him than they do Rich, or Bill will pair a windbreaker with a shirt that Richie forgot he owned.

112

Richie sits on his bed, which has been renamed the judges table, and laughs when Stanley pulls an awful neon shirt on over his head.

"Stanley Uris, negative three hundred points!" Richie declares. When Bill walks out wearing Richie's tightest black pants and a jean jacket, Richie whistles. "Now that's a man! I reward you with the three hundred points that Stan just lost."

157

"That's not fair! Anything looks cool with a jean jacket," Stan complains.

166

Richie shakes his head, reaching over to flip the tape that is playing in his boombox. The song makes him think of Eddie, but then again, everything does. Richie saw a butterfly hair clip on the floor of the arcade and thought about the way that Eddie's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks every time he blinks up at the chalkboard in class.

"D-D-Do you think Beverly w-would think so?" Bill asks, then quickly shoots an alarmed look at Richie as if he remembers who he is standing in front of. "I mean, uh, n-n-never mind."

"Do you have a crush on Beaver-ly?" Richie laughs tauntingly. "You seriously got a crush on that nerd?"

"S-Shut up," Bill says but he still smiles. "S-She's pretty."

106

"She's a complete dork," Richie remarks, lying down on his bed and staring at his ceiling. She's a dork, yeah, but Richie loves her with everything that he is.

"She's not pretty, she's beautiful," Stan corrects Bill, causing Richie to look over at the two in disbelief.

136

"Both of you?!" He asks.

"No, I don't see her like that," Stan sits in Richie's desk chair, his posture straight and proper. "I can recognize beauty without being attracted to it."

363

"Is that so?" Richie leans on his side, propping his head up with his hand.

"Mhm," Stan says matter-of-factly.

"Hm," Richie's attention drifts away, images of crooked smiles and cough syrup floating across his eyes.

"S-She's pretty, but I would n-n-never do that to Ben. He l-luh-loves her," Bill says, sitting down on the pile of blankets that Richie has pulled from every cupboard in his house.

"We're only fifteen," Stan says.

"D-Doesn't mean we can't fall in l-love."

141

Richie smiles again, but then quickly wipes it off his face. "What about Eds? Heard he's got a crush on Greta Bowie."

"Ugh, don't say her name," Stan shakes his head.

"What does he even see in her?" Richie asks defensively.

"T-Two C-C-C cups," Bill snickers.

548

"Gross, Bill!" Stan kicks at the air in Bill's direction. The stuttering boy grins harder at Stan, just to spite the other one.

"That's it? Wow," Richie scoffs, lying flat on his back and resuming his ceiling-staring. "Eddie Kaspbrak is shallow."

"He's not," Stan then says, his tone softer. "He's... hm. How do I put this? Bill, could you help me out?"

"H-He's attracted to the p-p-people who treat him p-poorly. He... he d-doesn't think he deserves any buh-better."

389

Richie's heart breaks. Is that why he's so nice to Richie? Because Richie is a fucking ass?

"That sucks," Richie says quietly.

"Maybe one day he'll get a good girlfriend," Stan says.

187

"N-Nobody... nobody is g-good enough for Eddie," Bill says honestly. "Eddie is rare. No g-g-girl could compare."

267

"You talk awfully highly of him," Richie mentions.

The chair that Stan is sitting on squeaks as he swivels towards the direction of Richie's bed. He says, with certainty in his voice "Its only the truth. Don't you think so too?"

"No, no, yeah, Eddie's great," Richie agrees, a small smile spreading across his face. "Eddie is... he's great."

106

"Yeah, really g-great," Bill confirms.

101

There's a silence over the room as everyone sits and contemplates just how great Eddie Kaspbrak is, one boy thinking more fondly than the rest. Bill reaches over and picks the Rubix Cube back up, resuming his puzzle, while Richie remains lost in his thoughts.

It's that very second that Richie is hit with the realization that he is making friends. No, he has friends. Plural. More than one, more than just Bev. This is how normal teenagers typically spend their nights, surrounded with people who make them laugh. This epiphany makes Richie smile so hard that he has to hide his face behind a pillow as Bill and Stan continue their conversation.

153

"Richie!" Stan gets the dreamer's attention.

"Sorry, what?" Richie pulls the pillow away from his face.

"W-We wanted to know if you wanted to eat lunch with us and t-the other losers on M-Mon-Monday," Bill repeats his question.

The feeling of having friends only spreads, leaving Richie with a soft, limp mush inside of him.

"I'd love that, yeah. Are you sure?" He asks, and then holds a finger up when he sees Bill open his mouth. "You wouldn't have invited me if you didn't want me to come, I get it."

The three boys crack up laughing and spend the rest of their night making jokes and talking about their school classes. At one point, Stan talks Richie into doing some accents and impressions, which Bill finds absolutely hilarious. Richie isn't very good at it, he still sounds exactly like himself, but it makes the two boys in his room laugh so hard that for a split second the house doesn't feel as empty. Almost as if it's a home, a real one.

194

Bill and Stan fall asleep by the foot of Richie's bed despite the fact that he insisted one of them sleep on the mattress. They both declined, and then unrolled their sleeping bags gleefully. It seems normal to them, comfortable, even, and Richie wonders how many times the two sleep over at one another's house. And then, with the pressure of feeling accepted, he wonders how many more times they will stay over at his.

The thought of it makes him smile.

Chapter 10

Richie is anxious to follow Bill to the lunch table, mainly because he's scared of having to see Beverly after ignoring the girl for so long. He loves her, he does, and he craves to feel her presence again, but he just cannot deal with her indifferent attitude when it comes to other's problems.

On top of that, there's a mixtape in his back pocket that burns a hole through his leg.

Bill talks easily about the bar mitzvah that he attended for Stanley, and how he watched Stan become a man. Usually, Richie would make some snarky comment about how they probably sliced the tip of Stan's dick off, but his nerves seem to get the best of him.

You're okay, Richie Tozier he tells himself. Everything is okay.

And Richie quickly finds out, yeah, it is okay. The lunch table that Richie was so worked up about only has one other occupant sitting at it when Bill sets his books down and tells Richie he'll be back in a second. Realizing he was nervous about nothing, Richie takes a seat next to Stan and turns to make conversation.

"Where's Bev?" Richie asks.

Between bites of his unidentifiable home lunch, Stan responds "She has third lunch."

"And Mike?"

"He's homeschooled."

"And Ben?" Richie already knows the answer to this, but he asks anyway.

"Studies in the library instead."

The words finally leave his mouth, and it's obvious that he's trying to sound as casual as possible as he says "And Eddie?"

"Right here," the small boy announces his arrival, plopping a lunch box down on the table, causing Richie to jump at its clatter. "Sorry. Bowers was giving me shit, so I had to walk the long way here."

275

Richie opens his mouth to reply, but Stan interrupts him and asks Eddie something completely irrelevant. Richie looks over the contents of Eddie's lunchbox, a completely balanced meal for a boy of his height and weight. The off putting part of it, however, is the ziploc baggie of brightly colored pills that takes up a third of the lunch box.

At first, Richie assumed they're gummy snacks. But as Bill returns and joins their conversation, Richie watches the way that Eddie swallows one tablet at a time, a swish of his drink to make the ride down more smooth.

"Why do you have so many pills?" Richie asks the second that there's a break in conversation. Stan and Bill seem caught up in a heated discussion about birds, so Richie takes this time to steal Eddie away.

152

"They're vitamins," Eddie explains. "Most of them. Some of them help me take dumps more easily, but some of them make sure that the dump isn't too intense."

517

What a charming mouth he's got.

277

"You know, I've never touched a vitamin before in my life and I'm pretty healthy," Richie says pointedly.

"Perhaps," Eddie shrugs, swallowing his next pill. "But you're at high risk for lung cancer with the way that you suck cigarettes down."

144

"Maybe all those pills stunted your growth, Eds," Richie ruffles Eddie's hair, getting lost in the soft feathers and wanting nothing more than to let his fingers tangle in the webs. That would be unfair, however, because he would knock Eddie's halo askew if that were to occur.

106

"Don't call me that," Eddie responds habitually. "Where's your lunch?"

"Don't have any lunch money," Richie shrugs, trying very hard to think about anything else other than the fact that his parents up and left for the week with no note or money to survive. Richie will make do with what's in the house, but carefully, so that he does not dip into some of his mom's favorite coconut Girl Scout cookies.

"No wonder you're so skinny, here," Eddie tears his peanut butter jelly sandwich down the middle, handing the larger portion over to Richie.

166

"I can't," Richie shakes his head.

"Why not?" Eddie blinks at him, waiting for a good answer.

Richie, who doesn't have one, takes the sandwich and gives Eddie a guilty smile. "Thanks, Eds."

Eddie looks like he wants to object, but instead shakes his head and bites down on his sandwich. Richie watches the way that strawberry jelly tucks itself away in the corner of Eddie's mouth, and he thinks he would be overstepping all boundaries if he were to reach out and wipe it away.

285

A thought crosses his mind that instantly diminishes his good feelings, one that connects the dots between Beverly and Eddie. Is he so pathetic that he can't even feed himself? Other people have to do it for him?

"It's nice to see you here," Eddie then looks at him, catching Richie staring. "Ben says you usually hide in the library."

"Not hiding," Richie looks away. "Just... um. Listening."

"To music?" Eddie asks. When he notices that Richie isn't eating, he nudges the taller boy's lanky arm and then pushes a cup of apple slices in his direction.

Richie smiles, "Am I that predictable?"

"There's nothing wrong with liking things," Eddie says, "It's... It's nice that you have something to be passionate about. I think people with hobbies are cute."

270

"You think I'm cute?" Richie looks at Eddie out of the corner of his eye, admiring the blush that creeps up beneath the boy's freckles.

215

"Mike really likes history," Eddie ignores the question, "And Ben is obsessed with NKOTB."

249

"Oh, trash," Richie shakes his head. "Trash music."

"I don't know, it's nice." Eddie shrugs. He takes a long drink from his water bottle, and then makes a very big step out of his comfort zone by offering the bottle to Richie. Thankfully, Richie declines. Eddie feels as if he's just dodged a bullet; do you know how many illnesses he could contract just by sharing a water bottle? "Just 'cause you don't like the music doesn't mean it's trash. If he likes it, then that's enough, you know? Music is music. It helps people, and that should be enough."

221

Richie, who stares at him in shock, is rendered speechless. Did he just get severely burned by Eddie Kaspbrak?

"You know, music doesn't have to live up to your standards, Rich," Stan interjects.

Richie looks over, unaware that the other two were listening in on their conversation. Eddie blushes, ducking his head down and silently eating his lunch.

"Boybands are dorky," Richie shakes his head.

301

"All your favorite bands are boy bands," Stan says. "Bands consisting of men are all boy bands."

"But-" Richie says, then gives up. He quietly starts eating the food that Eddie has graciously shared with him, deciding he can't open his loud mouth if he stuffs it.

You fucking idiot. They all hate you. Your first day sitting at their table and you've blown it by being a pretentious, elitist asshole.

348

Gentle, hazy, showersteam soft fingertips plant on Richie's elbow like flower seeds, and when Richie looks over, Eddie is still going about his lunch with no attention directed towards Richie at all. Richie smiles, his nerves relaxing with the touch of Eddie's rose bud hand. It fills him with firecrackers of happiness to think that Eddie is trying to comfort him, his heart soaring with a sense of trust that he's never felt with Beverly.

"Um, Eds," Richie blurts out, feeling more confident with the proximity between them.

"Eddie," the small boy corrects him, but then stares up at Richie through his spiderweb eyelashes. "Go on."

"At... At Bev's party..." Richie begins to lose the courage he had, floundering with anxiousness. Eddie lets his fingertips ghost up Richie's arm, then slide back down to his pointy elbow. He repeats the action, and when Richie fully realizes what's happening, an entirely new sense of bravery washes over him. So, with Eddie gently rubbing Richie's arm, Rich says "When you had that nightmare, did the music help?"

Eddie seems a little flustered at the mention of his bad dream, but still nods. "Yeah. I slept through the whole night."

"I, um," Richie stumbles over his words, reaching into his back pocket and curling his fingers around the cold case of the tape. "I've been thinking about that night. I mean, the music, not you. No, I do think about you, but I don't think think about you-"

373

"Richie," Eddie interrupts his nervous rambling. Richie is grateful, otherwise he would have kept fumbling around cluelessly and making a fool of himself.

So, with a glance over at Bill and Stan to make sure they're not listening, Richie pulls the mixtape out of his pocket and presents it to Eddie awkwardly.

"I made a list of songs that, uh, might help you sleep," Richie says. Richie wrote the track listing inside the case with precision, as well as the title that matches the one on the paper he first started formulating these songs on.

TO EDDIE KASPBRAK; FOR WHEN YOUR NIGHTMARES ARE TOO LOUD TO SLEEP, TURN THE MUSIC UP EVEN LOUDER.

207

Eddie breaks into a bashful smile, accepting it and letting his eyes scan over the list of songs. He doesn't recognize any of them, but then again, Eddie can't tell you the name of songs even if his life depended on it. He knows how they sound, not their names or who they're by.

134

"Thank you, Richie," Eddie smiles up at him, his cheeks swelling the bigger that he smiles. "This really means a lot. You're... you're so thoughtful."

145

Richie shrugs, trying to pass it off as nonchalantly as he possibly can. In reality, he feels as if he's baring a naked part of his soul to a boy he barely knows. "Just want something for you to listen to at night while I'm banging your mom in the next room over."

267

Eddie grins, not because of the joke, but because of the way that Richie's cheeks bloom like scarlet flowers underneath his thick glasses frames. He reaches out and squeezes Richie's hand, then carefully tucks the tape away into his fanny pack.

118

He glances at Richie's hand again, and just for safe measure, squeezes a drop of hand sanitizer into his palm to clean away any bacteria that might have been transferred from Tozier's touch.

266

The rest of the lunch, Richie argues with Stanley about whether or not Family Fued is a funny show. Eddie finds himself explaining the algebra homework to Bill, and for a moment while Stanley is ranting, Richie is overcome with the same feeling he felt the night the taller two stayed at his house.

He belongs. He feels as if he's finally found a home to call his own.

When the bell rings, Bill jumps up and stutters about how he has to get to history or Mr. Irwin will kill him. Stan departs quickly as well, leaving Richie lingering by the table as Eddie packs his millions of things into his lunch box.

118

"See you around, Eddie spaghetti," Richie says his farewell, only to earn a scared look from the smaller boy.

"Richie?" He asks, and without hesitation, Richie is there, by his side, asking what's wrong. "Could you... Could you walk me to class?"

276

Richie blinks at him.

"It's just, uh, Henry Bowers has been giving me a hard time all day, and, um, you're... tall," Eddie looks down at his shoes, playing with the straps on his bag as a distraction.

311

"Yeah," Richie says, moving closer to Eddie. "Of course. Come on, where you going?"

"Third floor," Eddie sighs in relief, pressing himself in close to Richie's side as they leave the cafeteria together. Richie's next class is on the opposite end of the school, but he doesn't care. He thinks he'd cross the ends of the earth if Eddie were to ask him with those scared puppy eyes.

126

While walking through the halls, Richie can hear people snickering around the two of them. Eddie keeps his head down, but it's clear that he can hear it too.

"Look at the girly boy! His shorts!"

326

Richie looks at Eddie's shorts, maybe a bit revealing, but still just standard shorts. Why are people talking about him? Is this how they always treat Eddie? Is... Is Eddie getting bullied everyday?

"Have his balls even dropped yet?"

"Haven't you heard? He doesn't have any."

324

Richie's muscles tense with anger upon hearing these whispers, and he wants to grab every single person snickering at their lockers and punch them until their teeth are loose inside of their gums. Instead, he wraps an arm around Eddie's shoulders and protectively pulls the boy in closer. Eddie doesn't object, in fact, his anxious hands work their way into Richie's shirt and hold on for dear life.

239

They nearly get to Eddie's class successfully when a tall figure bumps into them. Eddie bounces back, colliding with Richie's chest, and Richie's arms wrap around his shoulders to pull Eddie in close.

"Is this your boyfriend, Kassprick?" A stocky, built man sneers, poking at Eddie's chest. Richie recognizes him, but the mutual friend they have in common is one that doesn't cross Richie's mind at all anymore. "Did little queer finally get himself a faggot boyfriend?"

339

Richie's hands slide down to protect Eddie's chest, his blood boiling and spewing up his throat in the form of insults.

"Hey, Belch, fuck off," Richie spits, trying to guide Eddie around the bully to get him to his class.

"What, too pussy to speak, girly boy?" Belch laughs, "That's all you are, Kassprick; a pussy."

"You are what you eat," Richie responds, earning a stifled laugh from Eddie. That one simple sound gives him all the courage that he needs. "Explains why you're such a fucking dick."

546

It seems that Belch is too unintelligent to come back with a response, growing so frustrated that he storms off down the hall with a grumble. "I'll get you, Tozier. You're fucking dead. You and your prissy boyfriend too."

138

Richie rolls his eyes and continues walking, while Eddie seems stricken with fear.

"N-Now they're going to be after you," Eddie looks up at Richie, leaning back into his torso and sliding his fingers up Richie's hands still planted on Eddie's chest.

"Whatever," Richie shrugs. "Who cares? I can handle a few punches. What's important is that you're okay."

149

Eddie grins, watching Richie's indifferent face, and he thinks this boy is so brave. Eddie has been holding out for a hero for as long as he can remember, and now here he is, 5'10 with glasses bigger than Jupiter. His own personal savior, Richie Tozier.

358

Eddie stops in the doorway of his classroom, quickly looking around to see if anybody is watching, but most of the students have scurried to class before the last warning bell.

Quickly, Eddie turns and pulls Richie down by the front of his shirt and stands up on his tiptoes, pressing his lips to the curve of Richie's protrudent cheekbone.

856

"Thank you, Richie Tozier," Eddie drops back down to his feet, moving backwards. "For the tape."

"Of course," Richie responds, his eyes wide and whole face flushing. "Yeah, of course. Any time, Eds."

"Eddie," the small boy corrects him, grinning so excitedly before finally dipping into the classroom.

As the bell rings, the teacher comes and shuts the door that Richie is frozen in front of. He doesn't know what snaps him out of his trance, but when he finally does, his trembling fingers touch the spot that Eddie had kissed.

Heavenly choruses and angelic choirs rise up around Richie, filling the hallway with harmonies that would make even the man in the sky jealous. Richie smiles, turning on his heel and starting down the now empty hallway, his organs melting within his body as he replays the moment over and over again.

111

It isn't until halfway through the class period that Richie finally realizes that neither of them denied being the other's boyfriend.

Chapter 11

"Tozier!"

135

Richie doesn't lift his head, but continues walking across the field with his eyes cast downwards. His bag weighs heavily on his shoulders, the weight of the day weighs heavily on his mind, and all he wants to do is go home and listen to his records.

"It's rude to ignore people, Tozier," the voice is closer, more demanding. Richie lifts his head, annoyed with the interruption, and slides his headphones off of his ears.

"What is it, Hen?" Richie sighs. He glances at the familiar hazel eyes, bright and demanding like a sandstorm, but unfamiliar all at the same time.

124

"Henry," Henry Bowers spits, but it doesn't appeal as cutely as it does when Eddie corrects him.

"Mhm," Richie nods, then turns and keeps on walking.

His "don't give a fuck" attitude seems to piss something off within Henry, and even though he's shorter than Richie, he's got muscle where Richie just has bone. He throws a hand on Richie's shoulder and pulls the boy backwards, his fist tightening by his side.

"Little birdy told me that you've got yourself a boyfriend," Bowers growls.

"You should know I'm not gay, but whatever," Richie shrugs. "Which bird told you this?"

268

"I did, dumbass," a more familiar tone interjects, announcing the arrival of the other three terrorists that love to pick on anybody they deem weak enough.

"Ah, Belch, how kind of you to live up to your promise," Richie reaches up to slide Henry's hand off of his shoulder. Skin memories sends gentle molecules into flurries of carbonation. It's familiar, but neither will admit it. "Is this where you kill me? That is what you said, isn't it? I'm a dead man?"

222

"Look at that," Patrick sneers. "Didn't know queers could think about anything other than dick!"

179

"You're one to talk," Richie raises his eyebrows. Richie drags his eyes back to Henry and says "Does Patrick know about New Years Eve? The one in fifth grade?"

457

This seems to be the last straw, which he quickly finds out from a swift punch to the jaw. Richie stumbles backwards, gaining his composure, but quickly retaliating by throwing all of his might into his fist.

Richie's a good fighter, he always has been. Despite his bony structure, he has the deeply rooted unresolved issues that give him more muscle than all of Bowers' men combined. He's quick as well, and when you combine that with his long arm span, you get a boy who can certainly hold his ground in a fight.

115

And he does. He does well. Henry looks much more worse than Richie does when the other three finally step in, pinning Richie to the ground while simultaneously kicking his ribs in. If he were to go one on one, this would have been an easy fight. But it's not. And now here he is, bloodied, losing consciousness, and defeated.

"Stop it! Stop it! Get off of him! Get the fuck off of him!" Eddie Kaspbrak's voice is as clear as a church bell. Richie lifts his head up to identity the sounds, seeing the way that Eddie punches his tiny fists against Patrick's back, and the way that the rest of the losers are standing about a block away on their bikes. Eddie's is discarded nearby, telling a story all on its own. Eddie turned the corner, saw the fight unfolding on the school field, and dropped it the second he ran up.

184

"Fucking queer," Belch turns, shoving Eddie to the ground. "Come to protect your boyfriend?"

141

Eddie springs back to his feet like a resilient little bastard, trying to push Henry Bowers aside but merely angering the boys more.

"Leave him the fuck alone!" Eddie screams, then, without any warning at all, kicks his leg so high up that it somehow manages to hit Victor directly in the jaw.

"Ow, fucking faggot kicked me! He fucking kicked me!"

259

Richie watches as all the attention is turned to Eddie just then, the small boy's courage quickly diminishing as he becomes the primary target. Without even thinking about it, Richie's body kicks into overprotective mode. He has to do everything that he possibly can to make sure that Eddie is not touched.

114

"Hey, pissface," Richie sits up, pain flourishing throughout his body like forest fires. He shakily stands to his feet, pulls a fist back, and punches the closest person to him. His vision is blurring so he's not sure who it is, but he knows he's pissed them off. Richie spits directly in the attacker's face, and then smirks at Eddie Kaspbrak. "I'll see you around, Eds."

163

Eddie doesn't run, of course he doesn't. Upon realizing this, Richie takes it into his own hands and decides to be the one to take off.

He leads the four abusers off of school property, taking large strides and thanking the god above for gifting Richie with such long legs. Occasionally he will look over his shoulder and see them struggling to keep up, but persisting through.

Richie loses them somewhere in town, ducking into shops and hiding behind display shelves. Employees gasp at the sight of him, a boy beaten and spitting blood, but he doesn't have time to assess the damage. He just needs to shake them from his trail.

After walking around downtown Derry for half an hour with no sight of them, Richie finally gets the hint to go home. He doesn't want to, he knows it will be empty, but he has no other choice.

Richie keeps his head down the whole time, approaching his front lawn and not noticing the bike collapsed in the yard until he hears a squeak from the porch followed by clumsy footsteps. He looks up, watching the way that Eddie Kaspbrak clambers down the stairs to meet Richie on the sidewalk. Eddie stands on his tiptoes, pulling Richie's face down to inspect it, his wide eyes full of concern.

"Look at you! Look what those assholes did to you!" Eddie exclaims, dropping away and reaching into his fannypack.

"H-Hey Eds..." Richie mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Is there a reason you're stalking me?"

Eddie ignores the comment, instead he says "Are you serious? I needed to check up on you after they... they... they'll fucking pay for this, I swear!"

"What are you gonna do, challenge them to a game of Dungeons and Dragons?" Richie rolls his eyes. He steps around Eddie to start heading inside, but at last second, he lets his hand fall on the kid's shoulder to pull him along.

222

"You think that would work?" Eddie's naive nature gets the best of him.

228

"No, dipshit," Richie laughs.

Eddie jogs ahead, jumping up on the porch and swooping up the bag crumpled on the steps. He holds it in his arms, little legs shifting restlessly beneath him.

"I came by to drop off your bag but... you weren't home. I didn't know what happened to you, I got... I got scared you were," Eddie looks away in embarrassment. "Lying face down in a ditch somewhere."

114

"I'm still kickin', sorry to disappoint," Richie reaches him, taking the bookbag that he hadn't realized that he dropped and looks inside nervously. His Walkman seems fine, along with the countless amounts of tapes that he has hidden away in pockets and pouches.

Eddie stands on the front porch, watching as Richie unlocks the front door with bleeding fingers. Eddie had been wondering how Richie's knuckles got to be so wounded, but he guesses he knows now.

Richie slips inside, kicking his shoes off and throwing his coat over the couch. He stands, stretching the muscles in his arms that are bound to be sore tomorrow, when he glances back and notices the empty space where Eddie Kaspbrak should be standing.

Eddie startles when Richie pokes his head back out the front door, the tall boy leaning against the doorframe expectantly. "You comin' in or what, kid?"

128

Eddie seems to be woken back up, grabbing his second fannypack from the porch and quickly following Richie inside.

"You know, I am the exact same age as you, Richie," Eddie frowns, following Richie into the living room. "You can't call me 'kid' like I'm the little boy you babysit."

"Nah," Richie shakes his head. "You've got the body of a ten year old girl and the personality of a 70 year old grandpa."

190

"What, and you look like a normal fifteen year old? You're basically nine feet tall!"

"Five foot ten inches," Richie corrects him.

663

"Whatever," Eddie shakes his head, looking around the living room to inspect the decor. Richie lives in a completely normal home, which takes Eddie as surprising. Eddie was expecting broken family photos and run-down furniture, not the posh, upper class interior that they're walking through. One thing he does notice, however, is that there isn't a single photo of Richie in their family photos.

170

Richie walks through the kitchen and into the guest bathroom, flicking the light on and finally taking a look at the aftermath of fighting four people. It's not pretty, but then again, Richie doesn't think his face was very good to begin with. Behind cracked glasses, his left eye is nearly swollen shut, the other flourishing with blues and purples. (Richie bruises too easily, which might be the only reason that his parents don't throw him around anymore. Too much evidence.) His lip is cut in three different places, most likely from knocking into his own teeth. His nose isn't broken, thank god, but it is running fresh blood over the stuff that just can't seem to dry fast enough. There are various cuts up and down his cheeks, along with a gnarly gash running up his jaw that must be the proof of a particularly rough uppercut.

"Fucking Bowers," Richie sighs, "Damn asshole wears a ring the size of a moonrock. At least mine aren't so fucking monstrous."

Richie looks down at his hands, each finger holding a silver band except for the ring finger of his left hand. His eyes linger on the gold plastic ring slipped over his thumb, and he tries not to think about how Henry has a matching one. Henry doesn't wear it anymore, and Richie wonders if the boy had decided to keep it or not. After all, they won it at the arcade together when it had first opened up in Derry.

562

Eddie watches him wiggle each ring off, setting them in a cup by the toothbrushes, and then turn the faucet on. Richie stares at the water for a moment, his hands gripping the sides of sink while blood drips from his nose into the running water. He breathes heavily, the events catching up to him all at once. Too many punches. Too many boots. Too many kicks.

"Where's your first aid kit?" Eddie asks, leaning over to come into the mirror's frame. Richie looks at their reflection for a moment, the way that Eddie's chin just barely clears his shoulder.

"Uh," Richie pauses, looking down at the water now billowing with hot steam. "Not sure. Don't think we have one, to be honest."

Eddie watches the way that Richie dips his hands into the water, gently rubbing the blood off of each knuckle. The water must be scolding, the boy's hands turn pink almost the second they come into contact with the harsh flow. Eddie reaches out to touch the scalding hot faucet handle, flinching backwards but persisting through and turning the sink off to avoid Richie getting third degree burns. Then, without a word, Eddie puts his hands against Richie and guides the tall boy down to sit on the toilet lid. Richie opens his mouth to object, but Eddie merely closes Richie's jaw with his finger.

"You'll give yourself an infection if you don't clean yourself up properly," Eddie lectures the boy, unzipping his first fannypack and pulling out a travel size first aid kit. In Eddie's handwriting, Richie reads the words written on the side of it. 'for emergency use only!!!!! EMERGENCIES!!!'

"How much shit do you carry around, Eds?" Richie asks, his hands draping between his legs helplessly. He feels awkward, wanting to pull away from Eddie, but he shouldn't deny someone trying to help him.

"Only necessities," Eddie shakes his head, pressing a peroxide-coated cotton ball to the skin torn open on Richie's jaw. "That's why I carry two fannypacks."

"Shouldn't even be carrying one," Richie scoffs, his eyes lingering on the two belt-purses looped around Eddie's tiny waist.

Eddie smacks the side of Richie's head, and then, to apologize, he rubs his hand against the curly hair as softly as he can. Eddie moves about Richie's face with delicate ballerina fingertips, cleaning up each cut and applying a Hello Kitty bandaid to each wound. Richie doesn't comment on how feminine it is, only smiles at the fact Eddie has that particular brand in the first place. Maybe 'girly boy' isn't that far off from the truth.

344

"May I?" Eddie asks, his fingers latching on to the sides of Richie's glasses. Richie reaches up and pushes them back for him, holding his long messy hair back and out of his face by propping his spectacles on top of his head.

Eddie freezes, watching the way that Richie's eyes open up and show a whole new side to the boy that people don't usually see. Richie looks a lot different when his hair is pushed back, or when he's not hiding behind huge frames. He looks... older, but more vulnerable. Eddie stares at Richie's eyelashes, and then moves on to admire the brown sugar and cherry red pools that mix and swirl together in Richie's irises.

211

"I didn't know you have freckles," Eddie breathes out, his thumb grazing along the sharp cheekbone.

112

Richie looks away, recoiling from embarrassment. He wants to push Eddie back just so that the boy can't notice anymore flaws about him, but Richie doesn't have the heart to lift his arms. "Is that a bad thing? You do too."

"No, no! It's... um..." Eddie trails off, making Richie shy away even more. He can't even think of a lie? Geez, how fucked is his face? He didn't think it was so bad. Eddie rests his hands on the sides of Richie's face, forcing the bashful boy to look up in embarrassment. With a certainty that Eddie has never felt before, he says "You're pretty, Richie Tozier."

630

"Pretty?" Richie asks, subconsciously nuzzling into Eddie's hands, desperate for human contact. Eddie sees this, and instantly identifies the craving of affection is one that comes to attention deficient people that have been deprived and neglected all their life. Richie's eyes hold a kind of naked, pure, rawness that Eddie has never seen before. He doesn't think anybody has ever gotten to see Richie Tozier like this.

165

"Beautiful, even," Eddie says quietly as if he's tip toeing around all these vulnerable things that he's picked up on. He strokes the apple of Richie's cheek with his thumb, and then he says "Breathtakingly handsome."

728

If it were anybody else, Richie would shove them away and spit on their face, maybe get a good punch in, but because it's Eddie Kaspbrak... Richie just smiles and allows himself to accept the compliments. That doesn't happen often, only because not many people actually give Rich compliments to begin with, but those who do are usually shut out of Richie's thick walls.

As if the words hadn't left his mouth, Eddie returns to cleaning Richie up very silently. He's focused as he works, his eyes fixated on small portions of Richie's face instead of the whole thing. Sometimes, smaller details and brushstrokes are just as lovely to examine instead of the bigger picture.

"You'd make a good doctor," Richie speaks up. He lifts his hands, looking at the dried blood, but he hopes that Eddie cleans that up too so they have an excuse to touch. Not knowing where to put his hands, he boldly reaches out and let's them settle on Eddie's narrow waist.

297

Eddie takes a step back in alarm, glancing down at the way Richie holds onto him. Then, muscles relaxing a bit more comfortably, he steps forward once more and continues sliding a bandaid across Richie's forehead.

Richie takes this as permission to keep touching him, so he idly rubs his thumbs back and forth over Eddie's shirt, his tiny protruding hips poking into Richie's hands like little thorns. Eddie shifts around on his legs a bit, and feeling brave, Richie pulls him in closer. Eddie stands between Richie's long legs, trying to ignore the persistent hands on his hips.

315

"How'd you know where I live?" Richie asks, his eyes fluttering close as Eddie cleans a notch in his eyebrow.

"Bill told me," Eddie says, followed by "He said to look for the house with the rose bushes. You had a sleepover with Stan and Bill and you didn't invite me?"

"I didn't think you would want to come," Richie feels embarrassed, his fingers clenching the fabric of Eddie's shirt. "I'm sorry. Do you want to stay tonight?"

"Are you kidding? It's a school night, my mother would have a stroke," Eddie exhales, followed by "Richie, where are your parents?"

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Richie opens his eyes, staring at Eddie with a void, vacant expression. The warm, fuzzy feelings diminish from his chest, and so he pushes Eddie back and stands up from the toilet.

"Does it matter?" Richie asks, looking at himself in the mirror and picking at the bandaids plastered on his skin.

Eddie feels guilt nip away at him, but he still smacks Richie's arm. "Stop it! Leave them be."

Richie glares at him, leaving the bathroom and climbing the stairs up to his bedroom. Eddie, of course, follows.

"You know, you could say thank you," Richie says over his shoulder.

"For?" Eddie responds.

"Getting my face caved in for you," Richie spits, pushing his door open and throwing his bag on the bed.

"Hey, I didn't ask you to fight them! Don't blame me for this, fucker," Eddie huffs, "I only asked you to walk me to class. You could have easily said no!"

"I wouldn't have to do that if you just-" Richie rubs his eyes in frustration, dropping his glasses down on his face. He turns to Eddie, his eyes conflicted and confused. He wants to push this boy away, to not let him in close, but then again, he's tired of being tough. He's tired of being strong. He doesn't want to be stoic Richie anymore, he wants to trust someone to not hurt him. Softly, his voice drifting like a feather in the wind, he says "If you just spoke up for yourself, Eds. I know you've got it in you, I've seen it... there's a fire inside that little body of yours, shouldn't you just let it burn?"

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Eddie falls back, staring at Richie, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't. I'm... I'm weak."

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"Says who?" Richie scoffs, "Your mom? Fuck that. You threw yourself right into a fight of four people to defend me. That takes a lot of bravery, Eds. You don't need me to protect you, you are more than strong enough."

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Eddie sits down on Richie's bed, crumpling over in defeat and shame. Richie sits next to him, unsure of what to do, when he remembers Bev. Beverly is great at comforting people, and when Richie is in a bad mood and doesn't want to speak, she always touches him to remind Richie that she is there.

Richie reaches over and lets his fingers delicately brush across Eddie's arm, as if he's scared of being burned. After coaxing himself to continue, Richie lets his fingers slip around Eddie's wrist while his thumb rubs the delicate skin.

"I didn't mean to yell," Richie apologizes.

"You didn't," Eddie says quickly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Richie leans forward to get a look at Eddie, only to be met with an angry stare.

"Are you okay, Eds?" He asks.

"Yeah. I am. I really am. You know what? Fuck my mom," Eddie throws his head back, a burst of confidence igniting in his eyes.

"Already did that," Richie slips out, then smiles and gives Eddie an apologetic look. "Sorry. It's a habit."

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Eddie shakes his head, continuing "No, seriously. Fuck my mom! Fuck her. I'm not her precious baby boy! I'm fifteen! Fuck her."

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"Yeah," Richie nods, holding a fist up encouragingly. "Fuck her!"

"She can't keep sheltering me! I'm not fucking sick, and I don't... I don't need these bullshit pills!" Eddie shouts. "I'm perfectly capable of standing up for myself."

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"Of course you are," Richie moves his hand down to Eddie's palm, going to hold the tiny boy's hand, but thinks better of it. Richie's hand retreats to just rubbing Eddie's back. "You're brave, and you're strong."

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"And I'm staying over at Richie Tozier's house on a school night," Eddie adds to the list, and then his face falters. He looks over to Richie, his courageous attitude quickly being replaced by sheepishness. "If that's okay?"

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"Y-Yeah!" Richie blurts out, fumbling around and nearly punching himself in the face while trying to adjust his glasses. "That's- That's more than okay. That's perfect. Do you need anything? Do we need to stop by your house and pick things up?"

"No, she'd never let me leave if I went home," Eddie says through clenched teeth. "Let's just stay here. Can you show me some of your favorite music?"

Richie smiles, not hesitating for a moment at all, simply standing up and turning on his boombox. Richie doesn't have a favorite tape, they're all so important and special to him, but he still pretends like he's looking for one in particular.

"Do you like The Cure?" Richie asks.

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"The who?" Eddie asks.

"No, The Cure," Richie says, sliding a tape in and pressing play. "The Who is a good band too, though. I love Baba O'Reiley."

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Eddie smiles, watching Richie babble on about the difference in tapes and records, feeling himself enamored with how passionate that Richie becomes. Eddie doesn't see Richie get excited about anything, any time he sees the taller boy sulking around school he always looks so sullen and forlorn. But now, he's pacing his room and talking with animated hands, letting himself giggle each time that he makes a reference that Eddie doesn't understand. It's a side of Richie that is hidden deep beneath the hard exterior, and it's a side that Eddie wouldn't mind seeing more of.

Richie points out guitar solos and will rewind the tape so Eddie can hear certain vocals again, but it's not like Eddie minds. Richie is rambling on and on as if he's been dying to let these words out since the day he was born. It's clear that Richie doesn't talk much, but Eddie is starting to think that nobody around is really willing to listen. The empty photo frames in the living room paired with a vacant house only proves that Richie's parents neglect the boy as if he doesn't even exist. So Eddie listens. He listens to every single word that leaves Richie's lips, and he replies, and he nods, and he says "Oh yeah?" to show Richie that he's not just listening, but paying attention as well.

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Richie doesn't know the last time that Beverly listened to him talk without interjecting about some trauma of her own. She doesn't even ask about the simple things, like what Richie's favorite song is. Eddie does, and as the two clumsily stumble down to the kitchen in excited manners after hours of talking, Richie explains that it's either Soft Cell's Tainted Love or Heartbreaker by Zeppelin.

"But honestly? Anything by Queen. Freddie Mercury is... he's a god, you know? The man is a fucking legend. I'd kill to see him and Bowie live," Richie explains, pulling out pots and pans to start making dinner. Richie is actually quite good at cooking since he had to start doing it for himself at such a young age. Tonight, he has extra motivation to make something better than his usual mac 'n' cheese.

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"Doesn't Freddie Mercury have AID's?" Eddie asks, looking over Richie's shoulder as the boy digs through the fridge.

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"He better not," Richie shakes his head. "If he dies, I will kill myself."

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"That's not funny, Richie," Eddie frowns.

"Just a joke, my love." Richie stands up, nearly bumping into Eddie as he sets his ingredients down on the counter. Before he does anything else, Richie leans over and turns on the kitchen stereo, changing it from the news station his dad enjoys to the rock station Richie has memorized by heart. "God, I love Joy Division. This one's called Love Will Tear Us Apart. Have you ever heard a song this raw?"

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Eddie doesn't hear anything but vocals and instrumentals, but Richie still pauses and nods his head like he can feel the music in his brain. Eddie thinks that's so unique, Richie has a personality that he's never seen before. Music has always just been music to him, but for Richie, he hears so much more. Whether it's the soul, or the energy, or the passion, he hears it with a supersonic frequency sense of sound that is rare within the Derry genetic pool. Richie then resumes his movement, going over to wash his hands in a manner that Eddie wouldn't deem clean, but he won't make comments.

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When Richie turns around, his chest bumps into Eddie's face, and Eddie nearly falls over from the collision. Richie laughs, patting him on top of the head to comfort the kid, and then says "Okay, little guy. You're going to get in my way all night if you keep standing around. So, what we're going to do is put you riiiight up here like a cute little doll."

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Richie picks Eddie up by the waist, turning and sliding the boy onto the unused counter space. Eddie yelps, but then relaxes a little, his hands settling over Richie's chest as the boy sets him down. Before Richie can pull away, Eddie grips the front of his shirt and pulls him back in. His bruised knees bump against the sides of Richie's torso, and when he realizes that he's holding on, he quickly releases Richie in embarrassment.

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Richie smiles, doesn't say anything, and goes about cooking while listening to the radio. Richie asks Eddie about the classes he's taking, just to hear Eddie's thoughts after rambling on about music for so long. Eddie talks easily, not uncomfortable or awkward, and it's almost as if the two have been friends for years. During cooking, Richie will grab a clean spoon and have Eddie taste the marinara sauce, asking if it's too salty or too sweet. It tastes better each time that he shoves the spoon into Eddie's mouth, but Richie doesn't accept that it's good enough and keeps adding a dash of this or a pinch of that.

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"It's good, it's really good," Eddie tells him when the two finally sit down to eat. Richie's eyes avoid the liquor cabinet that his mother loves more than her own son. "I would never have taken you as a chef, Tozier."

"What can I say?" Richie shrugs jokingly, then says "This is my second favorite type of spaghetti."

"Second?" Eddie asks, "What's your first?"

"You, of course," Richie says, leaning back in satisfaction. "Eddie spaghetti."

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Eddie rolls his eyes, but does not make a remark like he usually would.

When Richie finishes washing the dishes, he meets Eddie up in his room. Eddie is sitting at the desk, his fingers trailing over the polaroids of Richie and Beverly taped to the wall.

"She's beautiful," Eddie claims, glancing at Richie in the doorway. His fingers graze against a picture of Richie, two cigarettes shoves in his nostrils while he's crosseyed behind his glasses. Eddie traces the outline of Richie's jaw in the photo and says "She's... so beautiful."

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"Y-Yeah," Richie stutters, trying to figure out what to do so that Eddie doesn't grow bored and want to go home. What did he do to keep Bill and Stan entertained?

"Do you love her?" Eddie asks.

The question catches Richie off guard, the boy nearly tripping over his own feet as he tries to get to his bed.

"What?" Richie asks. "Do I what?"

"Love her," Eddie repeats himself, pulling the photo of Richie off the wall and turning around in the swivel chair to face the boy in the photograph. "Ben and Bill are her best friends and they're both head over heels for her. Do you love her too? You're, like, her best best friend."

"No," Richie scoffs. "I mean, I love her, yeah, but only as my bitchy older sister. I don't... I'm not in love with her. There's a difference, I think."

"Oh, cool," Eddie nods. Then, he looks up from the picture in his hands and asks "Do you have a crush on anybody at school?"

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"No," Richie responds. "They're all cunts."

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"Not all of them," Eddie mumbles, kicking his feet out a little stubbornly.

"Oh, and Greta Bowie isn't a massive fucking cunt?" Richie scoffs, lying back down on his bed and tossing his lighter up in the air before catching it.

"H-How'd you find out about that?" Eddie asks, moving over to sit on the edge of Richie's bed.

"Bill mentioned it," Richie says, followed by "Don't tell him I ratted him out, though."

"I don't like Greta," Eddie says.

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Richie sits up, looking at Eddie skeptically. Eddie looks confident, however, his eyes not daring anywhere else except for Richie's face.

"Is that so?" Richie asks, catching his lighter and digging around in his other pocket to find his cigarettes. Richie gets up, pushing open his window, and lights up his last cigarette. Fuck. Bev usually gets him a new pack.

"She's a bitch," Eddie says, moving up the bed to sit closer to the window Richie is hanging out of. "I only told my friends that I like her so that they wouldn't think... that I'm a fruit."

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"Well, are you?" Richie asks, raising an eyebrow as he takes a long drag. His lungs crumple like burning paper, yet it ceases the nerves that have been coursing through him the second that Eddie asked where his parents are.

"What? No! Don't be fucking sick," Eddie protests. "Everyone says that I am, I just don't want them to believe the rumors."

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"You know, if they're really your friends, they wouldn't give a shit about rumors," Richie says. "How much shit do you hear floating around about me? And do you believe any of it?"

"Well, no, but-"

"But what?" Richie asks, turning his whole body towards Eddie.

"But those aren't true. I know those aren't true," Eddie shakes his head. Richie looks at the kid's body language, reading the tight posture and clenched fists.

"...Eds, are you... gay?" Richie whispers. The thought never even seriously crossed his mind, but now that Eddie is alluding to it, Richie can't deny the fact that it... adds up.

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"No! No I'm not! I'm not fucking gay, I'm not," Eddie shakes his head, aggressively denying all allegations.

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Richie looks at the cigarette in his hand, his last one, and thinks fuck it. He holds it between his lips and reenters his room, coming over to sit beside Eddie and skipping over all boundaries that are set with new friends. He pulls the small kid into a one armed hug, squeezing Eddie into his side, careful to not let any cigarette ash flick into the boy's hair.

"You don't have to answer to that," Richie says. "And... and if you are, it's okay, you know? Like... it's okay. Your friends will still like you."

"And you?" Eddie asks anxiously, his voice shaking.

"Well, you're still sitting here, aren't you?" Richie asks.

Eddie looks up at him, and from this angle, Richie can count every perfect freckle dusting across his skin. "Are you...?"

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Eddie trails off, but it isn't hard to figure out what he's implying. Richie shakes his head, taking the cigarette from his mouth and saying "No, I'm not. Too many ladies to please for me to play for the other team, it would be a damn shame. Who else is supposed to keep your mom well satisfied?"

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Eddie laughs, one that sounds fake, and Richie watches the way that the boy curls in on himself uncomfortably. "I'm not gay."

"Okay," Richie nods, "I believe you."

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"I don't want to give them the satisfaction of being right," Eddie shakes his head, then says "But I'm not gay, so it doesn't matter."

"Okay," Richie says again. "Do you wanna play a board game?"

Eddie shifts around uncomfortably, but then gives in and says "Yeah. Not Twister."

"Nah, that game's reserved for your sister only," Richie chuckles, standing up and opening his closet door. He doesn't play with them often, only because he doesn't have anybody to play them with. After careful consideration of all the board games, Richie looks back and asks "Do you know how to play chess?"

"Oh, I'll beat your fucking ass, Tozier," Eddie's bright smile is back in an instant.

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The two play chess until Eddie can barely keep his head up. It's no surprise that he goes to sleep earlier than Richie, but it is a surprise that he's tapping out at nine o'clock sharp. Richie heads down to retrieve the blankets from the dryer that Stan used, and when he brings them back up to his room, he's met with a sight so adorable that his heart could burst.

Eddie, passed out on his bed, clutching onto the pillow in place of a person, sleeping soundly. Richie covers him up, propping a pillow beneath his head and brushing his hair back, before sitting down in his desk chair.

Something's missing.

He can feel it the second he sits down, and as he scans the messy papers tossed carelessly all over, he realizes what it is. A photo. A photo of him is missing from the wall of memories he's created, and his mind traces back to Eddie holding onto it tightly. Wherever he put it, it's somewhere that Richie can't immediately see.

"Help," Richie hears, a needle bursting through the silence of the air. He turns, seeing Eddie twisting around in the bed, and sighs when he realizes there's no immediate danger.

Eddie shifts about some more, his face contorted in pain, and Richie can recognize the hurt and can't help but compare it to the crushed roses that he comes home to from constantly crawling down the trellis they grow on. Beauty; smashed, oppressed, hurt.

Richie stands up, digging through his backpack to find the Walkman that he hasn't touched since school this morning. The day seems fuzzy and far away, even the fight doesn't seem real, but Richie guesses that Eddie just has that effect. Time slows for him. The natural laws of reality don't apply to Eddie Kaspbrak.

When he finds it, he slides the headphones on the boy, pressing play on the tape and lowering the volume to a soft level. Eddie's chest expands and collapses quickly, and as Richie strokes the boy's soft hair, it slowly steadies out. Richie sits there, the bed dipping beneath his weight, and watches as Eddie's pain slowly eases up. The crumpled roses beneath his window no longer compare, because Eddie relaxes, his petals unfold and bloom into their natural beautiful state.

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When Richie is certain that the boy is comfortably asleep, he turns the light off and lays flat on the ground. He doesn't want to intrude on the germaphobe's space, nor does he want to come off strongly and scare the poor kid. Richie lies there in the darkness, counting mistakes in his head, his hands aching from the pressure they were subjected to today. Richie knows he shouldn't fight, but fucking Bowers and his god damn new friends.

Just as Richie starts to uncover suppressed memories, a clumsy arm falls over the side of the bed and the soft knuckles hit Richie right in the chest. He looks down, smiling at the reminder of who is here with him, and slowly places the arm back onto the mattress. When the arm falls down a second time, tiny fingers grip Richie's shirt stubbornly, and so Richie leaves it.

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As he's falling in and out of a deep sleep, he quickly realizes that he's subconsciously holding onto Eddie's hand. He didn't mean to, and yet... he doesn't want to let go.

So he doesn't.

Not even when Eddie is nudging him awake in the middle of the night, holding the headphones up to Richie's ear and asking "What song is this?"

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Not even when he leans up, listens, and then sleepily responds with "More Than A Feeling by Boston."

Not even when his back cramps up and he has to roll over to stop the hardwood floor from dooming his muscles.

Not even when Eddie rolls over in his sleep, pulling his arm up with him, and taking Richie's hand with him in turn.

The two don't let go of each other, not for a single second, not until the sun comes up like a fairy returning to a swampland. The glimmering pixies kiss the edges of Eddie's skin, and watching the boy slowly wake up and come to life, the forest nymph dust covering his features, it suddenly all makes sense to Richie how someone can be so beautiful. An epiphany washes over him. Fairies kiss him every morning, and maybe, just maybe, Richie wants to be one of those fairies.

Chapter 12

Beverly Marsh is the one person in the entire world that will not take any of Richie's Tozier's bullshit. Richie thought that she was the only one, and for the longest time he had assumed she was the only person with the patience to handle him, but he is proven wrong by a boy shorter than most girls their age.

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That doesn't stop Bev from being the first to slap Richie upside the head anytime that he does something stupid.

Richie is brushing his teeth when he hears her voice, calling to him like an angry mob, loud footsteps stomping up the stairs as if she's wearing the combat boots she will one day kick his ass in. He's peeled all of the bandaids off because he refuses to go to school plastered in teddy bears and flowers, much to Eddie's displeasure.

Richie feels his blood run cold, and then immediately panics when he realizes the scene that Beverly is about to walk in on.

"Rich? I know you're fucking home, stop ignoring me!" Her voice comes from down the hall. Judging by the distance, she must have checked his room first and found it empty. Richie listens for a moment, but then hears her boots walking down the hall towards the bathroom him and Eddie are in.

"Fuck," Richie whispers, spitting toothpaste out and reaching for the doorknob. Before he can lock it, Beverly is barging in and nearly colliding with Richie's chin.

"There you are," she frowns, pulling him in for a brief hug. It doesn't last long, she quickly pushes back and slaps Richie upside the head. "What is your problem? Getting into fights again? Are you serious?"

Richie looks down in shame as if he's been scolded by his mother. He doesn't know what to say, but then again, he doesn't think anything could be said to justify his actions. Bev hates when he fights, he knows better than to start them. He should have just walked away.

"Is..." Bev trails off, her tone quiet and curious. "Is... someone... in here?"

Richie looks over his shoulder, praying to god that Eddie can stay quiet until Beverly is gone. "No, I just got out, guess I forgot to turn the water off."

"Your hair is dry," Bev narrows her eyes.

"Did I say get out? I meant I was about to hop in," Richie shakes his head, putting both hands on her shoulders and trying to push the teenage girl back.

As if he has only just heard the voices for the first time, Eddie pokes his head out from behind the curtain, his hair flattened and a bit of soap foaming up on his cheek. "Richie? Who is it? Is someone there?"

"N-Nobody!" Richie calls back, giving Beverly one last shove before shutting the door behind them.

Richie looks at Bev, internally cringing at her agape mouth and amused eyes.

"Eddie?" She asks, her voice holding more than a hint of humor. "Eddie Kaspbrak is showering? Did he spend the night? Were you... were you going to join him?"

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"What? No! Don't be fucking sick," Richie scoffs, pushing her back with no real force. "The kid crashed here last night and then insisted on taking a shower, whatever. It's not a big deal."

In reality, Eddie had shuffled in very quietly while Richie was combing his hair, and with his puppy dog eyes, he asked if he could shower. Richie figured it was a germaphobe thing, so he agreed, but he told Eddie that he still needed to get ready for school in the bathroom. Eddie nodded, and Richie did everything he could to avoid watching the boy's reflection in the bathroom mirror as he stripped the clothes from his body. Richie and Eddie both know that there is a fully functioning bathroom downstairs, but neither of the two mentioned it.

"Why are you here anyway?" Richie asks, desperate to change the subject.

Bev reaches out and touches Richie's cheek, her fingers brushing against the black eye that seems to be improving. "Bill told me that you got into a fight and your parents weren't home. I wanted to stop by before school to make sure you were doing okay."

Richie forgets why he's mad at her or what it was about in the first place. All he knows in this moment is that he absolutely loves Beverly Marsh and her beautiful sun kissed skin, but he doesn't necessarily have time to be appreciating her at this time.

Richie leads her away from the bathroom, returning to his room and going to his closet to get dressed. Bev doesn't bat an eye when Richie discards his shirt, it's as if Richie is a sexless alien that has absolutely no appealing factors in her eyes.

"I'm- I'm fine, as you can see," Richie pulls a clean shirt over his head. "Got patched up and everything."

"Eddie?" She repeats in disbelief, still completely stunned that Eddie Kaspbrak is taking a morning shower at Richie's. She watches the late night television, she knows what that means. It implies that shenanigans ensued the night before, and her mind whirls with the idea of Eddie and Richie getting into those shenanigans together.

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"Eddie," Richie shrugs. The word itself doesn't mean anything to him, but the name attached to a smiling face makes his heart beat twice as fast. "Since you weren't around to be so overbearing, Eds filled in quite nicely."

"Eds?" Beverly smiles. "You know, Bill told me that you're starting to hang out with them."

"Mhm," Richie buckles his belt, then kicks his leg up to roll the cuffs of his jeans. "I mean, I wouldn't call it hanging out. They offer something, I would be rude to turn it down. Doesn't mean we're all buddy buddy."

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"Bill said you guys had a sleepover," Beverly grins in triumph. Richie knows he won't win this argument, not against Bev. The firecracker girl is practically a forest fire when it comes to being stubborn.

Fucking Bill. You'd think for a kid who stutters he would learn to keep his mouth shut.

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"Needed some help with math homework so him and Stan came over, not a big deal," Richie pushes everything in his closet aside to find the clothes he wore when he was 12. These will fit Eddie, won't they?

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"You're taking AP geometry, Rich. Bill can barely add 2+2," Bev laughs so fondly that Richie can't help but wonder what's so funny. Is that how fond she is of her friends? Does she find the joy in life in everything that she does? Richie can't imagine what it would be like to wake up and just feel a natural relaxed state of happiness.

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Richie shrugs, then says "Is it a crime to have friends now, Bev?"

"No, not at all," she shakes her head, sitting down in the chair and pawing through the stacks of tapes that Stan handed down to Richie. "I've just been trying to get you to hang out with them for so long, you know, it's weird that you're suddenly best friends with them."

"It's not strange at all-" Richie says, and then stops in his tracks when he hears a voice calling down the hall.

"Richie? Can you, um, come here?" Eddie calls for him like a lighthouse attracting ships late at night. Bev stares at him, her eyes resembling the rocky waves that S.S. TOZIER sails on, but still, the lighthouse persists.

So Richie grabs the clothes he's set aside, excuses himself from an amused Bev, and moves down the hall to where his heart is pulling him to.

Eddie's little head pokes out from the door, wide brown eyes hidden behind damp hair, water droplets dripping down his caramel skin like tears from angels. He smiles bashfully at Richie, the question he was going to initially ask dying down when he sees the folded clothes Richie is holding.

"Will they fit?" Eddie asks.

"We can try," Richie shrugs. "Listen, uh, kid. Bev is... Bev is here, so, um-"

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"I got it, Richie," Eddie smiles. He looks so perfect in that moment; freshly renewed and so understanding that Richie doesn't even need to speak a word. Eddie gets him, reads his mind, connects on a wavelength that Richie didn't know existed. "Don't say a word to her about last night, right?"

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Richie smiles, reaching out to move some of the hair out of Eddie's eyes. A bit of water clings to his hand, and Richie takes it as a part of Eddie lingering on his skin. "Yeah, something like that."

Eddie smiles sweetly, taking the clothes from Richie through the small opening and then closing the door behind him. It's not as if they did anything wrong, they didn't, it's just... it's an intimacy that Richie doesn't want Beverly to hear about. Nobody deserves to know of Richie and Eddie's late night hand holding except for the two boys involved.

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When Richie renters his room, Bev is on her feet and digging through Richie's pile of cigarette boxes.

"All out, Marsh," Richie tells her, tucking his Walkman into his backpack after Eddie spent the night using it. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Ben can survive me being a few minutes late," she says, but still heads towards the door. Ben and Beverly always meet up outside the candy shop every morning to eat a quick breakfast before walking to school hand-in-hand. It's a ritual that Richie understands, one that is sacred and he will never break. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Rich?"

Richie feels guilty but he doesn't know why. There's nothing to be guilty about, why does he feel so terrible?

"You hopin' for a love confession? Sorry, Marsh, I can't do that to Big Ben. Love the kid too much to steal his girl," Richie shakes his head, sliding his jean jacket on and searching around for his converse.

"Who said I would leave Ben for you?" She laughs brighter than the sun.

"Are you kidding? Nobody can resist Richard's richard," Richie scoffs. He watches the door, waiting patiently for little brown eyes to make their arrival.

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"Clearly not even Eddie Kaspbrak," Bev sneers, not mocking, but more of a friendly fire tone. "Although, maybe you're the one who can't resist."

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"Get on your way, Beverly," Richie rolls his eyes in annoyance as he ties his shoes. "Ben will be waiting."

She smiles at Richie, one where her eyes sparkle keenly in ways that he hates. That's the smile she always does whenever she sees through Richie's facade. Her snake-like expression reminds Richie that he will always be the prey and she will hunt him like a wolf. Without another word, Beverly slips out of the door and Richie returns to stuffing his bag full.

"Hi, Eddie. Sleep well? Cute shirt," Beverly's voice carries down the hall, entering Richie's room as if she spoke into a megaphone.

"T-Thanks Bev. See you around," Eddie's nervous voice replies, and then the bedroom door quickly opens up and Richie is met with flushed cheeks. He raises his eyebrows, but Eddie merely shakes his head and says "Man, that girl is intimidating. Why'd you get her a knife for her birthday? Now she's twice as scary!"

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Richie laughs, but he doesn't tell Eddie that Beverly needs it for self defense. Instead, he lets his eyes fall down to the shirt adorning Eddie's body, filled with a pair of shorts that are much bigger than his usual attire. Even though Richie hasn't been able to fit into that particular shirt since he was twelve, it still manages to hang off of Eddie's collarbones and showcase such pretty freckles that most people never see.

"You're afraid of Beverly?" Richie asks.

"Rich, I'm the size of a pigeon, I'm scared of anybody that is taller than me," Eddie responds, putting his shoes on and trying to ignore the way Richie is staring at him.

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"You shouldn't be, kid," Richie says, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway. "You're the toughest guy I know."

119

Eddie rolls his eyes and assumes that Richie is joking (he's not), heading over to the door after he declares himself officially ready for school. Richie hums, leading the smaller boy downstairs and out the front door.

"You don't eat breakfast?" Eddie asks.

"Nope," Richie responds, down the sidewalk.

"Why not? It's the most important meal of the day!" Eddie leans down and props his bike up, running with it to catch up with Richie. "You don't ride your bike to school?"

"Because I'm not hungry when I wake up, Eds," Richie lies. "And no. Too many people try to steal it, it's easier to walk."

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Eddie wants to push more on the subject of breakfast, but Richie clearly doesn't want to talk about it. Instead of mounting his bike, Eddie keeps rolling it alongside them so that he can stay at the same pace as Richie.

"Hey, Richie? About last night," Eddie breathes out.

"Thought we agreed not to talk about it?" Richie's hands tighten into fists.

"But there's nobody around us!" Eddie argues, then says "So you've never had a crush on a girl? Ever?"

120

"No. Does it matter?" Richie scoffs, his voice sounding so much lower in the morning. Eddie notices this, but he also notices the way that the early sun laces it's way into Richie's pale complexion, the way the flowers bloom when they walk by, and the way that the hummingbirds sing their mornings songs.

"Don't you at least want a girlfriend? You listen to all these love songs and you've never once craved for what they have?" Eddie asks with desperation in his voice.

Richie looks at the boy next to him in confusion, trying to figure out exactly which angle is being worked at and what Eddie wants from him. Not everybody is trying to humiliate you, dumbass.

"I don't know, I've never thought about it much," Richie shrugs. "Is that what you want? A girlfriend?"

"Something like that," Eddie's face falls, but he keeps speaking anyway. "I want to... I want to be in love. I do. I think it's amazing, no, beautiful. How great must the human race be? We are designed to reproduce, and yet we came up with this silly concept of dating and marriage just to explain our feelings? We love so much and that's just... I want to experience that. Just once. Even if it doesn't end in marriage, I will be happy knowing that I was even lucky enough to feel it. I mean; there's a reason why people write songs about it, right?"

319

Richie is astonished by the clever honesty that pours out of the boy next to him. This is what Eddie Kaspbrak thinks about? Little Eddie Kaspbrak, an asthmatic hypochondriac, daydreams about having a lover? Richie didn't think the kid had it in him.

"That's... I like that, yeah," Richie nods. "I think you're onto something there, Eds."

"Don't call me that," Eddie responds habitually. Then, as if the words didn't leave his mouth at all, he continues with his previous subject. "I just think it's hard to imagine myself with any of the girls at our school. Maybe it's because we're all still too young... or maybe they're not matured yet... but I have all this love in my heart and I just know I don't want to give it to any of the girls at our school."

182

"Yeah, I gotta agree," Richie says, "That's why I've been giving my love to your mom every night."

104

"God, Richie," Eddie scoffs, pulling away in disgust. Richie watches as Eddie moves around his bike so that there's a barrier between them, and he feels rejection hit him like a tidal wave. "I was trying to have a nice conversation. Can't you go a second without making some stupid fucking joke? Jeez. Are you really that shallow? Is shitty jokes the only thing there is to you?"

397

Richie recoils harshly from the words as if they've burned his skin like boiling chemicals. He begins the parade of self loathing and internal disgust, his mind running loops around insults.

"Sorry," Richie says quietly, and the two remain silent for the rest of the walk to school.

Chapter 13

"Mr. Tozier, you must realize that this is your third strike for fighting on school property, yes?" The principal, Mr. Vaughn, stares down his nose as if Richie is a piece of dirt contaminating his immaculate office.

"Mhm," Richie stares out the window next to him, slumped down in the chair, defeat running his body ragged.

"And Mr. Bowers, you said that he was the one who started it?"

Henry Bowers, sitting in the chair next to Richie, pathetically cries out "Yes! You can ask my friends, too, they all saw it! He just started attacking me for no reason, sir. I think he's mental."

152

Richie's fist tightens around the arm of the chair, but he remains staring out of the window with a fixated gaze that can't be intercepted by anything else on earth.

"While I do believe you, it is still our school policy to issue a detention to anybody who engages in physical fights, whether or not it's self defense, so I regret to inform you that you'll be serving detention this Friday with Mr. Tozier."

"I understand, sir," Bowers says in his faux voice. Richie knows his manipulation tactics all too well, but there's no point in even trying to argue his side of the story. The adults in this town never listen anyhow.

"Now, Richie, because it is your third strike, I have no other choice but to send a letter home to your parents. They will need to come in and have a session with me and a counselor to get to the bottom of your anger issues," Vaughn says. Richie's heart hardens at the mention of his parents, but he doesn't have time to decline the meeting. "As for your relationship with Mr. Bowers here, I would like both of you to write a letter to each other apologizing for what you've done and the pain you have inflicted. I will be reading over it, and I advise that you don't turn anything in unless it's more than three pages. Is that understood?"

225

"Yes sir," they both say in unison, although Richie's is less enthusiastic as Henry's ass-kissing tone.

"Then you are to be dismissed. Get a pass from the secretary and return to class immediately. No dilly-dallying in the halls, boys."

Richie and Henry stand up, and as Richie gathers his bag from the chair, he watches the way that Henry shakes the principal's hand. Fucker.

Neither of the two grab a pass, just exit through the left door and quickly leave the office as fast as possible.

"Did you fucking snitch, Tozier? Did you fucking rat me out?" Henry growls, approaching Richie closely.

"Right, because that's a genius move," Richie rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Hen. Use your fucking brain. Why the fuck would I snitch on myself?"

Henry backs down for a second, but his anger doesn't subside. It never really does, but Richie has learned to ignore it.

"Do you think they'll come?" Henry asks. Richie's pace slows down in the hall, and for the first time since he was called into the office, he finally looks at Henry. Sure Richie's face is bad, but Henry's got bruises that make him feel proud of his right hook.

"No," Richie says honestly. He hates that Henry even asked, but he hates the fact that Henry knows how Richie's parents are in the first place. "When have they ever given a shit about me enough to discuss my anger?"

Henry laughs, just slightly, and for a moment, it feels real again. It doesn't feel like high school, and it doesn't feel like Richie is taller than Henry, and it doesn't feel like November. Just for that brief second, as the two stand in the hall after getting their asses chewed out, it is fourth grade again when Richie and Henry saw each other everyday. Back then, the two used to fight for fun. Roughhousing. It's what boys did.

But then fifth grade came, and Henry no longer wanted to just roughhouse.

278

Richie shakes his head, bringing himself back to reality, which is, they aren't friends and this isn't anything but high school.

"Sorry about your glasses," Henry laughs again, but it's not as genuine this time. He must be thinking about it too.

"It's fine," Richie shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks up at Henry through the massive crack in the lenses, and he says "Don't care. They'll get fixed eventually. Sorry 'bout your eye."

Henry grins. "Don't care. It'll heal eventually."

It all feels far too friendly for Richie, so, before the two can relapse into their old ways, Richie asks "You got a cigarette to spare?"

Henry gives him the pack, which would normally not happen if he weren't feeling so nostalgic. Richie has that effect on him. Nobody else does.

"Cheers, mate," Richie does his terrible British accent, the one that always made Henry laugh. This time, he doesn't laugh. He doesn't even smile. The fond filter that lingers from memories must have worn off, the coldness of reality creeping back into their hearts. "Listen, Bowers. You and your gang can continue on doing whatever it is you do, but you leave Eddie Kaspbrak and his friends alone."

"Aw, don't want your little boyfriend to get hurt?" Henry sneers.

"You of all people should know that I don't swing that way," Richie defends himself. Henry stiffens up, drawing his fist back, but Richie waves him off tiredly. He doesn't have time to fight, not now. "Just give the kids a break, for fucks sake."

229

Henry pauses, considering the options and Richie's proposition. After reaching a conclusion, he says "I'll let Bill slide. I heard about his brother."

"And...?" Richie trails off, waiting for Henry to finish the sentence.

"And that's it, you fucking waste. Not going to stop having fun because you decided to make friends with the geeks and queers," Henry steps closer to Richie, trying to look as intimidating as he can despite the fact that Richie is much taller.

"Alright, fine. Bill," Richie nods, lifting his head up as the bell rings and class doors begin to open. Henry looks as if he's been caught, desperate to get away so he won't be seen with Richie Tozier of all people. Before he can slip off, however, Richie reaches out to grab Henry by the front of his shirt. He lowers his head, making sure that his mouth is so close to Henry's ear that he won't be misheard, and he threatens. "And Eddie Kaspbrak. Leave those two alone, Bowers, or I will fucking bring your dead body to your father's doorstep and explain what kind of person his son has become."

374

Henry backs away in fear, his eyes wide and chin quivering. Richie and Henry have known each other for their entire life, and not once has Richie ever been so threatening. Why the fuck does he care about Eddie Kaspbrak so much? The two aren't even friends.

"Whatever, Tozier. I'll tell the others not to hit your faggot fucking boyfriend," Henry tries to act tough but is failing miserably.

"Aw, how kind of you," Richie smiles sickly. "Off you go, then."

Henry scurries away quickly, getting lost in the sea of people. As Richie takes a step back, he bumps into someone and turns to apologize.

"Sor- Eds?"

Eddie is standing behind Richie, his eyes wide with fear. "What were you doing talking to Henry Bowers? Is he going to kill you? Are you in danger, Richie?"

132

The genuine concern written on the boy's face makes Richie's heart warm with affection. He forgets all about the insults that Eddie spit at him this morning, his mind focusing solely on the sheer fear Eddie is feeling for Richie's safety.

Richie throws an arm around Eddie, and the two start walking down the hall. "No, Eds, he's not going to kill me. And he's not going to bother you anymore, alright? You're safe now."

"The fuck did you say to him?" Eddie looks up at Richie's swollen face.

"Just a few words," Richie shrugs. The two abruptly stop, and as he watches Eddie start twisting a lock, he leans against the locker next to the smaller boy. "Nothing major. If he - or any of his gang - give you shit from now on, I want you to tell me."

"...Alright, Rich," Eddie says apprehensively. "You're kinda scaring me, dude."

147

"Nah," Richie shakes his head.

Eddie opens his locker, and Richie's eyes automatically fall onto the pharmacy the boy has stashed inside. Prescription bottles and vitamins gummies take up the entire top shelf, leaving no space for notebooks or supplies. Eddie kneels down to retrieve an algebra book, and when he does so, he reveals the singular picture taped to the inside of Eddie's locker.

149

Richie, two cigarettes on his nostrils, goofy smile on his face. The same photo that went missing from his wall last night. Eddie kept it? And nonetheless, taped it inside of his locker when he got to school this morning? Richie could die right this second and he would die completely euphoric and happy.

337

Eddie stands up, and with these butterfly wings sticking to the inside of his chest, Richie finds the courage to ask "Do you want to skip? We could... we could go down to the movies, or walk by the quarry. Anything you wanna do, y'know. Let's just... let's go. Just us."

101

Eddie looks at him like he's crazy. "Are you serious? It's the middle of the school day. I can't just leave. Do you know how much trouble I would get in?"

"I-I know," Richie's smile falters, and the butterflies quickly turn to moths. "I just thought it could be fun."

"All you ever do is think about fun," Eddie scoffs, "I can't just leave school and still get perfect grades like you, Richie. My mom would have a heart attack if they called home. Not all of us have parents that don't care whether or not we're at school."

601

These words hit Richie harder than Eddie intended them. Richie takes a step back, his arms coming up to cross over his chest as if protecting himself from Eddie's painful little daggers. The dread that rushes through him makes his limbs feel heavy, like his bones were soaked in concrete. He feels nauseous, and as he shakes his head, he can't seem to stop thinking you fucking waste. Even your parents don't care. Fucking garbage.

189

"Richie, hey, I didn't mean it-" Eddie reaches out to touch Richie, but the tall boy quickly pulls away and lets out a sound of frustration.

"God, no, it's fine! It's fine, fuck," the side of Richie's fist hits the locker next to them, creating an echo of shivering noises. "It's fucking fine, Eddie. Whatever. Go, go to class."

161

"Richie, wait," Eddie pulls on his sleeve, but Richie shakes his arm free and starts moving down the hall. He expects Eddie to chase after him, but he's glad that he doesn't. Richie doesn't want to deal with him right now, not with all his confusion and mixed signals. One second, they're holding hands and Eddie is telling Richie all about how he wants to fall in love, but the next moment, Eddie is only reminding Richie of how shitty his life is. Richie doesn't want to deal with it, no pretty boy is worth this much.

106

"Trashmouth!"

Richie's blood stiffens, and he turns on his heel as if he's ready to pummel Eddie's face for following him anyway. Instead, Stan's curly hair bounces through the crowd as he fights to get through, his skinny arms pushing people aside until he finally reaches Richie, out of breath.

"Hey, I was looking for you," Stan says.

Richie's fists loosen up, his ears perking up. Someone was looking for him? Why him? What for? "You were?"

"Yeah," Stan nods, "I was just going to wait until lunch, but I didn't know if you were going to sit with us again. What are you doing this weekend?"

"Uh... nothing," Richie replies.

"Do you like birds?"

314

"Birds?" Richie asks, his face twisting up in confusion.

"Yeah, birds," Stan nods eagerly. "Like, local birds? And non-native birds? Migration patterns?"

"You lost me, Stan."

"Well, Bill and I were going to have a picnic down in Derry square and then hike the trail so we could go bird-watching. Do you want to come?" Stan asks.

121

Richie's heart cannot take this back and forth with his emotions. He wants to feel happy, to let his chest swell with the idea of being wanted, but Eddie's words are wrapped around his lungs and won't allow him to feel the excitement.

"Sure, Stan," Richie nods. "I would really like that. Are you sure?"

"Wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want you to come," Stan laughs.

Richie cracks a smile, some of his bad feelings falling away. "Hey, do you wanna skip? I want to skip. What class do you have next?"

"I've got a massive test in history today," Stan says apologetically, "Aren't you worried about missing it?"

"I can make it up," Richie shrugs. "You sure you don't wanna ditch?"

"I would if I could, Richie," Stan promises him. Something in his expression screams honesty, so Richie believes him. Unlike Eddie, Stan rejected Richie in a civil, humane way. No harsh words, no mean comments. "Oh, but you know who would love to?"

"Bill? Ben? Beverly?" Richie asks.

"No, no, Mike," Stan says. The bell rings, and instead of rushing off like the rest of the population, Stan remains still. "He's homeschooled, he works out on the farm just out of town. He's always looking for ways to get out of work. Do you want to call him?"

142

"Sure," Richie says, desperate to be with anybody. He hates being alone, especially since this day has already turned as sour as spoiled milk.

Stan pulls a pad of sticky notes from his breast pocket and a pen from his khakis, then uses his leg to write down a neat order of numbers. He peels the sticky note off, pasting it onto Richie's forehead, and then giving the taller boy a farewell smile.

190

"See you 'round, trashmouth!" Stanley calls out as he's halfway down the hall.

Richie reaches up, smiling like an idiot as he reads the numbers printed down. He lifts his head, replying "Stan the man, you're a lifesaver!"

Nobody stops Richie from walking right on out of the school. No teachers call after him, no students tattle, no adults who live nearby report him, nobody cares. Richie tries to ignore this fact, just walking down to the nearest payphone and punching in the digits that Stanley has recorded.

It rings four times, and halfway through the fifth, a voice interrupts. "Hanlon's farm, who is this?"

Richie can hear the authority in the voice, so he quickly comes up with a fake posh voice and says "Mmmyes, hello, good afternoon Mr. Hanlon, I represent a small group of entrepreneurs in city hall and we are taking a survey of all adolescent kids in Derry. Is there a Michael Hanlon home?"

111

There's a pause so long that Richie is convinced he didn't pull it off. Then, just as he's about to hang up, he hears "Mike! Some city hall person wants to talk to you! Get your ass down here, boy!"

Moments later, Mike's comforting voice is on the phone. Richie noticed how smooth he talked when they first met, but he didn't realize how homely it was until he says "Hello, sir. This is Michael Hanlon speaking."

"Mike! It's me, Richie," Richie grins. He instantly feels better, just from getting attention that he usually lacks. "Do you wanna hang out?"

"Hang out? It's eleven in the morning, Richie, don't you have school?" Mike asks.

This does not discourage Richie in the slightest. "Hell yeah I do. You wanna go to the Aladdin and sneak in?"

Mike is quiet for a second, and then he says "Meet me outside the Derry library."

"Oh, fuck yeah," Richie laughs, hanging up the receiver and feeling weight float off of him. He's gotten invited to bird watching and successfully managed to hang out with someone in one day, so he must not be as annoying as he originally thought. Eddie Kaspbrak is just a fleeting thought.

144

Richie walks across town to the library, taking a seat on top of the steps so he has a better view to watch out for Mike. He doesn't wait long, just twenty minutes, before the familiar friend is riding up on his bike and skidding to a halt in front of the staircase. Richie smiles, bounding down the steps and greeting the virtual stranger with a hug. He feels so attached to Mike in this moment, the one person who would hang out with a kid he barely knows. He thinks that says a lot about Mike; how he's kind hearted and sees the good in everybody. He doesn't care who you are or what reputation you've got, he still will take a chance to become your friend. Richie is grateful for that.

164

"Where to?" Richie asks excitedly, "Movies? We can sneak in through the back door. The arcade? The arcade sounds fun."

Mike smiles, a twinkle in his eyes, and says "I know a place. Hop on."

Richie looks at him in confusion, but when Mike gestures towards the heavy duty basket attached to the front of the bike, he doesn't hesitate to climb in. His awkward, lanky legs dangle out the side, but Mike just chuckles and begins pedaling down the street as if he's not carrying Richie's weight as well. To Michael, this is nothing. He makes deliveries heavier than Richie, he's used to having a little weight in his basket.

230

Mike takes Richie around Derry and shows him places that Richie didn't know a thing about. He shows Richie statues and explains who they are and why they're built there, and landmarks with such significance that Richie would have never guessed. They ride alongside the river, turning around and looping back before they can enter the Barrens, and Richie doesn't think he's ever felt as wild and free than he does when he is riding down rocky hills with Mike Hanlon.

122

The two hit a pebble in the road, causing the bike to sputter to a stop and flip forward. For a second, when they're airborne and the world seems to slow down, Richie catches Mike's eyes and he bursts into a laugh that does not sync up properly with the sluggish speed they've been reduced too.

Richie's jeans rip at the knees, and he tumbles and rolls farther than Mike does. The stronger one of the two immediately sits up and comes to Richie's side, asking "Are you okay?"

Richie looks up at Mike, a smug grin on his face, scratches and cuts littering his face. Mike looks concerned, and in that second, Richie could kiss him. The boy doesn't realize how starved for attention he is until he's finally shown an ounce of a spotlight. He craves more, but for now, all he can do is nod and accept Mike's hand as they stand to their feet.

656

Mike drives Richie home, the lanky boy sitting in the basket and tilting his head back to watch the sky. His eyes travel from his torn jeans and bleeding knees, over to Mike's arms and each protruding muscle, up to his face and how the sun creates a halo behind his head. The light blinds Richie, and he can't notice much about Mike's features except for his strong jawline and full lips.

151

"Hey, Mike?" Richie asks.

In the quiet neighborhood that they're pedaling through, his voice sounds like a thunderstorm rolling in from the east.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we're friends?" Richie asks. Insecure.

"Of course we are, Richie. We just had a grand day, didn't we?" Mike responds, looking down at Richie's magnified owl eyes.

145

"Yeah," Richie mumbles, his head rolling to the side to watch the street. The perfect suburban lawns and their white picket fences all pass by in a blur. "Thank you for it, by the way. I really needed it."

"Me too," Mike says, and for a second, he lets go to push some of the hair out of Richie's face. "You need a haircut, chap."

"Oi oi, who d'ya think ya are, tellin' me's to get a haircut, mate?" Richie's accent gets worse with each word that he speaks.

118

Mike laughs anyway, and he says "I didn't know you could do that, Rich."

They turn down Richie's street, and knowing that he's only returning to an empty home, he sets his head back on the brim of the basket and returns to staring at the sky. The clouds move without care, and Richie wonders what it would be like to be floating up there with them. God, what he wouldn't give to just... float.

763

"Oh, look! Eddie is here!" Mike exclaims happily, clearly excited to see his friend. "I wonder if he wants to hang out too?"

151

Richie sits up, nearly toppling out of the basket and sending Mike into an imbalance. Richie squints his eyes, and sure enough, little Eddie Kaspbrak is waiting on the front porch again. Is this going to be their routine?

"God," Richie sighs, feeling the bump as Mike moves his bike over the curb to get to the sidewalk.

"Richie!" Eddie calls out, and just the voice gives Richie goosebumps.

108

When Mike comes to a complete stop, Richie slowly lifts himself out of the basket and retrieves his bag from where it was hanging off of one of the handlebars. In his peripheral vision, he can see Eddie running down the sidewalk towards them, but Richie chooses to turn towards Mike instead.

"Here, I wrote my phone number down in case you ever want to do that again," Richie hands over the same stickynote that Stan gave him, now with Mike's number scribbled out and replaced with the Tozier landline. "I had a lot of fun today. Do you think you can take me out to the farm next time?"

"Yeah! That sounds great, Rich. I can show you my favorite donkey," Mike smiles so bright that it makes the sun look pale in comparison.

434

"Hey, man, your favorite jackass is standing right here. Don't need to see no donkey," Richie jokes. Eddie has reached them now, his persistent tiny hands clenching onto Richie's jacket with no regards to Mike. Richie pretends like he doesn't notice, only says "Well, I'll see you around, Mike Hanlon."

"I await more calls from the city hall!" Mike laughs, mounting his bike and waving one last time before turning down the street and pedaling away.

Richie turns on his heel, walking down the sidewalk to get to his house, still not taking notice of the boy begging his name.

"Are you seriously ignoring me? Dude, come on, look at me," Eddie says.

Richie glances over just to shut him up. When he does so, Eddie's face changes from annoyed to curiosity.

"For fuck's sake, Rich, what the hell were you doing?" Eddie clasps onto the sides of Richie's face, pulling him down to Eddie's height so that the emergency first-aid kit wielder can inspect the scrapes from flipping over the bike.

"Fell off the bike," Richie mumbles, his cheeks squished together under Eddie's hands.

"You've gotta be careful!" Eddie scolds him, taking hold of Richie by the wrist and dragging them back to the Tozier residence. "Are you sure? Was it Henry Bowers? Did he do this to you?"

"Henry Bowers is a coward," Richie mumbles. Eddie stops and looks back at him, but otherwise continues leading Richie right up to the front door. As Richie unlocks it, he catches sight of the watch on his wrist and realize that it's still school hours. "Eds, you know you're supposed to be in class."

"I know. I left in the middle of fourth hour because I couldn't stop thinking about you sitting at home alone. Guess I was wrong, I've been waiting out here for two hours, you know," Eddie frowns, shoving Richie by the shoulder. "And don't call me that."

"You didn't have to do that, Eds," Richie smiles. "Mikey boy was more than enough company."

Eddie shrinks down on himself, pausing when Richie finally unlocks the door. "Should I go home, then?"

Richie gives him a look that says he's talking nonsense, reaching out to pull on Eddie's hand. "Never said that, dweeb."

Eddie smiles and pushes Richie into the bathroom, saying "Are we making a routine of this, Richie Tozier?"

114

"Looks like," Richie digs out the cigarettes that he got from Bowers, putting one between his cut up lips and lighting it without any regards to the smell lingering in the house. He doesn't know when his parents will be home, but he has a feeling it won't be soon.

"That's gross, you know. Your lungs are going to shrivel and turn black, Richie. Black!" Eddie says, watching as Richie persistently smokes anyway. "I hate the smell of anything but Camels. Cigarette smoke smells so much worse when it's not... when it's not the smoke you grew up smelling, you know?"

181

"Your mom smokes?" Richie asks, a chuckle escaping his lips.

Eddie plasters another bandaid across Richie's face, his brows knitting together. "No. My dad did."

"Where's daddy-o now, eh?" Richie does his best Canadian accent.

230

"He passed when I was just a kid," Eddie's voice softens down to a honeysuckle whisper. He doesn't look sad, no, just more forlorn than anything. This is a pain that he's used to, one that he's thought over, and it's clear that he has adjusted to just how bad it hurts.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Eds," Richie reaches out and lets his hand brush against the side of Eddie's smooth skin. "Sorry, I meant Eddie."

Eddie smiles but doesn't say anything, just continues wiping at Richie's exposed skin. When he takes a step back, Richie assumes that he's finished, but Eddie only drops down to his knees and kneels in front of Richie.

583

"Woah, kid, what are you doing?" Richie moves backwards on the toilet seat lid.

405

"Your knees are scraped, aren't they?" Eddie says, letting his tiny fingers slip between the rips on Richie's jeans. "Yeah, look at them. Come on, take em off."

355

"Just roll my pants up, you fucking weirdo," Richie shakes his head.

"Are you kidding? In your stupid slim cut jeans? They wouldn't get past your calf, come on, take them off," Eddie insists in his beautifully stubborn manner.

304

Richie reluctantly stands up, Eddie still kneeling in front of him, and he maintains eye contact as he slowly undoes his belt. Eddie's eyes widen and he looks away, his face turning a color brighter than the blood dripping from Richie's knees.

351

"It would be hard to explain this if someone were to walk in right now," Richie chuckles, sliding his belt out of the loops and works on unbuttoning them next. Eddie fidgets with his hands, shifting around with nervous twitches.

107

"What, like Bev did this morning?" Eddie asks.

"That was different. That wasn't as suggestive as this," Richie says, sliding his jeans down his legs, exposing boxers and painfully pale thighs.

"I don't know, Tozier. You hiding in the bathroom while I'm naked on the other side of the curtain seems pretty suggestive to me," Eddie sits him back down and starts cleaning the scraped with peroxide. They sting, and when Richie takes a sharp breath in, Eddie softens up his cotton ball dabs.

114

"Yet you didn't tell me to go downstairs," Richie remarks. Eddie blushes even deeper, his face full of excitement and flustered.

100

Eddie doesn't explain himself, just puts bandaids on each knee (two on the left, one on the right) and stands up. Richie pulls his pants back up quickly, leaving his belt undone and shirt untucked.

"Okay, well, I guess I better get home," Eddie says. He starts reaching towards the door, but Richie puts a hand on the frame and blocks the small boy from leaving.

"You're going home? You just got here," Richie says, alarm in his voice.

"I didn't go home last night, Richie. My mom will be worried sick," Eddie shakes his head. "I left class because I was worried you were... I don't know. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Now that I know you are, I have to get going."

"I'll make dinner again," Richie suggests, his back flattening against the door to prevent Eddie from taking off.

"Richie," Eddie smiles, his tiny hands settling on Richie's chest. "I have to go. You've gotten me into enough trouble as it is. I'm gonna be grounded, you know."

Richie knows when to give in, so he steps aside and lets Eddie pass through the door. However, he still walks Eddie to the door and feels anxious the closer they get.

"Was it worth it?" Richie asks in one last desperate attempt to get Eddie to stay. "Was it worth getting grounded for?"

Eddie looks at him and smiles as he slips through the front door, holding the screen open as Richie leans against the doorway.

"Of course it was, Richie Tozier," Eddie says, leaning up and saying "You know, you've gotta work on your separation anxiety. Learn to love being alone with yourself."

190

Richie opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off by Eddie yanking him down and pressing a kiss to Richie's cheek. It burns just the same as it did before, if not worse. Now Richie is the blushing idiot, and Eddie is bouncing back down on his feet as if he didn't just drop an atomic bomb on Richie's heart.

435

"I live on Ashburn street," Eddie says, running down the porch and mounting his bike. Richie looks at him with a confused expression, trying to figure out what the other boy means. Eddie clarifies with, "You know, just in case you wanted to come say goodnight to me after my mom falls asleep. Around nine or so?"

432

Richie breaks into his ridiculously contagious smile, shaking his head and sheepishly looking towards the floor as if he is in constant amazement about Eddie Kaspbrak. "You always find a new way to surprise me, Eds."

Eddie grins, closing his eyes and saying in a voice that sounds euphoric to Richie, "Last house on the street, red mailbox."

"I'll see if I can stop by," Richie says, even though they both know he will be there.

"Looking forward to it, Tozier," Eddie calls out, riding his bike down the street and disappearing from sight. Only when Richie is certain that the boy won't come backpedaling with a changed mind does he allow himself to go inside.

He finds his way to the phone, picking it up from the receiver and dialing the number that he has memorized more than his own. The Marsh residence, one that forces Richie to practice his more effeminate voices.

"Hi Mr. Marsh! It's, like, totally Tiffany again," he giggles, his voice straining to hit high notes that most boys his age can only achieve through voice cracks. "Is Beverly home? I, like, so totally have a question about our math homework."

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Beverly's dad grunts and calls for his daughter, which makes Richie relax. He hates talking to her dad, especially when he knows what would happen to Bev if her father ever found out that Tiffany was actually a skyscraper boy named Richard.

"Hey, Tiff," Bev laughs easily. "What's up? Something wrong?"

"I've got plans tonight," Richie strips the girlish voice to talk normally, losing the tone as fast as it is for him to take a coat off. "I know we haven't been hanging out lately, but I just thought I'd tell you that I can't make it to the gas station tonight."

"Eddie?" Beverly knows before Richie even has a chance to pedal some excuse.

Richie, who doesn't know why he should lie in the first place, says "Yeah, Eds. Is that a problem?"

"No, not at all," Beverly smiles into the phone, "Be nice to him, Tozier. I'll kill you if you break his heart."

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"Whatever," Richie smiles, subconsciously twirling the phone cord around his finger. God, Tiffany must be lingering. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

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The two say their farewells, and Richie just cannot, for the life of him, stop smiling. This day started so shitty; being punished for a fight he didn't start, being berated by the boy that is now his reason for feeling so giddy. On top of that, Richie wreaked havoc all over Derry with a kid who he would have never met up with if it weren't for Stanley inviting him out and writing down a phone number.

Richie weighs the outcomes from today and decides that the good things outnumber the bad, so as he carries himself up to his room on a pixie dust high of delightful pleasure, he lets himself fill up with the fumes of euphoria. It's not often that he finds himself feeling happy, but today seems to be the best day he's had, quite possibly, ever.

Chapter 14

9:01 pm.

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Richie props his bike against the last house on the street with a red mailbox, circling around the yard to see the first floor window with a light on. He buzzes in excitement, reaching out and gently tapping on the glass.

Eddie's face appears in the curtains a moment later, the boy pushing the window upwards with his quaint arms. He leans in the window sill, grinning at Richie, and hums in amusement as his eyes travel up and down the tall boy's frame.

"Come to say goodnight?" Eddie asks, checking his watch. "You're a minute late."

"Got a bit caught up," Richie says, taking a step forward. "You know, it's hard to go anywhere without women chasing me."

Eddie rolls his eyes but still laughs, stepping backwards and saying "Come on then, come inside."

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Richie hoists himself up into the window, colliding with Eddie's floor when he loses balance. Eddie watches the clumsy tumble with fond eyes, sitting on his bed and waiting for Richie to recover.

Richie looks around, noticing the flower wallpaper and shag carpet. Eddie doesn't have posters or photos hanging up like Richie does, however, there is a picture of all the losers sitting in a frame on his bedside table. Eddie's room is as neat and orderly that Richie would have expected, but that does not take the soul out of it. There's still Mad magazines stacked by the closet door, comic books lining the bookshelf that holds very few novels, and a small television set in the corner of the room.

"You have your own TV?" Richie gasps, admiring all of the Star Wars stickers that Eddie has put in lines around the thick box frame.

"Mhm. Do you want to watch MTV?" Eddie stands, but Richie quickly shakes his head.

"Usually I would say yes, but... tonight is for you, not the music."

"You didn't bring your Walkman?" Eddie asks, sounding genuinely shocked.

Richie stands up, approaching the fish tank in the corner of the room and watching the colorful aqua life swim around frantically. Eddie loves the shades of blue that glow upon Richie's skin, but he doesn't comment on it.

"No, actually. Just thought we could talk instead," Richie says, distracted by the fish. Apparently something else catches his attention, because he quickly crosses the room and starts flipping through the stacks of baseball cards that Eddie collects. "I use that thing as a crutch, I guess I'm trying to learn to walk on my own. Some asshole told me I need to learn how to be alone with my thoughts."

Eddie laughs and says "Whatever. I'm glad you're growing, but it's still okay to have a crutch. Whether it's pills, or music, I think it's all okay. Music is good, music is nice."

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"Hm," Richie chuckles to himself, his fingers dancing along the line of pill bottles. At the very end, Eddie's aspirator sits, and Richie thinks about all the times that it's touched Eddie's soft lips. He feels jealous.

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Eddie yawns, which reminds Richie of why he's initially here. He crawled in Eddie's window to say goodnight, yet the words haven't even left his mouth.

"Goodnight, Eds," Richie smiles, moving back towards the bedroom window.

Eddie gets up and approaches Richie. The tall boy thinks, just for a second, that he is going to be kissed for the third time. Though, what Eddie actually does instead is just as exciting.

He shuts the window.

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"You want me to stay?" Richie's tone is hopeful.

"No, dipshit, I just closed the window so that you could smash through it and hospitalize yourself," Eddie scoffs, returning to his bed. He sits with his legs underneath him, and Richie can't help but notice how cute Eddie's pajamas shorts are. Especially when they're paired with the shirt of Richie's that Eddie is still wearing.

"Watch that mouth, Eds," Richie sits on the floor, staring up at Eddie like a follower worshipping his god. "If you don't knock it off, I'm afraid I might have to shut it for you."

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"Oh?" Eddie smirks, leaning down on his bed and propping his head up with his hand. If Richie didn't know any better, he would think that Eddie is inviting him to join. "And how would you go about that?"

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"I don't know, ask your mom," Richie responds.

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Eddie shakes his head, sighing out "Again with the bad jokes. They're unoriginal, Richie! With that giant head of yours, you'd think you would be able to think of a better comeback, but I guess not."

"Ah, you love it, Eds!" Richie chuckles. The air is thick with sleepy yellows, the smell of old comic books, wet rocks, and the familiar trace of bubble gum Amoxicillin. It's a combination of things that are entirely true to Eddie's nature, and Richie wouldn't mind the smell lingering on his clothes. On an impulse, he asks "What do I smell like, Eddie? Jokes aside. Do I have a certain smell?"

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Eddie lays back down, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded over his chest. Richie admires the profile, his eyes outlining the edges of Eddie's features, and he feels the moon whisper to him; telling him to love this boy because nobody else has.

"Honestly?" Eddie asks, but doesn't wait for Richie to respond. "Cigarettes is pretty dominant, yeah. Cigarettes, but the shitty kind. Unfiltered. I didn't think there was a difference; tobacco is tobacco, but you smell... you smell different. It's a kind that I could learn to love, just like my dad's."

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"That's really-" Richie begins to say, but then he's cut off by Eddie continuing to ramble his perfectly posed ballerina words.

"But that's not all. Once you get past that; it's like a concoction of smells that are easy to pick apart if you know what you're looking for. I don't think I would have guessed most of them if I didn't spend the night with you, but when I was taking a shower and I spotted your shampoo, I understood why the smell of coconuts often flowed from you. And when I saw the wrappers on top of your desk, I understood why your breath smells of polo mints. And when I saw the photo taped to your wall, showing Beverly wrapped up in your arms, I understood why you smelled like Marlboros and water lilies; her perfume. There are some things I haven't been able to pin down quite yet, like the aroma of dusty pages despite a single book not being in your room, or the leather smell that persists even though all of your furniture is suede. I don't know the source of these scents yet, but I'm waiting for the day that I do."

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By the time that he's done, Richie is resting his head on the mattress and batting long eyelashes up at Eddie. He feels the air escape the room, and if Richie didn't know any better, he would assume that he's the one with asthma.

"You... you pay attention to all of those things?" Richie asks, the air inflated in his words surprising him with its twitterpated inflections.

"I do," Eddie rolls over, his eyes meeting Richie's on the tiny twin size mattress. "I... I don't know why. Is it bad?"

"No," Richie breathes out, his voice shaking. "Nobody has before, that's all. I didn't know there was so much to notice."

Eddie smiles, his eyes dropping down to the lower half of Richie's face and then dragging back up to the cracked coke-bottle glasses.

"Have you ever considered being a writer?" Richie asks Eddie, high on a euphoria that he hopes lasts forever. "You'd be great."

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"You think? I don't know. Bill was always the one so good with words," Eddie sighs, batting his pretty brown eyes at Richie so innocently.

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"Bill?" Richie scoffs. "Stuttering Bill?"

"Yeah," Eddie shrugs, then says "Everyone calls you Richie the Mouth, yet you've been sweet talking me all night. Reputation isn't everything, you know."

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"Not true," Richie denies, but the smile on his face gives him away. He loops back around to their original subject, saying "I'm serious, Eds. You... You describe things beautifully. And the way you talked about falling in love this morning? It felt... It felt real. At least start a journal, or just write about your day, do something. Don't let those adjectives go to waste."

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"It takes more than adjectives to be a good writer, Richie," Eddie says.

"You would know," Richie responds.

Eddie shakes his head again, and then another yawn slips from his mouth. When Richie sees this, he backs up and removes himself from leaning on the bed, resuming his position on the floor comfortably. Eddie looks at him, very curiously, as if he's trying to figure out what to say.

When he finds the right words, he asks "Richie? Can I ask a big favor?"

"Of course, kid," Richie nods, pushing his glasses off of his face while Eddie stands up to turn the light off.

"Since you didn't bring any music with you," the light flickers off. "Could you hum your favorite songs? I have a hard time falling asleep."

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This isn't true, in fact, it is as far from the truth as it could get. Eddie takes sleep aid vitamins before bed in order to help lull him into a slumber, and they work just fine. Even now, as he fumbles back in between his bedsheets, he can feel his eyes growing heavy with each blink. Falling asleep is easy, however, staying asleep is a different story. Night terrors wait for him on the other side, calling Eddie's name in their seductive whispers. Eddie doesn't give in.

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"Yeah," Richie nods, moving closer to the bed and lying on his side to get more comfortable. He hums quietly, the vibrations traveling through his chest and echoing between his ribs. He starts with an Elvis song, one that his father used to sing to his mother before they started drinking every night. Can't Help Falling In Love.

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When Richie reaches the verse 'take my hand, take my whole life too' he realizes that Eddie must have been following the words in his head because the boy's hand falls from the bed. Again, without hesitation, Richie lets his hand engulf the tiny one and settle it onto his chest. He continues humming, and he hopes that Eddie can feel the vibrations in his hand against Richie's chest.

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Soft. So soft. Richie feels as if all of the blood in his body has been replaced by honeysuckle sugar water. The two fall asleep quickly, Richie's dreams focused around peach colored cheeks and apple-rot stained eyes. Even in his dreams, the sun shines warm, and everything smells like firewood.

"Help," Richie hears, instantly pulling him from his dreams and throwing him into a hurricane of panic. The strained voice cries again, saying "H-Help. Stop... stop!"

He sits up, squinting in the darkness to see Eddie restlessly thrashing in his bed. Richie panics, reaching out and putting his hands on Eddie's chest. His lungs move like they're going to collapse, his body trembling underneath Richie's hands.

"Hey, hey, Eds, come on," Richie shakes the boy, nudging him awake and trying to fight the nightmare off. "Eddie. Eddie!"

Eddie's eyes fly open and he automatically swings at Richie. Richie, who has reflexes developed from the countless shots his mother would take at him, catches Eddie's hand by the wrist before it can come into contact with Richie's bruised face.

"Richie," Eddie realizes who it is, remembering where he is as reality begins to replace the state of dreaming that his nightmares hold him captive in. "I'm sorry-" deep inhale, "I'm so s-sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," Richie guides Eddie's arm back down. "Can you breathe? Hey, hold on."

Richie stands up, heading over to the desk and knocking pill bottles over as he blindly grabs for the aspirator he saw sitting over here. As he grasps at anything cylindrical, Eddie's breath becomes shorter and tighter, turning into frantic gasps. Richie moves faster.

When he feels the familiar shape, he trips over his feet trying to get back to Eddie. Eddie grabs at it, his hands wrapping around the tight fist Richie is holding the inhaler in, and the two guide the mouthpiece up to Eddie's gaping mouth.

Eddie breathes evenly, his fingers tightening on Richie's hand, and releasing the trigger as clumsily as he can. Relief comes within seconds, and when he finally feels as if his throat isn't on fire, he collapses backwards on the bed.

"Are you okay, Eds?" Richie asks with a voice full of concern. He leans over Eddie's body, hovering above the boy as if he can be some form of shelter.

"'M fine," Eddie whispers, his voice weak. "Just a nightmare, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Richie," Eddie says, his voice lacking any kind of confidence. "I get them all the time, this isn't anything new."

Richie stares at the boy, reluctantly saying "Okay," and sliding off the mattress. Before he can move very far, Eddie reaches out and clasps his hand around Richie's wrist.

"Don't," Eddie blurts out, fear still lingering in his words. "D-Don't... make me... sleep alone."

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Richie stares at Eddie, the blue lights of the fish tank illuminating the boy's features. He looks terrified, he does, but not of the dream. He stares up at Richie with these kind of wide-set eyes that tell a story all on their own, and that is; he's afraid of what Richie will say. He's afraid of Richie rejecting him. He's afraid of Richie leaving.

Richie realizes in that very moment, when the suspense hangs in the air like paper lanterns, that it was never about the music that kept Eddie asleep. It was the fact that Richie was sleeping next to him.

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So Richie crawls into the tiny bed, tucking his lanky limbs underneath the blanket and trying not to bump into Eddie. The small boy, however, takes this as permission to cross all boundaries. He nuzzles in close to Richie's side, picking up the boy's long arm and making himself right at home in the space between Richie's bicep and ribs. Richie doesn't mind, in fact, he thinks of how this is Eddie granting him the green light to hold back. So Richie does. He holds on, arms sliding around Eddie's waist, one hand slipping up his shirt to feel all the goosebumps that rise over the creamy skin coating his spine.

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Richie's mind imagines the song that he was humming before, the one about falling in love. He thinks he's starting to understand the lyrics, but that in itself is a terrifying thought. Why does he think of Elvis songs when Eddie Kaspbrak pushes just a little bit closer? Why Eddie Kaspbrak? Why a boy?

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"Your hands are freezing," Eddie murmurs, his voice shy and exclusive.

"Sorry," Richie moves his hands down Eddie's back, then lets them linger. "Can you tell me about your dream? Maybe it'll help to talk about."

Eddie sounds like he wants to object, but after a moment, he releases a sigh that hugs the curve of Richie's jaw.

"It's always the same. I don't know why, or where it came from, but it's been the same since I was a kid. I'm... I'm lost in the sewers... it's so dark, and disgusting, and nasty! It's nasty! I'm stepping around in the shit and piss of Derry, and then... the spider. Bigger than you could imagine, you know, bigger than a car. It rips my arm off and I have to... bleed out and die in the sewers. All alone. It's cold, and it hurts, and I can feel it. The loneliness, not the arm. I think that hurts worse."

Richie listens quietly, then says "There's no such thing as giant spiders, I think you'll be safe."

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"That doesn't make it any less scary," Eddie sighs, reaching up and rubbing his own arm to remind himself that it's still there. Then, his hands settle on Richie's chest, and he plays with a loose thread straying from the rest of Richie's shirt. "I'm always scared that... if I die in my dream, I'll die in real life. I don't want to die alone in those sewers, Richie."

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"Well," the boy whispers, nuzzling his face into Eddie's soft hair. "You won't die alone. At least, not tonight."

"I won't?" Eddie asks.

The world is a planet suspended in air, but Richie's world has the diameter of this bedroom. Nothing else matters in this moment except for Eddie Kaspbrak and his loud, gurgling fish tank, and his battery acid inhaler.

"No. If you die, you'll die in my arms. You aren't alone anymore, Eddie Spaghetti."

Chapter 15

If Richie Tozier were asked if he had a second home, the boy would first respond with; yeah, I spend a lot of time in detention. Then, moments after the question was asked, he would want to change his answer. He would consider saying it for a few minutes, analyzing the words and trying to decide if they're worth leaving his mouth. Then, upon coming to his conclusion, he would say with a vindictive tone; Beverly Marsh is my second home.

She hasn't said a word to Richie about his week of silence, and maybe that's why he loves her so much. She doesn't talk about feelings ("What are we, a couple of girls?") and therefore Richie never has to explain why he acts this way. He thinks it would be hard to explain that... he just does.

"Okay, you got your pencil?" Beverly asks, holding up one finger.

Richie nods, pointing to the wooden utensil tucked behind his ear.

"Paper?" She holds up a second finger.

Richie pats his coat pocket, the material crinkling with the three sheets of folded up notebook paper that he stole from Bill Denbrough at lunch.

"Charm?" The third and final finger raises in the air.

"Never leave home without it," Richie smirks, giving Beverly the look down.

She giggles, pushes Richie's shoulders, and says "Good thing you won't need it, then. I'm not sure you've got much to begin with."

"I'll see you on the other side, Beverly," Richie ignores her comment and instead pulls on the door handle to the isolated classroom located across the hall from the main office. The corridors have cleared out for the most part, everyone eager to begin their weekends. Richie wishes he could join them, but instead, he is saying farewell to his freedom for the next hour and a half.

"Detention ends at 4:30, so I'll meet you at the library at five o'clock, okay?" She says. Richie lingers in the doorway, watching the way that she sends him off like a lover saying farewell to a soldier leaving for war.

"Alright, Beaverly. Better get goin', Big Ben will be waiting for you," he says.

"Godspeed, Richie Tozier. May you find the strength to survive," she says much too seriously, adding a dorky little salute that makes Richie wonder exactly why he's friends with her.

Deciding not to drag it out any longer, Richie heads in and takes his usual desk closest to the window. On the wooden surface, his initials are scratched in. His property.

"You're late, Tozier," Mautz drones.

"Oh, do forgive me, sir," Richie rolls his eyes, using his sweetest kiss-ass voice. It sounds eerily similar to the one Henry Bowers will use any time he gets caught terrorizing a helpless kid. "I had to stop by my locker and gather supplies. You wouldn't want me coming unprepared, would you?"

Two desks over, Henry scoffs in annoyance and returns to writing on his paper. Richie is mildly surprised that Henry is even doing the letter in the first place, especially when it's in the boy's nature to pay someone else when it comes to tasks like this. Either way, he's writing with a sort of passion that makes Richie wonder how many times someone can write synonyms for the word "faggot" before running out of steam.

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Either way, he takes the three sheets (bare minimum, as he recalls) from his pocket and slides the pencil out from behind his ear. He stares at the blank paper, the mocking lines, and he tries to figure out how to stretch an apology he shouldn't be giving into three pages.

bowers.

hey. sorry i fucked your face up (sorry mr. principal but im not going 2 watch my language. i don't care.) but im not sorry that we fought.

it was a damn good fight, i'll give you that. not like when we were kids and would play cops and robbers and we would always end up turning into sumowrestlers that beat each other up until one of our parents said something. your dad was... he was different back then, but i guess mine was too. whatever.

im sorry that you got dragged into it in the first place. it was originally a stupid spat with one of your idiotic lackeys, i never meant for you to be the one i ended up spitting on. whatever. what's done is done, i guess. sorry that you have to be friends with them, but i suppose you made that fucking choice. i told you that we could ignore it, but you said no. you punched me until i bled that night, and i remember it only took three punches for me to realize you weren't playing cops and robbers. you were angry. god, how old were we? i must have been 9, maybe 10. fuck.

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now you're stuck with such fucking idiots. i think that's the worst part of it all, considering how smart you are. does it get boring when you're constantly pretending to be stupid? let me know. either way, sorry you got stuck with them. dickheads.

sorry i chose bev, too. she's badass and fearless and she isn't afraid to hit me when i fuck up. confident, daring, brave. shes so brave, and that's what makes her the exact opposite of you. im a lot happier now than i think i ever was being your friend, but we did have our moments. i don't know. maybe i idolized you too much as a kid and realized you're actually a piece of fucking shit once i grew up to have my own conscious thoughts and opinions.

im sorry that you hate yourself so much that you feel the need to take it out on everybody that looks at you wrongly just to prove that you're a piece of shit before they can come to the conclusion themselves. maybe you're trying to hide the fact that you're weak, because you are. you're fucking weak. can't you just accept it? aren't you tired of causing pain? don't you feel bad enough as it is?

im sorry that i don't like you anymore- actually, no im not. i just licked my lip and felt blood, so fuck you. you're an asshole, and im glad that i don't associate with you anymore. you've turned into a real fucking dick, you know? i heard what you did to ben hanscom. a knife, hen? a fucking knife? you could have killed the kid. what the fuck is wrong with you?

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im sorry that you have to wake up every morning and deal with the person that you've become. if you had just... if you listened to me when i said we should stop picking on people, maybe you wouldn't be in detention right now. maybe we would still be friends. maybe i would like you. it's hard to tell. either way, you're a cock and you're psychotic, so im sorry that you have to look in the mirror and carry the knowledge that you are the reason kids are afraid to come to school (a safe place) or hate the way they look. ben hanscom once told me that he's afraid to wear anything but sweaters now because you'll make fun of his tits. god. what is wrong with you? where did you go wrong?

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lastly, im sorry that your dad makes you feel the way that you do. it must suck having an old man that thinks you're a pussy, but you know, you don't have to stab fat kids just to compensate for your lack of masculinity. sometimes, i think you would be a lot different if you grew up with a mother. maybe you'd be a little nicer. either way, im sorry you hate yourself so much that you think you need to become what your old man expects of you. must suck. good luck with it, hen. just stop being a piece of shit for fucks sake.

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apologies,

rich.

PS: i shouldn't add this, but i feel like it needs to be said anyway.

sorry for not kissing you back.

3.1K

Richie sets his pencil down and stares at the words on the page, feeling conflicted about whether or not he wants to admit such honesty to Henry Bowers. He has to, however; he reminds himself that he will only dig his grave even deeper if he were to blow off the assignment given by the principal.

Richie sighs, folding the three sheets as if he's preparing to fit them into an envelope, but sets them in the corner of his desk. With a quick glance at the clock, he sees he still has thirty five minutes left. Henry Bowers continues scribbling with passion.

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At 4:25, the principal comes in and reads over each of the letters that the boys wrote. Richie watches his disapproving face, the face of a man who accidentally stumbled upon information he shouldn't be reading, and then Richie notices the way that Henry tries to hide his face in his hands out of embarrassment. Richie has never seen such an emotion on Henry, not even after Richie rejected him on New Years. Henry responded to the rejection with a fist to Richie's face. The flustered expression looks good on Henry, makes him look more naive and innocent than he is. Not as despicable.

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The only comment that the principal makes on either of the letters is "Nice job on your honesty, gentlemen. Though, I am not pleased about your language. You may want to work on that. You're both free to go."

He hands the opposite letter to each boy, so as Richie tucks Henry's letter into the inside of his coat, he watches how Henry folds up Richie's papers and stick them inside his pocket. He handled them with delicate care, making Richie feel guilty with the knowledge that the words written down are unkind.

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Either way, neither say a word as they leave. They both part and go separate ways, but Richie can't help but wonder if that only happened because Henry couldn't stand to be around Richie any longer.

The walk to the library is short, but chilly. Richie notices that he may need to begin layering his clothes, trying to remember if Bill actually made off with his favorite flannel or not. Doesn't matter. Richie can always get a new flannel, but to see Bill smile is a bit more rare.

Ben and Beverly are waiting on the steps of the library, but with a quick glance to his watch, he sees that he's not late, they're just early. Ben stands up when he sees Richie coming down the street, and Beverly follows suit soon after.

"Hey, Richie!" Ben welcomes him brightly, smiling through the chubby cheeks.

Richie finds himself returning the fond look, even without hesitation. Ben has that effect on people, which only makes Richie question even more how Henry could be so sociopathic that he would take a knife to this poor boy.

"Hey, buddy," Richie pulls him in to ruffle his hair, trapping Ben in a headlock. "How you been?"

Beverly watches with the biggest, fondest eyes that he's ever seen pass her features. He feels good, no, better, than he did before. He doesn't care about the detention or punishment or the black eyes, he gets to be in the presence of two of Derry's brightest souls. For a flash of a second, Richie pities Henry Bowers for never getting to experience this the way that he does.

Beverly and Ben fill him in on how their plans changed, and now they're going down to the Barrens to meet Mike. Eddie was going to come as well, but when he heard that their destination was the sewers, he quickly backed out. Richie feels a little disappointed, but he doesn't say a word. Just walks behind the two silently, following them through Derry and listening to their fond conversations. Ben's hand never leaves Beverly's, not even for a moment. Not even when they're crossing the street and Bev moves faster than him. Especially not when they're descending the grassy undergrowth to reach the lush wildlife that inhabits the thick woods. Richie watches this with a sort of... longing, one that craves for Eddie Kaspbrak to be weeding through branches and tall grass with them.

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Mike is there, excited to see Richie, and congratulates him on serving his prison sentence. Richie smiles, doesn't say much, and then retires to a patch of dry land near the water. He sits beneath a tree, the shade only amplifying the cold, and he watches as Ben and Mike carry logs across the stream to stack against one side. He's not sure what they're doing, but Bev is directing logs and branches like the natural director that she is.

As if boiling his skin through the fabric, Richie becomes eerily conscious of the letter burning a hole in his chest pocket. He reaches inside, feels the thin layers of confessions, and carefully pulls the letter out to give it a good read. Richie glances at the others, making damn sure that they're distracted, and then unfolds the papers that Henry Bowers had worked on so intensely.

my apology 2 richie tozier:

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im sorry i hit ur face, & im sorry that i cracked ur glasses 2. I just remembered that you know me better than that, and I don't have to pretend to be illiterate. Isn't it funny? I'm willingly suppressing my intelligence to play the role of fuck-up that everyone has cast me as. Ironic, really. I suppose I've always been one for being a people-pleaser. (That is sarcasm.)

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Ah, it feels weird to talk like a normal human being again. It's draining to act stupid all the time, but I've got to. My boys don't understand me when I use words like "apprehensive" or "lexicon." Can you believe it? Such simple words. You've always been the smarter one, but I know it's because of how adamantly you studied. You worked for it, why don't you own up to it? I guess I could say the same about myself. I'm sure you have your reasons for not being a mathlete.

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God, this is horribly off topic. I kind of had an idea of what I wanted to say, but I'm not sure how well the message will convey in print. I've thought about it for years... and then I didn't think about it all, and then when I punched you for that first time... I thought of it again. Oh well. You have always been understanding, so fucking understanding. How are you so patient, Richie Tozier? It drives me crazy, I can't figure out how you take things in stride the way that you do. I envy your virtues.

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I don't know if you think about that day that I ruined things, but I wish that you would. I hope that you do. You see, I didn't mean to ruin anything, I just let my temper get the best of me because I had freaked out. I'm not going to apologize for the fight we had over your geek friend, but I am going to apologize for the one in fifth grade. The one I never said a word about after it happened.

When I think about that day, my memory has blacked it all out like a redacted sheet of information. What I do remember is fuzzy, though, and I don't like thinking about it much. I remember you pulling away and saying "Hen, no." I remember the way I stepped back, and you stepped forward. The way you reached out and said "Hey, it's okay. Let's forget it ever happened. It was an accident." And then I remember hitting you until you bled because I couldn't stand to look at your stubbornly patient, wonderfully beautiful face and think that I would never get to kiss it again because you thought it was just an accident.

754

It wasn't. It still isn't. I meant that with every bit of courage I had managed to muster that night, and you just shot me down, brushed it off, and wanted to forget. I couldn't forget, dickhead. I tried to forget about the way you look when you smile, or how you felt against me when we would roughhouse, or how you listen to your cassettes, and the moon that turns your hair purple. I tried to forget so that it wouldn't ruin the friendship, but when I couldn't urge the memories to leave, I kissed you. And it wasn't an accident.

444

I really hate you, Richie Tozier. I really do. You were my best friend, the only stable source of sanity I had to cling onto when my life went to shit. When my dad went crazy, you were my rock. When he got worse, you kept me grounded. Do you realize that? I know I never told you, but you were my anchor in the hurricane my life had become. And on top of that, I was a fucking faggot? God, just take me out of my misery now, thanks. Fuck. Even writing the words makes me want to puke, but you already know. There's no point in pretending I'm not. You already know.

222

Even now, that idea scares me, but it's oddly comforting in a way. We aren't friends anymore, but you still know and keep this huge colossal disgusting secret about me like you remember the pinky promise we made each other when we were eight. I don't know if you remember that, but we promised to never tell anybody about our darkest secrets. You never had secrets, but you still kept mine. Thank you.

That doesn't change the fact that I hate you. Going back two paragraphs, you were the only constant in my life that felt safe. And you know what you did when I decided to share my soul with you? Never fucking spoke to me again. I thought it would pass, that you would get tired of hanging out with Beverly Marsh and you would knock on my bedroom window and ask to arm wrestle, but you never did. You were done with me. You were done. I miss it, but I don't think I want it back. It will never be the same, no matter how hard we try.

116

I take it back- we did speak once after the kiss. You saw me picking on some pip squeak with a Bozo the Clown lunchbox, and you had said 'Do you have to be such an asshole, Hen?' You never liked picking on kids, but I suppose you have no reason to enjoy it in the first place. You don't need to feel tough, or masculine, or strong. You feel all those things on your own because you aren't a queer like me. I told you to mind your own business, and you said 'I'm just not going to sit back and pretend like this is fun to watch. I'm not going to be around you anymore if this is how you act.'

161

That was the last time we spoke.

I left you alone in the halls, and in return, you forgot about me. I could tell. You didn't look up when we brushed shoulders, and when you walked through an alley my gang and I were smoking in, you barely even lifted your head. I stopped existing to you, and I don't think I've ever felt a more gut wrenching feeling before in my life. My own best friend. Disgusted with me. Because I'm a fag.

397

Now, you can imagine my absolute blind rage when I found out that you've been slutting around with the stuttering freak's group. Belch told me all about how you walked Wheezy to class like a god damn girlfriend, and how he kissed your cheek and everything. I was infuriated. He didn't want to actually fight you, but after telling me this, I itched to beat your face in like I did the night we kissed, just to get revenge for all the fucking hurt you've caused me over the past years. Fuck you, Tozier. I wanted to kill you.

179

But as soon as I heard pipsqueak screaming for me to get off, and I saw the way that you smiled at him through all that blood, and the way you promised to see him later, I just grew... very glum.

151

Why did it have to be Eddie Kaspbrak? You barely know him, Richie. He doesn't understand you the way that I did, and he doesn't know what subjects to avoid, or what to say when you get in your pissy moods. Why him? What is so special about a walking asthma attack?

480

I guess I just can't wrap my head around it. You've never spoken to them before, but when you do, you're suddenly head over heels for Wheezy? What is so fucking great about a fannypack wearing queer? What does he have that makes him so special in your eyes? What about him isn't an accident, but our kiss is? We were best friends, Richie. Can Wheezy say the same? Can he?

157

Why him? Why him? Of all the boys in our grade, why did you have to go and be gay with Eddie Kaspbrak? What's so special? What does he have that I don't? Why him?

194

Why wasn't it me?

593

Henry Bowers.

sorry, meant Hen.

488

Richie sets the letter on his lap, staring up at Mike and Ben struggling to pick up a particularly heavy water-logged tree trunk. Beverly watches, her hand held up to her forehead to protect her light eyes from the sun. Just then, as if she feels Richie's eyes on her, she looks over her shoulder and shoots him a sweet smile. Richie returns her wave, then looks back down at the letter on his lap.

Out of everything that Henry Bowers has just confessed, the most Richie took away from it is the fact that he is accusing Richie of loving Eddie Kaspbrak.

112

And the thing is, Richie doesn't think he's wrong.

Chapter 16

No matter how many times he reads it, the words still don't make sense.

"Wuh-What are you r-reading, Richie?" Bill asks.

Richie glances over at the boy sitting right beside Stan, the sunlight poking and prodding at the boys on their picnic blanket. They've gone through all of the snacks they had packed, and Richie has considered running up to the KwikStar just to get more candy to share with the other two.

"Love letters," Richie laughs, his eyes returning back to the eloquent handwriting that belongs to Henry Bowers. "From your mom."

"Yeah right," Stan scoffs. He pulls the binoculars down from his face just so he can give Richie an incredulous, doubtful stare. "Mrs. Denbrough is a classy woman, idiot. In your dreams."

"What can I say? Some ladies can't help themselves, talk about girls gone wild," Richie jokes, folding the letter up and sticking it in his coat breast pocket. There's no use in trying to make sense of it, he's read it over and over since the minute it was handed to him yesterday afternoon.

119

To be honest, Richie had nearly forgotten about his plans with Bill and Stan. Thankfully he didn't, and he made it to their meetup point on the corner of Jackson like Stan had informed him to do so. Stan was there, Bill was not. Bill came flying by a few minutes later, and Stan didn't hesitate to get on his bike and start chasing after him. The wind felt nice against Richie's cheeks, and as gravity ripped him through the atmosphere as he soared downhill, chasing Stan and Bill before he could lose them, he felt free.

Now, they sit on top of a grassy hill, a blanket spread beneath them while Stan watches the trees with a keen eye. He has a leather bound journal in his lap, and each time he spots something, he grows excited and tries to show Bill. Bill always says the same thing; "Yeah, t-th-that's a bird all right." And Stanley will record the breed in his journal. Richie thinks it's cute, but he would never admit it out loud.

237

"S-S-Speaking of muh-mothers," Bill stutters, earning Stan's undivided attention. "Eddie got permission t-t-to go camping. S-S-Sonia juh-just thinks he's staying over at m-m-my house."

165

"Eddie's coming?" Richie's ears perk up. He had previously been lying down, but with his attention piqued, he sits up quickly and earns some alarm from Bill. Then, in a flash of insecurity, Richie asks "I'm still invited, right?"

"Only if you have your own sleeping bag, I'm not sharing one with you," Stan grimaces.

"Y-Yuh-You'll have to s-sshh-share a tent with Eh-Eh-Eddie," Bill fidgets with a blade of grass, tearing it apart in his fingers and resting it against Stanley's khaki-clad knee. A pile is forming, but Richie notices that Bill puts equal amounts of grass onto each knee after Stan fixed it the first time.

256

"Okay?" Richie asks. Honestly, he was hoping it could work out that way, God must listening in on his thoughts. Hey, dude, if you're listening; sorry about all the Playboys in my room. "Is that a bad thing?"

124

"Well," Bill looks away shyly. "He h-has nuh-nuh-nuhhh-nnnnnn-"

"Nightmares," Stanley finishes, which causes Bill to relax and release the tension in his shoulders. "Everybody hates sharing a tent with him because he... he cries through the night."

196

"S-S-Ssssometimes he wakes up suh-screaming," Bill mumbles sadly. The two linger in their owns mind for a moment, each recalling a time where Eddie's nightmares had become an issue that devolved into a situation.

Richie knows about the nightmares, in fact, he knows exactly what the nightmare is. He also knows that it's just a one, singular nightmare. Not plural, just the same recurring dream that was whispered to him in the warm glow of Eddie's bedroom.

"That's fine, I'm a heavy sleeper," Richie shrugs in an attempt to play it cool. In reality, he feels nothing but excitement and euphoria stimulating his nerves. In a tent? With Eddie? All alone in the woods? At night? Richie Tozier really has to start thanking the big man up above.

442

"Hey, Billy, can you do me a favor?" Stan turns to ask, leaning to the side and hooking his chin over Bill's soft shoulder.

156

Bill lifts his head, an innocent flush dusting over his boyish cheeks. His blue eyes blink in surprise, the tip of his nose grazing against Stan's cheek. Richie watches these actions with tender eyes; noting that the actions are fond, but not necessarily romantic. Pure affection. For some reason, seeing it occur between two boys is much more comforting than the boys and girls that kiss in the school hallways.

350

"Yuh-Yuh-Yeah?" Bill asks.

As if reading Richie's mind, Stan says "Can you go down and fetch some more snacks? There's a ten in my bag. Can you get me some sunflower seeds?"

"Aw, shucks, you buyin'?" Richie asks, lifting his hand against the sun and shielding the light from blinding his lenses. Shadows cast across his face from the action, and in doing so, Stan takes notice of how sharp Richie's cheekbones are.

145

"I suppose," Stan rolls his eyes. "Bill, grab something for the Mouth over here."

"O-Okay," Bill nods, reaching over Stan's lap to grab the messenger bag next to Richie's leg. Bill stands up, pats the top of Stan's head and skews the yarmulke, and then starts jogging down the hill.

The two boys watch Bill go, and once the tall head of hair is out of sight, Stan says "He's a right one, that Bill Denbrough."

"He's pretty... pretty bitchin'," Richie nods.

542

Stan rolls his eyes, but then quietly says "Richie. Do you want to see?"

Richie opens his mouth, quick to make some comeback, but then thinks better of it. This is what Stan enjoys, and something about Eddie saying he loves when people talk about their passions, makes Richie say "Yeah. Okay."

Richie sits up, moving closer to the edge of the blanket, and peers over Stan's shoulder with hungry eyes. There's sketches of birds, all very detailed with diagrams detailing their bold colors and shortened beaks. There's lists, some of the factors crossed out, some with check marks next to the long names.

"What's this for?" Richie asks, tapping on the list in Stan's journal.

"It's my bucket list," Stan explains, sharing the journal with the four-eyed lad. "I crossed out the ones I've seen, and the ones with checkmarks are ones I'm not sure of."

"Wow," Richie remarks.

"Pretty cool, right?" Stan grins. He then reaches over and picks up a second book, flipping to the front and showing the words The Encyclopedia of Birds.

"No, not at all," Richie scoffs. However, as he says this, he flips the page in Stan's journal to start examining the pencil strokes that create feathers on the page.

110

"Here, look, I'm trying to spot a tufted titmouse today," Stan hands over the binoculars.

268

Richie presses his eyes close to the binoculars, but then moves his glasses up to rest on top of his head. He can see better this way, surprisingly, and he lets his head move the way that Stan gently guides the boy towards a treeline.

"It's name is tufted titmouse? Oh, I don't need binoculars for that, my man. Just check right under your mother's-"

157

"Shut up, Richie," Stan says quickly.

Richie flinches backwards as if he's been physically slapped, the binoculars falling from his hands as a short breath sucks in between his teeth. He stares at the grass with wide eyes, shellshocked from hearing such harsh words.

Shut up, Richie.

You're annoying. You don't want to annoy your only friend, do you?

You've just barely met him. You can't even keep one friend around for more than a week? You must really screw everything up.

Geez, annoying and useless! What a deal, two in one! Buy one get one free! Run your mouth until everyone is sick of you, why don't you!

113

Shut up, Richie. You can hear it in your father's voice, can't you? Why don't you just shut up? If you would just shut up, he wouldn't have to talk to you like this.

"Beep beep," Richie says softly. His tone sounds dejected, and he quickly curls in on himself. "Bev says beep beep when my motormouth is going as fast as Roadrunner. It's... It's not as... harsh."

170

The words feel stupid coming out of his mouth, and he wishes he never even spoke to begin with. Stanley Uris is going to laugh at him, going to call him a baby and snicker, he's going to say shut up shut up shut up shut up over and over until geysers of hot springs erupt from Richie's shattered eyes, he's going to-

"Sorry," Stan whispers, letting his hand brush against Richie's arm. "I didn't know, I didn't mean to upset you."

174

"You didn't," Richie blurts out, attempting to make himself as small of a problem as possible in order to take the burden off of Stanley's shoulder. "It's okay."

Stan is quiet, probably one of the most supportive traits that would later strengthen their friendship. Richie moves away, his sad eyes focused down on the ground. He doesn't place his glasses back downwards, no, he merely stares at the blades of grass with skewed vision so that he can blame the blurring shapes on poor eyesight and not tears swelling up.

Then, with a juxtaposition that underlines the fact that these words do not belong on the tongue of someone as religiously dedicated as he is, Stan mutters out "Your mom is a tufted titmouse."

200

Richie cracks a smile, stealing a glance sideways to see Stanley peering into the binoculars. Not glaring at Richie in pleasure, not looking mockingly, merely continuing on as if he is not completely bothered by Richie's actions like the boy thinks he is.

Stan's posture straightens up, alarm reaching his movements, and Richie looks out to see what's caught his attention.

"Did you see a titty?" Richie asks.

604

"Yes! Yes! Look!" Stan passes the binoculars over and points towards a lonely tree isolated from the rest of the forest outskirts.

113

Richie spots a small bird, perched on a tree and pecking about meticulously. Richie sees the similarities between Stan and these beloved creatures. Strong posture, puffed out chests, confident decisions, but... careful. Precise. Intelligent.

"Yeah, I see it. Bit wimpy, don't you think?" Richie lowers the binoculars and squints to watch Stan hurriedly write a note down in the margins of the journal.

"It's just a baby, Richie. It's learning how to fly, you can tell in the sporadic wing movements. The nest is probably somewhere nearby, I can't imagine it would travel far from home just yet," Stan says, then, with no interruption whatsoever, slips in "You're not annoying, by the way. You've just got a mouth on you."

"The only mouth on me is the one around my dick," Richie doesn't skip a beat, adjusting his glasses back onto his face so that he can hide the blush creeping throughout his skin. "Would you like to volunteer?"

309

Stan frowns, still writing in his journal, when he mumbles "That's fruit stuff, man."

397

"Ain't nothin' wrong with that," Richie laughs in a sarcastic way, though the words hold some sort of truth. He's afraid that Stan can hear the honesty in the words. "Ain't Billy Boy a bit of a fruit?"

239

Stan's eyes widen and his head snaps up to look at Richie, mouth agape as if he's suppressing a gasp. He looks baffled that Richie would even suggest such a thing, which makes the spectacled man frown in rejection.

"Relax, Stan. It was just a joke. Bill's got a crush on Neverly, remember?" Richie scoffs. Does Stan hate queers? Is that why he looks so shocked? Richie suddenly feels a bristle beneath his skin, one that doesn't naturally retreat the way it always does. But why do I care? I'm no fag.

307

Richie bites his tongue.

"Why would you-?" Stan breathes out, flustered. "Do you- uh, do you... think so? Do you think... he... is one of the few that play for both teams?"

367

The thought crosses Richie with as much clarity as a storm finally dissolving in the foggy air. Play for both teams? You can do that?

512

Eddie Kaspbrak's moonlit face enters his mind, and he quickly shakes his head free of the thought.

"Bill can't even play for one team, don't be stupid!" Richie laughs.

Stan joins in, however, he sounds apprehensive and unsure as if he's nervous, although Richie doesn't know why he would be nervous about such a thing.

With the idea of... playing for both teams in his head, Richie reaches into his pocket and withdraws the letter that has been written in a foreign language for the past 24 hours.

Both teams. Boys and girls. Both of them. Richie has heard about those types of people, swingers and players always swarming with ladies, but he figured they were all destined to get some STD. However... now it doesn't seem so bad to him. Certainly not when he knows a boy cuter than the moon hanging everpresently in the pale sky.

180

And suddenly, Henry Bowers' letter makes complete sense.

Chapter 17

"You probably have herpes," Eddie says.

362

Richie glances up, but just enough to pull in the expression adorning Eddie's face. He looks confident, saying these words so matter-of-factly that Richie is sure Eddie could convince him of anything if he were to use that tone.

"Wuh-Where the hell would I get h-h-herpes from, Eh-Eh-" Bill stutters.

"Eddie," the small boy finishes, mumbling "You know I hate it when you stutter my name."

486

"Eddie," Bill repeats, this time more surely.

"You can get herpes from McDonald's," Stan chimes in. He's holding a book in his hands, so he's not quite paying attention, but he's got enough focus to follow their conversation. "There was this mom who filed a lawsuit against McDonald's because her kid went pee in there and came out with herpes."

175

"D-Did she win?" Bill asks.

"Which McDonald's? Was this in Derry? Was it the one on Main Street? Is there a herpes outbreak?" Eddie asks with a voice full of concern.

"You're scaring them again, Stanley," Bev's voice comes from the seat in front of Richie. He can't see her, but a mess of firey red hair sticks up to remind him that she's there.

"Oh, but it's so fun," Stan sighs, a smirk on his face as he returns to his book.

As Eddie and Bill start a conversation about whether or not cooking AIDs into a burger would kill someone, Richie lets his eyes fall back down onto the empty sheet of paper in front of him. His headphones dangle around his neck, tape turning, the music nearly inaudible over the screaming sounds of the Derry bus they're all packed into.

106

Today's the freshman field trip down to the Bangor aquarium, where they're doing a Christmas special show with the sea lions and dolphins. It's only November, but Richie isn't complaining. It's a reason to skip class.

146

When the freshman class was first loading onto the buses, Richie was stepping onto one that looked fairly empty when he had heard "Hey, Tozier!"

He looked up and saw Ben hanging out of the window on the next bus over, and then soon after, Eddie's mousy face appeared in the glass. Richie joined that bus, making his way down the narrow aisle to claim the seat that Eddie had saved for him. Richie can act aloof all he wants, but he secretly feels his heart warm at the idea of sitting with people he can call his friends.

"What'cha writing?" Ben Hanscom's voice comes over the seat in front of Richie.

Richie looks upwards, seeing the round face peering over. Beverly turns around the corner of the seat, her curious eyes falling from Richie to Eddie. Bev has been loving this, she was smiling at Richie the entire time he walked down the aisle to reach Eddie.

"Nothing," Richie shakes his head, his hand covering over the name scribbled on top of the paper. "Nobody."

"Love letters?" Bev giggles, drawing out her words with a mocking sneer. Her eyes point to Eddie accusingly, and Richie watches the way that the boy shies away and retracts into himself.

"Only to you, Beverly Marsh," Richie sighs, returning to the paper.

"Hey," Ben pouts, reaching over the seat to ruffle Richie's hair. "Stay back, Tozier. She's still under the impression that she's in my league."

120

"She's way out of your luh-league," Bill laughs, earning a hearty jab from Stan.

126

Richie smiles, watching the way that Eddie leans over and starts thumb wrestling with Bill, while Beverly leans up and kisses Ben's cheek. Stan puts his book down in order to play the referee for the boys' games, and as this all occurs, Richie feels nauseatingly happy. He has friends, people who save seats for him, and he has a home. Not a house, but a misfit group of kids who just want the best for one another.

"I wish Mike were here," Richie's voice comes out in a whisper.

Eddie hears, looking over his shoulder and smiling at Richie. He says, "We can go out to his farm today, if you want."

Richie's cheeks burn, and he says "I'd... I'd like that, yeah."

"Can I come?" Ben asks, returning to leaning over the bus seat.

"I don't know, Big Ben, can ya?" Richie retorts, standing up and leaning forward to ruffle Bev's hair. "Whaddya say, lassie? Can the chap cum? Is it true, lads? Do'ya nice fellows finish last?"

355

"Beep beep, Rich," Beverly says impassively, flipping through the magazine on her lap. Richie, dejected, sits back down and returns his gaze to the letter in his lap.

"Woah, how the fuck did you do that?" Eddie gasps, tapping on the seat in front of him. The bus hits a pothole, causing the boys to bounce off their seats like mints in a tin container. "Beep beep? Is that his off button? God, wish I knew about that! Dickhead is really annoying, isn't he?"

512

Richie flinches, his hand clenching the paper in his hand and crumpling it into a ball. Without another word, he places his headphones on and turns the volume on his mixtape up as far as it will go, resting his head against the glass next to him. He watches the countrysides pass by easily, long stretches of green arms reaching out to hug the soil, livestock and cattle feeding off their harvests.

111

Stan, who was trying so very hard not to listen to the idiots around him, leans forward and says "Way to go, Eddie. You're such an asshole."

386

Eddie looks at Richie, his eyes filled with guilt, and then looks at Beverly, who is leaning around the seat to take a look at Richie's despondent posture.

Eddie desperately crosses his fingers right then and there, holding his breath and praying that the god up above will read his mind and make Beverly tell him everything's fine, Richie is fine, that Eddie didn't hurt the boy's feelings.

Instead of doing any of this, the ginger just shakes her head and says "Jeez. Cut him some slack, Ed."

104

Eddie is silent for the rest of the commute to the aquarium.

When the buses park, Richie turns his head and watches as Eddie stubbornly refuses to move. Everyone else on the bus is already leaking out through the thin row that the aisle will allow, but Eddie stays firmly planted to his seat.

Richie slides his headphones off, then reaches down to his pocket and stops the tape. "You gonna go, Eds?"

"I didn't mean it," Eddie whispers.

128

Richie is quiet, not letting a word pass his lips as he watches Eddie shift around uncomfortably.

"I didn't mean it, okay?" The short boy repeats himself, reaching over and wrapping his hand around Richie's. Rich goes to retreat, trying to retract from human contact, but Eddie squeezes on. "You aren't annoying."

"Then don't act like it just to fit in with your friends," Richie shrugs. He notices the wording of your friends instead of our friends and it just makes things feel worse.

Eddie stands up, shaking his head and keeping guilty eyes on the floor. Richie follows him, and the two start to leave the bus side-by-side.

Upon stepping into the parking lot, Richie starts scanning the gaggle of freshmen to see if he can find the rest of the losers that seem to have slipped away from them. Upon doing so, however, he catches eyes with Henry Bowers. When Henry starts making his way through the crowd, Richie instinctively wraps an arm around Eddie's shoulders and pulls the boy to fit snugly into his side.

127

"Rich-" Henry starts out, then loses his voice inside his throat when he sees little Eddie Kaspbrak peek out from behind Richie's frame. Eddie spots Henry, and as a reaction of fear, the small boy brings a hand up to settle on Richie's chest. Henry frowns, his entire face reading betrayal and hurt. "Nevermind. Fucking forget it."

300

"Hen," Richie says softly, moving forward in the crowd.

"Fuck off," Henry spits. "Fucking queers. Faggot and girly boy."

310

Henry exits quickly, and before Richie can call after him, Bev's arm is resting on Richie's shoulder as she leans against him.

"Man, that guy's a dick," she says. "One time, he twisted Bill's nip-"

278

"B-Bev!" Bill shouts, the tips of his ears hot with embarrassment. "You puh-puh-promised not t-t-to tell anybody about th-thh-that."

"Right, sorry, Billy," she smiles, pinching Bill's tinged cheeks. "I forgot."

For a brief moment, Richie wonders what secrets of his she forgot to keep.

"He... He looked like he was going to say something," Stan points out. "Or am I mistaken?"

"No, I saw it too," Eddie points out, then cranes his neck to look upwards at Richie. He squints against the sun, and when he does so, all of his eyelashes fan out in a beautiful array of shadows dripping down his cheeks. "Do you know him?"

"Henry Bowers?" Richie stares out at all freshman, his eyes gravitating to the same place that they always have for the years that he was a child. Henry is sulking more than usual, his head bent down, leaning against a light post in the parking lot. Henry is supposed to be a junior, but after being held back two times in a row, Henry is stuck friendless in a sea of fifteen year olds. Richie sees him, all the memories and fights and first kisses, but... he sees through Henry, as if the familiar shape is translucent; a ghost. "No. Not really."

254

The kids' chatter is cut short by their homeroom leader calling for their attention, and then they break into subgroups of ten. Eddie moves to stand close to Bill, grabbing his shirt sleeve and not letting go as kids break apart into their own subcategories. This rubs Richie the wrong way, so he stands back and lets everyone else choose their groups and begins the wait to see where he ends up.

After a few moments, Richie becomes increasingly aware of Stan Uris standing beside him. When he looks over, the Jewish boy is merely waiting patiently with Richie, while Ben stands behind them.

"Aren't you guys going to find a group?" Richie asks.

Stan looks at him, a lack of surprise on his face. In a monotone voice, he says "You are our group, dumbass."

175

Upon saying this, Richie looks over and sees Eddie and Bill huddled in behind Beverly. Bev has her arms wrapped around herself, fingers tapping impatiently on her shoulder. This is Bev language for I want a fucking cigarette.

"There's only six of us," Richie says, looking over their faces to do a headcount.

"Shh, they won't know," Ben smiles up at a Richie with an admiration that Richie has never seen before. Does Ben Hanscom... look up to Richie? Annoying, trashmouth, music snob, no-filter Richie Tozier?

Richie's first thought is Why?

121

Richie doesn't care much about sea life or anything within the aquarium, so he walks around silently, headphones on, making sure to follow Beverly's bright red hair. The lights in the aquarium come solely from the large tanks, ripping blue scenes onto the excited kids running around. Everyone seems to be going crazy with their temporary freedom, but the losers that Richie has learned to love are all moving from exhibit to exhibit very slowly, almost meticulously.

Bill and Eddie are at the front of the group, Ben being the group guide for sealife funfacts. Stan doesn't look at the tanks too much, but he does write down what Ben is saying in a leather moleskin journal.

Bev bumps her elbow into Richie's side, so the boy stops his tape and looks over at her.

"How you doin'?" She asks. My god, Richie Tozier could love this girl for the rest of the life if she would let him. It's not that he's in love with her, no, but he loves the fact that she takes time out of her day to ask if he's okay. To check on him. To worry. To give him attention.

125

"Good," he nods, "Craving some fries. You wanna ditch and go down to Curly's?"

"Curly's fries are awful!" Bev scoffs, but then says "No, Ben and I have a date after school."

"Right," Richie nods, looking towards the head of their group and watching the way that Eddie wiggles in between people to get closer to the eel exhibit. "What is it this time? The library or the museum?"

"Museums are more Mike's thing," she says, then without waiting for Richie to respond, she slaps something into his hand.

Richie looks down and sees the familiar rectangle of smokes in his hand, the label soothing his everpresent nerves. Winston, his favorite.

"Thanks, Marsh," he smirks, shoving the squares into the pocket of his jean jacket. "Feels like Christmas fuckin' morning."

"Go talk to Eddie," she nudges his shoulder. "Poor kid is scared you're pissed off at him."

"Who says I'm not?" Richie frowns, moving to the side as two of his classmates run by holding a lobster. Where the fuck did they get that?

490

"Because you're not. Go talk to him," she says.

104

Richie glares at her, but in the dark of the aquarium corridor, he only sees the way that her eyes shine in response. He wants to object, but there's no point in arguing with Beverly Marsh. So, accepting defeat, Richie moves forward in the crowd and makes his way to where Eddie Kaspbrak is talking Bill Denbrough's ear off.

"Look at that one! The spots on his tail, do you see 'em, Bill? Do you see it?" Eddie points on the glass at a fish zipping by frantically.

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"I see it Eddie," Bill smiles at the smaller boy. Richie stops beside the two, staring into the large glass panel in front of them and letting his eyes follow neon fish all around the tank. Slowly, daringly, he lets his eyes move down to Eddie, his breath catching in his throat.

Eddie's freckles freeze like snowflakes beneath a pale blue wash dusting his face. His doe-like eyes are wide with wonder, his pupils glowing like winter embers as his gaze darts around, his usually pouty lips now turned up into a dazed smile. In this moment, with the look of complete sapphire awe on Eddie's face, Richie remembers that he has that fish tank in his room. Eddie likes fish. This is his element.

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Eddie looks up at Richie, and the happy smile falters as he realizes who is standing next to him. The minuscule difference in the facial muscles is still significant enough that Richie feels the impact of it in his chest.

"Listen to this song," Richie says in a low voice, making sure that nobody around them can hear but Eddie. "This song is good."

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Richie reaches up and takes his headphones off, sliding them over Eddie's ears. Eddie doesn't object, just covers the earpieces with his tiny hands and nods at Richie. The taller of the duo reaches into his pocket, pressing play on the tape, and watches for those tiny insignificant changes in Eddie's face as a way to read the boy's thoughts.

Eddie knows that in the foreign language of Richie Tozier, this is his way of sharing intimate pieces of his soul with you. When Richie Tozier says "listen to this song," you better listen, because he is trying to tell you more than his tongue will allow. Not many people are fluent in Richie, Bev might be the only scholar, but even then... she doesn't quite speak it as fluidly as she likes to believe. Eddie is getting there, though, one song after another he is getting closer to become a connoisseur of the secret language that is Richie Tozier.

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Eddie smiles as he listens, his eyes moving over Richie's face but not wandering, more like... observing. He takes in all of Richie's features with a face similar to how he looks at fish, but just a touch different. Richie can't quite put his finger on it, can't place the difference in emotions, but he feels it. He feels the difference.

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Just then, like a flash of heat that bursts through the blues surrounding them, Beverly's hair catches Richie's attention. He looks up at her, watching the way she slides in between Bill and Eddie with ease. She brings her eyes over to Richie, smiles, and taps the tip of her nose to signify she knows what he's thinking. Richie frowns, looks away, but can't help returning to looking at her. She's smug, practically joyous with satisfaction; the look of a girl who is well in over her head. Richie shakes his head, glares at her, and then returns his attention to Eddie.

Eddie keeps the headphones on for the remainder of the trip, being careful to not stray too far from Richie in order to prevent damaging the headphones wire. The two shuffle around as if they're entwined, and Stan gives Richie dirty looks more than once throughout the day. Still, even then, that doesn't compare to the stares of fireball fury that Henry Bowers shoots at the back of Richie's head as the two bend over Richie's bag to change the tapes out. Richie ignores him, in fact, he pretty much ignores everyone. All that matters to him is the way that Eddie's eyes widen to fill up with stars when he starts to fall in love with a new song that Richie introduces to him.

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Their lunch break times up right before the Christmas Spectacular show. The freshman class of Derry High all sit down in the tunnel that runs through the sea turtle tank, chattering and eating their sack lunches, shouting any time a turtle comes over the top of the tunnel. Richie watches the ceiling, admiring the way the sun reflects on the waves, comparing them to the veins running through his pale wrists and thinking that these are much more beautiful than anything that can adorn his body.

Eddie, who is sitting right next to Richie, says "Hey, you want my apple? I like oranges anyway."

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Richie glances down and sees Eddie extend his hand to present the apple so perfectly. Stan snorts, but Bill looks more surprised than anything.

"Y-You're not going t-t-t-to eat your ahh-ah-apple?" he asks, brows knitting together. "An a-a-apple a duh-day k-k-keeps th-thhh-the doctor away."

"Keeps his mother away," Stan corrects Bill with a smug smirk.

"Yeah, well," Eddie shrugs, placing the apple down on Richie's thigh with careful hands. "What's she gonna do about it? You think she's got spies planted to make sure I eat my apples?"

"It's the turtles," Ben remarks. His sack lunch is about three times the size as everyone else's, but he's also sharing with Beverly, so there's no telling what's his and what's hers. "They're Soviet Russian spies. Your ma is a commie."

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"My mom is not a communist!" Eddie scoffs, sticking his tongue out at Ben as he places a ziploc bag full of pretzel sticks on Richie's lap.

Richie's attention falls on the food being stacked on his thighs, and with a short glance towards Eddie, he carefully returns the food to Eddie's lunch sack.

"I packed too much," Eddie then says to him, insisting that Richie takes the food. "I can't eat all this. You gotta help me out."

Richie clenches his teeth together, wanting nothing more than to decline the offer and refuse this food, but he can't say no to Eddie. Not when the boy looks at him with light waves dancing hula hellos on his face.

So, Richie bites into the apple, his stomach opening up to accept the food once he realizes just how hungry he is. He's been trying to make the food at home last, but he's running low on easy to make meals. He hopes his parents return before he can deplete the ingredients left in the fridge.

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While the rest of the freshman all gossip and run their mouths, five of the six losers remain silent. Not out of discomfort, but because they're focused on listening to the sixth loser as intently as they can so he doesn't have to speak louder than he's comfortable with. Ben reads from a book, a novel that they've all been reading (or, listening to Ben read) for awhile now. Richie notes that they're more than halfway through the hearty novel while Ben clears his voice before each new chapter. They all sit in complete and utter silence, enthralled with the boy's ability to paint better scenes with his voice than the author could with words. Richie thinks of his Voices, and how he hasn't done any of them in years, not really. He wants to be as captivating as Ben Hanscom is. Richie listens along, although he doesn't quite follow the storyline, having jumped in halfway through the book. Even so, he thinks it's nice to be a part of something as dorky and welcoming as a storytelling tale.

When their lunch break ends, Bev and Stan collect the garbage from everyone while Ben places his bookmark and packs up. Eddie stands patiently by Richie side, headphones still looped around his neck, waiting to see where Rich leads them.

The auditorium that the children file into is a vast one, certainly designed to hold more than the freshman class of Derry High. Because of its copious amounts of space, the students get to pick and choose where they want to sit, most of them heading straight towards the balcony stairs, including Ben and Bill.

Bev, Stan, Eddie, and Richie all huddle in the aisle between rows of seats, looking around with uncertainty.

"Sit in the back," Richie remarks. He nods his head in the general direction of where he's implying, so Bev starts up to make her way towards it.

"I..." Stan breathes out, unsure. "I wanted to sit up close. Eddie?"

Eddie would be the obvious candidate for this request, for he adores fish the way Stan adores birds. It isn't unreasonable, either, it simply is just asking a mere favor of the short boy. However, to Richie, it feels like Stan is asking Eddie to surgically remove himself from Richie's side.

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Eddie hesitates, his face pulling back in a tight grimace, which Bev immediately picks up on. She notices the way Eddie takes a very, very reluctant step away from Richie, and she feels the need to protect the young boy.

"I'll sit with you, Stan," Bev smiles before reaching down to entwine her hands with Stan's. If it were anybody else, Stanley would burn a shade bright red at the mere thought of someone holding his hand. But it's not just anybody, no, it's Beverly Marsh. She makes you feel loved, no matter who you are. Her specialty is to make you feel safe.

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Eddie and Richie are left to the far back row, separated from the rest of their classmates. Neither of the boys complain, though, Eddie just moves real close so that the two of them can hear the music playing from the headphones.

Richie can't focus on the show. He can't. His eyes fidget from his bouncing knees, then down to Eddie's hands folded neatly over the small boy's thighs. Richie wonders what would happen if he were to reach over and just let his fingers slip between Eddie's, just like Bev did with Stanley. They're friends, it wouldn't be strange, would it? It's just hands.

Just hands. Just hands. He won't mind.

Richie lifts his hand, his palm turning upwards to invite Eddie, but then he chickens out last second and plays it off as moving the Walkman over on his lap. Richie shifts his legs around, his pants feeling too tight, shirt too itchy. He can't find a comfortable position at all, his mind far too focused on Eddie and Eddie's hands and holding Eddie's hands.

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He won't mind, would he?

He might.

Then, as a way to put Richie's mind to peace, Eddie gently rests his head on the boy's shoulder. Richie's heart comes to a complete stop, his chest constricting and squeezing up in so many different ways. Does Eddie know what he's thinking? Is Eddie a mind reader?

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Eddie, if you're reading my mind; I think I love you.

619

Richie gathers the courage to look down at Eddie, craning his neck and leaning forward to catch a glimpse of Eddie's facial expression. He wants to know if Eddie is as flustered as he is, if the emotions are returned in any kind of way.

Instead, he's met with the face of a sleeping boy. Eddie's eyes are closed so heavenly, his freckles still spotting through even in the dim lighting. His cheek squishes upwards in the place where it touches Richie's shoulder, lips pouting outwards.

I do. I do love you. I haven't loved anybody except for Beverly Marsh, but I think you are taking her spot, Eddie Kaspbrak.

Chapter 18

The cold creeps in underneath Richie's cuffs, slithering up his arm like slimy snakes making their way towards his neck. He shivers, burrows further into his coat, and pushes the pedals faster to get his body moving. Any heat that exerting the energy creates is instantly washed away by the cold air blasting against his face as they ride downhill.

"Keep up, Hanscom!" Eddie's voice floats through the blistering air, bringing a warmth into Richie's cheeks that eats away all of the frost collecting on the tip of his nose.

Ben pedals past Richie quickly, swerving between Bev and Bill in order to catch up with Eddie near the front. Richie considers picking up the pace just so that he's not left behind or forgotten, but then Stan falls back to match his speed with Richie's. Stan's bike is a newer model of the one Richie has, but the chains still make the exact same clanking noise.

"Have you been out to Mike's farm yet?" Stan asks. Richie nearly doesn't hear him over the howling wind.

"No, this is my first time," Richie shakes his head, grinning over at the more quiet boy.

"It's nice," Stan nods, his hands on the grips of his bike so very tightly. "But... it's best when it's cold like this because Mike's grandma makes us hot chocolate. I've never tasted anything so good."

"Huh-huh-haven't you heard, S-S-Stan?" Bill turns around on his bike, the too-big wheels swerving into Beverly's path as he does so. The girl rolls her eyes and straightens out her line, but otherwise doesn't say anything to Bill's reckless driving. "Sh-sh-she puts in guh-growth hormones t-t-to make you ffffff-ff-f-fat like their c-c-cows."

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"That is not true!" Eddie pipes up, a loud scoff slipping out of his mouth like a puff of fog.

"It's totally true," Ben nods affirmatively. "Mike told me himself. She wants to fatten you up, Eddie."

Bill winks at Ben, a movement that Richie does not miss. He feels a bit bad about everyone teasing Eddie, but it's hard when the boy just makes it so easy on himself. He wouldn't be as much of a target if he didn't open himself up to such vulnerable opportunity.

And when Richie sees an opportunity, he can't resist taking it.

"What would she gain from fattening me up? Your story is so stupid, Bill, seriously. Were you dropped as a baby?" Eddie scoffs again, this time a bigger puff of air exhaling into the cold November air.

"So she can eat you, Eds," Richie calls up to the front of the pack. "You think she's going to feed off of a scrawny kid like yourself? No no, she needs to fatten you up like a juicy pork."

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"What!" Eddie screeches, resulting in bursts of laughter from everyone around them. The kid's genuine concern isn't that funny, but Richie laughs anyway.

When the group turns left down an old country dirt road, deja vu reaches up and swallows Richie whole. He feels as if he's drowning in it, unable to swim in this neverending ocean of memories flooding in like tsunami waves.

Hot summer afternoons, usually. Dirt flying up behind his tire wheels, scraped knees hitting the handlebars as he rides, and an overwhelming taste of green apple gummy bears that Henry would pick out to save for Richie.

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He'd wake up at seven thirty in the morning and ride his bike out to the Bowers farm just outside of town, usually bringing along his BB gun or toy soldiers to line up in the long driveway and watch as Henry kicked them all down with boyish glee. They spent hours together; chasing each other around the farm, wrestling in the crop fields, making forts out of dirt, and crowding around the radio to listen to the baseball game after placing bets. Henry always won, but it's not as if Richie was losing real money. Richie would bet sticks of gum while Henry would put down his baseball cards. It seemed like a fair trade to the two, but Henry would always sneak a card or two into Richie's bookbag when he wasn't looking.

The farmhouse needed a lot of tending to, and a lot of that tending was passed down onto Henry and disguised as chores. Richie knew the truth; Mr. Bowers was just too much of a lazy prick to do it himself. He was a drunk, and he was angry, and when those two traits crossed paths, he would take it out on Henry. So, the boy spent a lot of time outside, mainly hiding from his old man's line of sight. If he was busy working, or just hidden from view, he could avoid a beating pretty easily. Richie understood this, it was an unspoken knowledge that Henry never once had to bring up, Richie just knew. And he understood. And he would come over early in the morning so that they could split the chores up and have them done by high noon.

"Richie?" Bev's voice calls out, snapping the boy from his trance.

Richie looks up, seeing her slowing her bike down to match his and Stan's speed. She looks genuinely concerned, which only plagues Richie with guilt. He doesn't mean to make her worry so much, he just... he can't help it. He can't.

"I'm fine," he shakes his head, eyes focusing hard on the ground so that more memories aren't unearthed by their surroundings. "Just thinking."

"About?" Stan prods at him curiously.

"Huh-huh-haven't you heard? T-T-To-Tozier's got a secret guh-girlfriend," Bill snickers.

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"Is that who you were writing letters to on the bus today?" Ben chimes in, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at his friends behind him.

Richie's face flushes up, his eyes darting up to meet with Eddie. The tan boy doesn't turn around, doesn't look back, but Richie doesn't miss the way that his shoulders bunch up as he shrinks down onto his impossibly big bike. This must be a sign, Richie is sure of it. But... a sign for what?

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"Crap, watch out, guys. Asshole alert," Bev curses, speeding up to ride alongside the right of Ben protectively. Richie notices the way that they all speed up, and he subconsciously follows suit without even glancing at what Beverly is referring to.

He wishes he didn't, however. The deja vu from riding along the familiar path was bad enough, but seeing the dirt driveway leading up to the Bowers residence is ten times worse. He feels as if he's a kid again, coming over early in the morning to help Henry with his chores. The nostalgia tricks his senses into tasting those green apple gummy bears, but he knows better. Things aren't the same anymore.

During Richie's lost gaze, Henry stands up from where he is in the yard and sees who is riding their bikes down this far away from town. He's met with a group of people he's learned to hate, along with the very bane of his existence. Henry's eyes fixate on Eddie Kaspbrak, the small boy leading the whole wolf pack, and his stomach hardens at the sight of him. Eddie is... Eddie is conventionally attractive, Henry knows he can't compete. He's not mad about that, though, he is no jealous type. What's actually bothering him is the fact that he can recognize Eddie's beauty in the first place.

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Henry and Richie seem to make eye contact at the exact same time. The two remain staring at one another, Richie's bike gliding right on by the driveway he used to play cops and robbers in. The green apple taste gets stronger, but there's... there's something else there. Something fainter.

The juicy fruit that hits the tip of his tongue is a reminder of the way Henry felt pressed up against him. His first kiss, his only kiss, New Year's, midnight. Henry grabbed the front of his shirt, and Richie flinched. He assumed he was going to get punched. Then... juicy fruit, juicy fruit, juicy fruit.

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Richie looks away, his hand wiping at the corners of his mouth as if he can still feel the wetness of Henry's nervous lips. Richie doesn't look back at Henry, just pedals faster with his head down, but that doesn't stop Henry from staring enviously.

Before the kids are completely out of sight, they all hear a distant shout followed by the sound of an axe slicing through wood.

Henry's voice calls out "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" and Richie has to pretend as if it doesn't bother him.

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When they finally arrive at the Hanlon residence, they all wait by the road as Bill slips under the fence to unlock the gate from the inside. They say they all take turns, and that Mike dug that hole especially for them, but Stan leans over and informs Richie that Bill usually does it because he's the group leader.

They meet Mike out in one of the barns, the boy's shirt soaked with sweat in the same way that the droplets glisten on his skin. Richie knows he must be doing extensive labor, there's no reason for him to sweat like that in the middle of November.

"How was the field trip, you guys? Was it fun? I've always wanted to go to the aquarium," Mike smiles at them. He heaves, lifting his shirt up And wiping the sweat from his face. Richie takes notice of the abs bursting beneath his skin and how the muscles move with each moment. Jealousy courses throughout him.

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"It was so cool," Eddie gleams, "There were, like, a million-"

"You weren't even paying attention, Eddie!" Stan interjects. "Too busy listening to Richie's mind control music."

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"It's rock 'n' roll, baby," Richie smiles, leaning on Stan's shoulder and moving in to be dangerously close to the boy's face. He expects Stan to give some smart one-liner that will shoot Richie down into his place, but Stan just stiffens and stares back at Richie with wide eyes, a warm flush tinting his cheeks. Richie backs away, confused, the smile dropping from his face. Stan looks... embarrassed?

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"I'm more of a blues and jazz kinda guy," Eddie shrugs nonchalantly. A blatant lie, but it still makes everyone giggle.

"What do you know about blues?" Mike laughs.

"I know enough," Eddie nods his head as if he's confirming an order. He stands stiffly against Bill, using the taller one as a support beam. Bill doesn't mind, just watches everyone with those perpetually glossy crystal eyes. Richie thinks that Bill would die for these kids if he had to.

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"Ed, you couldn't tell the difference between a tuba and violin," Beverly laughs so easily, her back against a barn door that they were all told is full of cow shit. They can certainly smell it.

They all burst into laughter, teasing Eddie and pushing him around like friends do. Not in the way Henry Bowers pushes him around, but more gently. More affectionately. Little touches that tell him they are laughing with him instead of at him.

Richie watches them; his eyes traveling from Ben's pullover sweater, to Bev's fiery hair, to Stan's still-flushed cheeks, to Bill's misty eyes, to Eddie's sunkist freckles, to Mike's dazzling teeth. He thinks he would die for them, too, if he had to. He wouldn't think twice.

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Mike leads them all down to the pasture, the crisp, yellow grass beneath their feet crunching with each step the group makes. As they walk, they all discuss the camping trip planned for this weekend, but Richie admires the scenery. He's never been on a farm like this before, Henry's was much smaller. Mike's family owns more land than he's ever seen, and he can't help but admire the way that each patch is carefully groomed and cared for with precision. This farm is loved and it shows by its neat fields that lack any overgrowth.

"You guh-guh-guys w-w-wanna play t-tag?" Bill suggests once they have made a decent dent into the pasture. Richie can look back and see where the grass has laid down for their footsteps, a path that marks all of them moving together in one continuous direction. He hopes that path never ends.

Chapter 19

2:02 am.

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Who would be calling so late? Sure, it's a Friday night, and it's not as if Richie was sleeping anyway, but still. If it's someone calling the Tozier residence to make an emergency appointment with Went like they so often would; why would they call at this hour? Richie answers the phone anyway, his father would kill him if he were to cost the man a client.

"Richie?" Stanley Uris' voice greets Richie on the other line.

Normally, Richie would be more than happy to hear from his new friend, but the clock hanging above the wall phone reminds Richie that this is a time of night that people like Stan Uris should not be awake. Something must be wrong.

"Yeah?" Richie asks, his voice quiet and lacking any of the humor or teasing it usually carries for Stan.

Halfway across town, standing in the middle of the kitchen and only wearing a pair of pajamas pants and his Christmas robe, Stan Uris begins to cry. He doesn't know why he's calling Richie Trashmouth Tozier of all people, but he needs to say it. He needs to say it. He feels like he's lying, worse, he feels like he himself is a lie. A sham. He can't take it anymore.

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Stan Uris breathes rapidly, his fingers tightening around the phone cord as the kitchen tiles beneath his bare feet freeze his tiny toes. Even in his frantic state of mind, he still finds the time to reach out and straighten the pen clipped to the notepad on the wall. Written in his mother's handwriting is a grocery list, and then his father's note about meeting with Mr. Jenkins. Stan doesn't know what it's about, but he does know his dad comes home angry each time that he goes out with Mr. Jenkins.

"Stan?" Richie's voice brings the boy back to reality, and it almost feels as if he is over at the Tozier house in the kitchen with Richie beside him. Richie's kitchen is smaller, but it's more organized. Stan especially likes the spice rack. Richie presses on, feeling more and more concerned by the sobs breaking through the telephone line. "Stan? Stan?"

"Today with Henry Bowers," Stan cries out, keeping his voice low so that he doesn't get caught. Richie feels bad, but there's nothing he can do about it. Stan wouldn't let Richie come sneak in the way that Eddie does, the two boys are just too different. Maybe Stan still respects his parents, or maybe he just respects the authority. Either way, he's no rule breaker. Richie's knows this. "W-What did he... what did he mean? About you?"

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Richie pauses, his body growing cold as he stares out the kitchen window at the hanging paper moon. Silk light lays down on every kitchen surface, going to sleep over countertops and cutting boards. The room feels cold, but maybe that's just Richie's fear taking shape in his mind.

Stanley and Richie had been walking to class together, Richie having biology in room 304 while Stan's history lecture takes place in 305. When they realized their paths crossed, the two began walking to class together daily and usually telling each other about their uneventful mornings and unfair loads of coursework. Today, however, the two were plucked straight from the hall without a single head turning to see where they went.

Patrick Hockstetter and Victor Criss shoved the two into the boy's bathroom, Richie hitting the side of a urinal and falling to the floor while Stan was held against the sinks. He looked terrified, that much was obvious, and seeing such a look cross his friends face (even if just for a moment) made Richie shift gears into defense mode.

"What the fuck, Hen?" Richie scoffed, standing to his feet just to be shoved back down by Belch's fat boot colliding with his chest.

Henry emerged from a stall, twiddling his beloved knife between his fingers with a unicorn delicacy to his fluid motions. He walked by Stan with a dirty look, but paid the kid no attention. He had crouched in front of Richie, placed his knee very carefully between Richie's thighs, and then pressed the blade right to the spectacled kid's cheek. Stan cried out, but Richie felt nothing. No fear. He knew Henry wouldn't do it, he doesn't have the balls. He never will. Maybe he'd find the nerve to cut some other kid like Ben Hanscom, but Richie knows that he will never fall victim to any pain exceeding a punch or two when it comes to Henry Bowers.

"Now I thought I made myself fucking clear, you faggot," Henry growled as the tip of the knife dug into Richie's skin. He said, "I thought I told you I don't want to see you whoring around with little girly boy."

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Stan cried roughly, terrified of what would happen to Richie. He doesn't know what history the two had shared, so all Stan knew in that moment was that Richie had a knife pressed to his face, and that Henry was crazy enough to push it right on through. Stan was convinced he would have to carry Richie to the nurse afterwards, but his brain was making plans of action and deciding which adult to run to first.

"Fuck you," Richie hissed stubbornly, and Stan was convinced that the boy had lost his mind. Then, to make things worse and to diminish any chance of making it out alive, Richie spat directly in Henry's face. "Fucking hypocrite."

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Henry had pulled back and wiped the saliva from his face, his eyes flashed furiously but also... excited. Like he was getting off on this interaction with Richie. Henry pulled back, pocketed his knife, and then brought a fist right into Richie's stomach.

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Stan jerked forward, his body moved roughly against the two pairs of hands that had held him down, and he tried to escape so that he could get to Richie's side and help him. He couldn't. He didn't.

Richie grinned, then said "You jealous, Hen? Is that what the issue is? You're fucking jealous of him?"

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Henry punched Richie again, this time in the face. Stan didn't know exactly what Richie was saying, but he assumed that Richie was implying Henry was jealous of Stan. Why else would the two be in this situation?

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"You're fucking disgusting. You queer, you fucking queerboy, you faggot," Henry's voice had dropped low, which Stan knew meant danger. Yet Richie grinned. Was Tozier really crazy? "You fucking gayboy. Faggot. Faggot. Queer."

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"Wow, Hen, you know you're looking at the wrong person, right? Mirrors are over there," Richie nodded his head towards where Stan was being held against a sink. He had caught Stan's eye, and while Stan looked absolutely terrified, Richie only winked.

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"Shut the fuck up," Patrick spoke up, his voice sounded flustered and embarrassed. "Fuckin' queer."

"Jeez, guys, I-" Richie started, but he was cut off by Henry's knife pressing to his throat. Henry held it close, so close that it could cut, and for a moment, Richie was sure that the history didn't matter anymore. Henry was certainly going to cut him.

But he didn't.

He said, "I don't want to fucking see it again, Richie. Next time I see you parading around my town with fucking fagboy, I will cut your spine out."

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Richie only nodded, his Adam's apple bobbling against the blade as he swallowed. He was completely silent, eyebrows furrowed, and if Stan didn't know any better, he would guess that Richie was genuinely scared in that moment.

Cut to later that night, where Stan is now sobbing on the phone as he relives the memory for the hundredth time this night. It's not the knife that he's scared of, it's the words.

"Did he really mean it?" Stan cries, his voice trembling in the silence of the air. He holds the receiver to his ear with two hands, his knuckles blooming moon-white from how hard he clutches the handle. "Are you really a queer?"

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"Jeez, Stan," Richie breathes out, a bit of tension forming between his shoulders. "What kinda question is that? Can't this wait till morning?"

"No, Richie," Stan blurts out. He's tired of lying. He's tired of not being... him. He's tired of not being him. He just wants to be honest, and he needs Richie to listen to it. Not to accept, just to listen. "How did he know, Richie? How did Henry know? How did he know that I'm gay?"

Richie's house drops to a silence that is more quiet than what it sounds like in deep space. If he were to listen, Richie would be able to hear his neighbors snoring from across the street. If he were to strain his ears, he could hear Stanley Uris crying in his own kitchen halfway across the town.

What is he supposed to say to that? Why did Stan tell him? How does he respond? How does he react?

"Say something!" Stan whisper-shouts.

Richie blinks, but still no words come. The only thing he can think of is little Eddie Kaspbrak running around in the field yesterday, but more specifically, how little Eddie's thighs looked when his shorts would ride up from each stride. Does Stan notice these things too? Is that how he knows he is this thing he claims to be?

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"Are you... sure?" Richie asks.

"I don't know!" Stan cries, then starts sobbing again. After a moment of incoherency, he finally blubbers out "I think I am! I... I can't pretend anymore- I can't pretend I'm not!"

"You don't have to," Richie shakes his head. "At least not with me. It's okay if you are, I don't mind."

"Are you?" Stan then asks, his tone hopeful but afraid. The kitchen around him seems tight, he can't seem to get enough air. He wants to stretch the cord out to the living room like his mother so often does when she wants to talk to her girlfriends while also standing beside her husband and giving him back rubs, but alas, the fear plants his feet to the spot and he is rendered frozen.

"Am I, what, gay?" Richie asks. He opens his mouth to laugh, and then it hits him; what's so funny about that?

What if I am?

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"Don't know," he says honestly, and the following words that come out of his own mouth genuinely surprise him; "Never tried with a guy, maybe. Could be."

What? What? Did I just fucking say I could be gay? Did I just say I could be gay?

Of course I did.

Have I seen Eddie Kaspbrak?

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Of course I could be.

"Are you just fucking with me, Richie?" Stan asks in a voice so shaky, so insecure, that Richie's heart hurts at the mere sound of it. He can't imagine what the boy is feeling right now, and he can't imagine that most of it is probably a fear of him rejecting the vulnerable kid.

"No, no, of course not, god no," Richie shakes his head. "It's after midnight, you know that lies don't exist after midnight."

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"That makes no sense," Stan manages to say in his usual Stan Uris way. This gives Richie a smile, so he knows that it's not as bad as it could be.

"'Course it does, pardna'. Jus' ask my pal Could-Be Tozier," Richie uses his cowboy accent, then says normally "It makes sense."

"Are you going to tell the others?" Stan suddenly blurts out before another single thought can enter his brain. His mind is racing far too fast right now, and Richie isn't giving the right answers. Stan doesn't even know if there are right answers, he just wants to feel safe.

"Nah. Not my business, nor do I care," Richie shrugs. "So what if ya like boys, Stanley? You'll be good at it from all the times you tickle your pickle."

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"God, ew, gross, Richie," Stan grimaces, but he still finds himself smiling.

This is why he called Richie. This is why.

Because Richie is Could-Be Tozier, and because Richie can make it less scary. He can make anything less scary. All he has to do is whip out a Voice and talk about his dick and suddenly the world doesn't seem as if it is going to drop you into the ocean and swallow you whole.

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"We'll figure it out together, Stan the man," Richie then says a bit more seriously, yet still promising and comforting. He holds a lot of power in these words, power that Stan wants to believe in. "You and me, dude. We'll figure something out. It's not that scary, alright?"

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"Alright, yeah," Stanley nods. "Sounds good."

"Then awf to bed, good sir!" another Voice is back, one Stan hasn't heard before. The English accent is terrible, but it makes him giggle anyway. "Pip pip tally ho! London awaits!"

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"Thank you, Richie," Stan sniffles, wiping the wetness from his cheeks with the back of his hand. He feels nothing but a giant boulder break apart and fall off of his back, just from getting this weight off his shoulders. He thought that if he didn't tell somebody just this second, the world will fall apart. Now, he told, and the world keeps turning. "Hey, Rich, your parents home yet?"

The house feels colder.

"Comin' home soon," Richie whispers, though they both know it's a lie.

"How 'bout I have my parents pick you up tomorrow, okay? We can pick you up. Five?"

"Five," Richie repeats, then "Thanks, Stan."

"No, thank you, Trashmouth," Stan exhales. He doesn't quite want to hang up, but he knows his parents will both have duel blood vessels pop in their brain if they catch him talking to someone at this hour. "Listen, I gotta go. Sleep well."

"Sleep well, gay boy," Richie jokes. If it were anybody else in the world, it would not sound like a joke. Or, maybe it would, but it wouldn't be a funny one. Yet, somehow, coming from Richie Tozier's mouth, it sounds like the most friendly thing that Stan has ever heard. He may have a trashmouth, but that trashmouth knows how to lighten the mood.

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As promised, The Uris family car shows up in the Tozier driveway at five o'clock on the dot. Not a minute late, precise as can be. Richie understands where Stan gets it from, and as he carries a bookbag and his sleeping bag out to their car, he wonders if he should have at least tried to look somewhat presentable when meeting such respectable parents. The only parents he's ever met before has been Beverly's father, and he did not take to Richie well. Now, he's meeting a Rabbi and he decided to wear ripped jeans with a Zeppelin t-shirt. He couldn't even be bothered to brush his hair, and the bruise painting his nose from their bathroom incident the day before shines through like a beacon that screams I'm a bad kid! I'm gonna corrupt your child! I smoke weed and worship the devil!

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Stanley climbs out of the car when Richie approaches, guiding him around to the trunk where he helps neatly organize Richie's luggage alongside his own. Stan packed lightly, but no lighter than Richie. Richie only brought what was necessary, nothing more, nothing less. Bare minimum.

"Am I, uh," Richie glances down at his jean jacket. "Am I dressed poorly?"

"Dressed poorly? How so?" Stan looks Richie up and down, then quickly directs his eyes elsewhere when his cheeks start to burn. "N-No."

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"I look like a burnout," Richie whispers, feeling more and more insecure as he looks at Stan's polo shirt tucked into a pressed pair of khakis. "Shit, Stan. Your parents won't let me hang out with you any more."

"Don't be ridiculous," he shakes his head. He slams the trunk shut, then reaches out to run his fingers through Richie's hair. Rich's hair is thick and soft, yet generally tends to stay wherever it is told to go. Stan combs his hands through Richie's hair easily, pushing the messy curls backwards, tucking strands behind his ears, and smoothing down the stray hairs that seem to stubbornly stick up. "Just have to do something about this mop you call hair."

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Richie melts into the touch, his face nuzzling against Stan's hand whenever they happen to brush his cheeks. He wants to be touched, to be reminded that he is real. Sometimes, it's easy to forget. Stan's hands are warm as opposed to the chilly November, but all he wanted to do was make Richie's hair more presentable.

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Richie opens his eyes, batting thick eyelashes at Stan, transformed into a completely new human. He looks vulnerable, shy, and... not Richie. Stan's stomach burns a hole right through his organs, lighting himself on fire from the inside-out.

"How do I look?" Richie asks, a bit of hair curling around his sharp cheekbone. Stan never noticed how prominent they are, but there they sure are. He reaches up and tucks it back again, letting his hand linger against the side of Richie's face. When Richie doesn't pull away, no, when Richie leans into it, Stan is aware that he is about to get himself in trouble. Richie Tozier is going to be the trouble.

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"Pretty," Stan says honestly, his words leaving traces of fog in the billowing air around them. Richie blushes and steps away, tucking his face into the side of his jacket. He shakes his head, but then looks at Stan with seeking eyes, as if he's trying to figure out if that compliment was the truth or not. Stan reassures him, "You look pretty, Rich."

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Those words stay in the space between the two boys as they sit in the backseat, tense and embarrassed, nervous tension hanging off of their bodies like a string connecting them. Despite the unknown feeling being more than absolutely terrifying, it is still alluring. It draws them in, and Stan finds himself wanting to just be close with Richie. To be close. To feel him. He steals glances at the boy every few seconds, admiring his tamed hair and pale complexion. Richie is... actually quite beautiful once you get past his mouth. If he's silent, he's the most gorgeous boy in all of Derry.

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"Richie, it's very nice to meet you! Was quite surprised when Stan made the request this morning, but couldn't leave a friend of my son's to ride the bike out in this weather," Mr. Uris finally breaks the silence.

Richie jumps as if he's been startled, his wide eyes going from the window to Stan. Stan shrugs, then nods his head as if trying to get Richie to answer his father.

"It's not that cold, sir," Richie shifts uncomfortably.

"Camping! In November!" Mrs. Uris proclaims from the passenger seat. Richie is sitting behind her so he can't get a good look at her face, but her big, teased hair comes out around the seat like masses stapled to her head. "I say, you boys are rowdy. How did Sonia ever agree to this?"

"Ah, that Sonia," Mr. Uris taps the wheel. "Poor Eddie. Kid will never have a normal childhood."

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The sympathy in the man's voice in regards to Eddie makes Richie frown and return his gaze out of the window. They're driving away from town, the buildings becoming sparse and very far apart, wooded areas filling up the environment around them. Maybe it is cold, but Richie doesn't care. He'll be with his friends. That's all that matters.

"Ah, there they are, gentleman," Mr. Uris declares. Stan and Richie sit upwards, leaning towards each other to see out the windshield. With their sides pressed together, Stan blushes and presses just a little bit closer. "Hmm, that's Marsh's girl, isn't it?"

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"Yes sir," Stan replies nervously. Richie looks over and notices that guilt is written on Stan's face, so it doesn't take much to piece together that Stan had failed to mention they would be camping with a girl.

"Hmm," the mother makes a displeased noise. "Hm."

"Bev is a nice girl," Richie speaks up in defense of his best friend.

"I'm sure she is, son," Mr. Uris turns around to look at them. He's parked a bit away from the group of children waiting patiently beside the camp trail entrance. Richie watches the way they all burst into laughter, pointing at Bill, who holds his arm up. They're too far away to see what they're all laughing at, but Richie burns with jealousy. "Listen here, Stan. You be safe tonight, okay, son? You stay close to that fire and stay warm. I don't want to receive a call from the sheriff and hear my boy and his friends froze to death in their tents."

"We won't, sir," Stan's voice is quiet. Richie watches him with careful eyes, analyzing the straight posture and how Stan seems rigid with fear. There's no sass or sarcasm to his tone, none of the usual bite that resides in his words when he makes a quick comeback to Richie's poor jokes. "We'll stay safe. All of us. I packed my survival guide just in case."

"And your flashlight?" His mother chimes in.

"Extra batteries."

"Good. You stay close to Eddie too, alright? Take care of that kid. He's the only one who can fix your wound if you impale yourself."

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"I won't impale myself, dad," Stan shakes his head.

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"Alright, then," Mr. Uris leans forward. He rubs the steering wheel, and says "Then go have fun, boys."

Stan clambers out of the door so quickly that it spooks Richie. He moves to unbuckle his seatbelt, moving twice as fast now that Stan's speed inspires him. He helps Stan take everything from the trunk, offering to carry Stan's sleeping bag when he sees how the boy's arms fill up quickly.

"Stanley!" Mike's voice can be heard. When Richie shuts the trunk, he turns to see Mike jogging to meet them in the parking lot. The Urises drive off quickly, leaving the two boys in a cloud of dirt and red tail lights. "And Richie!"

Richie looks up, meeting eyes with Mike and smiling. The cold makes him shiver, but Mike's smile fills the world with warmth. "Hey, Mike."

"Come on, we're all waiting for Eddie," Mike takes a sleeping bag from Richie's arms and relieves Stan of his backpack. Richie goes to object, but he starts off without waiting a second.

Stan and Richie exchange a glance, then break into grins and find themselves following the naturally kind boy.

They're welcomed to the group with big hugs and warm greetings. Ben hugs onto Richie and doesn't let go, so Richie laughs and holds the kid back twice as hard. Beverly watches this with fond eyes, mouthing the words 'thank you' to Richie.

"Just waiting on Eds?" Richie asks, pushing his glasses up. He looks at Bill, who's nose has turned cherry red from the cold. The sun is dipping behind the tree line, glimmering like amber crystals on all of the decaying leaves.

"Yeah, he had to walk," Ben says.

"What? How come?" Richie responds quickly, his body bristling. Eddie is out there walking? Freezing to death, probably? He's tiny, he can't survive the winter.

"You t-t-think his muh-mother would d-d-drive him to the wuh-woods?" Bill asks, shaking his head. "He h-had t-t-to lie juh-just to get out of th-thhh-the house."

"Jeez," Stan whispers, "Wish I knew. I would have given him a ride."

"He'll be here soon," Beverly looks at her watch. "When I called this morning, he had left early so that he would arrive by the time we got dropped off."

"Well, where is the matey?" Richie does a pirate voice, squinting one eye shut and holding up an imaginary spyglass. "Ayyyee aren't seein' the fella."

"'Cause I'm right here, dipshit," Eddie's voice cuts through the air like a torch melting every single touch of cold air.

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Richie spins around, his voice getting caught in his throat, eyes widening as they land on the short boy approaching the group from the side of the parking lot that Richie was ignoring. Bill jumps in surprise, then pulls Eddie in for a hug and ruffles the kid's hair. Eddie looks tired and out of breath, and all of his belongings are strapped to his backpack as if he is a traveler with no home. Around Christmas time, the homeless people sleep down on Main Street. When it gets too cold to sleep on concrete, they carry everything they own on their back and make their way for the hills. Eddie bears a resemblance to them in this moment.

"Perfect entrance," Beverly applauds Eddie, saying "You really timed it up just right."

"Still the last one here," he furrows his brows, shaking his head. "Come on, we're losing daylight. If we don't get to the campsite before dusk, we'll lose the trail."

With Eddie's leader-esque attitude, everyone silently picks up their bags and starts onto the dirt trail cleared out by Derry's WildLife Camp.

Richie lingers for a moment, his eyes transfixed on Stanley, and he thinks about what Stan had confessed last night. Richie said he could be, and now, in this moment, he's thinking he very possibly may be.

"Richie," Eddie says quietly.

Richie snaps out of it, looking down at the boy waiting for him. Eddie's impatient eyes soften up when they connect their gaze, and a slow blush blooms up under his already reddened cheeks.

"Your... your hair," Eddie murmurs.

Richie instantly brings a hand up and starts to bring his messy curls down again, embarrassed that they were still left like that after leaving the Uris' car.

"Yeah, god, ignore that," Richie laughs. "I probably look stupid. I was trying to make Stan's parents think-"

"No, no," Eddie reaches up and grabs Richie's wrist tightly, pulling the boy's hand away from his hair. "It looks... good. You look good."

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Eddie stands on his tiptoes and begins the smooth the hair back once more, his hands cold to the touch but still sparking mini forest fires inside Richie's nervous system.

And Richie thinks, okay, maybe it's a little more than just "could be."

Chapter 20

When Bill and Ben finally figure out how to get the fire started, Bev claps and cheers her boys on. Off to the side, Stan and Mike struggle to set up the second tent, and Richie wonders if he should go help them.

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Eddie looks up from his book when he feels the blast of warmth hit his face, embers flying up into the air and dancing with the incoming stars. Richie watches Eddie carefully, the nimble fingertips that turn the page, and the tiny outline of his body beneath a blanket. Stan can be heard cursing from a few feet away, and Richie really thinks he should go help, but... he is admiring.

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"Richie?" Bill calls, interrupting the admiring session. Richie looks up like a deer caught in headlights, but it doesn't seem as if anybody had noticed his fond expression. "Can you g-g-go collect some wuh-wuh-wood?"

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"I'll give you some wood," Richie stands up, grabbing the front of his pants. He looks down to see if Eddie laughs, but instead, the short boy just rolls his eyes and continues reading.

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Dejected, he nods quietly and says "Yeah. Can Stan come with? I don't want to get lost."

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Stan nervously glances around, but then gives in and puts the tent rod down with an apology to Mike. Stan approaches Richie's side, his eyes cast to the ground, and then the two boy's wave farewell and depart from the campsite.

"Thought I would save you from tent hell," Richie elbows Stan's side, causing the boy to swat his arm away.

"Not my fault you and Eddie got yours set up in two minutes," Stan shakes his head, curls falling out of place and bouncing right back.

"What can I say? We're a dynamic duo," Richie grins at the mention of Eddie. It's involuntary, he can't help it.

"Right," Stan nods.

"You okay?" Richie then asks, watching as Stan bends down and picks up a particularly good piece of lumber.

Stan looks up at him briefly, then says "Yeah. I'm just... I have to share a tent with Bill."

"What's wrong with Bill?" Richie asks.

"Nothing, nothing, he's perfect," Stan shakes his head. Richie leans down and picks up a log, cradling it beneath his arm. "He's perfect. Have you ever met a perfect person? He is. He's..."

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Stan sighs and sits down on the ground, dropping the wood from his arms. Richie watches him for a moment, and then without even thinking about it, he follows suit. The ground is cold beneath him, so he moves close to Stan and puts an arm around the kid to keep him warm.

"Bill's great, yeah," Richie nods. "Are you... Do you...?"

"I don't know!" Stan huffs, burying his face in his hands. With muffled words, Stan mumbles into his palms "It feels weird around him! I don't want him to be scared of me."

"Who says he would be scared?" Richie asks, then says "Stan, if you have a crush-"

"A crush? God, no, ew," Stan shakes his head. He grimaces in disgust, then looks over at Richie and exhales. His expression softens up, his eyes falling over Richie's features, and then he nods as if he's making up his mind about something. "Richie, I know that you and Ed-"

Richie waits for Stan to finish, looking into Stan's nervous eyes as if it will provoke the rest of the sentence to come right out. Instead of that happening, however, Stan pulls Richie forward by the front of his shirt and lets their lips collide.

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Richie lets out a tiny yelp, placing a hand on Stan's chest and pushing away. His eyes are wide and startled, goosebumps rising on every surface of his skin. His lips feel like pop rocks, his tongue numbed to the core. What? What just happened? What is happening? What?

The confidence leaves Stan's voice quickly, immediately being overpowered by the evident fear he is feeling. "Richie, I-"

And then Richie seizes forward, capturing Stan's lips beneath his own and holding the boy in place by cupping the side of his neck. He can feel Stan's pulse going crazy in his palm, and his fingers wrap around Stan's tight curls.

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The two kiss for what feels like hours, their lips moving back and forth with enough friction to create heat between them. Their cold noses bump into one another, and Richie feels chills run down his spine each time that Stanley reaches his hand under a new piece of clothing. Right now, the boy is gripping onto Richie's arm, his hand tucked into the jean jacket adorning Rich's body and his fingertips trying to find some form of warmth on the boy's bicep.

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It feels new, and good, but weird. Maybe it's just because it's Richie's first proper time, but he shrugs it off and pushes deeper into the space that Stan allows him to take up.

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His hands find comfortable places; one on Stan's chest, the other tangled in his messy hair. As Richie tightens his grip on a handful of curls, Stan will slide his fingers further up Richie's shirt, making the dark-haired boy gasp in surprise. Every once in awhile, Richie will stray away and kiss various parts of Stan including his cheek, or his jaw, or his nose, or his neck, or the spot beneath his lips, the little dimples, the place where his throat vibrates from a shy giggle, and his ear. He doesn't kiss these spots very long, his lips begin to miss and crave being on Stan's so he quickly finds himself being drawn back to the same spot. Over and over. Kiss after kiss.

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Stan lets out a shaky gasp against Richie's mouth, his nose pressing into the soft apple of Richie's cheek. Winter seems to melt around them, the seasons regress, and the two boys begin to live in summer.

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Still, that doesn't erase the underlying tone of feeling bad. Not bad because they're kissing another boy, not bad because they're kissing their friend, but bad because it's not the right one. At least, for Richie, it's not the right one. It becomes very apparent the longer that they sit in this frozen dirt and mingle lips, but Richie can't pull away. It feels too good, too warm. He has lacked human touch his whole life, he has never felt this close to someone else before, and he doesn't want to push it away. He needs it, he needs to feel loved, he needs to feel wanted, he needs to feel needed.

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To their left, a twig snaps, and Stan immediately pulls away and holds a hand against Richie's neck to prevent the boy from diving back in. His wide eyes land on something, or someone, and he begins to breathe rapidly, his whole body filled with fear. Richie watches this, watches his eyes, and then slowly turns to see what, or who, it is that Stan has spotted.

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Mike Hanlon.

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"Oh, uh, sorry," Mike backs away, his hands up in surrender, an embarrassed yet guilty look spread across his face. He turns on his heel and makes a quick getaway, which only makes Stan hyperventilate even harder.

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"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god," Stan goes off on a mantra, shaking his head and clenching the collar of Richie's shirt tightly. "Oh god he saw."

"Hey, hey, calm down, alright? It's Mike," Richie says quickly, reaching out to cup Stan's cheek but getting his hand slapped away in reply. Richie can't hide the rejection on his face, but he still shakes his head and says "It's Mike. He won't tell anybody."

"Yes he will! Oh my god, Richie, I'm so totally screwed, I am so screwed," he exhales, his grip on the boy's shirt tightening dangerously.

Richie bites his tongue from making a foul joke, and instead says "Listen, I'll go talk to him. I'll talk to him, okay? Calm down. Calm down, you're okay, we're okay, this is all okay."

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Stan's scared eyes meet Richie's and it's obvious that he's desperate for any kind of safety. The ground has been ripped out from underneath Stan, and now he's freefalling straight into the abyss. Deeper, darker, and darker, and darker...

"I'll go talk to him," Richie says again. "It'll be okay! It'll be fine, Stan. You're Stan the Man! You're fine, it's fine, everything is fine."

Richie stands up, but then stops when he feels Stan's tight grip fasten around his wrist. He stops, looks down at Stan, and meets eyes with the most scared boy in the world. His fingers shake against Richie's pulse, digging into his veins and holding on tight.

"Richie," Stan wheezes. Richie stands there for a patient moment, but then Stan shakes his head and releases the boy from his grip.

Richie gathers a short amount of wood to make it look as if he was being productive, then jogs back to camp in search of the peeping Tom who walked in on the scandal unfolding between Richie and Stan.

Bill is sitting on a log beside Bev while Ben and Eddie arrange the various coolers. Richie bursts into the clearing and drops the wood in his arm, then asks "Anyone see Mike?"

"Went that way," Ben points towards the woods. "Looked a bit weird, though. Maybe give him a moment."

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Richie shakes his head and follows the direction of where he's being guided, his main thought circulating around one thing; not to bribe Mike into silence, but to protect Stan. Richie doesn't care if people find out about who he kisses, but Stan does. He needs to make sure that Stan is okay, that his dignity is protected, and most of all, he needs to prove himself to be a trustworthy friend. This may be his only chance.

"Mike," Richie calls out, heading down into the woods and warily watching his surroundings. The last thing that Richie needs is to get lost, he feels as if it would be the worst thing to happen to a human. Not because he's scared of what's out there, but because he is afraid that nobody would come looking for him. Richie is terrified of going missing and not a single search party is sent out in his name. Shaking his head of these thoughts, he persists further. "Mike? Mike!"

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"R-Richie," Mike's voice calls out, so the pale boy begins to wildly look around to spot the other male. When Mike finally steps out from behind a tree, it's clear that he saw exactly what Richie and Stan were doing. The guilty expression and avoiding eyes are clear enough signs.

"Hey, dude, what's up?" Richie tries to stay calm. For Stan's sake.

"Oh, nothin' much," Michael shrugs back, looking up at the treeline with sweat dripping down his back. "Just hanging around and stuff."

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"Yeah," Richie nods, kicking a bit of dirt with his shoe. "Yeah. Totally. Chilly night, huh?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose so," Mike nods uncomfortably. He looks so stiff that if Richie didn't know any better, he would assume that Mike had slept on his back wrong and pinched a nerve.

"Just trying to keep warm," Richie says slowly.

"...Yeah," Mike hesitates.

There's a silence between the two boys, one where Richie stares at Mike as if trying to analyze him, and Mike looks just about everywhere that isn't Richie Tozier's face. The air seems to drop about ten degrees between them, the cold stiffness creaking into their aching bones. It's clear that neither of them want to be standing here having this conversation, yet the atmosphere remains silent and their feet don't budge an inch.

"So are you going to tell anybody?" Richie finally asks. Then, as if the floodgates have been broken down, the boy spills. "I just hope that you know it doesn't mean anything. I'm not a queer, neither is Stan. It's just cold out, dude. It's cold out and neither of us have had our first kiss, we just wanted to see if it would warm us up like everyone says. Survival instincts, you know. We were practically starving out there in these woods, eating roasted squirrels to survive. Our only source of hydration is by swappin' spit, Mikey boy, so are you really 'bout to blame two boys merely tryin' to survive? No idea why's you would go 'n' do such a thing, fella. We'se mearly tryna' survive these darn cold harsh woods, ya see."

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He slips into the bad southern accent easily in an attempt to calm his nerves. It doesn't help, however, so Richie figures that he oughta up the ante. He finds refuge in the absurdity. Whenever the real world gets too tough, it's easy to put on a Voice and become someone else. Everything is easier to swallow if you coat it in about nine layers of irony.

"Step right up, hot off the press, you heard it here first, folks! Two fellas kissing mouth to mouth in the middle of the woods. Yessiree that's correct, this isn't the Twilight Zone, nor are your hearing aids deceiving you! Step right up and hear all about the tale of two men found canoodling scandalously!" he tries his best to sound like he's a paper boy from New York. Without waiting for a response, Richie begins pedaling another Voice. He's desperate for anything, anything at all, just so that he doesn't feel the silence in the air. Silence is deadly, and Richie of all people should know that one day, silence will kill him. "Oi oi! Nip on down to the shop for some fish 'n' chips, innit?! Down on the corner a tabloid was sayin' there were two blokes snogging-"

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"Richie," Mike finally cuts him off out of exasperation.

Richie's throat goes dry as it becomes hard to breathe. He can't bring himself to look at Mike, so he stares at a loose thread on the boy's shoulder instead. This is it. Here comes the rejection. He finally found a family to call his own and he's gone and fucked it up by kissing Stan Uris.

"I won't tell anybody," Mike says.

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Richie looks up in surprise, his eyes widening behind his magnified glasses. Richie reaches up and drills a finger into his ears, dramatically cleaning them out to see if he's hearing Mike correctly. The boy in front of him looks certain and sure, not joking, not pulling a prank on Richie, but honest and positive.

"You won't?" Richie asks, a glimmer of hope sparkling in his words like a glass shard lost in piles of sand.

"Are you two...? Uh..." Mike asks, frowning just the slightest. "I guess I'm just confused?"

"Dating? No, god no, Stan wishes he could go steady with a groovy catch like me, baby," Richie jokes in his usual Richie way. He realizes the severity of the situation and shakes his head, dropping the antics. "No, we're not dating. I was just confused, I think I might like boys. Stan was only helping me out. He's a really good friend."

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Mike looks as if he doesn't want to believe that statement, but Richie doesn't blame him. What Mike saw was not an act of trial periods, it was Stanley Uris arching his back so his chest was flush against Richie's, and it was Stanley Uris holding on with tight fists and opening his jaw up to take that extra step forward, and it was Stanley Uris shakily exhaling in pure bliss, as if this exact moment is where he was destined to be all his life. It's clear that Stan was not "just helping Richie out," the body language gives it away. Stan Uris was as deep into that kiss as Richie Tozier was and both boys know it.

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Still, even then, Mike nods and says "Oh. Okay. That's really nice of him."

"Yeah," Richie nods, then rubs his forehead. "He isn't gay. He's not. But I think I am, so if you're going to tell anybody, just make sure it's my name coming out of your mouth and not Stan's."

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"I won't talk about it," Mike shakes his head. "It's none of my business. It was... it was private, I didn't mean to intrude. I won't tell something I wasn't meant to see."

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Richie lets out a sigh of relief and steps forward to hug Mike. At last second, he realizes that perhaps he isn't quite to the level of friendship where Mike would hug back, so he takes a step back and lets his arms hang at his side. Without a moment for hesitation, Mike reclaims the space Richie made between them, and he initiates the hug so Richie doesn't have to second guess anything.

"You're brave," Mike whispers, his voice shaking in the cold. "You're brave, Richie. Please don't let anybody take that away from you, okay?"

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"I won't, Mikey," Richie laughs, his words muddled by Mike's strong hold. "You sure you don't wanna share a tent with us and get a little frisky tonight?"

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Mike suddenly pulls away and laughs at the absurdity of Richie's joke. He shakes his head, then says "And go all night with Eddie's nightmares? You must've lost your damn mind. God have mercy on your soul."

"It's a little too late for that," Richie remarks, and the two start making their way back to the camp.

It's comfortable, it doesn't feel unsafe, and it doesn't feel cold either. Mike has a kind of... radiance about him. He can melt polar ice caps with just one smile. Richie looks over, watches the way that Mike steps over a branch and holds his arm out so that Richie does not trip, and he feels nothing but safety in the presence of this one. He doesn't know much about Mike other than he's got a farm and he likes history, but Mike knows that Richie may or may not be gay, and he thinks that it is brave. Richie thinks that's all he needs to hear in order to trust someone.

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Upon returning to their little camp, Bev and Eddie call Mike over so he can show them how to weave tall grass together to make bracelets. Richie watches this for a moment, fondly, filled with adoration, when there is a slight presence that makes itself known beside him.

"What did he say?" Stan asks. Richie notices the grinding teeth and tight jaw, the wound posture and clenched fists. It's obvious he's got a secret to keep, he will certainly give himself away if he doesn't get his shit together.

"Not much," Richie shrugs. His shoulder bumps against Stan's as he does so, the fabric of their coats rubbing together noisily. "I told him I might be gay, you were just being a good sport and helping me figure it out. He doesn't suspect you."

"You... You told him that... Just to protect me?" Stan turns to look at Richie, but then he remembers the way it felt to kiss another boy, to kiss Richie. He burns brighter than the fire and looks away.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" Richie shrugs again. His eyes fall onto Eddie, who is tangling dead flowers into Bill's sleek hair.

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"You're... not so bad, trashmouth," Stan murmurs in a quiet voice, but one that doesn't sound ashamed.

Richie feels warmth on his knuckles, and when he looks down he sees that the tips of Stan's fingers are ghosting against his hand. He smiles, bumps their hands together, and then joins the rest of the kids by the fire. He's terribly cold, he fears the temperature drop he will have to endure throughout the night. Then, he looks over at Eddie, who is smiling and pressing some of those flowers between the pages of a journal, and he thinks he will survive the cold. As long as that kid is around, he will survive anything.

221

Bill tells ghost stories around the campfire, his stutter shedding from his words as if he's finally broken free of a bad cold that just wouldn't go away. He tells the stories with vivid details, using voices for monsters that make Richie jealous. Bill often will throw his hands at Beverly and suddenly scream, making the girl roll her eyes. If he's trying to scare her, he needs to try harder. Ben, however, cowers beneath the blanket that him and Beverly are sharing.

231

Richie watches this with a bit of curiosity. Bev and Ben are sharing a blanket, sure, but they're a couple. Everyone else has their own blankets... except for him. He looks down, sees the way that Eddie tightly holds a big comforter around him, listening to Bill with attentive ears. Casually, as to not seem too obvious, Richie moves over on the log that they're sharing just to be a little closer.

Throughout the night, he moves inch by inch, budge by budge, brick by brick. By the time that Stanley is passing around s'mores, Richie is pressed against Eddie's side.

"Jeez, Rich, aren't you cold?" Mike asks.

Richie looks up at the boy, the glow from the fire flickering in his chestnut eyes. Mike's face has a bit of twinkle in it, a knowing little smile that says he's playing wingman. Richie blushes, bites his lip, and glances at Eddie out of the corner of his eyes. Michael Hanlon, you know too much.

292

"A little," Richie shrugs. "It's cool. Your mom always offers a warm bed."

117

Eddie joins the two's conversation and says "You're cold? Here, here you go, come on."

120

Eddie opens up his arms, offering the blanket he has wrapped around him. If he's honest, he noticed Richie moving closer about four ghost stories ago, he was just too shy to say anything.

160

Richie moves closer, filling up the space in Eddie's side, reveling in the warmth that the boy spreads. Not just on the outside, no, but the fires spark within as well. He holds the blanket tightly around his shoulders, makes sure Eddie is still wrapped up, and then graciously lets out a sigh of relief. He avoids Stan's eyes, not because he's ashamed, but because he is terrified of seeing Stan look disappointed. You know, maybe he should be snuggling up with the boy he just made out with, but his body naturally gravitates towards Eddie like the waves cling to the shores.

386

The night continues, the group of kids laughing and coming up with their own games. About halfway through Mike and Ben arm wrestling, Richie takes notice of how Eddie is writing in the same leatherskin journal. Probably homework, but he doesn't ask. Eddie seems focused. He'd hate to disrupt that.

112

"I don't think I've ever heard Richie this quiet, you guys," Bev announces. All eyes shift over to Richie, and the boy shrinks beneath the scrutiny. "What's got your tongue?"

"Yeah," Mike smiles. He looks directly at Stanley and asks "What's got your tongue, Rich?"

690

Richie's face burns, and not just from the heat of the fire. He shrugs, shakes his head, and then says "I'm just enjoying the moment, you know. I want to remember you guys just like this; happy."

After such a response, it's only natural for everyone to fall silent. They all look around at one another, their faces covered in orange prisms, shadows flickering over their features. He's right, they're all so happy. They should remember this. They never once pause to appreciate the blessings that they have, but Richie is teaching them to stop and smell the roses. One day, they might not be friends. They fear the day that comes.

182

Stan is the first to retire, he gives up on trying to keep his eyes open and announces he's going to sleep. Upon making this declaration, Mike calls it quits and follows Stan in the direction of their tent. Bill nods and tells them he'll be in soon, but makes no effort to move.

After awhile, Bev leans down and gently kisses the side of Ben's cheek to wake the boy up. Once he is alert and blushing colors that glow even in the presence of fire, the two take off towards their own tent. Richie and Eddie remain wrapped in the blanket, and so Bill moves around the fire to sit on the log that Beverly was previously on.

"Th-Th-Thanks for cuh-cuh-coming," Bill spits out.

124

Eddie looks up for the first time in what feels like hours, closing his journal and holding it tightly against his chest. Richie moves his gaze towards Bill, offering a jagged smile.

"I could make a joke," he says, looking towards the stars and deciding that Big Bill belongs up there with the rest of them. "But I won't. Thank you."

"At l-least you won't have t-t-to sleep alone this time, right Eddie?" Bill asks. Richie makes a mental note that the boy stutters less while talking to Eddie, but fumbles over simple words while addressing Richie. Perhaps it's a comfort thing, but maybe it has something to do with trust.

"Yeah, sure," Eddie shrugs. "Not sure that trashmouth here is really the solution that I wanted, though."

133

Despite his cold words, he looks up at Richie and the boy instantly knows that Eddie does not mean it. He has an easy way of reassuring Richie with just merely his eyes, though it feels like magic.

"Aw, shucks, he can't be that bad," Bill laughs. Not a single stutter. "I've slept at the kid's house. It's not like he s-sss-snores!"

"That's not my problem," Eddie shakes his head. He points at Richie's nonstop fidgeting hands and says "That is."

"You afraid I'll cop a feel while you sleep, Eds?" Richie hums, squeezing the air in front of Eddie's face to mimic a pair of breasts. Eddie scoffs and shakes his head in disgust, so Richie claims "In your dreams, kiddo. There's nothing on you to squeeze! Just bones, you're practically a skeleton. Jeez, Eds, haven't you ever drank a glass of milk before? Get some calcium in your system!"

126

Eddie rolls his eyes and says "On that note, goodnight, Bill."

Eddie stands up and unravels himself from the cocoon of blanket that the two boys have wrapped themselves in. Richie watches him cross the campsite and unzip their designated tent, and only once the tent flap has been officially closed does he allow himself to look back towards Bill.

"H-H-He's a guh-goo-good kid," Bill nods quietly.

The fire crackles between them, wood chips breaking down and combusting with heat. Besides that, crickets sing midnight melodies and owls harmonize from the strings in the trees. Nature has its own symphony, and Richie thinks it's a beautiful one.

"Yeah, pretty rad," Richie nods. He holds the blanket in his hands and finds solace in the disinfectant smell it has lingering in the threads. "You all are."

"Us? N-N-No wuh-way, T-Tozier," Bill laughs. The two try to be quiet, but for different reasons. Bill doesn't want to disturb his friends' sleep, but Richie doesn't want to miss out on the soundtrack that the woods around them are writing. "We're all a b-buh-bunch of luh-losers."

"And you think I'm not?" Richie scoffs. "I've got no friends, Denbrough. You ever consider why? 'Cause I'm a loser too, baby."

119

"Yuh-yuh-you're no loser, R-Richie," Bill adamantly shakes his head. "N-N-No. Yuh-You're the coolest k-kid th-thhh-that I know. W-We all th-think so."

178

Richie's heart bursts into flickers and explosions that singe the insides of his body with white-hot love. He doesn't quite know that what he's feeling is love, the boy has never experienced it before this moment. A supernova collapses in his chest, and he feels like the fire is merely a tiny ember compared to what is raging on inside of him.

101

"You really think so?" Richie asks. He hears the insecurity in his voice, and this time, he does not kick or punch himself for it.

"W-We really luh-like it when you hhh-hh-hang out with us," Bill smiles. "St-St-Stan's happier. Eh-Eh-Eddie t-too."

289

"You really think so?" Richie asks again.

"T-T-Take a walk w-with mmm-me," Bill stands to his feet, extending a hand to where Richie is sitting.

251

Richie's eyes catch onto the electronic watch strapped to Bill's wrist, the numbers glowing 1:03 AM.

121

"Okay, yeah," Richie smiles and takes the boy's hand. This is what he's wanted his whole life, just this. Maybe he didn't recognize it quite at first, and maybe he lied to himself to ignore the pain of being alone. But this is what he's always wanted; people who want to be with him as much as he wants to be with them.

Bill navigates them through the paths carefully, holding his arm out whenever Richie clumsily approaches a log as if he doesn't see it as clearly as Bill does. It's clear that the stutterer knows his way around this campsite fairly well, he pulls Richie aside to avoid stepping in the infamous trap hole that so many would fall into while running the path at night, and he knows which roads to take when the dirt forks off into two different directions.

The thick trees open up into a sandy clearing, Richie's eyes landing on a rippling bank of crystallized water. It moves and dances in the moonlight, whispering and giggling to the air around it. Richie admires the lake, the way that it sings provocatively.

"W-We used t-t-to come up h-here a llll-lot," Bill says into the open air, his voice shaking more fiercely than the waves. Richie stops staring at the moon-dusted water to glance over at the leader of their pack. "B-B-Before."

"Before?" Richie asks. He sticks his hands in his pockets and treads carefully, his shoes slipping in the sandy deposits. He and Bill start walking the perimeter of the lake, the two silhouettes painting themselves into the picture-perfect scene. "So this is, like, a regular thing for you guys, huh? I'm honored to be here."

Bill shakes his head, his jaw clenched tightly. Even in the dark of the night, Richie can see the sharp curve of his face where anger sets in.

"N-No. Not t-th-the losers," Bill says grimly. "B-Before."

Richie opens his mouth to ask again, but something in his brain clicks like the twigs snapping beneath their shoes.

Before.

Before his brother died.

God, how could I be so stupid?

"Before," Richie says again, this time, more persistent as if he understands the word's weight. "Did he like it up here?"

Bill smiles, his jaw easing up as his shoulders drop down. The tension flows out of his shoulders and runs off into the body of water beside them, and Richie swears he can see the sparkles it adds to the surface of the lake.

"He loved it," Bill's voice does not shake. Not a bit. "He would catch crabs in the water and try to sneak them into mom and dad's tent, b-but I always stopped him. He liked the s'mores, but dad wouldn't ever let him have more than two. I would s-s-sneak him mine when dad wasn't looking, I was never a fan of muh-marshmallows to begin with."

165

Holy fuck. Stuttering Bill can talk? Sure, there's still a few words that get caught in his teeth, but this is the smoothest Richie has ever heard the boy breathe. It must be the memory of his brother helping him and holding his hand. Was Bill a stutterer before his brother died?

137

"We would wake up early before the sun was over the trees, when it was... kind of that light blue of dusk, you know, where things feel cold and warm all at the same time. We would come down to this lake and swim. Or we would explore. He liked to play puh-puh-pirates a lot, or sometimes Planewreck. We would pretend like we crashed on a deserted island and try to survive off of berries and lakewater. He had... t-the most amazing imagination, Richie."

Most kids do.

"Do you miss him?" Richie asks, though he feels as if the answer is obvious. Of course he misses his brother. Any normal human being would. But, Richie grew up as an only child, so he doesn't quite grasp that brotherly bond the way that Bill does.

"Every single day," Bill sighs. He looks at Richie, and the moon glints on his watery eyes at such an angle that makes them look like they've been angel blessed. Richie knows better. He knows they're sad tears. "Eh-Eh-Ehvery single f-fucking d-d-day."

179

Bill hears his stutter make a hasty return and only shakes his head, keeping his eyes cast downwards.

"Thank you for telling me," Richie says softly, his elbow coming up to prod into Bill's side. "You're brave, Bill. You're really brave."

"I d-d-don't think s-so," Bill shakes his head. He looks up at the water with a wistful kind of smile, and he says "He'd wuh-want me t-t-to be br-brave. I t-t-try... but... n-not enough."

"You're brave, Bill Denbrough," Richie repeats again with more certainty in his words. The world is cast under a silver spell, white hues dancing along the high peaks of the mountain ranges living under Bill's cheeks.

"Th-They all are," Bill gestures back towards camp, the boy's almost entirely around the lake and completing their loop. The sand from the shore sneaks into Richie's slip-on shoes, and with each grain that persistently digs its way into his skin, he wishes he brought a more sensible footwear choice. "B-B-Bravest people in D-Derry."

"Yeah," Richie laughs without hesitation. The two start steering back towards the path, gentle smiles lazing across their faces. "They really are, aren't they?"

"You t-too," Bill says.

Richie shakes his head. "Me? Nah. Don't be ridiculous, Dennybrough."

"Yuh-yuh-you're a hero, R-RRR-Rich," Bill insists.

146

Richie shakes his head once more and says "Hero? Now I know you're just tugging my leg. I see how it is, Big Bill! Think you can get a couple o' chucks outta the master? You've got quite the set of balls on ya for tryin' to trash the trashmouth. Nice one, though. Very funny. 'You're a hero, Rich.' Yeah, right! Chuckalicious."

273

Bill opens his mouth to counter Richie's denials, but the words die down in his throat as a scream pierces through the air.

148

Richie's heart comes to a complete stop, the hair on his body coming to an erect standing ovation. His arms break into goosebumps, and for a few moments, he doesn't inhale a molecule of oxygen. The scream cuts through the air, not swiftly, but in jagged motions. A raw, ragged scream of someone in excruciating pain. There's only one person capable of screaming so loud, and to hear his vocal chords stretch to such lengths is what really sends a haunting chill to Richie's very bone.

Eddie.

229

Richie's long legs are crashing through underbrush before his brain can even process what he's doing. Tree branches and twigs lash out at his cheeks, cutting, snagging, biting at his skin and his clothes, but this does not slow him down. Richie runs faster than he has ever ran before, his thighs building up fire to burn the muscles away after years of inactivity. He doesn't care. The scream continues, more agonizingly now, and all Richie is capable of thinking in that moment is Get to Eddie Get to Eddie Get to Eddie Get to Eddie.

103

"This way!" A voice overlaps Eddie's persistent screams, and Richie skids to a complete halt when he sees Bill running right alongside him. Bill stops as well, grabbing Richie by the shoulder and pulling the boy along the quicker path back to camp.

The two break through a wall of bush, scraped and beaten up by the forces of nature, panting and trying to catch their breath. In the clearing, Mike stands outside of Eddie's tent, while Stan and Bev hold onto each other by the fire. They all look terrified, their desperate eyes latching onto Bill like he will fix everything. He always does. He's Bill.

Before Bill can even come up with a plan, Richie is stepping forward and rushing to the tent spilling such dismal melodies. He drops to his knees, unzips the flap, and scrambles to find the bookbag he had set inside after the two finished setting their tent up earlier this evening.

Eddie's screams become more anguished, the boy's body writhing around in unbearable pain. Richie can feel the four pairs of eyes peering inside the tent, putting a pressure on his shoulders that only makes him move more frantically. He scrambles through the bag, pulling out spare clothes and water bottles to find the one object he can't leave home without. He is moving as fast as he can, but it doesn't seem fast enough.

"Eddie," Mike calls into the tent, his face exhausted and tired. He's clenching his pajama bottoms with tight, nervous hands, an action that seems very out of character for Mike's usual head-strong persona.

"He can't hear you," Richie pulls the tape out of his walkman, throwing the rock 'n' roll mix to the side and going back to digging through the assortment of tapes he brought with. All of them seem to upbeat, too hardcore. None of them are suited for the disaster unfolding right in front of him.

Finally, relief washes over him as he punches a cassette into the tape deck, his shaking hands shoving the headphones over Eddie's throbbing head. He hits play with so much force that the button gets jammed into place, but that's the least of his worries right now. He holds the headphones over Eddie's ears, and when the screaming doesn't immediately stop, he moves closer in order to pull the boy in his lap.

170

Richie holds onto Eddie tightly, his grip squeezing harder and harder as each scream begins to die down into a shaking sob. Eddie's hands clasp onto the front of Richie's shirt, the tiny boy tucked up as small as he can be, trying to shrink away from the world and everything in it. He buries his face deep in Richie's chest and tries to surround himself in the smell of the boy; he wants nothing more than to just let Richie take up the world around him and forget about everything else.

"I-I-I'm so s-sorry," Eddie sobs as he comes to consciousness, hiccuping during words from the pure velocity behind each syllable. "The s-spider came and-"

233

"Shh, shhh," Richie strokes the back of Eddie's feathered hair, rocking the two back and forth in steady motions. He holds on tightly, his chin tucked over the top of Eddie's head, his whole body shaking with relief. "No words. You're okay now, I've got you."

165

Eddie doesn't reply, but Richie wishes he would. Instead, Eddie just nuzzles further into Richie's chest, accepting the comfort after such a haunting dream.

Richie glances over at the entrance of the tent, seeing Bill and Mike still hanging there and watching with concerned eyes. Richie waves them off, motioning that he's got it from here, his steady movements flowing back and forth to lull the scared boy back into his slumber. The music is soft and steady, and Eddie's sleepy brain mumbles the thought of Richie picking this tape just for him.

"I've got it from here," Richie whispers once he notices Bill Denbrough not moving from his station. Mike and Beverly went back to their tent, making a short joke about Ben's ability to sleep through anything. Stan isn't by the fire anymore, so Richie assumes he took off at some point during the screaming. He doesn't blame the kid, it was bloodcurdling to hear such a ghastly sound.

"T-This," Bill says in his soft, quiet voice.

Eddie moves closer to Richie, his eyes closed as he begins to get lost in the symphonies serenading him through Richie's headphones. He doesn't feel any of the fear eating away at him anymore, it's as if Richie flushed it all out of him, and now he's slipping off into a dozy sleepland where he doesn't feel the fear of the world around him.

Richie continues stroking the back of his head, not faltering for one moment. He holds onto Eddie like his life may damn well rely on it, and sometimes, Richie feels like it might. The two fit together well, like two puzzle pieces locking together in their unique patterned way. Nobody will ever fit in Richie's arms the way Eddie Kaspbrak does.

181

Just in that moment, as if everything in the universe has aligned so perfectly for Bill to prove his point, Eddie stops crying all together. No whines, no soft-spoken sobs, just the hum of his lungs syncing up with the music being fed through his ears. He stops crying, no longer sobbing, but he doesn't move to get out of Richie's arms.

"This," Bill whispers again, this time more clearly. No hesitation. No stutter. No shaking. Cold, hard truth. "This is why you're a hero, Rich."

Chapter 21

Shafts of sunlight come in through the hazy windowpanes, casting beams of gold across Beverly's freckled eyes. She swiftly shuffles through racks upon racks of clothes, her attention completely undivided by the world around her.

116

"You almost done yet, Bee?" Richie groans, leaning across a rack of clothes in exhaustion. He holds two bags on each wrist, the objects weighing his arms down heavily.

Beverly doesn't make Richie go shopping with her very often, but every once in awhile the Tozier household will get a call where the princess formally requests an escort to the ball. Richie would never dream of declining this offer, but he still hates every agonizing second of it.

For starters; he hates shopping to begin with. Beverly drags him along to thrift stores when she decides she needs new overalls, or her favorite dress sports a new stain. It's all she can afford, but Richie hates following her around the aisles and having to carry the stacks of clothes she piles into his arms. Even worse, he hates sitting outside the dressing room and telling her if an outfit looks good or not. He'd never tell her of this hatred, of course, but if she were to ask if he liked their shopping dates, he wouldn't be able to lie.

Second reason that he hates shopping; he doesn't like it when she starts picking on his own sense of clothing, telling him he needs a new pair of pants or his favorite shirt has got one too many holes in the material. Richie explains "It's rock and roll, babe." but she never understands. This leads to her making him try on new clothes, and he hates looking at his body. He knows he's tall, he knows he's lanky. He knows that he's pale and sickly, but you try putting meat on your bones when you can't afford to feed yourself because your parents can't be bothered to do so. Richie will avoid a naked mirror any chance he gets.

194

"I haven't even gotten to the blouses yet, Richie!" She exclaims.

"I'm bored, Beverly," he huffs in annoyance. It's true, he is bored, but he's mainly just bored of the fact that she's not talking. When she's in the zone, she's in the zone.

Bev pauses, looks up at Richie's pleading eyes, and says "Okay. Let's take a break. Wanna smoke?"

"God yes," he exhales. "I've been itching for a square all morning."

117

Beverly leads Richie up to the counter, where she drops off the pile of clothes and explains she's just going to step out for a moment. The cashier smiles at her and says to take her time, but most adults are sweet on Bev. She just has that personality.

As the two are walking out the door, Beverly says "What would you do without me, Richie?"

"Crash and burn," the boy does not hesitate to reply. They step into the closest alley, leaning up against the brick wall as Beverly hands him a cigarette. Not Winstons, but it'll do.

"So," Beverly says matter-of-factly. He can hear the atomic cherry bomb in her voice, and he knows that she's about to drop it down on him without warning. "How's Eddie?"

Boom. Cherry bomb.

209

"Dunno," Richie shrugs. "Am I supposed to be keeping track of the little shit?"

128

Beverly elbows his side and says "Beep beep. Talk nice about him, okay? I was just... curious as to how you guys were doing."

"Haven't seen him since..." Richie trails off, his mind resurfacing memories of falling asleep in a tent with Eddie's waist tucked up in his arms. Camping was warm and lovely, but what occurred in that tent has left Richie more than confused.

"Since we went camping?" Bev asks as if she can read his mind. "It was nice what you did for him. Really nice. I was shocked you had it in ya."

"I can be nice," Richie defends himself as he strikes a match against the wet brick. "You just don't do shit that is worth being nice about."

"Yeah, sure. You spend a lot of time comforting Ed? Seemed a bit rehearsed if you ask me," she pushes her cigarette into the flame at the same time as Richie, the flame dividing to the two cigarettes. "You did good, though. I've never seen him come down that quickly."

109

"Has he been having the nightmares for awhile?" Richie avoids her question. Whether or not he spends time comforting Eddie isn't her business, especially when he's not even sure what comforting means.

"Oh, yeah," she takes steady drags, nothing like Richie's chainsmoking habits. "For as long as I've known the kid. He's always been like that, he usually just falls back asleep after awhile."

"Nobody's tried to do anything about it?" Richie asks.

"What are we supposed to do?" she scoffs. "Enter his dreams and fight off the scary monsters?"

116

"Has he told you what they're about?"

"Has he told you?" she looks at him pointedly.

Richie looks away, the wind blowing dead leaves through the hollow alley. He hates talking about Eddie, only because he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to think. Eddie is... he's uncharted territory.

"Do you like girls, Richie?" Beverly then asks.

344

"What? Of course, don't be stupid," he shakes his head, his heart thumping uncontrollably. God, why is he so scared?

101

"You've never had a girlfriend," she states.

"Okay? And? I'm fifteen for fuck's sake, just because I'm not married with seven kids and a dog doesn't mean I'm a queer," he says defensively, kicking his shoe into the loose gravel.

167

Beverly watches him with wary eyes, her face showing the skeptical expression. "So you do like girls?"

"Of course," he says again, glaring at her with hostility in his gaze. His heart wants to climb out of his throat. "I like girls. Love 'em."

316

She looks at Richie one last time, her eyes pleading her best friend to just be honest. They both know he's not telling the truth, or, maybe he is, but he's certainly omitting details. She just wants him to stop keeping secrets from her, she feels the gap between them growing to the size of a five foot two kid with freckles everywhere that the sun shines. Even now, as the two lean against the wall and smoke their cigarettes, there's distance. It's not the same. Richie doesn't meet up with Beverly outside of gas stations anymore, she's learned that he's too busy crawling through windows of the Kaspbrak residence.

142

Beverly stubs her cigarette out and finally accepts the fact that maybe Richie might not be her best friend anymore. Or, more accurately, he is her best friend, but she's not his.

247

"I'm letting you off the hook, Toto," Beverly laughs to cover up the fact that her eyes are brimming with tears. She looks away, starts to move backwards, and slowly creeps away from Richie. The distance between them grows and grows, and she keeps taking those steps back. "You get a get-out-of-jail-free card just for today. I can finish shopping on my own."

137

"Really?" he asks, eyes wide. Then, he realizes how out of character it is for her, and he says "Are you sure? I can stay if you want."

Beverly nods, a wistful smile on her face as she recognizes the pieces of Richie that used to be hers for so long. "Go, Richie. You're bored out of your mind. Go say hi to Eddie for me."

114

Richie frowns, looks away, and feels his body tense up. Is she accusing him of something? What's she trying to say?

"Sure. Whatever. Have fun shopping, princess," he says bitterly. Richie bites down on his cigarette, feeling the bursts of tobacco and nicotine wave across his tastebuds.

212

Beverly turns on her heel and starts walking back towards the store, and Richie feels nothing but anger in him. Why doesn't she trust him? Why is she so insistently jealous of Eddie? Is he not allowed to have friends without automatically becoming a queer? He hates that. He hates that this is all she can see. He doesn't know if he can be friends with someone who judges him for something he's not.

322

Richie waits in the alley for a few moments before heading back to the bike rack in front, unlocking his stupid bike and mounting it. He has no destination, but he just rides. He rides. He rides until the concrete roads become gravel, and then he rides until the gravel becomes dirt. His bike is taking him down a familiar road, a road that leads to Mike Hanlon's farm. Mike always knows how to take Richie out of his head, always knows how to make the boy engage with the world around him.

It isn't until Richie is in the middle of the country that he stops and breaks hard. His bike stutters against the unpaved road, his body lurching forward with realization. He bounces back and thinks I can't go see Mike. That's her friend. They're all her friends. They'll all side with her, too.

132

But Richie keeps going further anyway, riding away from the city with the motivation to be with anybody except for himself. He hates being alone. He can't stand it. He left his walkman at home, he can't even escape if he wanted to.

Richie pulls into the familiar driveway and discards his bike next to the mailbox. He glances at his watch, sees it's 10:42, and starts walking around the back of the house. If the schedule of chores is still the same, the person he has come to see will be out back scrubbing the laundry his father has thrown onto him.

254

As expected, the boy is sitting against the washbin, his hands buried deep within the suds. Richie approaches him quietly, gentle on his feet, and picks up a shirt from the pile of clothes next to him. Richie sits down, dipping the shirt into the water, and quietly rubbing it against the side of the basin. Henry Bowers jumps out of his skin, splashing himself down the front of his chest from the mere surprise. He lets out a tiny yelp, one that sounds entirely too feminine, but Richie does not cast him a glance at all.

232

"T-Tozier? The fuck are you doing here?" Henry remarks, his voice shaking in fear. He's not afraid of Richie, no, he's terrified. "I haven't- I haven't touched Bill or his faggy friends, I-"

112

"Chillax," Richie mumbles. He doesn't feel good about being here, but he doesn't know where else he would go. He didn't realize that the Bowers residence was his default safe space, but here he is. He was hoping there would be more of a warm welcome, but the last thing he said to Henry was a threat to kill him. It's understandable that the boy is shaking. "Just so we're clear-"

Richie looks up and peers into Henry's hazel eyes, memories unfolding in his brain. He has spent so long suppressing those memories, but now he's... he's letting them breathe and air out like the linens pinned to the clothesline to their left. He doesn't know why he's spent so long trying to forget in the first place.

"-You aren't a second choice. That isn't what's happening, so don't go and assume I'm only here because Bev is being a bitch."

"That's exactly what you're doing, isn't it?" Henry narrows his eyes. He bristles up like an offended cat, his stature puffing up to look bigger than it actually is. "What'd the bitch do now?"

Richie opens his mouth to tell Henry off for calling her a bitch, but he supposes that would only be hypocritical of him. "Nothing. Don't worry about why I'm here, just accept that I'm here. That's all that matters."

Henry looks away, his skin flaring up, but not from the cold winds biting at their young cheeks. He feels embarrassed that Richie is here, but only because he wasn't prepared. He's sitting in his dirty farm clothes, unbathed, and completely, shockingly, unattractive. Eddie Kaspbrak is clean, he's neat, and he's perfect. Henry Bowers feels as if he's the exact opposite.

288

Henry Bowers is two and a half years older than Richie Tozier, but with the way Richie was raised, or, not raised, he was forced to mature faster than others in his grade. Richie and Henry met when they were just kids, hardly even old enough to understand that parents aren't supposed to treat you the way they were treated. Richie was buying groceries, not snacks, not junkfood, not candy, but groceries. Henry was lurking in the aisle and trying to steal a bar of chocolate without being caught. As Henry was making a hasty escape, he bumped into Richie and knocked the paper bags out of the kid's arms. Henry had said "Hey, watch it!" and Richie just silently began to collect the boring adult items that kids don't buy. Henry then said, "Hey, why you buyin' such weird stuff?" and Richie looked up with his young, innocent face, and Henry Bowers had fallen in love.

275

Richie did not love him back.

556

Even now, as Henry stares at Richie in wonder and amazement and utter disbelief that the boy is back sitting on his farm and helping with chores like the old days, he knows that Richie does not love him back.

"How'd your ribs heal up?" Richie asks, focusing hard on a particular stain painted across the front of a button-up with Bowers sewn into the breast pocket.

"Nothin' wrong with my ribs," Henry says stubbornly, shaking his head to deny the accusation. Richie glances up at him, just a simple look, before returning to the stain. Henry's face burns.

"Yes there is. I bruised them, probably fractured one. I've seen the way you've been limping around, dude. They heal up yet?" Richie asks again, ignoring Henry's flustered aura. The stain starts to loosen up out of the threads, so Richie lets a content smirk grace his face.

A moment of silence passes between them, the sound of water gently splashing against hands, birds chirping, cicadas dying down for the winter. Then, Henry says in a voice that doesn't hold any of the hostile defensiveness that it is so used to speaking in, "Yeah, they're healing up pretty good."

"Good," Richie says. He stands up, walks by Henry to clip the clothes to the line, stretching the shirt out so it can properly breathe.

Henry can't help but watch the way Richie moves as he does this. He's different, the boy's definitely been blessed throughout puberty, and now his body is an entirely new one compared to the body that Henry used to know like the back of his hand. Richie's shirt rides up as he stretches out, the sun coming down and putting hues of purple and blue into his hair. The boy's got an oilspill happening over his ivory tusk skin, and Henry wants nothing more than to explore this new Richie and see what he's grown into.

418

Instead, he looks away, and he learns to hate himself a little more.

139

"How long have they been gone?" Henry asks.

Richie's arms fall to his side, and he says "What? Who?"

"Rich," Henry frowns. He refuses to look up because he doesn't trust his translucent cheeks, so he stares downwards and asks "Come on. I'm not stupid. You think you're the only observant one?"

Richie bites the inside of his cheek and returns to sitting in front of Henry. He leans against the basin, the cold water kissing the tips of his fingers that hang over the edges.

The fact of the matter is that Richie has been hanging out with someone nonstop. If he's not out with someone, then there are two or more bikes in his driveway. Henry has seen it, he's noticed, and he's noticed the way that Richie's hands have been shaking since he arrived. He hasn't eaten. All the clues point towards the fact that his parents aren't here, they're gone, and it isn't the first time this has happened.

"How long?" Henry asks again.

"Three weeks? Four? I lost track," Richie says. "Maybe five."

102

"For fuck's sake," Henry breathes out, shaking his head in disbelief. "What've you been eating?"

"Canned beans, uh, bread," Richie shrugs. "Some of Bev's friends split their school lunches with me." He avoids saying Eddie.

Henry knows who he means anyway.

"You've gotta tell someone," Henry frowns. "You can't- What's going to happen when the bill collectors show up on your doorstep and you have to explain that your parents haven't been home in weeks?"

"I checked. Paid off everything for the next three months," Richie shrugs.

"Three months?" Henry repeats. "Jesus. Did they leave you any money?"

"No," Richie's face twists up as if he's physically being tortured. He doesn't want to talk about this, especially not with Henry. Now that he thinks about it, it was probably a stupid idea for Richie to come here in the first place. What was he thinking? What was I thinking? "Have to find some work so I can buy groceries. Maybe rake up some leaves, or something like that."

"Do you need groceries?" Henry asks.

144

Richie stays silent.

"Do you need groceries?" he asks again.

Richie meets his eye, and he doesn't have to say a word. Henry nods, stands up and wipes his wet hands on his pants, and says "Okay. Come on."

166

"What? Where? Where are we going?" Richie panics, tripping over his feet to follow Henry inside. The house still smells the exact same; old cigars and rusty leather. The smell alone makes Richie's head spin with nostalgia, the boy gripping onto a banister to keep balance. Henry clambers up to his room and comes down twice as fast, holding a wad of cash in his hands.

"Come on," Henry says. He grabs Richie by the base of the neck and starts pushing him towards the front door, his fingers softly brushing against the boy's curly hair. Henry takes a moment to savor the warmth of Richie's freckled skin, and then he shoves the boy forward onto the porch.

"The fuck are we going, Bowers?" Richie scoffs, climbing into the rusty Camaro that Henry has been working on and fixing since he was in fourth grade. Richie didn't know it was finally drivable, he knows how much effort Henry has put into it. He asks again, "Where the fuck are we going?"

"Come on, Rich," Henry shakes his head, buckling his seatbelt. "You're a fucking asshole, but do you really think I'm going to let you perish away in that big empty house? You're fucking delusional. Do you really think that lowly of me?"

107

Richie wants to say Yes. You act like a god damn heathen.

281

Instead, he silently listens to the German death metal that Henry loves, staring out the window as they drive into town. Richie wonders what his life would be like if he were to have stayed friends with Henry. He thinks things would be much different, and he certainly wouldn't know Beverly Marsh or Bill Denbrough. Maybe, just maybe he'd end up bullying Eddie Kaspbrak for his girly little shorts if that were the case, he would probably be part of the reason that Eddie is too scared to walk to class alone. And maybe he might end up kissing Henry in the back seats of rusty Camaros, not kissing Stan Uris in the middle of the woods. Maybe Richie wouldn't mind kissing Henry. Maybe Richie wouldn't mind having a relationship, even if it were with a guy. Maybe Richie regrets pushing Henry away on New Years Eve.

906

Richie is completely silent, a rare occurrence, all the way to the supermarket. It isn't until Henry Bowers is standing next to him and considering the price difference between wheat or white bread, that Richie finally speaks up.

"Do you think we could have been good?" He asks. He stares at the cinnamon raisin bagels. "This. But... older. Adults. Do you think it could have worked?"

127

The back of Henry's tongue touches the roof of his mouth as his lips begin to form the word "Yes." Then, on second thought, he changes his mind.

He says, "It didn't work, that's the point."

"But imagine if it did," Richie says. He turns to Henry and asks "Do you think you'd love me?"

244

Henry stares at him in utter disbelief. Are you serious? he thinks to himself. Are you mentally disabled? Richie, I loved you. Even now, I still love you. Don't you fucking get that?

249

Instead of vocalizing these words, he shrugs and turns away. "No. I'm no fucking fruit."

388

Richie sighs and follows his old friend, the remaining trip only widening the space between them. He figures he shouldn't have spoken up about it, but it needed to be asked. Richie is so, so confused about himself and where he stands in the world, and he only feels a sense of clarity when he's kissing Stan Uris. But Richie knows that won't happen again, no, not with Stan. But it's not really about Stan in particular, is it? No, it's all boys. All boys. Richie thought he would be able to clear up some of the confusion if he were to exploit the first boy to ever initiate these conflicting feelings within him. Henry sowed something in Richie that cold, freezing night. While all the adults were inside getting drunk off of champagne and new years resolutions, Henry Bowers was busy planting the first seed in the weeds that would sprout and tangle around the subject of Richie's sexuality.

171

Richie doesn't say much while they're shopping. Henry does most of it, picking out ingredients for meals and every snack food that he can remember Richie used to gravitate towards as a kid. He's pretty spot on, too. Richie only puts one item back, and that's solely because of the night that Beverly had dared him to eat 80 gummy worms in under a minute. He puked, and now the sight of it fills his heart with horror. Henry counts money out at the register, and Richie feels guilt fill him up from the inside out. He thinks he really is so pathetic, Henry of all people is standing here buying him food. How pathetic.

"Thank you," Richie says as they navigate through the parking lot. His voice is soft and genuine.

Henry looks over at him, stopping to pop the trunk of his car. "Yeah, of course. Your parents are assholes."

"Yeah," Richie laughs, transferring paper bags over to the trunk. There are stolen school books, broken vinyls, and a leather jacket with the initials PH stitched into the collar. Richie doesn't ask about it.

417

"Yeah. I think it would have worked," Henry says quietly.

Richie looks over in confusion, tilting his head to the side and asking "Pardon, good sir?"

Henry shrugs, avoiding Richie's magnified eyes. "It would have worked. It. Us. We would have worked. I would have made it work, you know. Fought for something- no, fought for us. I would have made sure that it worked."

357

Richie knows that this is something sure and stable that he could fall back on. Eddie Kaspbrak is not a stable bet, he's unpredictable and could very well get tired of Richie's jokes one day and leave him. Henry Bowers, a boy who has loved him since they were in primary school, yeah, that is simple. That is guaranteed. If Richie truly does want to try playing for the other team like his thoughts have been alluding him to as of recent, he feels like it should be something not as fickle or indecisive as Eddie Kaspbrak. Besides, Henry already knows everything about him, including which food he eats. It really would be the safest bet.

419

But he doesn't love Henry. That's the problem. That's always been the problem.

286

They don't listen to the radio as they drive to Richie's house, and somehow, it feels as if Henry is driving back home. Not to his daddy's farm, but home. Where Richie lives, where he gave Richie his first black eye, where he would rush to at 3pm after middle school had separated the two boys, where he would sleep in a tent down in the living room instead of up in Richie's rooms like the Toziers were always begging the boys did. They would say "You've got a room, Richard, please use it." and yet Richie would always unroll his sleeping bag on the living room floor in an act of defiance.

"For fuck's sake," Richie whispers to himself as the car pulls into the driveway.

Richie stops, pushing his glasses up so he can rub his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, and silently cursing Eddie Kaspbrak. Of course he has to show up right now. Of course.

409

Eddie is bent over a journal, writing delicate words and so involved in his own story that he doesn't even notice the car shifting into park until the engine is shut off and the growling noise comes to a complete stop. Then, in turn, two car doors slam shut, and he can't help but look up.

Henry still has yet to notice the tiny boy, but Richie is trying to gather everything from the trunk as quickly as he can. He needs Henry out of here, now.

"Rich?" Eddie calls out.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Do something, quick.

"Oi oi cap'n o' the sea," an Irish accent spills out. "Got a wee lassie approachin' that there ship. Bugger, s'actually a laddie!"

207

Eddie stops in his tracks, his blood running cold, the hair molecules on his skin standing up, goosebumps breaking out beneath his flesh. He is immediately kicked into hyperdrive, his flight or fight response becoming active in an instant. He has locked eyes with the very bully that makes his life hell, and he's standing next to Richie with an armful of fresh produce.

"The fuck is he doin' here?" Henry asks. He's more... hurt than anything, and Richie can recognize that.

121

Richie drops all the bags back in the trunk and turns to Henry, saying "I'm so sorry, I didn't think he would be here. Just give me a moment, please."

"What the fuck, Richie?" Henry whispers, only because he doesn't trust himself to try and speak clearly. His throat feels dry and lumpy, as if he's swallowed an entire bottle of antacids. "Just... What the fuck?"

177

Richie can't find the words to say, so he turns on his heel and makes his way to Eddie on the porch. He digs his keys out of his pockets and hands the house key to Eddie, looking at the boy with pleading eyes.

"Please go inside. Please. Just go sit in my room, I will be up in a second," Richie begs.

"H-Henry? Henry Bowers? You're- You're- Youre-" Eddie shakes his head in disbelief.

"No, I'm not," Richie doesn't want to hear the end of that sentence. "You need to stop fucking showing up on my porch all the time. Go. Go wait in my room."

350

Eddie is quiet for a moment more, stunned by such harsh words. Then, the tears come quickly, and he feels himself wearing thin right in front of Richie's eyes. So, as quickly as he can, he gathers the things he brought over and turns to face the front door. His hands shake from fear and heartbreak, in turn making it difficult to unlock the door. When he finally gets it, he slams the door shut, the wooden frame shaking and creaking under such force.

177

Richie returns to Henry cautiously, his whole body sluggish with dread. He begins picking up grocery bags again, not wanting to share a word with Henry at all.

"You're fucked, you know that?" Henry asks. "You're entirely fucked."

"I know," Richie nods. He opens his mouth again, but he's cut off.

"Don't give me a fucking accent, Richie. I can't believe you. God," Henry grabs everything left in the trunk and begins marching across the lawn. He's moving so angrily that Richie is convinced that the boy is going to crash right through his mother's garden along the sidewalk, but Henry is still courteous enough to respect Mrs. Tozier's flora like he was taught to do so.

Richie sighs and shuts the trunk, following Henry up to the porch with full arms. Out of everything to go wrong, this is it. This sure is it. Henry kicks the door open forcefully, bee-lining straight for the kitchen without stopping to take in the new furniture. He drops the bags onto the kitchen island, then swivels to make his exit.

Richie drops his bags and grabs Henry by the arm, holding him back.

"We could have been good," Richie says quietly. He feels as if this is it, the last straw, the final nail in the coffin. Eddie was too much, it only fed into the fear that Henry so vulnerably exposed to Richie.

"No," Henry shakes his head, staring at Richie in disgust. "We wouldn't. Don't lie to me, you fucking asshole."

222

Richie's eyes are caught by a gleam of light breaking through and intercepting his vision. Dangling around Henry's neck, attached by a beaded chain only given with dog tags, there is a gold ring. One from an arcade, one that was won many years ago. It's partner... still remains in the cup by the sink with the rest of the rings Richie stripped from his fingers the dreadful day that he fought with the boy now standing in his kitchen.

Henry kept the ring.

"You-" Richie takes a step forward, but the side of Henry's forearm comes across his chest and shoves him backwards.

"Don't come near me, you fucking faggot!" Henry's voice is shaking, and his hands tremble on the counter to steady himself out. "Go run to your little pixie boyfriend. Fruits."

116

"Okay," Richie nods.

179

Henry stops, then lifts his eyes to Richie's face. Richie is calm, collected, placid, and ready for his face to get caved in.

"Okay?" Henry repeats.

"Yeah," Richie shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He leans back a bit, his posture groaning in resistance, and then says "I'm a faggot. I like men."

722

Henry grits his teeth and looks away, embarrassed by the hot tears kissing his cheeks. He doesn't want to cry, no, not in front of Richie. Please not in front of Richie.

"Yeah," Henry says through a tight jaw. He shakes his head, quickly fishing around for his keys in his pockets, and backing away from Richie. "Homo."

"Yeah," Richie nods again.

"Queer."

"Sure."

"Faggot."

"Mhm."

"Fruitcake."

"Yep."

"Nancy boy."

"Totally."

"Poof."

135

"For sure."

"Gay," Henry finally says.

"Yeah," Richie nods. "Yeah, I might be. I probably am."

337

Henry is quiet for a moment, his hands tight around the set of keys, his thumb and forefinger pulling them forward to use as a possible weapon. He feels like he might vomit, hot, sticky bile rising in his throat, acidic and burning. He feels like he really might barf all over Richie's beat up converse, but then he realizes it's not vomit, it's words; "Me too."

479

Richie nods, says "Good," and shrugs again.

Henry feels sick with the conformation he just made aloud. He has never been more self loathing than he is in this moment, so much that he doesn't even know if he can drive home without crashing his car. He can't go home, no, can't face his dad knowing that he likes men and dicks and stubble and abs and pecs and everything not female.

364

"Eddie," Richie then says. He says it calmly, as if it makes sense, as if it's the only thing that makes sense.

168

Henry's face twists up for a moment, a pained expression that comes with the rejection of not hearing his own name. Then, slowly, as if admitting a sin to a choir of god-fearing angels, he says "Patrick."

938

Not Richie's name, no, that's a given. That's obvious. But the truth is... when Belch and Victor aren't looking, Henry's hand will run along the side of Patrick's thigh. And when they're playing strip-poker in Victor's bedroom, Patrick's eyes will linger on Henry's body just a little bit too long, and Henry will "accidentally" grab the wrong shirt when the game is over just so he has an excuse to wear Patrick's clothes. And sometimes when they go to the drive-in, Belch occupying the concessions stand while Vic hits on the freshman girls, Patrick and Henry will exchange secretive kisses in the backseat of Henry's car that nobody else knows about. Nobody at all.

443

Nobody at all, except for now.

Richie nods. "Okay."

Henry looks away in shame, guilt plaguing through his body. Richie... perfect Richie, Richie Tozier who gets perfect grades but never pays attention, Richie Tozier who can do a million accents and make anybody laugh, Richie Tozier who he has been in love with since they were kids, Richie Tozier who is gay.

If Richie is, then it must be okay, right?

114

Henry shakes his head and pulls away from the conversation, making his way through the house in a desperate attempt to escape what he just confessed. This time, Richie doesn't stop him.

Right?

Chapter 22

The front door slams shut and Richie stands there for a moment more, waiting for Henry to come back in and punch him until he can't feel his face anymore. But then, the Camaro starts up, its muffler bleeds, and Richie listens as Henry Bowers tears through the neighborhood at illegal speeds.

113

Richie sighs and shakes his head, turning around to return to the kitchen. He begins to put the groceries away with a lack of care. If his parents were home, his mother would throw a fit about whether vegetables can go in the fruit drawer and vice versa. But because there is a cute boy waiting for Richie up in his room, Rich really can't find a moment to care about where he puts the green peppers.

104

As Richie turns around to put a bunch of bananas on the counter, he's met with a tiny figure standing in the doorway of the kitchen, small hands resting against the oak frame with a certain delicateness that comes from fauna in woodland areas.

"Oh, Eds," Richie exhales, then remembers that Eddie could have heard the entire conversation that he confessed to Henry Bowers. "Eds. How long have you been standing there?"

"Just came down," Eddie says, then frowns. "Why the fuck are you- Why are you- You-"

Richie raises his eyebrows and puts on an auctioneer voice. "Step right up, step right up! This piece is an authentic, one-of-a-kind tongue of 15 year old Eds Kaspbrak! Caught by yer local kitty cat, dragged in from the lands of Derry! DoIhearuhhh 100? 100 ova there to that foine gent, do I hear uhh 200? 200? 200 to the lady with the massive breas-"

140

"Beep beep," Eddie spits out, glaring at Richie. "What the fuck were you doing with Henry Bowers? Are you- Are you friends? You're friends with the asshole that beats the shit out of me on a daily? Are you serious, Richie? I told you about how he... he... I thought- I thought I could trust you."

"Eds-" Richie begins.

"Don't fucking call me that!" Eddie shakes his head, his petite hands curling into fists by his sides. "Eddie! Eddie! Is that so fucking hard?"

220

Richie puts his hands up in defense, having to physically swallow another Voice from coming up. He's nervous, and when he's nervous, he performs.

"Eddie," Richie says softy, taking a step towards the boy. When Eddie doesn't push him away, he lets his hands gently rest on the sides of Eddie's cheeks. "I'll tell you everything. I swear. Come on, go wait upstairs."

Eddie opens his mouth to object, almost demanding that he goes home instead of listening to fabricated stories, but then he looks at Richie and sees a bit of that vulnerability that is considered a rarity for people like Rich.

"Okay," Eddie nods, pushing Richie's hands off his face. "This better be good."

114

Eddie begins climbing the stairs, and Richie smiles as he watches the boy's shirt untuck from his shorts, exposing a strip of tanned skin over the small of his back. He can hear Henry's voice calling him a poof, yet his only thought is Fuck yeah I am.

364

Richie finishes up the groceries quickly, and as soon as everything is put away, he's climbing the stairs two at a time to get to Eddie faster. As expected, the boy is in his room, but he's focused on the vinyl collection stacked on the bookshelf next to Richie's desk.

"Lot of oldies," Eddie says, then traces his fingers over the spines of Richie's modern collection. "Lot of new stuff, too."

"Little bit of both," Richie shrugs. "Do you want to listen to anything?"

"I'm starting to fancy tapes more," Eddie says, followed by him batting his wide eyes and saying in a feminine voice "They're groovy."

135

"God, the sixties called, they want their word back," Richie rolls his eyes.

Richie smiles, and for a moment, it feels like he doesn't have to explain anything to Eddie. It feels like they can just hang out in his room and have a normal night together, but then the sad fear shoots back up through Eddie's eyes like spiderwebs being sprayed from the ass of an arachnid.

"The thing about Henry Bowers is that-" Richie stops, realizing he doesn't exactly know what to say. How can one really explain their relationship? Richie sighs and sits on the bed, rubbing his face behind his glasses. Then, in a fit of exasperation, he dramatically throws himself back and says "Whale, oi'll be fooked."

"What was that, Scottish?" Eddie sits down next to him, crossing his legs on the mattress.

Richie rolls over onto his side to face Eddie, smiling at him. "Something like that."

"I think you always sound the same," Eddie says. "Every Voice just sounds like Richie Tozier to me."

"You wound me, Eds," Richie puts a hand on his chest in a dramatic fashion. "But... Voices aside, dude. I... I was friends with Henry when we were little. Like, real little. Six, seven maybe. I don't know. He was super different back then, y'know, not a complete-"

"Psychotic fucking asshole?" Eddie finishes his sentence, and then adds with a face of disdain "And... dirty."

Richie laughs at this, but continues talking, "Less of an ass, yeah. He was actually pretty nice, always taking care of me, letting me come over when my parents were being ''meanies," you know, kid stuff. He was nice, or at least he was to me. We were at each other's houses everyday, always hanging out and wrestling, just... bein' kids. We started growing up, but it was fine. Even when he went to middle school, he'd still come hang out with me everyday after school, and he'd tell me about this cool song he heard on his dad's radio that day. It was great, it was, we were best friends.

"And then... New Year's Eve came. Henry's father had thrown a party for everybody in his office, and my parents were invited too. Henry and I spent most of the night trying to see who could sneak the first glass of champagne without anybody noticing. At the end of the night, neither of us had been successful, but it was still fun just to try. Anyway, we had gone outside to see if we could see any shooting stars. Oh, that was a tradition by the way. Shooting stars on New Years Eve, and we always wished for the same thing; Henry Bowers stops getting hit and Richie Tozier stops being ignored. It was unspoken, but it was what we wished for every time.

"We were on the porch... it was cold, so I said "Hey, it's fucking cold." And then Henry looked at me. I remember his face, he was... he was terrified, Eddie. I always looked up to Henry, you know, he was older, stronger, cooler, he was everything I wanted to be. But he looked terrified, and I could hear the adults counting down to midnight inside, and I asked "Hen? What's the matter?" And the adults were inside, 5, 4, 3, 2, and it was freezing, and I couldn't see any shooting stars, and the adults were so drunk but we were kids outside, freezing our tiny acorn dicks off, and then they said "1!" and he had just kissed me."

192

"He what?!" Eddie practically shouts. Then, as jealousy blooms within him, the shock is quickly erased by an expression much more aggressive. "Did you kiss back?"

144

"No?" Richie scoffs. He shakes his head and says "We were just kids, I didn't even think about kissing girls, let alone my best friend. I pushed him away and suddenly understood why he was terrified, he was scared because of me. Because he wanted to kiss me but he didn't know how I would react, and that scared him. His dad's... his dad's rough, Eds. His dad throws him around, so being... being gay isn't an option for him. But he took that risk anyway because he- he- I don't know. I never got to look inside his mind, but I knew he was scared, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same. So I tried to go easy on him, I tried not to react the way his father would. I told him it was okay, that we could just forget it happened. Because it was an accident, right? He didn't mean it."

Richie stares up at the ceiling, his face vacant as he recalls the memory. He thinks things would be different if he didn't call the kiss an accident, but then he wouldn't have Eddie Kaspbrak in his bed. And as he told Henry; it's Eddie. Eddie.

"And then?" Eddie encourages him to go on.

Richie blinks as if he forgot Eddie was there, then chuckles a little. He shrugs, his shoulders sliding against the bed sheets as he says "And then he beat the shit out of me. And I mean it, dude. He fucked me up pretty bad. He was older, so he was, like, going through puberty, but I was still this shrimpy little boy. I tried to defend myself, but I couldn't put up much of a fight. He beat the fucking shit out of me, and I just walked home because I didn't want to go inside and ask my parents if we could leave. They didn't ask where the swollen eyes had come from, and they didn't say anything when five of my baby teeth had been at the bottom of the trash can when they got home. I went to school, and I didn't talk to Henry anymore. That was it."

"That's it?" Eddie asks. "No closure? No ending?"

Richie looks over and smiles. "What were you hopin' for, Eddie Spaghetti? Want me to marry Bowers and live happily ever after?"

"No, no," Eddie shakes his head. "I just- You never tried talking to him about it?"

Richie sits up from the bed and approaches his desk, opening the top drawer and withdrawing the folded up papers that he has been stressed over since he was given them. He hands the letter over to Eddie and takes his seat once more, watching as the boy's hands unfold the papers neatly.

"When I had detention two weeks ago, we had to write apologies to each other," Richie explains. "This is what Henry gave me."

Eddie reads it with precision, his careful eyes scanning over the words with a very intense concentration. His face twists up multiple times through the letter, his finger tracing along the words so he does not lose his spot. He moves about the words delicately, like he is reading the diary of his childhood bully.

When he finally sets the letter down, Eddie is at a loss for words. He looks at Richie, a little worried, because he doesn't think that he can compete with Richie's childhood best friend.

"You broke your pinky promise," Eddie finally says.

102

Richie's brows knit together, and he says "Excuse me?"

"Here. On page two, look," Eddie points to the paragraph about the pinky promise they made as kids, where Henry and Richie had promised to never tell anybody each other's secrets. "You broke your promise."

"Yeah, well, he broke my face, so," Richie shrugs, though he feels guilty. But... he needed Eddie to read this. He needed Eddie to understand. "Is that all you got from that entire letter?"

"No, I have literally one million questions," Eddie frowns, but then says "I guess I'll just boil it down to one, though."

He looks at Richie, then down at the letter to read the last couple paragraphs.

"Was he right?" Eddie's fingers scan over his own name in Bowers' hand writing. "Is it... is it me?"

429

Richie's face burns with the realization that Henry had basically pinpointed Richie's crush. Richie forgot about that portion of the letter, it had completely slipped his mind. If he had remembered that, he wouldn't have given Eddie the last page and just claimed he lost it.

Richie feels embarrassed. Though, he tries to own it, even when his pride is faltering. "You sound a little excited there, Eds. Something you want to tell me?"

108

Eddie looks away, rejected and embarrassed. "Okay, forget it."

Richie sits up and leans back on his elbows, watching the way that Eddie recoils. "No, wait."

"I said forget it, Richie," Eddie tucks his legs underneath his body, trying to get more comfortable. He looks so small, so delicate, and so fragile. Richie realizes that Eddie is giving him access to the kingdom, and he was just about to carelessly toss the key aside.

"Yeah," Richie blurts out. "Yes, it's you. Eddie. Yes."

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Eddie's eyes widen and he looks at Richie with a bewildered expression. "Are you joking?"

Richie flinches.

"No?" He tries uneasily, almost certain that this isn't going the way he had hoped. "...Should I be?"

Eddie bites his lip, nervously fumbling around with his hands. He looks like he wants to say something, but as he opens his mouth, he only shakes his head and digs around in his pocket for his aspirator. He plunges it into his mouth just so that he doesn't have to talk.

Defeated, Richie lies back down and stares up at the ceiling. He feels like an idiot, so fucking stupid. Why would he tell Eddie that? Why? Why would he tell Henry that?

"Are you staying the night?" Richie asks, changing the subject to save himself the embarrassment of unrequited feelings.

Eddie watches as the boy throws his glasses aside, rubbing his face in frustration. Richie is clearly tense, so he doesn't know if he should accept the invitation or not.

"No. Is that okay?" Eddie says. When Richie nods, Eddie asks "Can I call my mom to come pick me up?"

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Richie waves him off so Eddie quickly clambers down the stairs to the kitchen. He dials a phone number almost habitually, while Richie begins pacing around his room in anger.

Idiot. Fucking idiot. Why didn't he beep you? You were clearly saying something stupid, something inappropriate. Why would you say that? Dumbass.

Richie opens his bedroom door and sinks to the floor, listening to Eddie's voice from the top of the stairs. He lets his head rest against the wall, trying to dissect the words that the boy is quietly whispering.

"He's- I don't fucking know, Bill."

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Richie listens a bit more closely.

"No! ...I don't know? ...I think he's gay."

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Richie squeezes his eyes shut and feels the shame drip through him like an oil spill infecting the ocean.

"Do I like him? Are you stupid?-" Eddie's voice floats up the stairs, so Richie gets up and returns to his room. He tries to shut his door quietly, but the sheer anger and humiliation running through him still makes the door slam on its hinges, the wooden frame trembling beneath the force.

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Richie paces, wanting to cry and punch something all at once. His fists clench and unclench, restless and confused. His body feels wrong and heavy, but he can't even imagine sitting down right now. He needs a fucking cigarette. His skin itches with impatience, but he knows he doesn't have any left. He can't call Bev, not after this morning. Does he have anybody? Anybody at all?

If my own parents don't love me, what makes me think that Eddie Kaspbrak would?

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And maybe if Richie had stayed in the hallway, sitting at the top of the stairs, eavesdropping on a conversation he was not supposed to hear, maybe he would have heard the rest of Eddie's sentence.

"-Of course I do."

Chapter 23

Stan Uris seems to accept the role as Richie's new best friend. He doesn't question it, doesn't even ask any questions when Richie shows up at the Uris residence in the middle of the night. He nods, holds the door open, and hugs Richie when the boy folds in on himself in a mess of sobs and sniffles.

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Richie had stayed the night, finally telling someone that his parents are gone and nodding when Stan said that they should go down to the police station in the morning instead of first period. Stan is not one to deviate from his schedule, the boy has a time planned for everything right down to when he should piss, but something about the way Richie had cried so hard made him feel like this was more important than his own OCD tendencies.

When morning came and Richie had refused to go to the station, Stan said "Okay," and took him down to the standpipe to show him the beautiful birdbath that was installed in the late 50's.

Now, here they sit, Stan's posture perfect and precise, so still and patient that Richie can't describe him as anything other than fastidious. Richie is trying to sit still as well, but the boy has never been still in his entire life. He wiggles, shifts around, bounces his legs, stretches his arms, bobs his head, taps his feet, and watches the damn birds.

"Do you want to make out?" Richie asks.

For a moment, Stan is still so concentrated on his binoculars that Richie is almost convinced that his words fell on deaf ears. Then, with stiff robotic movements, Stan lowers his arms and turns his head to look at Richie.

"Excuse me?" He asks. "At least take me to dinner and a movie first."

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"Okay," Richie shrugs. "I will. I've got $20, you can eat all the cheeseburgers your heart desires, Stan Uris."

Stan's cheeks flush. "Are you joking?"

"Why does everything fucking think that?" Richie exhales, frowning. His voice booms as he suddenly becomes a WWE announcer. "In this corner we have Rrrrrrrrrrriiiichie Toooooooooozzier! Human disaster incapable of doing anything but making jokes! And in this corner, we have the undefeated crippling self-doubt! Who will win? I think it's a pretty obvious maaaaatch, laddiessss and gents!"

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As Richie proceeds to do a terrible drumroll using his shaking hands and trembling thighs, Stan rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Okay. Kiss me," Stan says.

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Richie stops and looks over at the boy. Stan's cheeks are pink and burning bright, but he looks certain, like he is about everything.

"Really?" Richie sits up straight, his body suddenly as stiff as a statue.

"Yeah. There's nobody around, go for it," Stan says. "Kiss me."

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So Richie leans forward until his nose bumps against Stan's and he has to tilt his head to the right while Stan goes left. The early December air warms the same way it did before, and it's just these two boys in their calm little center of temporary spring. Flowers bloom and spread across their skin, hummingbirds singing them love songs.

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Richie pulls away, blinking his big, huge, owl eyes at Stan, trying to decide if he was any good or not.

Stan smiles and grabs Richie by the front of the jacket, pulling the tall boy in for another kiss. This one is less precise, which is ironic considering Stan initiated it. This one is a bit more messy, but more comfortable. Richie smiles, which makes Stan laugh, yet the two boys remain kissing each other.

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This time, when they pull away, Stan says "I think you're a bit gay, Richie Tozier. Maybe try wrestling a match with your blatant homosexuality."

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"Yowza!" Richie grins. "Stan Uris Gets Off A Good One! A true comedian! Yowza, yowza, yowZA!"

The two boys grin at each other and decide that they should be getting to school. Richie suggests skipping the whole day, but Stan reminds him that they're going to be watching a movie in History today, so Richie goes just so he can pick up on a few Yankee accent tricks.

At lunchtime, Richie doesn't think anything related to Eddie. He is giddy with the idea of seeing Stan, his new best friend, his new best friend that he can kiss. That changes things, makes Stan more exciting than Beverly ever was, and closer than Eddie ever got. Richie heads into the cafeteria with a spring in his step, the universe correcting itself as he finally begins to feel as if he is happy.

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I don't need Eddie. I don't. I don't need him to like me, no, I don't. Stan Uris makes jokes with me, and he lets me kiss him. I won't feel lonely as long as he is around.

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Richie grins when he sees Stan and Bill sitting at their usual table, their lunches looking like complete opposites. Stan always brings home-packed lunch, while Bill takes the chance with the cafeteria food. Richie slides a chair up next to Stan, sitting real close and throwing his arm around the boy.

"Hellow fellas," Richie tries to sound like a New Yorker from the 1950's, "What a coupl'a fine folk like you handsome devils doin' in these pahts'a town."

Richie picks up a pencil from Stan's notebooks and tucks it into his mouth like a fake cigar, which earns a gagging noise to the left of the table.

"Richie, that's disgusting, do you know how many bacterial germs are on Stan's hands? You don't know where they've been!" Eddie takes his seat down at the table, his authoritarian voice taking over.

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"Oh, dahlin', I know where they've been," Richie turns and grins at Stan, reaching over to tickle the boy's tummy.

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Stan frowns and slaps Richie's hands away, saying "Asshole. You forget your medication today, Richie?"

Though, when Bill looks away and starts asking Richie about the new game being put into the arcade, Stan quietly smiles to himself, and Eddie is the only person to see it.

It doesn't feel good to be replaced, Eddie thinks. Especially not so quickly. Was he lying to me all this time?

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Eddie silently starts to divide his lunch, splitting things down the middle so he can give them to Richie. Then, he looks over, and he sees Richie preying on Stan's lunch like a vulture waiting for a rabbit to drop dead.

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Eddie shakes his head. It's not like Richie and him were going steady, so there's no need to feel jealous. Richie is just his friend, and that's all they've ever been. Richie is just a very good friend. That's all.

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After lunch, Richie decides he doesn't want to finish the rest of the day, so he tries to find Stan in the halls between fifth and sixth period. Though, he does find Bill, and Bill is more than ready to avoid his math class after forgetting to do his homework.

"Do you want to go out to Mike's?" Richie asks once they're off school property. Richie and Bill ride double on Bill's massive bike, Richie admiring the silver gleam in the winter sunlight.

"Do you wuh-want to go t-t-to the Qwuh-quarry?" Bill asks instead.

"Are you fucking insane?" Richie tucks his chin over Bill's shoulder, his needy, desperate hands sliding around Bill's middle. "It's December, dipshit. It's probably frozen over."

"Ice s-s-skating," Bill shrugs as if it makes perfect sense. Bill Denbrough has a confidence in everything that he says despite the stutter, and that is the sole reason as to why he is the leader of the losers.

"Okay," Richie says, burrowing his face into the crook of Bill's neck, exhaling muffled breaths. "Ice skating."

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Bill rides his bike easily, the only person in the world with the capability to handle a bicycle so much larger than their own body. He doesn't care, he rides with ease. There are moments that Richie feels as if the whole bike will tip over whenever they take a particularly sharp corner, but Bill always steadies them out. For this, Richie will trust Bill Denbrough with just about everything.

The two boys spend a few minutes trying to balance themselves out on the frozen lake, attempting to twirl and do spins without falling on their asses. Neither of them are quite good at it, but the falls don't hurt as much when Richie hears Bill's bright, bubbly laughter surfacing up through the air.

Richie takes a hard tumble after an attempt at doing a backflip, and he sits on his bruised ass, watching as Bill's shoes glide across the frozen ice with ease.

"I t-th-think I'm really gettin' the huh-huh-hang of it R-rrr-Rich!" Bill grins.

Richie watches him, his cheeks cold and fingertips colder. He doesn't have much of a proper coat like Bill does, nor does he have a scarf and matching hat. Richie has his jean jacket with the wool collar, and that is good enough for him.

"I can see it now," Richie says dreamily. "Bill Denbrough's name up in lights for the Winter Olympics. You could be a real fancy figure skater."

"Aren't th-they..." Bill trails off, an expression of guilt flashing across his face.

"Gay?" Richie finishes for him. He knows that Bill knows, but he doesn't know if he wants to confirm what Eddie told him over the phone. "I dunno. Not really our business, don't you think?"

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"Ruh-right," Bill nods. He floats across the sparkling ice like he's lost in a hazy daydream. Tide pools stir beneath his feet, but the ice is thick enough to protect the boys from plunging into below freezing waves. Then, as if taking out all the ice from underneath Richie, Bill asks "Why are y-you muh-mad at B-B-Beverly?"

Richie blinks in surprise, a short puff of air escaping his lips in the form of fog. "What?"

Bill opens his mouth to repeat himself, but Richie can hear the stutter before the boy even has a chance to talk.

"No, I heard you," Richie says, but then his confused expression deepens. "Why would I be mad at her?"

"She s-says you guh-guys don't hang out as m-m-much as you used t-to," Bill says, gently taking a seat next to Richie in the middle of the lake. Coldness radiates from Richie, and all Bill can think of is how Rich had given Bill his coat on the first night they met. "She s-says you're d-d-different."

"Me?" Richie scoffs. "Yeah, right. She's the one running off with all these new friends - no offense, Big Bill. And don't even get me started on her boyfriend."

"T-T-T-Tell me about it," Bill rolls his eyes.

Richie laughs and says, "Oh man, you've got it bad, don't you?"

Bill shrugs.

Richie takes this as an avoidance to the topic, so he looks out at the frosted basin they're relaxing in and tries to imagine how he was swimming here only a few weeks ago. That was... That was the day that he and Eddie danced to the music. The day that the losers all went to the parlor and all Eddie had said was "Go on ahead, we'll catch up with you guys." That was one of the first of many confusing days spent next to Eddie Kaspbrak.

"I think I do too," Richie says. Then, he realizes the confusing particles of his fractured statement, and he says "I mean- I've got it bad too, but not for Bev. She's too..."

"Badass?" Bill finishes for him.

"Something like that," Richie shakes his head, chuckling slightly. "But in all reality; doesn't it suck? Being in love with someone who doesn't want a thing to do with you? And then when they do... it's... you just keep getting your hopes up, you know? It's like; okay, I'm definitely in. I've got two feet inside the door and I'm practically home. But then they shove you out and change the locks. Isn't that fucked?"

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"Fuh-Fucked," Bill agrees.

Richie looks over at the boy, the beautifully brave boy who has all the qualities of a leader with no army to lead. He thinks that Bill will grow up to be someone important, someone with authority. He has that aura in his posture, he breathes importance. If only he could get over that damned stutter.

"How do you deal with it, Bill?" Richie asks. He's not joking, he's not pulling pranks, he's not doing any Voices. He's being genuine right now, and Bill can sense the urgency in his tone. "How can you bear to be in love with one of your friends?"

Bill looks over at Richie and he feels everything that is going on inside of the boy. It burns the edges, but the core is frozen. It slowly eats away at you like rot, molding your internal organs until you become mushy decay. Love can be beautiful, love can be toxic.

Bill sighs and slips his gloved hand into Richie's bare fist. Then, after feeling the frostbite chew through the material, he slips his glove off of his hand and slides it onto Richie's fingers. Richie gave him his coat when Bill was cold, now he's just returning the favor.

"I d-don't," Bill says. "It hurts. Juh-Georgie used to..."

When he trails off, Richie imagines that Bill is getting lost in a memory, thawing out the frozen pieces of time and trying to relive them, but the cold of the ice below their asses makes it impossible to heat up the past.

"Georgie used t-to tell me th-that Ben f-found his wife. He s-s-said that I would f-find a girl who luh-loves me like mom loves d-dad," Bill continues. Then, his eyes harden, and his grip on Richie's hand tightens. "Mom loved dad."

Richie nods in understanding, not pushing the subject too hard. Sometimes, all you can do is sit and just listen. Most people don't have someone to tell things to, so more often than not, these words will rattle around their mind for weeks, months, hell, even years. So Richie listens, knowing that Bill needs to talk about it and how much it hurts.

Instead of divulging any more personal information about his broken family and dead brother, he shakes his head and asks "Wuh-What about y-you?"

"What about me?" Richie laughs, though it rings out nervously.

"Does your mmm-m-mom still luh-love your d-dad?" Bill asks. He moves his hand up Richie's arm, slowly drawing circles on the boy's back. Richie leans into the touch, and Bill identifies those clingy attributes that Eddie had mentioned before. Richie craves to be touched, and Bill is starting to see that.

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"I don't think they ever loved each other to begin with," Richie shakes his head. "It's hard to imagine them actually wanting to be with one another. It was a shotgun marriage, you know. Right out of high school. I was conceived on prom night."

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Bill lets out a breath of disgusted air and shakes his head, continuing his comforting rubs in an attempt to keep Richie talking. It works.

"Yeah, right? So two drunk teens hook up in a skeazy motel, and nine months later you get an ADHD dipshit of a kid and realize you're stuck with him for the next eighteen years. Sucks, right? And on top of that, what was supposed to be a one-night-stand now becomes your fiancé, and you just can't help but wonder where the hell your life went wrong. Your kid's a nuisance, he never shuts the hell up. So you hit him. Not hard, just little shoves and slaps, nothing major. But then bruises start showing up, and his third grade teacher calls home to see if he's doing alright. You blame it on the older kids that he's been hanging out with and you call it a day."

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"R-Richie..." Bill murmurs sympathetically, but Richie shakes his head. He keeps going.

"So you can't hit him anymore, fine, whatever. Just don't talk to him and he won't have anything to complain about, right? Just don't talk to him. Just don't talk to him. Just don't talk to him. And then when he starts acting out, getting in fights, sneaking cigarettes out of your purse, climbing down the rose trellis at all hours of the night... just start drinking. You won't remember you have a son if you're drunk all the time. The alcohol reminds you of the spiked punch at prom, and that helps you imagine the life you could've lived. And eventually... just... just go. Leave. Go somewhere with your forced husband and pretend that the bastard child was never born in the first place. Don't come back, because then he might ask questions like; mom, how come you don't love me? And you can't answer that."

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Richie finishes, staring out at the scratched ice surface and processing everything he just said. He can feel the dent in his head, the one that formed when she pushed him down the stairs after the boy had practiced his Robocop impression one too many times and she grew tired of the fact that she could never understand her son. Henry had inspected the wound later that day, crouched out back near the chicken coop and holding Richie's head between his delicate hands. He didn't need stitches, or at least that was Henry's conclusion. Richie trusted Henry with everything back then, and he even trusted the boy when he said there was no dent in Richie's skull even though he felt like there was.

Bill wraps his arms around Richie's shoulder and holds him close, the boy stiffening and bristling up in fear at the sudden contact. The thing about Richie that is one of the many complexities living within him is the fact that he craves affection, yet he doesn't know how to accept it when that affection is given to him. So he freezes over faster than this lake did.

Bill strokes the back of his hair and says "Richie, yuh-you're v-v-very brave. Welcome t-t-to the loser's club."

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"Oh, am I officially sworn in?" Richie asks, though his voice is strained and a sniffle fights its way through. He coughs, but it only comes out as a sob, his fingers tight in the material of Bill's coat. He didn't realize he needed that validation from the losers' leader until it was given to him.

He's one of them now.

He's officially one of them.

Chapter 24

Stan and Ben talk excitedly by the ticket booth, the two boys spiraling out on dead-end conversations about the geometrics of the library and how beautifully precise all of the measurements are.

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Richie stands behind Stan, carrying the boy's messenger bag while keeping track of the fourth member of today's party.

Eddie is perched at the concessions stand, leaning against the counter in a way that requires him standing on his tiptoes. The boy smiles as he talks to the employee, his face lighting up as he nods. Richie is too far away, but he knows the routine of the movies well enough to know that Eddie was accepting butter on the popcorn.

"Right, Richie?" Stan then asks.

Richie snaps out of it, bringing his eyes over to the two he's currently with. What were they talking about again? Just nod and say yeah, that's all they want to hear.

Richie nods, "Yeah."

Stan agrees once more before bringing up another point in his case. Ben listens intently, much more attentively than Richie. As if he's dismissed from the conversation, Richie's eyes immediately float back to where Eddie is at, the small boy struggling to balance two large popcorns in his toothpick arms.

Richie moves quickly, coming over to rescue the boy from a buttery meltdown. Eddie looks up in relief, smiling at Richie and adjusting his fannypack, his arms thankful to be free. Richie holds them easily, although his fingers begin to slip at the sight of Eddie's smile.

"You ready to get your mind blown, freak?" Eddie asks with glee in his tone.

"You wish, Kaspbrak," Richie rolls his eyes fondly.

When Richie Tozier woke up this morning, he wanted nothing more than to be with someone. Anyone. Even Henry The Fucking Asshole would have sufficed.

He called Bill first, feeling significantly closer to the boy after their truth session at the quarry. Bill declined though as he has a speech therapy appointment later today. Then, Richie called Mike, but once again he was shot down. Mike has to prepare the animals and the crops for wintertime, and he rattles off a chore list longer than Richie's lanky limbs. So, as his safe bet, Richie called Stan and finally sighed in relief when someone accepted. But then...

Richie looks back down at Eddie Kaspbrak, his heart bending and tugging at the seams. How did Eddie end up being invited? Who let this happen? Was it Stan? Was Stan being evil?

Stan doesn't have it in him to be evil, dipshit.

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"I'm glad you're here," Richie says first, his eyes fixated on not moving from one spot in time.

Eddie looks up with a shocked expression, and then quickly averts his gaze elsewhere when he feels himself burning up. "Whatever. Idiot."

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Eddie walks away quickly, his shoulders hunched up and tense. Richie sighs, kicking his boot against his ankle until he can feel the skin tingle with numbness. He keeps doing this as punishment for being stupid until Ben looks over and summons Richie to follow them to the box office.

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The horror film that they choose to see is absolutely terrible. The effects are cheesy, the acting is subpar, and the soundtrack is the worst disco imaginable. Stan jumps at every scare, burying his face into Richie's shoulder and trying to avoid the haunted scenes. Richie pays the bare minimum of attention, mainly just rubbing Stan's shoulder and whispering promises of safety into the boy's curly hair.

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"It's okay, Stan. It's just a movie, love. Ghosts aren't real, okay? You're safe with me," he whispers quietly in an attempt to build some kind of safety for his new best friend. He wants to be that comfortable place where people run to, and for Stan, he wants to be that place where the boy sees birds in every corner of his life.

The seat next to Ben's squeaks loudly through the silent theater as Eddie stands to his feet. Richie lifts his head off of Stan's hair to watch the dainty silhouette of the boy make his way down the aisle to escape the row. Eddie's features brighten up like a lightbulb when he turns to face the screen, and Richie can catch a glimpse of the wet streaks down the boy's freckled cheeks.

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"Haystack, where'd Shortstack go?" Richie reaches his long arm over to nudge Ben behind Stan's back.

Ben looks over as if he genuinely didn't notice Eddie's departure, then shrugs in confusion. Stan lifts his head, looks at Eddie's seat, then asks Richie "Did the ghosts get him?"

"No, dipshit," Richie scoffs, stroking Stan's hair softly. Comfort him. Be his safe place. He's your best friend, protect him. "Probably just went to the bathroom I guess."

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After ten minutes, Richie grows worried. He decides to give it another ten minutes, but then the first movie ends and the second film of the double feature boots up. Richie knows that Eddie is out there, possibly crying, and he knows he's sitting here doing nothing to stop it. Richie is so busy being Stan's emotional guardian that he's not even trying to shelter the one person who actually really matters.

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"I'll be back, Stan. I gotta take a leak," Richie announces loudly, to which Stan looks up with wide eyes and shakes his head.

"No, don't leave, Rich," Stan's hand clasps down over Richie's wrist, but the tall boy shakes free.

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"Ben's here, he'll protect you. Won't you, chubs?" Richie looks over to Ben, who is once again completely clueless.

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Stan gives Richie one last pleading look, but Richie pulls away and stands up from his seat much more quietly than Eddie's noisy exit.

The lobby of the theater is empty, as well as the concessions stand, albeit two customers that are certainly not Eddie. Next, Richie pushes the door to the bathroom open, hoping to find the small boy and not some man trying to do his business in peace.

"Eds?" Richie calls out, turning the corner to eye the stalls and urinals. He passes by the sinks, catching a glimpse of his reflection and feeling repulsed. Richie shakes his head and says "Sorry. I meant Eddie."

The last stall in the lineup unlocks, the door to the handicapped vacancy slowly creaking open. Richie sighs in relief, taking a few steps forward to push the door open the rest of the way. Eddie is standing on the other end, his arms crossed, eyes glaring.

"Hey," Richie feels himself bursting into a smile. My sunflower asthmatic boy. "You waitin' for me, babycakes? You're missing the movie, dude-"

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"Fuck you, Richie," Eddie spits out, his arms coming down to his sides in exasperated motions, his fists clenched tightly. "You're a fucking asshole."

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"Woah, woah. The fuck did I do?" Richie puts his arms up in self defense. He tilts his head to the side and tries to figure out what he said in the past three hours to piss Eddie off so badly.

"God, that is so like you. You don't even know what you did!" Eddie approaches him in the stall, cornering Richie and pushing his tiny hands into the boy's chest with much aggression. "You arrogant, self-serving, hypersexual, sociopathic, apathetic freak."

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Richie falls silent, unable to respond to any of the words being shot at him like arrows. He can feel the daggers cutting into his skin, the sharp blades carving the insults into his flesh for all to see. He stares at Eddie with no expression, his eyes dulling down as the boy hurls more insults at him. As Eddie punches his chest, his subconscious is validated, and every bad thought he's ever had suddenly becomes correct statements.

"You're such a dick! You're a prick! You're an egocentric, impotent, feces-collecting, ill-bred heathen!" Eddie slaps his hand against Richie's chest one more time, only for it to be one too many.

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Richie's reflexes move quickly, his hand coming up to grab Eddie's as its suspended in midair. He holds the boy's wrist tightly, staring down at the other one with no expression on his face.

"Talk to me," Richie says as calmly as he can despite his inner walls crumbling. "Now."

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Eddie loses some of his edge, the boy's entire demeanor shifting from furious to just upset, his shoulders dropping down as he shrinks in on himself. His eyes get even impossibly bigger, shifting in tiny movements from Richie's left eye to his right.

"I-I-" Eddie stutters out, at a loss for words. Then, he frowns as he remembers the anger, and the vocabulary suddenly seems to form itself. "What makes you think you've got the right to just use people however you want? Does it make you feel good to know that you're hurting innocent people? People who just want the best for you? Does it make you feel like more of a tough man when you break hearts, Richie?"

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Richie told Eddie that he had the fire in him and he should speak his mind more clearly. Now, Richie is feeling the wrath of those flames.

Richie stares at him in scrutinized confusion, completely thrown off guard by the word's new string of insults. "Excuse me?" he asks.

"God, what don't you get?" Eddie asks. He yanks his arm out of Richie's grasp, backing away to let the boy breathe. "What, I reject you so now you have to go and steal love from Stan, too? Could you be any more self absorbed? Jesus, Richie. Are you going to hop around the whole fucking group? Gonna turn us all into little heartbroken Henrys?"

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The words sting like lemons being squirted into wounds. The salt that Eddie rubs in only adds bitter flavor.

"It's just a little fucked up, dude. That's all I'm saying. I wouldn't date you so now you've got to take my best friend from me?" Eddie shakes, his words crumbling down as his eyes fill with tears. He frowns deeper, shaking his head and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. "No. No, no, no. I am not crying."

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"What, so I can't possibly ever find love? You don't want me, you're not gay, but I can't ever date another boy? How the fuck is that fair?" Richie snaps, taking a step towards Eddie.

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"I didn't-" Eddie shakes his head, frowning more deeply. "I didn't mean that. And don't- don't- don't say that. Don't say I'm not gay."

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"Even if you were, you wouldn't date me. You just said it yourself, I'm fucking arrogant," Richie scoffs. "You think so lowly of me, don't you? And you expect me to just, what, sit around hopelessly dreaming about you like some lovesick pup? To never move on or find someone who reciprocates? Yet I'm the selfish one?"

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"I reciprocate!" Eddie shouts, moving closer to glare at Richie. He shoves the boy's chest again, growling the words "You fucking dumbass! Are you seriously that stupid!? I fucking reciprocate, you asshole!"

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Richie falls silent, taking a step back and letting his body flatten out against the stall wall. Is Eddie lying to him? No, no, that doesn't seem like him. Besides, if Eddie were lying, he wouldn't be producing fake tears this easily. Eddie's telling the truth.

"Oh," Richie says.

"But you didn't- you don't- you don't care about me. If you did, you wouldn't be draping yourself all over my best friend. You don't even want to hang out with me anymore! What is wrong with you!? God, you didn't even try, Richie. You didn't even wait a single day. You just- You went and took Stan from me as well. Do you like him now? Is he your boyfriend?"

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"We're just friends, Eds," Richie looks away with a guilty face.

"Right. Like you and I are 'just friends'. Do you hold Stan's hand too? Do you crawl through his windows? Do you make him mixtapes? Are you just friends, Richie?" Eddie asks. "God, this is what you do to people, isn't it? You make them fall in love with you and just move onto someone new because you decided you don't want them anymore? And to think that I fucking believed your sad, tortured soul delusion. I felt bad for you! But you aren't sad or tortured at all, you're just a fucking apathetic robot with no regards for others."

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"What do you want from me? Do you want me to never talk to Stan again? Are you just jealous that you aren't the center of my fucking universe?" Richie says, his words biting through the air.

"I want you to fucking tell me the truth!" Eddie shouts, his voice echoing in the bathroom. "I'm tired of playing this stupid game with you, Richie! You either like me, or you don't. You can't tell me that I'm the one and then turn around and kiss Stan's neck in movie theaters!"

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Richie burns in embarrassment, not realizing that Eddie had seen that. He opens his mouth to respond, but the boy still has more to say.

"I don't want to be fucking played around with. If you're going to come along and make me care, then you should fucking care too! I don't want to sit around and wait for you, Richie. I have other choices," Eddie shouts, his cheeks red and eyes filled with tears. He's an emotional cryer, the type of person who's eyes brim with water with each flash of anger that they feel.

"Who, Greta Bowie?" Richie laughs sarcastically, leaning against the stall door and saying "Eds, you're a fuckin' comedian."

"Will," Eddie frowns. His anger only grows the more he's laughed at, so the venom in his voice spreads through the following words, "Will Byers."

"Excuse me?" Richie straightens up, his whole body and demeanor stiffening at the mention of another male's name. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Someone who doesn't fucking date my best friends the day after confessing he likes me!" Eddie shouts.

"If you love Will Byers so fucking much, why don't you go marry him, you fucking prick," Richie's self esteem begins to collapse, his legs weakening beneath him as his mind whirls.

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There's a silence that comes over the pair, Richie's eyes avoidant and focused on the checkered floor tile as he begins to hate himself overwhelmingly. Eddie stares at his profile, the curve of his nose, the soft cheeks hidden beneath his thick glasses, Eddie's body seething in anger. Both boys tremble, but for different reasons.

Eddie finally breaks the silence, his voice shaking and full of weakness. He murmurs, "Because he's not you, idiot."

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Eddie pushes past Richie to exit the stall, and Richie doesn't do anything to stop him from leaving. He listens as the door opens and closes, then the silence that follows. His mind feels sick with insults, the toxins leaking in through his ears and poisoning his brain. Richie feels as if he's inhaled fumes, his body deprived of all oxygen.

Then, in a burst of complete fury, he turns and punches the wall of the bathroom stall. He punches and punches, keeps punching, until his knuckles bleed and leave streaks on the dented wall. After his hand goes numb and his forearm deals with all the damage, he loses feeling in his fingertips. Not just his fingertips; everything. It's a miracle how he's still standing.

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Eventually, Richie somehow finds it in himself to go back to the theater. He takes his seat next to Stan again, trying so very hard not to even glance in Eddie's general direction whatsoever. Stan gratefully hides under Richie's jacket as the monsters appear on the screen, but Richie doesn't hold him like he was earlier. He stares forward, his body empty and merely a shell of everything that was once there.

If Richie did look, however, if he did manage to gather the courage to turn his eyes to the left, he would see Eddie staring right at him. Eddie's eyes catch onto the bloody knuckles and he feels the yearn to clean the split wounds. Eddie wants things to be normal again, for Richie to not sit next to Stan but want to sit with Eddie in the back row. Eddie wants things to go back to how they were, when Richie would promise him that he wouldn't die alone.

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But after everything that was just said in a fit of frantic emotions, neither of the boys are sure if things will ever return to how they once were.

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***

a/n: a double update. special gift from me to you guys.

thank you for reading and leaving comments. they truly make my entire day <3

yours,

tyler.

Chapter 25

"Nice sweater, loser," Greta's voice manages to cut through the rest of the chatter, gaining Richie's attention.

He looks over and peers through the sea of students to see where Eddie is standing, wiping his desk down with disinfectant wipes like usual. Greta stands behind him, waiting impatiently for Eddie to move so she can reach her seat. The boy sighs and looks down at his knit sweater, a patterned designs of blues and pinks.

"God, and I didn't think he could get any gayer!" one of Greta's lackeys exclaims.

Say something, Eds. Fight back.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and Richie sits forward to hear this insult deconstruct Greta's entire life. Instead, the boy just closes his mouth and takes his seat without any word of resistance against the girls' comments.

Richie sits back in disappointment, watching the way Eddie's sad eyes roam across the chalkboard, his expression longer than Richie has ever seen.

As if he can feel eyes on him, Eddie turns to look in the direction of Richie's seat, so the boy quickly turns his head to look out the windows at the hurricane of snowflakes raining down over Derry today. Despite his quick actions, Eddie still caught him staring.

Richie doesn't listen to most of the lecture, just watches the blizzard outside wreak its havoc on the small town. It's too cold to go anywhere, and too cold to bike to anybody's house. Richie is stuck at home, alone, and he dreads the school day coming to an end for the first time in his life. When the bell finally rings, Richie heads to his next class and repeats this cycle of window-gazing until it's finally lunch time.

Richie returns to his comfortable routine of hiding in the library, finding his lonely table and sighing in relief once he sits down at it. It feels familiar, and it feels safe. He starts to untangle his headphones and feels himself returning to normal.

Almost normal.

"Hey, Richie!" Ben Hanscom's voice calls out as loudly as you can within a library. "Hey!"

Richie looks up in alarm, seeing the round boy come towards his table with the brightest smile upon his face. He's holding a stack of books, all which make a terrible plopping sound when he drops them down on Richie's table.

"Hey, Ben," Richie says, followed by "What can I do for ya, fella?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought we could sit together since you're in here today," Ben suggests, taking a seat without waiting for approval. "Haven't seen you in here in awhile! Heard you were sitting down with the other guys. Anyway, I'll stop talkin' your ear off and let you get back to your music."

Richie nods quietly, continuing his cords conundrum, when he suddenly has an idea. "Ben, where are the yearbooks kept?"

Ben looks up at him with a curious expression.

After a good five minutes of carrying over the Derry School District yearbooks from the past five years, Richie finally sits down and opens the most recent yearbook. He flips through the pages until he finds B and scans the page for the name William Byers.

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After minutes of no luck, Richie tries looking through the yearbooks from private schools. None. Richie even checks the middle school yearbooks on the shelf, but there is nobody in the books under the name that Eddie had shouted out. Richie tries one last desperate attempt at finding his name in the phone book, but after scanning the various names of Benson and Bryers, Richie gives up. There's nobody in the Derry area under the name Will Byers.

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Did Eddie just make him up? Is he trying to make Richie jealous by fabricating an imaginary friend? That's so stupid, it doesn't seem like Eddie at all. Richie is very much about to give up and just put his headphones on when the library door opens up and offers a solution to Richie's problems; Beverly Marsh.

Bev approaches the boys at the table with a simple smile, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Ben's cheek. She brought him his algebra homework that he left in her bag, and he gratefully thanks her for saving his life. The girl doesn't even blink in Richie's direction at all, and he assumes the tension between them is there for a reason. Sometimes Bev gets moody and will ignore Richie until she feels like he's learned his lesson, and he's learned to just shut up and wait for her to come around. She's gotten really good at avoiding people over the years.

Before she goes, however, Richie clears his throat and says "Hey, Bevvie?"

Bev turns on her heel to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Do you know anybody named Will Byers?" Richie taps the front of the yearbook casually, trying to sound as normal as he can.

The girl stops and scrunches her eyebrows in confusion. Richie assumes she's never heard the name before, sighing and closing the other yearbooks in defeat when she finally says "Why are you asking about Will?"

"So you know him?" Richie perks up.

"No, I don't. He's Eddie's penpal from Indiana," Bev frowns deeper. "Why do you ask?"

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"That's where I know the name from!" Ben snaps his fingers together in triumph.

"Eddie's got a penpal?" Richie asks, his body shifting in the chair with a slight discomfort in his bones. "One who lives in Indiana?"

"Didn't they meet at summer camp?" Ben asks. When Beverly nods, the boy continues talking with much more confidence. "Yeah. Eddie's had that penpal since he was, like, eight. They meet every summer at the camp down in Pennsylvania. Did Eddie not tell you about him?"

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"He mentioned the name," Richie shrugs in embarrassment. Is this information he should know? It dawns upon him that he doesn't know much about Eddie at all, not really.

"Oh, weird. He usually talks the ear off of anybody who will listen about Will," Bev snickers, earning a nod of approval from Ben. Bev mocks Eddie, reaching her voice up high enough to impersonate the late bloomer boy. "Oh, and then Will told me about how he had a funeral for himself and was buried alive and everything!"

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"He was what?" Richie asks, his face twisting up in confusion.

"It's a long story," Bev shakes her head. "Ask him about it sometime, I'm sure he'd love to share it with you."

"I'll get right on that," Richie scoffs, finally making progress with his headphones and successfully plugging them into his Walkman with minimum knots in the cord. "Run along, Marsh."

Richie puts his headphones in before she can say anything more, pressing play on the mix of songs that only remind him of what it means to be in love. Richie remembers Eddie saying how he craves to have what love songs are written about, and he remembers the way pollen floated through the air when the boy had said it. He was beautiful that day. Eddie is beautiful every day.

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Richie's heart fills with dread as school finally comes to an end. He makes the short commute home, but each step feels like his feet get heavier, his boots filling with lead and concrete to weigh him down in the snow. The harsh flurry of snowflakes whip and lash at his cheeks in painful ways.

When Richie finally walks up his driveway, he will admit a bit of disappointment fills his chest when he does not see Eddie sitting on his porch like usual. Still, even then, he goes inside and drops his bag down at the bottom of the stairs.

Richie craves something warm in his body, so the boy heads to the kitchen to prepare a snack for himself. He still feels like he is in debt to Henry, but he doesn't want to ever bring himself near that psychopath again. Henry is nice to Richie, sure, but that doesn't excuse the fact he's abusive to everybody else in Derry.

When the boy goes to open the fridge, he stops, his hand frozen on the handle and feet planted to the floor. A single piece of paper taped to the fridge makes his bones disintegrate, his body harden, and his blood boil. He feels nothing but pure fear and hatred fill him at once, quite possibly the scariest of the combinations.

There, taped to the freezer door, a note scrawled in his father's handwriting. It reads as the following;

Richard.

Clean your room. You should feel disgusting and ashamed of the pig sty you're living in. I didn't raise you to leave clothes on the floor like that, I bought you a hamper for a damn reason.

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Bring your grades up, too. You're failing math. You're not trying hard enough, you need to apply yourself in class more and stop hanging out with Marsh's girl. I'm disappointed in you.

Fix this, boy. You're making us look like absolute fools.

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Everything seems to snap into place in that exact second for Richie. The rubber band around his balloon mind finally bursts and releases the memories of the last few days, everything flooding him all at once and beginning to soak into his brain against his consent.

Richie collapses to the floor, his whole body racked with sobs. His ribs shake as he cries, his hands covering his face as he rocks back and forth against the tile. He feels like he has nothing to keep him moving forward. He is only moving backwards. And like a shark swimming in the wrong direction, he will die soon.

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Richie's self pitying is cut short by a trite, loud ring emitting from the telephone. He stands up, wiping the tears from his face and trying to compose himself. His breathing is still shaking, still rugged, but he doesn't have time to let the phone ring too long.

"Hello?" Richie's voice shakes. It's obvious that he's been crying, any normal person would be able to identify it in his tone whether or not they knew the boy well.

There's silence on the other end, a quiet eerie lull of sounds, the pure void entering his ears and brain through the speaker. Then, as Richie is about to label it a prank call and hang up, he hears someone clear their throat.

He waits patiently, listening for the person to talk. When there's no sounds, Richie tries again. "Hello? This is the Tozier residence, may I ask who's speaking?"

The person doesn't respond per se, however, Richie does get an answer to his question. Upon hearing the familiar noise, he shakes his head and hangs the phone up on the receiver, taking a step backwards as his lungs fold back in on themselves. He knows who it was, the sound was so distinct and familiar that it's impossible for it to have been anybody else than the very bane of his existence.

It was a simple sound. One that Richie will never forget.

The trigger of an aspirator.

Chapter 26

Richie sits with his head in Mike's lap, headphones covering his head as he tries very, very hard to ignore the closet door located five feet to the left.

152

"Three minutes!" Stan exclaims, laughing brightly.

"F-F-Fuh-Fuck off, d-dipshit," Bill's voice comes from the other side of the wall.

Richie sighs, closes his eyes, and turns the volume up on his Walkman. He can't stop listening to sad songs sung by female artists, his recent favorite has been Time After Time by the infamous Cyndi Lauper.

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Mike's hands idly run through Richie's hair, soothing and comforting the broken up boy. Before he had arrived, Bev had warned the losers to be gentle with him. None of them asked why, they just nodded and understood. Then, they went to the den to mess around on the piano, but Eddie stayed behind in the kitchen. It was Friday, just after four o'clock, so the kids all ravaged the Denbrough pantry to find after school snacks. While the clattering bangs of the piano could be heard drifting through the air, Eddie remained leaning against the counter and stared at his untouched PB&J.

"Everything alright, Ed?" Beverly had asked, slowly lingering in the doorway to check on the smaller boy.

Eddie looked up with a startled expression, but he quickly recovered. "Huh? Yeah. I'm fine, Bev. Thanks for asking."

Normally, Beverly would have shrugged it off and joined the rest of the boys, but she had flashbacks to the night Richie scolded her for not being active in her friends' emotional matters. She approached Eddie and leaned against the counter with him, then stared out the kitchen window and watched the fluffy snowflakes sprinkle down on Derry like bright glitter bombs.

"Is it about Richie?" She asked.

Eddie looked at her and didn't respond, but sometimes silence speaks volumes.

Beverly nodded and nudged him with her shoulder. "Whatever he did, he's sorry. He gets real moody sometimes, y'know? And sometimes he gets clingy. You just gotta learn to go with the flow when it comes to Richie. He... He genuinely means well, even if it doesn't come off that way."

Eddie bit his tongue. After a moment of silence, he turned and asked "Is he okay?"

And then Beverly had explained the note from Richie's father, and how Richie had called the Marsh house and begged to see Bev, and how he cried on the floor of their laundromat because everything in his life was going wrong and he felt so entirely lonely.

"He's lonely?" Eddie had asked.

Bev looked at him with sad, sympathetic eyes. She said in a very quiet, very soft tone, "Honey, you've gotta understand that Richie Tozier is one of the loneliest men in the world. Don't let the Voices and jokes fool you."

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Now, here they are, pumped full of junk food and sleep deprivation. It's reached the point in the sleepover where everyone is willing to try anything all because their brains are clouding their judgement. Richie has been nearly silent all night, staying to his own and listening to his tapes.

When Ben suggested 7 minutes in heaven, Mike came over to offer comfort to the boy who visibly started shaking.

116

"Six minutes!" Stan calls out.

Richie squeezes his eyes shut and tries to not be bothered by any of it. It's not as if he has a right to be angry, no, he lost that right the second that Eddie threw the first insult at the movies merely two days ago.

Beverly speaks up and says, "Ah, just let 'em out of the closet, Stanley. This game's a mess when you play it with a group full of guys."

Stanley glances away guiltily, an expression that Richie definitely mirrors. Ben and Mike don't seem affected by her statements, but why should they? They're not the gay ones in the room.

Stan opens the door silently, allowing Bill to escape with a proud smile on his face. Eddie comes out behind him, sheepishly rubbing the side of his arm and looking around in embarrassment. When his eyes land on Richie, he instantly frowns at the sight of Mike practically petting him like a dog. Richie's eyes meet his, and as if Eddie can speak telepathically, his mind says Now you're moving onto Mike? Seriously?

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Richie breaks eye contact first and instead brings his hand up to cover his face. Bill and Ben start joking around with each other about who would last longer in the closet, but the argument ends when Ben says he doesn't need seven minutes in heaven when he's got an angel named Beverly Marsh right beside him. Everyone groans at this, but Bev smiles and kisses his cheek.

110

"What now, you guys?" Stan flops onto the couch, kicking Bill's ankle and earning a hard punch from the taller one. Eddie takes a quiet seat on the floor next to Mike, but stays opposite of where Richie's head lays.

"Muh-Muh-Monopoly?" Bill suggests. He points towards the basement closet that is filled with board games waiting to be played.

Nobody has a positive reaction to that, so Bill lowers his hand and pouts moodily. Eddie looks around at his bored friends, then glances at the closet. His eyes go down to where Richie is, and an idea strikes him.

"Truth or dare?" Eddie asks.

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Everyone lifts their head up.

"That's always a classic," Mike says, nudging the headphones off of Richie's ears. "You hear that?"

"Truth or dare," Richie repeats. He can hear Eddie's voice through the music more clearly than any other sound he's ever heard. It doesn't matter how loudly the tape is playing, if Eddie talks, he can hear it. He can always hear it.

118

"Okay, I'll s-s-start," Bill takes lead like usual. He looks around the room carefully as if he's inspecting who his first victim will be. Then, to nobody's surprise, he says "Beverly. T-Truth or d-d-dare?"

"Are you kidding? Come on, Denbrough," the girl smirks confidently.

"Al-Alright," he laughs, "I dare you to eat one of Ben's boogers."

191

"Hey!" Ben shouts. "Don't drag me into thi-"

Before he can finish his sentence, Beverly's manicured nail is shoved so far up his nostril that he nearly chokes. Stan watches with horrified eyes, and Eddie immediately starts gagging.

544

"Bev, don't you dare fucking eat that, are you serious? You're eating mucus. Do you hear me? Do you know what mucus is? Do you want to get a sinus infection? What about swine flu? W-What about pneumonia? Are you serious? Do you seriously want to die? You know, there was this pregnant woman who caught swine flu and she died so her baby had to be cut out of her stomach. Do you seriously want to get swine flu, die, then have an abortion-"

181

Beverly interrupts Eddie's warnings by sticking her finger right in her mouth and happily smiling at Stan, who audibly gags louder than Eddie.

172

The girl says "Try harder, Denbrough."

114

Bill flips her off but there is still a pink tint to her cheeks. Richie frowns, thinking You seriously think that's attractive? What's wrong with you, dude?

111

"Rich, truth or dare?"

Richie looks at Beverly and sees the years of friendship in her eyes. He knows Beverly, and he can read her mind. He knows that if he says dare, she is going to make him kiss Eddie. He can see it written all over her stupidly beautiful, heavenly face.

"Truth," Richie shrugs, sitting up and letting his headphones drop around his neck.

"Bummer," she shakes her head. Despite this, she still says "Do you have a crush on anybody?"

107

"Yeah," Richie says bluntly. Every single person in the room goes stiff, all looking around as if they're bewildered that Richie is 1) capable of such honesty, or 2) confused about how the robot kid has a heart? Richie doesn't linger on the subject for too long, but instead says "Ben, truth or dare?"

"Uhhh," the kid jumps when being put in the spotlight, and you can see as his face begins to turn hues of red like a human sunset. He begins tugging on the bottom of his shirt anxiously, so he says "Dare?"

Richie looks around for inspiration, trying to find something that would be entertaining but not humiliating. After a few seconds of searching, he gives up and says "I dare you to touch Bill's dick."

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"Wh-What?!" Ben and Bill stutter in unison.

Stan laughs, a snarky secret laugh, one that he hides behind his hand as he looks away so people can't see his reaction. Of course, the only other queer in the room chooses to think that's funny.

147

"I'm just messin' with ya, Haystack. Come on, go drink toilet water like the rest of us chaps. Eds, you follow. Make sure he drinks a full cup," Richie waves the two boys off very casually.

Eddie looks at Richie with a mortified expression, more offended and disgusted than Ben himself is. Eddie opens his mouth to protest the act of drinking toilet water, but Richie simply stops him with a simple look.

Go.

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So Ben and Eddie stand to their feet, dragging themselves to the basement bathroom. Mike grins and says "Oh, I gotta see this," and offers his hand to Stan on the couch. Richie, Beverly, and Bill remain seated, even though Bill really wants to watch. He stays where Beverly is, the curse of a lovesick fool.

"You have a crush?" Beverly asks him in a loud, incredulous tone. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't think I needed to announce it to the whole fuckin' town, Miss," Richie leans back on his elbows, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Extra! Extra! Richie Tozier's got a crush! Cold robot surprisingly finds sense of compassion! Read all about it!"

"Wh-Who is it-t?" Bill asks, leaning on the edge of the couch in anticipation. He looks as if he wants to say something, but he's sworn the words to secrecy and will never utter them. Especially not to Richie.

Richie's head rolls to the side as various shouts emerge from the bathroom, signifying that Ben has actually drank toilet water and now everyone is on the verge of puking from the sight.

"Ah ah ah," Richie shakes his head. "Those aren't how the rules work, Billy boy."

"F-Fuck the game," Bill laughs. "Who i-is it, d-d-dude?"

Richie's smile drops a little as he imagines having to actually tell his friends that he thinks he's homosexual. The thing is, Richie thinks he does like girls, but trying to explain that to his friends seems as if it would be far too complicated. They would only hear the parts they want to hear and block out the rest. Even if Richie pleaded that he still feels attracted to women, he doesn't think they would listen. They would just go straight to Richie Tozier likes dicks!

156

"Come on Bill, enough about me! What about you? Why don't we discuss your crush??" Richie asks as Mike and Stan run back to the circle to reclaim their spots.

Bill's eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head, saying "N-No. R-Richie, no."

Richie looks at him, a knowing look that says they're now at an agreement. Bill can't ask about Richie's crush, and in return, Richie won't run his mouth and expose Bill's true intentions when he looks at Beverly.

"That was disgusting," Eddie takes his seat next to Richie without even thinking of it. Richie seems alarmed, looking down at the boy in confusion and wondering if he got lost. Shouldn't Eddie be busy hating him? Or is it just natural instinct? A force of habit? Eddie says to Ben, "I can't believe you actually drank it."

"Wasn't that bad," Ben shrugs, "The sewer water in Derry must be tasty."

322

Eddie covers his mouth and feigns vomiting, causing everyone to laugh around them. Once the chuckles die down, Ben begins looking around to pluck candidates down one by one. After a good amount of time, the anticipation comes to an end with the word "Stan."

Stan looks up from where he was examining his nails, looking around in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Truth or dare, dude," Ben laughs at him.

"Oh," Stan makes a bit of a disgusted noise, rolling his eyes and saying "Truth."

"Hmm," Ben taps his chin for a moment. "Have you had your first kiss?"

265

Stan blushes just slightly but quickly regains his composure. He sits upright, like usual, and nods affirmatively. "Yes."

Everyone in the room gasps, and it's almost as if the earth stops spinning. The room is so quiet that Richie can only hear static in his ears, an overwhelming sound that makes him want to return to the music in his pocket.

Stan shrugs and says "What's the big deal? It's not like it was a good kiss."

"Wow, rude," Richie blurts out and immediately earns a look of alarm from Stan. Everyone seems to shift their shocked expressions at Stan to confused looks for Richie. You could hear a pin drop.

883

"Um, who the fuck are you kissing that we don't know about?" Beverly leans forward.

"I don't kiss and tell, Beverly," Stan teases her, but it's obvious that he's distraught. You can tell by the way that he's repeatedly tapping his right foot in intervals of four. "Ever heard of a bit of mystery?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Bev asks, then plants a huge kiss on Ben's unexpected mouth.

Stan scoffs and shakes his head, but then quickly says "Eddie. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Eddie says bravely.

109

Stan looks mildly surprised, clearly not expecting that answer. Nobody was, they all turn to look at Eddie with impressed expressions. The boy's ears grow hot under the spotlight, but he didn't want to risk having to tell the truth about anything involving Richie.

"Lick the bottom of your shoe," Stan shrugs.

"What? What? Are you kidding me, Stanley? Do you know how many germs are going-"

"Fine, truth," Stan cuts the boy off before a long mantra of hygiene can finish.

Eddie bites his lip and realizes the mistake that he's made, saying "Okay, okay! I'll do it!"

"Eds, you don't have to," Richie exhales quietly, reaching out towards the small boy. Eddie glares at him and shoves his hand away, reaching down to untie the laces.

Richie's eyes can't help but wander down the length of Eddie's legs. His breath shortens, hungry eyes devouring the curves of Eddie's knees, the sweet linear flow of smooth calves, and the indented skin that is lined with the band of Eddie's athletic socks. Then, the shoe is pulled off, and Eddie holds it in front of his wide, fearful eyes.

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He moves quick, his tongue darting out to graze against the surface of his shoe, barely a swipe visible enough to see unless you were really watching. He exhales quickly, shaking his head and throwing his shoe across the basement. Ben claps, applauding Eddie's bravery while the boy wipes the corner of his mouth clean.

Eddie looks up vindictively, saying "Richie. Truth or dare."

127

Richie stares at him, slightly fearful about the fire igniting in Eddie's eyes. He glances at Bev for reassurance, but the girl looks about as confused as he does.

"Truth?" Richie tries. Can't go wrong with truth.

"Who was the last person you kissed?" Eddie asks.

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Richie immediately pales. His eyes go to the floor in an attempt to not give himself away by staring at Stan, but the boy still visibly sweats. He shakes his head, his hands trembling in his lap. If he tells the truth, he'll expose Stan. He doesn't care if the losers find out he likes boys, but he doesn't want to jeopardize Stan as well.

"I haven't had my first kiss yet," Richie shakes his head.

"Bullshit," Bev laughs. "That's such a lie. What about that girl in fifth grade you told me about? The one who kissed you on New Year's Eve?"

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Eddie looks at Richie harshly, his eyes blaming Richie and accusing him of rightful crimes.

Richie looks up slowly, his eyes meeting Stan's, and he notices the other boy is just as uncomfortable.

"Guys, knock it off. It's not funny," Stan exhales. "Let's just stop playing."

"Party p-p-pooper," Bill laughs at him, causing Stan to shake his head in embarrassment.

"Just say it," Eddie says, spitting harshly. "Just fucking say it."

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Richie looks at him, guilt more clear on his face than a dog who was caught disobeying rules. He shakes his head, then looks down at his hands, knowing that Eddie already knows. He just wants to hear Richie say it.

"Stan," Richie whispers.

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Eddie stares at him in disappointment. He knew, he knew that would be the name to come out of Richie's mouth, yet it still stings. He had been holding out and hoping and praying that Richie would say anybody else except for Stan. Anybody.

"What?" Beverly is the first to speak.

Richie kicks into hyperdrive. He finds his Scottish bagpipe playing Voice, and he quickly spits out "We wur juist muckin' aboot yin day, y'know. It wasn't serious. Ah said why th' bugger nae, 'n' kinda forced him intae it. It wasn't serious, we wur juist joking aroond. We wur high, actually. Na, juist me. Ah was stoned. Stan didnae want it."

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"Richie. It's okay," Stan speaks up. Richie looks at him apologetically, so the boy just calmly nods to let him know it's fine. "We kissed once. It's not a big deal."

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Stan's body language says that he's imagined this so many times before that he has come to the conclusion that the good outcomes outweigh the bad. Now, his fastidious personality resumes, and he no longer feels as if he's lost control. His main concern is getting Richie back in control now.

Richie bites his lip as he tries to think of which kiss Stan is choosing to forget. The first one? Or the fifth one? How many of them didn't count?

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"Okay," Richie says quietly. "Sorry."

Stan nods, even though Richie isn't apologizing to him. He's looking at Stan, sure, but the word was meant for Eddie only. The small boy still sits in complete shock, his mouth hanging open as he stares at the floor like he's not quite sure what to do with himself now.

"S-So," Bill uncomfortably says. "L-Lets stop pluh-playing."

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Everyone nods and uncomfortably moves about the basement to settle down on their designated sleeping areas. Richie laid his sleeping bag down in the far end of the room, the one closest to Stan but furthest from everyone else, but now he wishes he placed his next to Beverly. Ben and Bill beat him to it.

Stan remains sitting on the couch, his posture stiff as Mike comes to sit next to him. Richie stands near his pillows, hugging himself as he watches everyone look around like the night has been ruined. Mike is talking to Stan very quietly, words spoken in a gentle tone. Richie can't make out what he's saying, but he catches "Why didn't you tell me, Stan?"

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Richie knows when he's messed things up. He does. And right now, he is getting the hint that he has ruined the atmosphere. It isn't until he looks at Eddie, still on the floor, zoning out like he's just lost, that Richie realizes he hasn't just messed things up. He's ruined it.

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He quietly carries himself down the hall where Ben just drank toilet water, the bathroom holding loud, bright laughter only a few minutes prior. Now, it's just Richie's sanction for destroying the night by uttering the truth.

The boy closes the door behind him, locks the door, and does his business very quietly. While washing his hands, Richie looks up and sees his raw, tired eyes. His skin is pale and translucent, and his gaze travels along the blue veins spiderwebbing their way through his eyelids.

Richie looks down, sliding his jean jacket off his shoulders and taking hold of the bottom of his shirt. Richie slowly lifts the material up, bracing himself for what he's about to see.

As expected, he immediately hates it. He turns his face away, pulls his shirt back down, and lets out an anguished breath. He's too skinny, far too skinny, and he can't imagine ever exposing himself naked to any potential partners. Richie imagines himself letting his insecurities fester on the surface of his body while making out in a dark room. The lights off, the blinds closed. No possible way to see him. He wants to keep his lover in the dark so they can't spot the damage attached to his vessel.

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Richie exhales and tries again, lifting his shirt up and bringing his gaze back to the mirror. He counts each rib that protrudes out of the skin, memorizing the way his belly button dips outwards and his hip bones curve down sharply. Richie slowly turns to the side, wincing at how a door probably has more volume than he does. His stomach caves inwards, and it only feels like a reminder of how much the emptiness aches. Pieces of him have been taken so much that he is nothing but bone.

There's a feeble knock on the door and Richie quickly brings his shirt down, scrambling to pick up his jean jacket. He covers up quickly, just as the knock resonates again, this time accompanied with a voice.

"Richie? Are you in there?" Eddie calls out almost urgently.

Richie feels his blood flow slow down and fill up with lead. He unlocks the door anyway, pushing some of his hair back as he opens up to see the beautifully glowing Eddie.

Eddie looks up with these sad puppy dog eyes that Richie knows will get him in trouble later on in his life. "Do you have your Walkman?"

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Richie stops and tilts his head to the side. That's what Eddie wants? After everything they've been putting each other through, that's what he has to say to Richie?

"Yeah, of course. How come?" Richie asks curiously.

"I was thinking I could borrow it if you don't mind," Eddie leans against the doorway, his hands resting against the frame. "I brought my tape along so that I can listen to it and not have the nightmares in front of the others."

"Do you not have your own cassette player?" Richie asks. He figured Eddie did, but now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember seeing one in the hypochondriac's bedroom.

"No," Eddie smirks, his smile blinding. "She says rock 'n' roll will blow my eardrums out, she doesn't want no headphones on this precious head of mine."

"Aw, now how could I disobey mommy's precious orders?" Richie jokes, reaching out to ruffle Eddie's hair. The small boy smiles and shakes his head, shoving Richie's hands away.

"You're such a loser, Richie," Eddie smiles.

For a moment, it's normal.

But then they both remember at the exact same second that it's not normal, and it never will be. Richie ruined things by kissing Stanley.

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"Yeah, yeah, it's by my pillow," Richie shakes his head, then reaches up and removes the stiff headphones from around his neck. "Here. Take these."

Their fingers brush over each other when Eddie takes them from him, and the electricity that travels between skin molecules makes the boys remember just how much they like each other.

Eddie sighs and takes the headphones, turning to disappear down the hall when Richie stops him. "Hey, Eds," he says.

Eddie stops and tightens his shoulders up, slowly turning with a frown on his face. "What?" He snaps.

"Sorry, Eddie," Richie shakes his head. Softly, he murmurs, "We can get you a Walkman. Next weekend, or something. I'll take you to Blue's and get you one."

Eddie's face scrunches up, and he says "Don't try to buy me back, Rich."

477

And then that's it. Richie sighs and rests his head against the wall, exhaling and counting to four. Then, Stan comes in through the open door, shuffling in next to Richie and setting his toothbrush down on the counter.

"Hey," Stan says.

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Richie jumps at the voice, looking up and trying to figure out when Stan got there. The boy begins brushing his teeth carefully, looking at Richie's reflection in the mirror.

"I'm sorry," Richie says.

Stan shrugs. "You're fine, Richie. You were just playing the game."

"I outed you," Richie hurts.

"Nothing to out," Stan shakes his head.

Richie looks up, confusion written on his face. Then, he shuts the door, and says "What do you mean?"

"I don't think I'm gay," Stan says. "I really don't. I- I thought maybe since I don't like girls, but... I don't think I like boys, either."

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"Oh," Richie says, feeling isolated. He now feels stranded on an island of queerness, and his only other survivor just left him for safety. "You don't like Bill?"

"He's strong," Stan shrugs. "I admire his order, but I can't... I can't see myself dating him, you know? Or anybody for that matter. Boy or girl."

"Oh, cool," Richie nods. "I think I like both."

"Both what?"

"Boys and girls," Richie clarifies. "I think I like both."

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"Do you..." Stan trails off.

Richie clenches his jaw and blinks rapidly to avoid letting tears fall from his eyes. He nods, his teeth held tightly together to avoid letting the name slip out. He confessed to Henry, he confessed to Eddie. If a third person finds out, Richie is afraid that it will become real.

"No," Richie shakes his head. "I don't like Eddie."

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Stan nods and puts his toothbrush down, stepping forward to gather Richie up in his arms. The boys hug tightly, embracing each other and all their problems. That hug is safety, a floatation device thrown down to the island.

"You don't have to lie anymore, Richie," Stan whispers in his friend's ear. "It's okay. You don't have to lie."

Richie pulls away first, his hand fumbling to find the doorknob behind him. He laughs weakly, saying "Isn't this a night, ey Stan?"

Stan chuckles and shakes his head. "Gotta love it. Oh, and Eddie wanted to switch spots, so I let him. Hope that's okay."

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Richie nods silently, leaving the bathroom and exiting the hall. Upon entering the basement, his eyes fall onto Eddie sitting on the sleeping bag located right next to Richie's. Headphones cover his head, and the boy is hunched over the cassette player that Richie cherishes more than his other possessions.

He moves quietly, sitting down on his sleeping bag and laying down silently. Eddie looks up, glancing at Richie, but returns to the tape he's fast-forwarding through. Richie rolls over, his back to the boy, and slowly takes off his glasses.

Sleep comes instant.

Richie is acutely aware of the fact that he's dreaming. It's obvious by the way that the air sweetens, the flowers bloom, and the sun shines down on him. In a hazy mind, he looks down at his hands, and he only sees flowers phasing through his fingers.

"One with nature," a voice says behind him. "Flower boy."

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Richie looks over his shoulder, the sky crashing with waves. He gazes up at the blue ocean, clouds floating between the sea.

Then, Eddie is in front of him. Eddie, but not Eddie. Different. His skin is yellowed with golden pollen, his freckles shining in the sun like gems. His irises are ruby red, and the way he smiles opens up a break in the waves to reveal an opalite marigold ceiling. The rays of eternal sunshine ghost down on Eddie, silhouetting him in the meadow of flowers.

"I like you," Richie says, but his voice sounds different. Disembodied, almost.

Eddie laughs and takes a step back, his foot giving way in the field as he falls backwards. His arms spread out wide enough to impersonate an angel. Richie reaches out to catch him, his arms looping around Eddie's waist, but upon contact, the boy only bursts into a supernova of daisies. The flowers shower down on Richie as he sinks to his knees, and he can feel Eddie's petals covering him with blossoms of kisses.

Then, the ocean sky breaks down from the atmosphere, and Richie's meadow is drowned in the sea of lukewarm waves.

Richie jolts awake, the basement pitch black and freezing cold. He blindly reaches up to push hair out of his eyes, the boy blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness. His ears pick up on tiny sounds, including the whirl of a tape running.

"Eddie," Richie breathes out. A reminder that Eddie is there, presently, and not lost in a field of flowers. "Eddie, are you awake?"

Richie pauses to wait for an answer, but after a few moments of silence he is certain that Eddie must be asleep. Then, to his surprise, he hears the tape stop with a click of a button.

"What?" Eddie whispers.

Richie rolls over to face the boy, craving to see his face in the dark room. Across the basement he can hear Ben snoring, and Mike's sleep mumbles.

"Nothing. I just wanted to know if you were... uh, here I guess. Sorry to bother you," Richie exhales. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Eddie replies quietly. "I like this tape, Richie. These are good songs."

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Richie hums quietly, a noise that gestures contentment. He is afraid to ask what's really on his mind, but he doesn't have to. Eddie talks again before he can even gather the courage to.

"I'm not mad, you know," Eddie whispers. "I'm sorry if I acted like I was. I was just frustrated, that's all. Frustrated and... hurt, I guess."

"I'm sorry," Richie murmurs honestly. "I'm really sorry, Eds. It's just... it's confusing, it's confusing. It's scary to like a boy. I just wanted to... make sure that I do like boys."

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There's some shuffling around as Eddie turns over in his sleeping bag. Both boys are facing each other, but neither can see the other's faces. "Do you like him?"

"Stan? No. I mean, objectively yes, he's a really good friend. But not romantically," Richie answers truthfully. "We were just testing things out, that's all."

"And what about me?" Eddie asks.

"What about you?" Richie repeats. He reaches his hand out at the exact second that Eddie does, and the two bump knuckles in a clumsy, awkward, teenage boy way. "I like you romantically. You know this."

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"I just want to hear you say it," Eddie whispers, his voice ridden with euphoria. "Romantic? Genuinely romantic?"

Richie's fingers tangle between Eddie's. "Genuinely romantic."

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"Good," Eddie's voice is lined with smiles. He doesn't say it back, but it isn't needed. His hand squeezes Richie's and that's enough translation for both of them.

"Can I ask you something?" Richie then murmurs.

"Of course," Eddie responds.

Richie tugs on his bottom lip, nervously trying to decide if what he's about to ask is idiotic or genius. He decides that he doesn't care, and instead just blurts it out. "Can you hold me?"

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Eddie is stunned for a moment, taken back by Richie's boldness. Then, without thinking about it, he moves the tape deck out of the way and lifts his arm up.

"Come on, then," Eddie says.

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Richie moves over quickly, tucking his legs up into his torso as he makes himself a home in the curve of Eddie's chest. One leg extends outwards, moving between Eddie's thighs as Eddie props his leg up over Richie's hip. The boy drapes his arm over Richie's shoulder, tangling his hand into the back of Richie's hair.

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Richie feels safe. His arms tighten around Eddie's core, and he doesn't feel the boy burst into flowers. The flowers are there, though. On the inside. Eddie is filled with sunshine and oceans and flowers and all those heavenly things that Richie dreams of, but Richie himself feels like he is only made of decay and rot.

It doesn't matter. Eddie knows, he really knows, and things feel okay. Even if people call him gay and queer and guys like Henry Bowers beat his ass for simply being, but it's okay.

Eddie exhales, pressing play on the tape and turning the volume up so that they can both hear the sounds of Don't Fear The Reaper.

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And it's okay.

Chapter 27

Richie stands in the hallway, carefully moving about the wooden floorboards so that he does not wake anybody.

Early morning light falls through the blurry curtains, dust pirouetting through the stiff air on the 5 am winter Saturday. Richie's t-shirt feels too thin in the cold house, and the blue light coming in from the sky only makes things colder.

He stares at the photos, each picture frame hanging up with a sense of purpose. Photos of Bill riding a bike, Bill holding fishing rods, and Bill in Cub Scout uniforms. There's photos of a younger boy with four gaps in his teeth, a younger boy caught mid-laugh, and a younger boy hugging Bill with all the might in the world. Those ones hurt the most. The photos of Bill and the kid, only because Bill has a certain light in his eyes that Richie has never seen before.

The floorboards creak eerily beside him, and when he glances over, he sees Bill himself emerging from the kitchen slowly. His usually neat hair is dissaray, his bleary eyes focused wistfully on the wall of memories.

"C-Couldn't s-s-sleep?" Bill ponders.

"Sorry," Richie shrugs, "Got a bit bored waiting for everyone to wake up. You?"

"W-Wanted a glass of wuh-water," Bill lifts the cup up, the light catching the lip marks on the brim of the glass. "Ben and M-Mmm-Mike are cuh-cuddling."

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Richie smiles a little, one that doesn't quite reach the rest of his face. He watches as Bill's eyes drift back to the picture frames, a lifetime of memories with his brother that he will never get to make flashing on the male's features.

"He used to cut photos from dad's newspapers and stick them on this wall so that we could remember other people's lives as well as our own," Bill speaks with a clarity in his voice. No stutters, no hesitations, no falters. "Nobody had the heart to tell him he was cutting out obituaries."

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Richie looks back at a particularly painful photograph, an image of Georgie riding on top of Bill's shoulders, the kid reaching his arms up to the sky.

"Hm," Richie grunts, not quite sure of which words to say. Richie is a single child, so he's not sure what it would mean to lose a brother, but he's sure it feels a lot like the hot rock that tightly winds in his throat when he imagines Beverly's father taking things too far one night. He says, with comfort, "I'm sorry, Bill."

123

Bill shrugs, letting out a weak but desperate laugh. His stutter returns quickly, attacking his words in full force. "Wuh-What c-c-can you d-do, right?"

"Are you going to head back to bed?" Richie asks quickly, not wanting to be alone in the silence of the Denbrough house.

"P-Planned on it," Bill nods, then says "D-Do you wuh-want me t-to stay up-p?"

Richie looks away in embarrassment, shrugging a little but silently begging Bill to choose him. Bill nods, turns on his heel, and heads back to the kitchen. Richie follows him aimlessly, watching as the boy opens the fridge.

"Do you want b-breakfast?" Bill asks, "We've g-g-got, uhh, cereal."

"Hmm," Richie leans over his shoulder, examining the food that he's working with. "You like omelettes? I can cook."

"T-Trashmouth knows how to c-c-cook?" Bill almost laughs. "I mean, s-sure. G-Go for it."

Bill gets everything that Richie says he needs, showing the tall boy where the pots and pans are for any future breakfast endeavors. It makes Richie feel just a little bit more welcomed, a little bit more home. Bill is welcoming him in and showing him around for the future, which ignites hope that there will be future sleepovers for the two to spend together.

Bill watches Richie cook with mesmerized eyes, astonished by his nimble and perfected skills. Richie seems like the last person to ever have any kind of culinary talent, yet his omelettes look better than those on the cooking television shows that Bill's mom loves to watch.

"Hey, Rich," Bill speaks up, watching the boy decorate a plate with garnishes he found in Bill's fridge.

"Hmm?" Richie lifts his head.

"C-Can I ask s-sss-something?" Bill inquires, his hands nervously folding over each other.

"Just did, Billy boy," Richie grins easily, setting the plate off to the side with the other three. He returns to the pan, grabbing two eggs from the carton. There isn't enough, he knows he'll only be able to make six plates, but that's fine. He doesn't need to eat.

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"Ab-b-bout last night," Bill clarifies anxiously.

Richie's movements slow as he recalls the cursed game of truth or dare that they were all subjected to. He should have seen it coming; of course someone would ask. Bill just happened to get to the punch faster than Bev could.

"About Stan?" Richie asks for him, peering over the thick rims of his glasses. "I'm not gay, Bill."

139

"D-D-Didn't say you were," Bill remarks. "J-Just wanted to a-ask if, um, he... Is he?"

"Is Stan gay?" Richie recalls their conversation in the tight bathroom, the way that Stan had confessed no sexual attraction to any gender while there was a bit of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth. Richie mourns the loss of his makeout partner, not quite sure of who to have fill the new spot. "No. Were you hoping?"

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"No," Bill shrugs. "I was j-j-just curious. S-Sometimes he looks a-at me l-like..."

"...Like?" Richie urges him to continue.

Bill's cheeks flush a little, his eyes averting Richie in guilt. "T-The way E-Eddie looks at yuh-you."

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Richie nearly drops the spatula against the counter, barely tightening his grip at the last second. His heart seems to plummet through the kitchen floor and find it's way back to the sole owner of it; the boy still sleeping with headphone cords tangled around him.

He shakes his head and tries to shrug it off, merely replying "Oh, with disgust? Darling, that's how Eds and Stan the Man look at everyone, don't think you're so special."

129

"Hmph," Bill chuckles, picking at the green peppers that Richie has chopped up. "M-Maybe so, S-Stan does have th-thhh-that look about him, d-doesn't he? B-B-But not Eddie. At least not w-with you."

Richie shakes his head again, his grip on the spatula only tightening more and more. "There you go again with this nonsense, Billy boy. Honestly, ya yankin' my chain, yee lads? Toyin' wif mah legs, buster?"

Bill reaches out to punch Richie's shoulder, his face smiling in amusement. "S-Shut up, Trashmouth. You d-d-don't have t-to pretend-d."

Richie relaxes a little, the tension unhooking from his shoulders. God, Bill's right. He doesn't have to pretend, what does he have to lose? Bill clearly doesn't discriminate, so why is Richie so afraid of confessing this god awful secret to anybody who isn't Eddie?

"Alright, Bill. You wore me down," Richie turns to look at his fearless friend, the one who had death and grief on his face not even an hour ago. "I like E-"

264

"Is somebody cooking?" A voice interrupts them, the sound of footsteps entering the kitchen. Richie jumps at the sudden surprise, his heart leaping out of his chest at the sight of Mike.

116

"Jesus, Hanlon. You tryna give me a heart attack?" Richie exhales, adjusting his glasses in an attempt to compose himself. "The fuck is your fixation on interrupting important moments?"

"Sorry," Mike smiles sheepishly. "I didn't expect anybody to be up this early. This is what time I usually get up to tend to my chores."

"I'd k-k-kill myself," Bill says bluntly.

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"Trust me, I've considered it," Richie points at Bill with a snarky laugh, but there's a hint of swirling darkness that resides in a pool beneath Richie's words. A bit of truth, a bit of torture.

686

"Richie, did you make all of this?" Mike asks, astonished. He approaches the plates of omelettes with eyes the size of the sun, his stomach growling loudly. "I didn't know you can cook!"

"I'm full of surprises, dahlin'!" Richie's voice squeaks effeminately. He shoves a specific plate down the counter to where Mike is standing and says "No ham or bacon in that one. Vegetarian, right?"

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"Yeah," Mike nods, a gasp on his lips. He seems so genuinely surprised at Richie's attentive personality, but gratitude seems to take over. "You noticed! Thank you so much, Rich. I'm going to go wake the others up!"

"W-Wait," Bill calls after him, but Mike is already disappearing down the basement door again. Bill sighs, mumbling "L-Let them s-sss-sleep a bit longer."

"Have you always been the mother of the group?" Richie asks in amusement.

"F-For as long as Bev's b-been the father," he smiles fondly at the excuse to mention her, but Richie can't even find it in himself to laugh at the boy's evident lovesick eyes. Richie is sure that he has the exact same expression when he thinks of fannypacks and first aid kits.

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"I like him," Richie says quickly, just to say it. He blurts it out into the kitchen with a bit of reckless abandon, and he can feel the weight of the world lifting from his back as soon as the words leave his mouth. "I do. I like him, y'know."

"I k-know," Bill nods. Richie knows that Bill knows, he overheard Eddie telling his secret to Bill through the phone not even a week ago. Bill still smiles and says "B-B-But not gay?"

154

Before Richie can answer, Beverly emerges from the basement with a heard of boys behind her like a female goddess leading her men to war. Richie is grateful for the distraction away from the topic of his sexuality, he silently thanks Beverly Marsh for repeatedly coming to his aid whenever he needs it. Despite this, he still can't help but notice that Bev's gang of men is lacking a particular shorty.

"Thank you, Richie," the girl takes the plate she knows is hers. The girl leans on her tiptoes and presses a chaste kiss to Richie's cheek, causing the boy to blush and look away.

Ben is next, taking the plate that Richie points out to him. The stout boy grins, saying "You cook? And Bev's been hiding you this whole time? Damn selfish, that girl. Thank you, Tozier!" before standing on his tiptoes and pressing a kiss to the same spot that Beverly's lips previously just were.

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Richie looks over at Bill in confusion, but the boy only shrugs with a smug smile on his face.

Richie turns back around to face the line, now being met with Mike, who is already holding his vegetarian plate. He grins as he kisses Richie's cheek, the boy getting nothing but teeth against the side of his face. It still feels like sunshine being forced into his pores.

294

Then Stan, beautiful Stan, steps up to Richie with precise movements. He looks down at the omlettes, inspecting them with a keen eye. "You poison them, doofus?"

"Only yours," Richie slides the plate made for Stan across the counter, biting his lips as he waits for approval. He tried to be as neat as possible, tried to fold the omelette with exact lines so that he would not make Stan feel the discomfort that comes with asymmetry.

Stan narrows his eyes at it for a moment, then grants his approval by nodding. "I expect nothing less than arsenic, you monster."

Then Stan leans up and lightly presses his lips to the side of Richie's jaw, the kiss gentle and sweet as opposed to the rest of their friends. Richie feels the words ghost against his skin, the words that don't have to be spoken to be said. It's a goodbye kiss above all else, a goodbye to their short-lived romantic friendship. Neither of the two will necessarily miss it, no, not when they've come to terms with what they were ultimately trying to avoid each time they would kiss each other. Stan would kiss Richie to force himself to feel something, anything for another human. Richie would kiss Stan to forget about the way that Eddie's nose would turn up at him each time that Richie proved to be a fuck-up. Now that neither of the two are hiding, all that's necessary is a goodbye kiss. Stan gives that to him, softly, and then it's done and over with. That chapter of the book is finally closed.

248

"Move along, S-Stan," Bill smiles, "M-My t-turn."

123

"Ah, yes, the co-pilot of the kitchen?" Stan raises his brows at Bill, giving a mini salute before following Mike to the dining room. The grandfather clock in the foyer strikes six am, and Richie wonders if any of the kids, albeit Mike, would ever wake up this early if they were alone.

Bill takes the second to last plate, avoiding the omelette shaped like a heart. He knows not to claim what's not his. However, he will smile at Richie, and say "G-Good job, captain. You d-d-deserve those k-kisses."

163

"Do I?" Richie rubs his cheek in embarrassment. Sure, he gets Stan's, but everyone else? Richie isn't deserving of anything.

"We luh-luh-love you, T-Trashmouth," Bill takes a step forward and gently kisses Richie's sharp cheekbone. "Don't forget t-that."

289

Richie smiles down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. "I won't, Bill. Go. I'm gonna go wrangle the hypochondriac."

"Go g-g-get him, t-tiger," Bill smiles, then leaves to join the rest of his friends feasting in the dining room.

165

Richie stands in shock for a moment, letting the love and acceptance wash over his skin for a moment. Even Stan's goodbye kiss felt like a new beginning, like the page has been turned and all the ink smudges have been erased from the side of his hand.

Richie quickly shakes his head and knows to move fast, or else Eddie's food will grow cold. He heads down the creaky steps to Bill's basement, his body eager to see Eddie's messy bedhead and sleepy freckles.

"Eds?" Richie calls out, stepping over empty sleeping bags to locate the boy. A light is cast down the hallway, so Richie slowly moves to the direction of the bathroom. "Hey, Eddie, you decent? I made breakfast for you if you want it."

"Breakfast?" He hears, Eddie's head poking out from the bathroom doorframe. Richie's heart blooms at the sight, an instant ease coming over his mind.

"Yeah," Richie comes to stand in the doorway, looking down at Eddie's sweater and pajama bottoms. Cute boy. "Omelettes. You like omelettes? I can make you something else, if you wish."

104

"I like omelettes," Eddie nods with a laugh. The faint smell of toothpaste has left traces in the bathroom, lingering on all the pill bottles that Eddie has lined up and ready to be taken. It seems he's about halfway through, half a dozen pills have the cap tightly secured on. "You got up early. How'd you sleep?"

"Decent," Richie shrugs, staring down at Eddie with comfort. He feels comfortable here, just comfortable. Not bursting with love and compatibility, just pure comfort. "Kinda uncomfortable. This cute boy was digging his elbow into my ribs all night, but yknow, I'll suck it up."

197

Eddie smiles bashfully and hits Richie's chest, turning to resume his pill taking. "Idiot. You could've moved me, you know."

Richie leans against the doorframe, admiring the boy fondly. He would never move Eddie, never. Even when his elbows dig in, even when his hair tickles, even when his knee presses into places where the sun doesn't shine. He'll never move Eddie, because he finds comfort in the discomfort.

251

Eddie swallows down his last pill, gulping and sighing with the ease of someone who has done this a million times before. He gathers them back into his bag, carefully zipping it up and slinging the bag over his shoulder. His hazel eyes travel upwards to meet Richie's expression, a small smile on his face.

"Do you still like me?" Eddie asks.

193

Richie's smirk falls, nerves immediately biting at his fingertips. "W-What? Yes? ...Am I not supposed to?"

"Just making sure," Eddie stands on his tiptoes and grabs Richie by the front of his shirt. Despite this now being the third time that Eddie has pulled Richie down to his height, the taller of the pair still feels surprised and caught off guard by the shorter's bold moves. Eddie presses his lips to Richie's cheek, kissing right along the curve of his face where freckles hide deep under his skin. He boosts himself up a little further and kisses Richie again, his hand settling on the side of the boy's neck. He goes in for a third kiss, this time, bravely smooching the cusp of Richie's jaw.

445

When he bounces back down, Richie is breathless. He feels like a stuttering, blushing mess, his clothes suddenly feeling way too hot to be wearing. He asks, "D-Did Bev tell you to do that?"

Eddie tilts his head to the side in curiosity, then shakes it. "No? Why do you ask?"

Richie blinks in confusion, his mind refusing to believe that Eddie would kiss his cheeks that many times without being prompted to. But then he remembers Eddie's frustrated words, with tears in his eyes, the way he shouted "I reciprocate!"

Perhaps Eddie just genuinely wanted to kiss him.

The idea seems absurd, but... not unattainable.

Richie's hand slides up Eddie's shoulder, combing through the side of the boy's hair. He asks in a nervous, insecure voice, "Can I... Can I return the favor?"

171

Eddie nods, smiling up at Richie with ripe fruits waiting to be picked nesting in the hollows of his cheeks.

So Richie conquers his fear and anxiety, leaning down to gently press his lips against Eddie's forehead. A soft, delicate kiss, but a sweet one, one with no fear of sentimentality.

234

Richie looks to Eddie to see if that's okay, and in reply, Eddie only reaches up to clasp his hand over Richie's, holding him there tightly.

"I always did like Elton John just a little bit too much," Eddie smiles. Richie speaks music as his first language, and Eddie knows this. In Richie's cassette tape mind, this translates to a confession of sexuality. Elton John and Eddie Kaspbrak hold the throne for gay men in Richie's heart.

304

Richie laughs, then shrugs. He returns the indirect confession, now proclaiming his connection with his favorite bisexual musician. "If that's the case, I like Queen an unhealthy amount. What's that say about me?"

169

"It says you're a hypersexual freak, Richie. You just want one thing from me," Eddie jokingly clicks his tongue, pretending to shame the boy in front of him.

103

"You got me there, Eds," Richie leans down to scoop the boy up in his arms, turning and carrying him down the hall. Eddie laughs and screams in amusement, pushing on Richie's chest in an attempt to escape. His legs flail helplessly above the floor, and Richie spins the two of them in the center of the basement. "I only want one thing."

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Eddie gives up on protesting, instead locking his legs around Richie's waist so that he doesn't slip out of the boy's arms. His legs fasten tightly, and he lets his petite hands rest on Richie's broad shoulders. He can't remember why he was mad at Richie in the first place. "And that is?"

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Richie feels the urge to lean forward and properly kiss Eddie, in fact, it's really the only thing he can think of. Maybe Eddie was right, maybe he is a hypersexual freak. But he knows that now is not their time, and that he will take things slowly so he does not mess it up like he is prone to doing. Instead, he settles on letting his nose brush against Eddie's, his forehead resting against the other's.

"I only want your happiness," Richie says truthfully. "Whether or not I'm the one to give it to you, all I want is to know that you are happy."

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Eddie's hands tighten as he gathers bundles of cotton material in his fists. He is scared of how hard his heart is pounding, but he craves for this feeling to last forever.

"I think I like Honest Richie," Eddie comments, his hand coming up to cup the boy's cheek. His thumb gently grazes against the apple of Richie's cheek, a fingertip so delicate that Richie nearly mistakes it for a brushstroke. "Then again, I think I like every Richie."

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The basement door opens, a clatter of footsteps descending the stairs. In fear of being caught, Richie immediately drops Eddie, and Eddie scrambles backwards to put some distance between them. Ben is the one to greet them, asking if they're ever going to come upstairs, so the two sheepishly follow the chubby boy up to the dining room. Eddie's food is definitely cold, but still. The heart shaped egg makes his chest feel warm enough that he doesn't mind the lukewarm food.

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As Mike collects everyone's finished plates, Eddie catches Richie by the sleeve and asks "You're not eating?"

Richie shrugs and remembers the way he saw himself in the mirror last night. Barely a skeleton.

He says, "I already ate, don't worry."

Chapter 28

Be honest.

"Thirteen times," Richie exhales.

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"Thirteen? Thirteen?!" Eddie shouts, his hands flying up to the window in preparation to slam it shut. "What the fuck, dude?"

"I wanted to make sure!" Richie defends himself.

"What, make sure he had both tonsils in the back of his throat? You don't accidentally kiss someone thirteen fucking times!" Eddie shouts, his body trembling in anger.

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"I don't know, Eds, just let me in, please," Richie pleads, his fingers curled around the windowsill. His gloves have all the tips cut off, giving Eddie a clear view of the blue frostbitten fingers. The snow eats away at Richie, threatening to freeze the boy in a permanent post of begging outside Eddie's window at nine PM.

"You kissed Stanley thirteen times!" Eddie scoffs. "And you want me to let you in and do the same to me?"

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"It's cold," Richie's voice is quiet, his heart aching. "Please."

Eddie frowns, glaring down at the boy angrily. He definitely holds the upper hand, and the remainder of their relationship lies solely on what the boy will choose next.

Eddie reaches his arm down to grasp onto Richie's, tugging the boy up through the window with a brute force that nobody would think Eddie is capable of.

Richie stumbles onto Eddie's floor, dusting the snow off of his clothes and quickly shedding his coats off of his body. Eddie shuts the window quickly, his little actions being far more passive aggressive than necessary.

"You were fine with it before," Richie says quietly, his voice jagged around the edges.

"Yeah, before I knew it happened thirteen times! I thought you kissed him, like, once or twice!" Eddie pouts, sitting on the edge of his bed. Richie doesn't dare sit next to him, but instead kneels down in front of the boy and cautiously reaches out to let his hands hover above Eddie's knees. When Eddie doesn't slap his hands away, Richie lets them rest against the soft skin exposed beneath cotton shorts.

"I just want to be honest with you, angel," Richie sighs out. "Please understand that. You... You asked for me to tell you the truth, so I am. All of it."

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Eddie lifts his head to look at Richie, his gaze softening up when he meets Richie's vulnerable state. This isn't some joke, not a Richie Tozier gag, but something raw and genuine coming straight from his heart.

"All of it?" Eddie asks, a hopeful tone acting as a silver lining in the cloud of curiosity settling over those three words.

Richie nods, confirming. "Anything you want to know."

"Are you ever going to kiss Stan again?" Eddie asks.

Richie is hit with a realization that comes on stronger than anything he's ever felt before. Eddie isn't mad, he's not angry, and he's definitely not jealous. He's insecure.

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"God, no, no, no, baby," Richie shakes his head. "No, of course not. It's you. I really, really like you. Honest."

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"Romantically?" Eddie then asks.

Richie's hands slide up to cup Eddie's, their fingers entwining with one another. "Romantically, yes. Only you. Kissing someone doesn't automatically mean romance."

"Like Henry," Eddie says, but there is no accusation in his voice. Just curiosity coming from a boy who is trying to understand the situation as best as he can. "He kissed you, but you didn't feel anything, right?"

"No," Richie shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no. Maybe if I did, he wouldn't have turned out so... so... psychotic."

Eddie squeezes Richie's hand tightly, saying "That is not your fault."

Richie shrugs, clearly not believing him, but neither of the two want to dwell on the subject of Henry Bowers for too long.

"Can I ask you something?" Richie rubs his thumb against all of Eddie's soft knuckles, completely confused by everything going on.

Eddie called the Tozier house around eight, asking Richie to come over once his mom went to sleep. Of course Richie would never turn the offer down, and after their eventful night at Bill's, Richie rode over on a lovesick high fueled by the excitement of what parts of themselves they'll explore tonight. But something happened during the ride to Eddie's, something changed. When Richie knocked on the window, Eddie opened it with a livid expression, immediately demanding to know about the amount of times he had kissed Stan. What Richie did this time, the boy is still unsure. What he does know, however, is that he never wants to make Eddie angry again.

"It's only fair," Eddie nods.

"Your other options," Richie starts out, carefully stepping around his words. "Do you... Do you wish that- uhm."

"I was lying," Eddie shakes his head. Then, he scrunches his face up and says "Well, I mean, Will is a friend, but he's not an option. He's got too much going on to get a boyfriend. His life is like a sci-fi TV show, it's kinda crazy."

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Richie blinks.

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Eddie pauses for a moment, just observing Richie's face and all his little tiny expressions that he never realizes he's making. Then, he continues, and says "But no. I kinda made that up just to- I don't know. Make you jealous? I guess that's kind of shitty now that I think about it, I'm sorry."

"Kissing Stan Uris thirteen times is shitty," Richie claims.

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Eddie bursts into a laugh, one that says everything will be okay. Richie smiles at the heavenly sound, lifting himself off the ground to take a seat on the bed next to Eddie. The two boys smile at each other, breaking into silly chuckles, all for no reason. Just because they can. They see each other, and the overwhelming amount of joy and glee is enough to make them giggle throughout the night.

"Do we have everything out on the table, now?" Richie asks. "All past crushes and romantic prospects out in the open?"

"Right, because I just have so many crushes to tell you about," Eddie laughs again, but then nods. "Yeah. Completely out there. It's nice to trust you, Richie. I don't know if anybody's told you that."

"What do you mean?" Richie leans back on his hand.

"When I tell you things, I know that they're safe. You'll keep all my secrets no matter what, and I think that's why I like you. You're honest, but you're funny, but you're not stupid. A good blend of traits, I think," Eddie explains, his fingers working through Richie's. "It's so nice to just trust you. Even when I'm mad at you, I know you won't tell anybody anything. It's so nice to just... to just like you this much."

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Richie's entire body feels moved by those words, the roots of every insult Eddie has passed on in the previous weeks fading away to be replaced by these lovely, wonderful words. Things make sense right now. The world makes sense. Maybe Richie will be okay. It sure feels like it.

Richie gets an idea, one so impulsive that it can't be anything but brilliant. He fumbles around in his coat pockets for a moment before find the crumpled up wad of cash that he has stashed for emergencies. He has approximately twenty three dollars and forty five cents, and as he's smoothing the cigarette burns out of the dollar bills, he gives Eddie an excited, rash, insane look that says he is about to give Eddie the best night of his life.

"Get dressed, Kaspbrak," Richie says matter-of-factly.

"What?" Eddie responds incredulously. "No, you weirdo!"

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"Get dressed," Richie pokes and prods at Eddie's thighs. "I'm taking you on an adventure."

"Richie- it's a school night, are you serious? What if my mom comes in here and sees that I'm gone? I can't go 'adventuring' past the curfew. What if the cops catch us? What would we do then?" Eddie fires off a million questions at once, shaking his head and pushing Richie's hands away.

"Then we run, my boy," Richie smiles. He takes Eddie's hand in his, bringing the delicate limb up to press his lips against Eddie's knuckles. "Come with me. Just this once."

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Eddie frowns deeply, his eyes fixating on his fish tank as he outweighs the pros and cons. He knows he's going to end up following Richie out the window anyway, so he's not sure why he's even pretending to have this internal struggle, but if they do get in trouble he would feel better if he could say "I didn't want to go with him."

Eddie looks at Richie, the frown deepens, and Richie knows that he's got the green light. Eddie lets out a huff of air, pulling his hand away as he stands up.

"Don't look," Eddie says, sliding his closet door open.

"I won't," Richie shakes his head, but does nothing to cover his eyes. He watches Eddie push hangers aside, fumbling through neatly hung clothes, and finally picking a peach colored polo.

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Eddie glances over his shoulder at Richie, sees the boy blatantly staring, and blushes at the prospect of getting undressed in front of someone. Well, not just anyone, because Eddie feels no shame in stripping his clothes off at the quarry on warm Saturdays. But this is different, he's not with his friends in an environment they've made their own, no, he's alone with Richie in a bedroom that the spectacled boy is quickly dominating.

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Eddie takes a deep breath and lifts the shirt off of his body, cold air suctioning to his skin like saran wrap. He shivers, quickly sliding the polo on, and then finding a sweater to go over it. Eddie's hair curls against the collar of the shirt, and Richie admires the fans spreading out from the base of the boy's neck. Eddie turns around at that moment and glares at Richie very harshly, his eyes like daggers ready to lunge.

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"Don't look!" He pouts.

Richie nods, smiling softly, and says "I'm not."

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Eddie holds his stare for a moment longer, and then slowly hooks his fingers in the waistband of his shorts. Once it clicks in Richie's brain what's happening, he finally closes his eyes, letting his palms conceal his glasses in darkness.

Eddie frowns a bit in disappointment, but still quickly changes out of his pajamas and into a pair of khakis. By the time he's got his shoes on, Richie is still covering his eyes, so he nudges the boy by stroking the side of his head. "Hey. You can look now."

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Richie moves his hands away from his face and lets his eyes roam up to Eddie's. In the bright light, Eddie can see the way that Richie's pupils shrink against the exposure, but widen at the sight of him, flip flopping back and forth and fighting with one another to stay a certain size.

"I, uh, I hope you don't mind, but, umm," Eddie moves his pillows aside to reveal a windbreaker decorated with neon greens and pinks. Richie lost it weeks ago, he assumed that Stan took it the night they went through Richie's closet. "I've been wearing this around. You left it here, so I, uh... yeah."

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Richie watches Eddie slip his arms into the holes, the swishing material swallowing up his petite body. His whole heart trembles at the sight, Eddie now zipping the coat up with precise hands, and Richie feels himself fall in love.

110

"As long as you're warm," Richie sighs, his breath smothered in nothing but affection. He will give Eddie the skin off his back if the boy asked to wear it, he wouldn't even question it at all.

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Richie slides out the window first, landing in the snow with a soft thud. He turns and instructs Eddie on where to put his feet, holding his arms out to catch the boy. Eddie looks down at the drop in fear, his nervous breaths coming out to form clouds in the cold air.

"I'm scared," Eddie says.

The drop is less than six feet.

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"You don't have to be," Richie shakes his head. "I'll catch you, I always will."

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Eddie gulps and bites his lip, eyeing the snow-mounds piled up around Richie's ankles, and then inspects the boy's outstretched arms to evaluate if the jump is safe or not. It's not, it's really not, and yet...

He jumps anyway.

Richie tries his best to catch him, but the sheer force of a grown 15 year old hurtling down from a window knocks him right off of his feet and he lands flat on his back in the snow.

"Caught you," Richie laughs, his arms wrapped tightly around Eddie's middle. The snow melts through the back of his jacket and threatens to freeze his skin over, but Eddie counters out the cold with the eternal warmth persistently radiating from him.

Eddie reaches up and fixes the glasses that skewed across Richie's face, and says "You caught me a long time ago, Richie Tozier."

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The words are simple, yet they hold so much meaning. The boy feels them enter his bloodstream, and he hopes to god that they never leave.

The two ride double on Richie's bike despite the fact that Eddie's is sitting against the porch. The two want an excuse to hold on tightly, and that's exactly what they do. Richie pedals to their mystery destination, the wind chilling the boys to their bones. They feel nothing but the drive to press closer, so Eddie lets his hands grip onto Richie's waist and Richie pushes his back into Eddie's chest just the slightest.

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"Where are we going, idiot?" Eddie whispers, his chin tucked over Richie's shoulder. His lips move in hushed dances against Richie's jaw, giving the boy shivers that aren't caused by the cold.

"It's a surprise," Richie responds, nuzzling the side of his head against Eddie's. "You'll see."

Eddie sees. He sees their final destination before Richie can even ride his bike into the parking lot, and that's because of the strobe lights swarming the building with neon parties. The flickering marquee declares in loud, demanding words; COSMIC BOWLING! 10 PM TO 1 AM!

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"The hell's cosmic bowling?" Eddie asks, getting off of the bike first so that Richie can lock it in the rack by the doors.

"You've never been?" Richie asks, astonished. "Really? Fuck, you're in for a treat. It's so cool."

"But what is it?" Eddie asks again, rubbing his cold hands together.

Without thinking of it, Richie clasps his hands around Eddie's and attempts to keep them warm. He doesn't think anything of it, just shakes his head and says "Man, you've really lived a sheltered life. The fact that you've never been cosmic bowling should be considered child abuse, dude. Bev for real hasn't taken you guys?"

"I don't know, I'm never out past nine. That's my bedtime," Eddie reminds Richie, blushing furiously at their tangled hands. Richie drops them down, but remains holding onto Eddie by the wrist. He guides the two of them indoors, desperate to be out of the unforgiving cold.

"Oh, so this is your first time sneaking out? And cosmic bowling?" Richie says so smugly that you would assume he's got the ego of an arrogant teenage boy.

"You're my first everything, idiot," Eddie mumbles under his breath. Richie doesn't hear him, he's too busy opening the door to the most chaotic arcade in all of Derry.

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This arcade isn't Richie's favorite, so he never bothers coming here. When he does happen to stop by, however, it's usually with Beverly Marsh after their gas station smorgasbords. They always choose lane 13 and hope to compete against the odds of superstition and bad luck, it seems more fun that way.

Richie guides Eddie through the arcade, the busy bodies pressing together and stepping on each other's feet. The lights are UV bulbs, making everything glow a neon brightness. When Richie looks down at their hands, he sees that Eddie's pinky nail is shining a bright pink that he hadn't noticed before now.

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"Welcome to the kingdom, Eds," Richie pulls aside a beaded curtain, pushing the shorter boy forward in an encouraging manner. The sounds of chatter and pixelated sound effects is quickly drowned out by the sound of pins colliding and bowling balls crashing against the floor with harsh apologies.

Eddie looks around, taking in the flickering lights and the rotating discoballs giving everything a reflective surface. It seems more like a night club than a bowling alley, so he stays perfectly still until Richie tells him where to go.

"Size eleven," Richie says upon approaching the tired employee at the counter. He looks back, raising his eyebrows at Eddie, then asks "Your shoe size?"

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"Oh, six, please," Eddie relays to the employee with a polite smile.

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Richie chuckles, then straightens his jacket out and says "Would'ya lookit that, folks. This here young chap's got sixes! My wife's got bigga feet, my boy! You know what they say 'bout small feet, don'tcha?"

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"Beep beep, idiot," Eddie punches Richie's shoulder, letting out an embarrassed puff of air. The employee comes back with two pairs of shoes, so Richie smiles and compares their shoe sizes once more before Eddie can pull them off the counter.

"Which lane?" The employee then asks.

Richie stands on his tiptoes to see across the bowling alley, spotting a group of older men using lane 13. Disappointed, he turns to Eddie and says "What'dya say? Which one should we take?"

Eddie looks above each lane nervously, reading the neon, glowing numbers marking each strip. Then, he shrugs, and says "The one on the end?"

"The one on the end," Richie repeats to the employee as if they didn't hear Eddie the first time. The boys are handed a ticket, and Richie slides his crumpled up money over the counter.

"Is that- Is that all your money?" Eddie asks, his hand resting against Richie's arm as he leans over.

"Don't worry about it, Eds," Richie tells him, which in turn, makes him worry about it.

"But I-" Eddie says, only to be cut off by Richie pulling him up into a headlock.

"Don't worry about the finances, Eds. I'm covering this date, which only means that you got the next, right?" Richie rubs his knuckles into the top of Eddie's head playfully while the boy pushes on Richie's stomach to get away.

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"Date?" Eddie repeats, lifting his eyes up to look at Richie. "This is a date?"

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Richie is handed his change, but he only feels anxiety come from Eddie's words. What if he was too presumptuous? And Eddie doesn't want to go on dates? He shakes this fear, and says "You said it first, my dear. Tonight's a lot of firsts."

And neither say it, but the two of them are both secretly hoping that this night will end in a first kiss.

Chapter 29

Richie rushes down his stairs in a hurry, his hair a mess and flying out in so many different directions. The grandfather clock in the living room tells him he has about three minutes to get to school, so he flies into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen.

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He stops in his tracks when he sees what's pinned to the fridge. Another note, another note, another note. He picks it from the magnet, reading over the words with a sour flavor in his mouth that makes him forget about the time.

Richie

Didn't your father tell you to clean your room? Don't make me clean it myself.

You're eating garbage, get some nutrition in your body. Don't spend this money on smokes, or I'll have you eat every cigarette butt I found out in the garden.

Marsh's girl is a bad influence. I'll be talking to Alvin about her shortly.

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Richie immediately panics, shaking his head at the prospect of Beverly's father finding out what his daughter has been up to. No, no, god, please no. He'll kill her. It'll be my fault.

Richie turns and spots the money on the counter, quickly pocketing it and moving twice as fast as before. He takes the risk of riding his bike to school, just because he is already running so late and now he needs to talk to Bev more than ever before.

He's going to kill her.

The words won't leave his mind. He has the crumpled up note in his coat pocket, yet it somehow feels like a boulder weighing him down as he rides. The rush hour morning traffic has died down, giving Richie clear access to the roads.

Upon arriving at school, Richie ignores the kids trying to hustle to class, instead checking every single spot that Bev is prone to hide out in. The thing about the feisty redhead is that she has spent her whole life learning how to hide. If she does not want to be found, she will not let you find her. Richie knows this, and it only fuels each curse he makes under his breath as he comes up empty handed once again.

Come on, Bev. Just this once. Come on.

"Hey, Rich!" Richie hears, so he turns on his heel to greet the smiling face in the barren hallway. Ben Hanscom is the next best thing, if anybody is going to know where she is, it's Ben.

"Haystack, thank god," Richie exhales. "Have you seen Bev? I gotta talk to her. She still skips first period, right?"

"I was just on my way to see her," Ben is startled, holding up the hall pass. "She sleeps in the library first period, but she has a test today, so I was going to help her study. You wanna come with?"

"I can't stay long," Richie says, but what he means is I don't want to stay long.

Ben and Richie start their trek through the halls, the taller boy nervously fumbling with his hands in his pockets. He shifts around restlessly, his nerves only making it so much harder for him to control what he has often considered to be ADHD or something along the same vein. On impulse, Richie suddenly decides that he absolutely cannot see Beverly's face right now. Not after handing her this note, not after skipping their gas station meet ups, not after failing to tell her about kissing Stan, not after anything he has put her through. He realizes he's a bad friend, a terrible one, actually, and his legs begin to itch with the desire to run.

"Here, I gotta go, actually," Richie says quickly, turning to Ben and digging the note out of his pocket. "I just remembered I have a test too. I gotta go. Can you give this to her? Tell her I love her?"

"What is it, a suicide note?" Ben jokes, taking the paper and carefully sliding it into his top pocket.

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Richie's mouth forces a smile as he says "Something like that. I'll see you 'round, Haystack. Take care of her."

Ben's grin drops as he watches Richie walk away. Something about the choice of words and how they were said just makes Ben feel wrong, as if he will never see Trashmouth again. He decides he's overthinking and shakes his head, turning the opposite direction to continue making his way to the library.

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Richie doesn't go to his first period, no, he heads to the locker room and changes in the eerie silence of the basement space. He knows that everybody will be choosing to stay inside to play dodgeball, but for the girls who never like to participate, the track field remains open all year round. Richie tightens his shoe laces, his legs bouncing uncontrollably just to make it that much worse for him.

He heads up to the gym and tries to blend in with the class of seniors, moving about the bodies until he reaches the exit. Once he's outside, he feels the spring in his step turn to electricity, as if his feet will be shocked if they are to stay in one spot for too long.

So he runs. He runs until his lungs catch fire and his blood pumps battery acid, and then he runs some more. Richie feels the cold start to decay as the sun slowly rises up over the trees surrounding their school, and the warmer it gets, the faster he runs. These laps seem to be the only thing keeping him here right now, and the boy is afraid of everything catching up to him if he were to suddenly stop. Keep running. Keep running, or you will surely die.

"Slow it down, would'ya?" A voice bursts next to him.

Richie jumps, nearly tumbling over his feet in surprise. His eyes snap over to Stanley jogging along side him, huffing and puffing with each step. Richie glances down and notices that Stan's legs aren't as long, so he's trying to overcompensate the height difference by taking exhausting strides. Richie slows down.

"What are you doing here?" Richie asks in confusion.

"Me? I have gym class, you know, I'm actually where I'm supposed to be," Stan remarks, feeling much better now that Richie is running at a regular pace. "Where are you supposed to be, and why are you not there?"

Richie glances down at his watch and sees that four hours have gone by. Four hours. With the reminder of how long it's been, his brain finally registers the pain in his sore legs. Oh, god. Where did he go? Did he just check out of his mind for four hours? What was he even thinking about for such a long time?

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"I'm supposed to be in math," Richie says between breaths, "I felt like running instead."

"Alright," Stan nods, then watches Richie's posture for a second. His ankles buckle with each step that they take, and his knees wobble threateningly. He knows Richie must have been running for awhile now, but how long? "Do you feel like walking?"

Richie shakes his head, picking up the pace a bit but not leaving Stan stranded in the dust. The boy reaches out and grabs Richie's elbow, practically forcing him to stay down. "Take it easy, Tozier. You'll kill yourself."

There it is again. Richie thinks, The second time someone has alluded to suicide. Are they trying to tell me something?

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"N-No," Richie pulls back on his arm. He has to run faster. The thoughts are starting to catch up.

"Yes," Stan says more firmly this time, tugging on Richie and not giving him a choice. Richie is going to walk at a casual speed with Stan, there's no other option. "Fucking calm down, freak."

"Sorry," Richie nods, huffing and puffing as if he hasn't breathed in hours. God, was I even breathing? How am I not dead?

"How are things with Eddie?" Stan asks. Not out of curiosity, but just so that he can get Richie talking about something he loves, hopefully to drag the boy out of his own head.

"I think he hates me," Richie deadpans. "I told him everything about us and he was mad."

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"Oh? That's not what I heard," Stan shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself to protect himself from the cold. He hates the Derry High School sweatpants, but they're better than wearing the gym shorts during the winter. "He was ecstatic this morning when Bill and I spoke to him. Says he's never had more fun in his life."

"Really?" Richie's head perks up, and Stan can practically see the boy receding from his cave. "He said that?"

"Mhm," Stan nods. "He told us about how you guys went bowling. It was his first time, so he was pretty excited about that. He said you paid and everything."

"I did, yeah," Richie nods, the slightest of smiles tickling onto his face. "He really enjoyed himself?"

"Would I lie to you?" Stan scoffs. Then, he says "He's not upset about us kissing. Are you?"

Richie thinks for a moment, trying to consider what things would be like had he never kissed Stan the night they all went camping. He wonders if him and Eddie would be closer, but he knows that's not realistic. The truth is that they would still be in this exact same position, but Richie would be about ten steps backwards in his development due to inexperience with his feelings. "No. You're pretty integral to me, dude. Helped me figure shit out, helped me experiment and realize who and what I really want. So thanks for that, I would do it over again if given the chance."

Stan is quiet for a moment, not because he doesn't have anything to say, but because there is nothing that needs to be said. Stan is quiet, he's understanding. It's why the two get along so well.

"I love you," Richie says first.

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Stan lifts his head in surprise, automatically waiting for the chorus of laughter to erupt from the taller one like a can of snakes. But no snakes come, no laughter either. Richie is completely serious.

"How come?" Stan responds.

Richie flinches away, lifting his shirt up to wipe some of the sweat off of his forehead. "Do I need a reason?"

Stan shrugs and says "No, was just wondering what provoked it. I love you too."

"Really?" Richie asks.

Stan will never get tired of reassuring him with the validation he needs. He understands that Richie spent his whole life being denied of that, so if Stan needs to repeat himself until Richie believes it, he will. That's what best friends do.

"Yeah, you're a lot better than what the rumors say. You're pretty cool for a trashmouth," Stan shrugs again, then smiles. "Besides, what kind of psychopath would fall on his own sword just to protect my nonexistent sexuality?"

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Richie laughs, then feels startled by the sound. He puts a hand on his chest as if he's not sure where it came from, but still finds it in himself to say "I'm so glad we could use each other like cheap whores."

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Stan rolls his wrist as he waves Richie off, but the smirk on his face is obvious.

Richie has only said I love you to three people in his life.

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The first was muttered under an oak tree, clumsy words getting more scraped up than his knees. He was ten years old, the boy who he had confessed to was twelve. They were carving curse words into the tree outside Henry's house, winded and breathless from all the running they just got done doing. They were planning to go into town to get ice cream later, but for now, Richie used Henry's knife to carve the word FUCK into the bark with delicate precision. Henry was standing over his shoulder, laughing gently, ruffling Richie's hair. They both were beaten up from rough housing that morning, but the cuts on his knees stung in the most beautiful way. He gave the knife to Henry, and Henry did not carve a curse word at all. He carved his initials, and then Richie's initials right below it. Richie turned to him and said "I love you, dude." Henry Bowers smiled and said "Who doesn't?" Five months later, the two would share their first kiss, and Richie would get his face beaten in for loving Henry.

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The second was not as clumsy, and it did not end or result in violence. The words were spoken to Beverly Marsh, the girl in his gym class who had been making fun of the teacher with him all semester. They were standing in the middle of Blue's, it was Richie's first time ever stepping foot inside of the vintage record store. Beverly's hair was down to her waist at this point, and she had flipped some of the glowing sun rays off of her shoulder, turned to Richie, and said "Come on. I'll show you where the good music is." Richie followed her blindly in complete awe of the entire shop. They had cases upon cases of vinyl, record players with state of the art surround sound, and psychedelic posters for bands like The Who and Rolling Stones. Richie was in heaven. Beverly had brought him to heaven. The girl flipped through a shelf of tapes, then turned to Richie and said "Here. I think you'll like this." and handed him his first AC/DC tape. He looked at her and said with as much honesty as he was capable of, "I love you, Beverly Marsh." She only smiled her little knowing smirk, the one he would always get in response to that phrase no matter how or when he tells her that he loves her. She never said it back.

296

Now, for the third time, he uttered the words aloud because he felt as if he absolutely needed to let Stan know of the fact. Despite their kisses, the love is not romantic. Nothing between them has ever been romantic, not really. They were just two curious kids who felt safe with one another, it makes sense that they would test out all of their curious thoughts with one another. Stan was merely the trial run, and now Eddie is the real deal. That's clear now.

Richie told Stan he loves him, and Stan has said it back. For the first time, Richie has heard it be reciprocated. He no longer feels like he has to run.

"Hey, Rich," Stan then asks. "Your parents home yet?"

The happiness does not last long. Richie looks over at Stan in fear, coming to a complete halt in movements. His brain screams at him to run, sending all the right messages to his muscles, yet his feet seem to be cemented to the ground. He stares at Stan with shaky eyes, the boy trembling in the December wind.

"Hey, come on, it's alright," Stan gathers him up for a hug. "We'll figure something out. I'll talk to my parents, we don't have to go to the police, okay?"

Richie collapses in the boy's toothpick arms, his body folding in like a house of cards. The sobs aren't loud, they're silent and rehearsed. Richie has perfected the art of making his problems as insignificant as possible so that people don't have to worry about him, but Stan's different. They all are. The whole damn group of misfits are different from any other people he's ever met.

Stan frowns when he realizes the severity of the situation. Sure, Richie's parents have been gone for a couple weeks. But as the boy cries in Stanley's arms without a single concern about whether or not other students see him crying only makes Stan realize... What if they don't come back?

"I'm warning you, though," Stan strokes the back of Richie's unruly hair. "You might have to convert to Judaism."

125

Even though he is a complete wreck, he is still Richie Tozier, and he still somehow manages to find the energy in him to say "I'm on an all-ass diet, is that kosher?"

152

Stan laughs and pushes the boy away, then pulling him back in to give him a tighter hug. He says, "You're disgusting, Richie Tozier."

Richie smiles and buries his face into the side of Stan's neck, quietly whispering "Thank you, Stan."

"For?"

"I don't think I would be able to tell Eddie these things."

122

Stan pulls away to look Richie in the eye, then says "You should. He wants to keep you safe, Rich. Let him in every once in awhile."

Richie nods as he wipes his wet cheeks away, cleaning himself up with the help and support of his friend. He tries to remember what he did before befriending all of these kids, but he can't remember. Whenever he spoke to Bev about these issues, she would just commiserate with something so much worse than what Richie said that he feels like nothing but a complete asshole. But now, when he's sad, all he has to do is reach his arm out in front of him and he will end up touching someone willing to help him.

"Do you want to go bird watching this weekend?" Richie asks hopefully.

"Birdwatching?" Stan chuckles. "Look around, goof. There's eight inches of snow blanketing over this town. All the birds migrated down south for the winter, dummy."

Richie smiles and says "Oh, right. Sorry. Hey, when springtime comes around, you wanna come over and help me set up bird feeders in the garden? Then you can come over all the time..."

Richie trails off, realizing just how presumptuous his question was. Who's to say that he will still be loved in a few months time? Spring seems like it's light years away, there's no way to tell if they'll still be friends when April showers drown the town in sorrows.

"I'd like that, yeah," Stan smiles. The two boys begin casually walking once more, the track treading beneath their feet. "We can see more tits."

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"You're not seeing anything, my dear boy," Richie laughs, elbowing Stan's side. "So you're for real about that? You don't want any action?"

"No, not really," Stan pushes his arm away. "Is that a problem?"

"No, not at all," Richie adjusts his glasses, saying "I'm just curious about how it works, that's all."

"There's nothing to 'work'. I'm happy and content being with myself, and I have no desire to copulate with another person, regardless of gender or orientation," Stan nods surely as if he's practiced this in his head.

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"What about Bill? Last I checked you had a massive raging boner over him and his perfection," Richie nudges him again.

"Yeah, and then I stuck my tongue down your throat, you weirdo," Stan laughs. "Like I said, I can recognize beauty without being attracted to it. Bill's a cool dude, damn near perfect human specimen, but don't we all look up to him in a way?"

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Richie remembers the way that Bill had held his hand at the quarry, and how he did not feel afraid at all in that moment. Bill has this sort of magnetism around him that just makes him so... so much like a home. He thinks that all of the Losers feel that, not just him and Stan. There have been moments when Eddie clings to his side, or Mike looks to him for advice. They all look up to Bill in a sort of way that elevates his role as leader of the group.

"Eddie once told me that he thinks it's amazing how we came up with the concept of love," Richie tells Stan, carefully recounting the way the flowers smelled that morning they walked to school together. Eddie didn't reek of his usual sterile hospitals, he smelled of Richie's coconut shampoo. "We're designed to reproduce, and yet we built a society based around courting to impress one another. Humans invented romance, and that's just... that's so cool, you know? And it's so cool that some people aren't born to reproduce. Some people just want to love, with no family. Some people don't. Some people find their partners within themselves. Eddie told me that he doesn't care if he doesn't get married or have a family, he just wants to experience romance at least once so that he can just be in love. Isn't that so cool?"

110

"Well, how does it feel?" Stan asks.

Richie gives him a skeptical look and says "How does what feel?"

"To be his romance?"

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Richie bursts into a grin so wide that he can't even remember why he was freaking out this morning. Stan is right, he really is giving Eddie that experience. He hopes Eddie is falling in love the exact same way that he is, because he wants to be able to give that boy all the validation and serotonin that his brain may require. He doesn't care if he never receives more than a blink from Eddie Kaspbrak's heavenly eye, that doesn't matter. What matters is making sure that he is loved, no matter what.

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But that's not the case, is it? Because Eddie gives him more than just blinks, he gives Richie his hands to hold and Hello Kitty bandaids to plaster over wounds. Eddie gives Richie more than the boy could ever ask for, and that feeling is so entirely ethereal that it doesn't feel like it came from this world.

"It feels fucking incredible," Richie exhales.

111

There's no doubt that Richie's fourth "I love you," will be said to Eddie Kaspbrak, but the date and setting is still undecided, and that's the beauty in it. There's no way of telling when or where it will happen, because it truly could be at any moment, but Richie knows it will be him. It's undeniable. Though, there is no need to rush. The two boy's have the rest of their lives to experience this romance to the fullest, and that's what Richie intends to do. It's undeniably, indisputably, completely and utterly Eddie. Always Eddie.

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However, this one will be different. It won't be a platonic "I love you," like every other person has gotten, no, it will be worded just slightly differently.

Richie's fourth "I love you" isn't going to be an I love you at all. It's going to be an "I'm in love with you."

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The difference between the two sentences is vast and neverending.

Chapter 30

"What are you going to do?" Bev asks, her voice gentle and cautious.

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Richie resembles a wounded animal. Prey tend to have a two track thought process when they're wounded; fight or flight. Richie might as well be an injured gazelle facing this question; what is he going to do?

Fight or flight?

"Enough about me, what about you?" Richie asks her, his hands shaking as he lights his fourth cigarette. "Has she called him yet?"

"No. He doesn't know," Bev shakes her head, strands of her honeysilk hair curling around her spotted cheeks. Freckles have a new meaning to Richie now that he's learned to love them. Though, the stars patterned on Bev's cheeks aren't nearly as beautiful as the constellations etched into Eddie's skin. "If he does, he's hiding it."

Richie bites the inside of his cheek and then takes a long drag of his cigarette. The two sit under the streetlight, their bikes collapsed on the sidewalk behind them, their favorite gas station taunting them from across the street. The note from Richie's mother lays on the wet asphalt in front of them, the snow melting through the paper and making the inked words bleed with truth.

Bev had called Richie's house and asked him to meet her there. They haven't been to the laundromat in weeks, not since Richie went and made things weird between them. But she needed to see him, they needed to talk. The note that Ben gave her this morning has been haunting her all day. She needs to share these ghosts with the only other person threatened by the danger she's being put in.

"He'll ground me," Bev says quietly. "I'll be home all the time."

"I'm sorry," Richie says. He shakes his head, his fist crumbling the cigarette. "I'm so fucking sorry. This is all my fault."

"Are you seriously trying to blame yourself for having shitty parents?" She scoffs, then asks "What, is it my fault too that my dad is such a creep? Should I cover myself up more?"

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Richie winces and looks away, shaking his head. "No, that's not your fault. This is mine. They don't- They- I don't know, Bev. Maybe if I was normal, they would understand me better. I think... I think that's what the issue is. They just don't understand me, so they don't even try to," he mumbles in a low, tired voice.

When Bev and Rich first became friends, he had a shrill, piercing tone, a mouth that would not stop running, and a brain that couldn't keep up. She called him "Roadrunner" for the first half of their friendship, and that's where beep beep had stemmed from. Now, she can't remember the last time she had to use it more than once a month. Richie sure has changed throughout the course of a year, he's now weighed down by the neglect and constant shunning from everyone. Not just his parents, but the teachers in Derry who will ignore his questions during lectures because they've cast him as the class clown and assume everything he's got to say is just one big joke.

Bev reaches over to hold Richie's hand, tightly squeezing the fingers that were once so familiar to her. They're different now, they've touched so many people since the last time she held them. His fingertips have redesigned the prints to be an entirely new person, but she won't give up. Her Richie is in there somewhere, she knows it. If she has to learn the ups and downs of this new Richie as well, she will. She'll do anything it takes.

"I'm sorry," Bev says, followed by "I don't think I do, either. And don't give me that bullshit, Richie. I mean it. I don't think I understand you either."

"But you try," he tightens his grip on her hand like he's lost sight of the one person in his life to truly give a shit. "You try over and over again. I'm thankful."

"I'm not the only one," she shakes her head. "The others want to try as well. You're not alone, Richie. Not anymore."

"The others?" Richie lifts his head up to look at her. The light illuminates his face for a moment, showing her his cherry red nose freezing over in the winter cold. "Eddie?"

"Yeah," she nods. "Eddie asks me stuff about you. They all do."

"Like what?" Richie scoffs. He can't imagine a single thing about himself worth wondering about, it's not as if he's interesting or anything. Everything about Richie is on the surface, it doesn't get much deeper than bad humor and blatant insecurity.

"Well, Eddie asks me what to do when you're upset. He seems really concerned about that, he wants to help. Mike asks what to do when you get that little impulsive light behind your eyes. Apparently you make him nervous when you guys hang out. Bill asks about what kind of things you like to do for fun, you know, just normal stuff," she shrugs casually. "It just makes sense, y'know. I've known you the longest."

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"I had no idea," Richie lights another cigarette. Bev gave him a new pack, and he's about to go through the whole thing in one sitting to make up for lost time. "I-I didn't think they cared that much."

"Are you kidding? They love you, idiot. Ben wants to make a D&D character for you," she scoffs. "Stop thinking so lowly of yourself, Richie. We love you."

328

Richie smiles, then hides his mouth with the back of his hand. He wants to say he's blushing because of the mention of Eddie, but they both know that's not true. It's because... people care.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," he laughs, chuckling to himself. "I really have no idea."

Bev cracks a smile at the sound of his harmonious chuckles. It isn't often that Richie laughs, usually because he's the one dealing the jokes, but something about the sound paired with such absurd words makes her grin with him.

"It's not funny," she says, but a giggle punctuates the end of her sentence anyway.

"I know," Richie laughs, taking his glasses off to press his palms into his eyes. "It's really, totally fucked, isn't it?"

The two burst into hysterical laughter, doubled over and holding their stomachs that ache with joy. Bev drapes over Richie's arm, clutching his shoulder tightly and trying to regain composure. Any time one of them manages to calm down, they'll look at the other one and completely lose it all over again.

141

It feels like mending. It feels like the last few weeks being erased and rewritten, like the two are just as close as they've always been. They're faced with quite possibly the worst scenario, yet they both find refuge in the absurdity and allow themselves to just be kids and laugh. It's important to remember how vital laughter is when you're both facing shitty parents.

"But seriously, ToTo," she finally calms down, wiping tears from her eyes and tugging on his jacket sleeve. When Richie lifts his eyes to hers, she says "What are you gonna do?"

He says the first thing that comes to his mind. "I'm going to tell Eddie that I want to go steady. Seems like the only thing that makes sense right now."

180

Beverly doesn't look surprised, but then again, nobody is oblivious to the fond eyes that the two boys share with one another. It's obvious by the way that Richie shares his music with Eddie and Eddie alone, and it's painfully apparent by the way that Eddie stares at Richie whenever the boy is not looking. The only time the losers have ever been shocked was by the truth that spilled out during truth or dare that exposed Richie as Stan's first kiss. They were all certain that the night would end in Eddie confessing to Richie, but the game was cut short after that terrible confession that left them all so confused. But now Richie admits it, and Bev only nods in support.

"Sometimes, that's all you've got," she shrugs. "Don't get me wrong, you're a great friend, but I'd go mental without Ben. There's something... so special about taking friendship to such a deeper level."

"Is he your best friend?" Richie asks, though he doesn't feel victimized. If Ben is Beverly's best friend, then he will genuinely feel so happy for the two and their endless trust.

"Yeah, I think so," she nods. "I'd like to say that either you or Bill are my best friends, but it's really Ben. I tell that kid everything."

"I'm glad," Richie nods. "Honesty is important."

He remembers how Stan held him by the side of the face and told him that he should let Eddie into his mind. He thinks that is a little more than true, and Richie craves to have what Beverly and Ben have. Best friends, but leveled up like the video games that Richie plays at the arcade. He wants his name to be the top score in Eddie's heart, and he's got to start with telling him the truth more often. He can't keep dumping all his issues onto Stanley or Beverly. Sure, they're trustworthy and they do offer genuine advice and reassurance, but they're not Eddie. Ultimately, at the end of the day, that's all Richie ever wants.

152

The two finally gather up their money to go into the gas station, stepping on the note from his mother as they go. They eat and enjoy their time together, the empty laundromat feeling as much like a home as detention halls do. They don't worry about Richie's parents or what Alvin will do when he finds out Beverly has been hanging out with a bunch of boys, they merely enjoy themselves while they're still free. Who knows when the next time that'll be?

As Richie rides his bike home, the frozen slush slapping his pant cuffs and soaking his bony ankles, he starts to think of Eddie and everything that he has learned. He really does need to be more honest, and not just about how many times he's kissed someone. Honest about everything.

So Richie turns left instead of right on Witcham street, his bike carrying him to one of those safe places his heart has determined as an additional home. It's funny how therapeutic it feels, how things may be falling apart, but it's all okay, because he will be seeing Eddie soon.

Richie props his bike against the side of the Kaspbrak house, tiptoeing around the back to where Eddie's window is located. The light is off, but that's no surprise, it's nearly one AM. Eddie went to sleep long ago, but that's not stopping Richie from hauling himself up to the window sill, pushing the window open as best as he can with one arm. Eddie's room is dark and blackened, so he doesn't see the curtains obscuring his entrance until it's too late.

Richie Tozier makes an entrance louder than a damn circus.

221

"Holy fuck!" Eddie immediately shouts, shooting up in bed and backing himself into the corner.

The curtains get stuck beneath Richie's weight, the whole entire rod pulling away from the wall and crashing down between the nightstand and desk. Pill bottles clatter around and roll off of their flat surfaces, books falling from the shelf, and Eddie's fish tank tilting off of it's stand from such a dull force offputting everything in the room by a few inches.

241

"Richie, is that you? What the fuck! What the fuck are you doing here, you fucking idiot?" Eddie drops his defensive stance when the dark figure sits up. The moon catches on the side of his face and shows Eddie these big eyes and a lovesick grin. "You fucking dumbass, you broke my god damn curtain rod! You could have killed yourself! Are you a fucking moron?"

229

Eddie stands up, helping the boy off the floor and turning him towards the window to inspect his face for any obvious wounds. Just as he declares Richie as safe, the two hear plump footsteps coming down the hall.

"Eddie bear? What was that noise, honey?" Mrs. Kaspbrak calls down the hall, her voice right outside the door.

199

Eddie's eyes widen and he looks around in panic, trying to figure out where the hell to hide Richie so that his mother won't have a heart attack. He glances back towards the open window, and Richie immediately shakes his head, pulling away from Eddie.

Eddie panics, dragging the boy to the foot of his bed and throwing his closet door open, shoving him in and pressing a finger to Richie's mouth. Just as he slams the door shut, Eddie's bedroom opens up, and the infamous mother makes her entrance.

Richie is shrouded in darkness, surrounded by the overwhelming smell of medicine and bleached clothes. His hand comes up to touch the shirts hanging beside him, the cotton well-worn and loved by Eddie's heavenly body, and Richie feels jealous.

169

Through the door, he can hear Sonia say "What on earth was that noise? Are you alright? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"N-No," Eddie shakes his head. "I had a nightmare, that's all, momma. I fell out of my bed. I must've pulled my curtains down too."

"Another nightmare, Eddie?" She asks, then says "Oh, what if you have a concussion! Dear, you cannot go back to bed! What if the curtain rod hit you and gave you a contusion?"

"I'm okay," Eddie persists. "Can you turn the light off? I want to go back to sleep. I have school tomorrow."

"But dear-" she says, only to get caught off by an impatient son.

"I'm really okay, mom, I feel fine! I'm tired," Eddie sounds exasperated. Richie presses his palm against the door, knowing that his boy is just on the other side. He knows that Eddie isn't ashamed of him, so he's not trying to hide Richie. This is just how things need to be in order for them to safely love each other. Richie has a feeling that he will be spending a lot of time in closets for the rest of his life.

476

"Oh, dear, why is your window open?" Footsteps tread across the floor, and then the sound of Eddie's window sliding shut and being locked penetrates the closet door. "You could catch a cold. You don't want that, now do you?"

"No m'am," Eddie says obediently. "Thank you."

"Of course, Eddie bear. Now you get some sleep, okay? I love you," Sonia sighs. Richie is sure that she does, but she loves him too much. That's the problem.

"I love you too, mommy," Eddie says, making Richie smile. He contains his laughter for the sake of their safety, but it sure proves to be hard.

After Sonia leaves the room, the two wait for a couple moments, before Eddie finally says "Okay. Come out, idiot."

Richie opens the door, stepping back into the room and saying "I like boys."

718

Eddie rolls his eyes at the awful "coming out" joke that Richie just made, but still stands on his knees at the end of the mattress to be eye-level with him. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie's shoulders and pulls him forward in a tight hug, pressing his lips to the side of Richie's head. "Nuh uh. Correction; you like one boy."

243

"Oh, how could I be so ignorant? Forgive me, lord Kaspbrak," Richie shakes his head at Eddie's stubbornness, yet he lets his hands settle on Eddie's waist as he says "You're entirely right. I do like a singular boy."

Eddie smiles.

"Freddie Mercury," Richie deadpans.

334

Eddie frowns.

"I'll kick you out," Eddie threatens, though the words hold no meaning. "I mean it, trashmouth. I'll kick you right out into the dead of the night."

"You wanna break my heart while you're at it?" Richie asks, nuzzling his nose into Eddie's neck, kissing a particularly prominent freckle.

113

"Hmm," Eddie pretends to ponder it for a moment, then laughs at Richie's mouth tickling him, and pushes the boy away. "No can do, looks like you're stuck with me cherishing you."

Eddie falls back onto the mattress, the blue limelight of the tank glowing on all his best features. Richie crawls over him, hovering over the boy just to get a good angle of his face. Eddie's hands slide up Richie's chest and clench onto the fabric of his t-shirt, smiling up at the dark-haired one so sleepily.

169

"Guess so," Richie smiles smugly. "What a shame. I'll truly be miserable spending my whole life with you."

"Is that what you want?" Eddie then asks, tilting his head to the side. His bedhead looks so entirely cute in this moment, but then again, Richie truly thinks everything about this boy is just adorable.

"Possibly," Richie shrugs, then remembers honesty. "If you let me."

Eddie smiles so hard that two dimples make an appearance in his cheeks. It's the first that Richie has ever seen them, so they take him by quite the surprise when they dip in. He didn't think it was possible to find more perfect details about Eddie, but these dimples certainly just proved him wrong.

259

"I guess we'll have to wait and see where life takes us, then," Eddie comments, tugging on Richie's shirt so that the boy will lie down.

Richie does so without hesitation, laying on his side and pressing his back against Eddie. The smaller boy rolls over and wraps his arm around Richie, pulling him in close and letting the tip of his nose connect with Richie's neck. It feels so, so, so entirely safe, so lovely, and so... content. That's what it is; it's content. For once in his life, Richie feels entirely at peace. Everything will be alright in this moment. For as long as Eddie holds him, the world will be okay. He truly believes it.

108

"My parents don't understand me," Richie whispers. The last thing he wants is for Sonia to hear voices and catch the boys canoodling like this. Eddie listens, pulling the blankets up over themselves. When Richie doesn't continue, he gently rubs the boy's lanky arm as a form of encouragement, which seems to work out for him. Richie continues, opening up and saying "I don't think they ever did. I think I have, like, ADHD, or Tourette's Syndrome or something. I wasn't... a regular kid because of this. And I wasn't supposed to be born, by the way. I was the result of a drunk prom hookup, so I think that's another reason why they don't like me. But... they haven't ever left me on my own before. Not until now. Sometimes they'd go on vacation or spend a weekend away in Bangor, but they always came home after a week. They always left money. I always had a babysitter."

115

"And now?" Eddie asks.

"And now I don't think they're coming back," Richie whispers. He wants to reject the words coming out of his mouth, but Stan is right. He needs to let Eddie know these things if they are to ever start a proper relationship. "They're still in town, though, so I don't think it counts as abandonment. They leave me notes and stuff. I don't know, man. I don't know what to do."

114

Eddie listens carefully, not interjecting with the little comments he wants to make. He knows Richie has to get everything out on the table before he starts talking, or else the boy will shut down and fail to divulge any other information. Bev told Eddie this, she said it's better to know now than have to learn the hard way. She says it's because Richie feels like what he has to say is never actually important.

"Sometimes I feel like you all hate me. I know that's irrational, but something in my brain tries its best to convince me that is a legitimate statement. And then the logic section of me gets angry with that, and then my brain is at war with itself. I never feel like I'm good enough to be hanging out with you. I don't like my jokes, but they're all I have. I'd rather have shitty humor than no personality, or worse, only be defined by my evident insecurity. Oh, that too. I'm insecure about everything, if you haven't already noticed. Really. Everything. Just now, when I was in the closet, I felt jealous of your clothes because they get to live on your body in more intimate ways than I will ever be. I only know, like, three songs by David Bowie. Sometimes I feel like Stan hates me for no reason. I'm failing math, no, wait, you already know that. I hate lemon flavored foods, and I love the feeling of-"

442

"Richie," Eddie exhales with a laugh. His breath ghosts against the base of Richie's neck, his lips pressed to the boy's spine. "You don't have to tell me everything just yet. We've got forever to figure it out, okay?"

119

"Okay," Richie nods against the pillow, his hands coming down to hold Eddie's.

Eddie hums in a sleepy tone, saying "How 'bout we skip tomorrow, okay? Just us."

"You wanna skip?" Richie asks in complete shock and surprise.

"Yeah," Eddie says in his most tired voice. "One time won't hurt. It's my turn to take you on a date."

130

Richie breaks into a smile, rolling over in bed to face the boy he traveled across town to see. Things start to make sense to him, like his teenage years were written for greatness. He kisses Eddie's forehead, nuzzles his nose against the other's, and finally reaches up to take his glasses off. "I'd like that," he says. "I'd like it a lot."

"Goodnight, idiot," Eddie mumbles.

"Goodnight," Richie responds, slowly watching Eddie fall asleep. It's a beautiful sight, it's like watching morning glories fold their petals up inside when the moon finally makes its entrance.

Then, right on the cusp of slumber, the smaller one mumbles through freckled lips, "I like you in a romantic way."

204

Richie laughs and kisses his forehead again, deciding that phrase must be their thing. Every couple has their own quirks and traditions, and that specific term must be theirs. He can't wait to recall it when they're older, Richie already planning out all the old people pranks he could play to get good chucks out of Eddie.

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And it feels good. It feels good to plan your future with someone, even if they're asleep for half of it. Just the prospect of wanting a future is enough to obliterate any of the darkness creeping and living within Richie's heart.

Richie doesn't want to die before he can grow old with Eds.

Chapter 31

Richie smiles, pressing his forehead against the closet door as he listens to his boy spin such extravagant lies.

"I think it was the window being open," Eddie feigns a cough. "I don't feel good, momma."

"Oh, you poor thing. Should I stay home from work to take care of you?" She asks.

"No!" Eddie says quickly, then coughs again to try and keep the appearances up. "I mean, no. I just want to stay in bed. I know to take the amoxicillin, okay? I just want to sleep, momma."

"Of course, Eddie bear," she coos softly.

Richie chuckles under his breath, shaking his head at how truly ridiculous this entire situation is. Eddie's alarm went off twenty minutes ago, and they spent the first ten minutes of the morning staring into each other's eyes without saying a single word. Then, when footsteps were heard coming down the hall, Eddie pushed Richie by the chest and said "Hide. Now."

127

Now Richie stands as quietly as he can in the midst of Eddie's clothes, his body serenely still. He notices that above all else; just how still he is being. Richie has never sat in one spot for more than three minutes before in his entire life, and now, they're going on minute twelve of being in the closet, and Richie has barely moved a muscle. He thinks it's because of Eddie, or more so, because he wants to spend the day with Eddie without getting caught. For the sake of his honeymoon boy, he will remain as still as a statue.

123

When Sonia finally says farewell, Richie sheepishly peeks his head out of the closet and silently asks if the coast is clear. Eddie waves him over, so the boy grins and slides out as quietly as he can.

"She's still here, but-" he's cut short by the sound of the garage door opening. He smiles, and says "Okay. She's gone. Do you want breakfast?"

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Richie thinks of all the junk food he ate with Beverly last night and decides that eating more is the last thing he should be doing. Instead, he asks "What, you aren't going to give me a tour? We finally have free reign of the Kaspbrak household and you're going to keep me secluded to the damn bedroom?"

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"Alright, fine, idiot," Eddie rolls his eyes and takes Richie by the hand. "Before anything, I'm brushing my teeth."

Richie, who obviously does not have a toothbrush, results to using Eddie's mouthwash that burns like absolute hell. He reads the back of the label to investigate the ingredients, his eyes widening at the high amount of alcohol splashed in. He spits his mouthful out, then says "Jeez, Eds. You gettin' tipsy off this damn stuff?"

Eddie looks up at him with glaring eyes, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, as he says "No, idiot. It's to prevent cavities."

"Yeah, and give you liver damage in the process," Richie scoffs. "Is this how they're selling vodka to underage kids nowadays?"

Eddie spits toothpaste from his mouth and says "You're an idiot. I need to shower, so you have to leave."

"Do I?" Richie whines, tugging on the bottom of Eddie's shirt. "Can't I just join you?"

530

Eddie's eyes widen at the suggestion, his face flushing red as he quickly puts his hands against Richie's to push the boy away. In a flustered, erratic tone, he says "N-No! You can't! Go!"

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Richie pouts but still leaves without question, shutting the door behind him to give Eddie his privacy. The boy looks down the hall towards the bedroom and considers returning to safe territory, but then turns his head and sees the hallway lead out into the living room, and he decides to start his journey there.

The living room is as clean as you would imagine, albeit the stacks and stacks of magazines next to the recliner chair with nail polish stains in the arm rest. The TV is much bigger, and the antennae are pointing in all sorts of directions, making Richie wonder what kind of shows they watch that require such a strong signal. There's a shelf of VHS, but upon inspection, they're all cheesy romantic comedies, so Richie moves to something that seems more promising.

An egg crate full of vinyl stashed underneath a record player, so the boy crouches down to start flipping through the records and admiring Ms. Kaspbrak's collection of swinger music. He finds a greatest hit's record for Elvis, but as he pulls it out of its sleeve, he hears a car stop in the driveway. Richie immediately shoots up, his eyes going towards the picture window behind the TV, and spots Sonia making her way up the sidewalk to the front door.

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Richie panics and drops the record, looking for a place to hide. He'd have to pass right by the front door to get to Eddie's room, and he doesn't have the time for that. He throws open the nearest door and finds a linen closet with absolutely no room for a teenage boy. The front doorknob jiggles as she unlocks it, and Richie panics. He panics. He panics. He dives behind the couch, laying down as flat as he can, and continues to panic.

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"Where did I leave that pesky wallet?" The woman mumbles to herself as she opens the door. She sets her purse down on the coffee table, ravaging through stacks of Cosmopolitans and People magazines. She grumbles angrily, checking the cushions of the recliner, then coming over to the couch to stuff her morbidly obese hands between the cracks.

Richie is freaking out. He can hear the shower water running and he tries to telepathically communicate with Eddie to get the hell out right now so he can distract his mother, but the water continues, and Richie panics even harder.

"Ah!" She exclaims, her head leaning over the back of the couch. Richie closes his eyes and prepares for the absolute worst, but to his surprise, the woman only holds a folded up wallet into the air and says "Found'cha!"

146

When the front door closes again, Richie lets out the biggest breath of air that his lungs are capable of holding. He sits up, his head peeking over the back of the couch as he watches her car back out of the driveway. The boy catches his breath, stands up, and resumes what he was doing.

With Elvis now calming his nerves, he feels brave enough to venture into the kitchen. There's an island, as well as a state of the art refrigerator that is packed to the brim with food. Richie begins going through the cabinets, mostly bored with plates and cups, until he stumbles upon an entire pharmacy. The cabinet is lined with medication, half of which have labels that Richie can't even pronounce. He feels angry with the idea that she's probably force feeding him half of these, or worse, cooking antibiotics right into his food. Richie closes the cabinets, because he is certain he would end up washing every pill down the drain if he stared too long.

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He finds the pots and pans, so he pulls out a pan big enough for today's endeavor, then searches for the baking supplies. He finds them easily, so he begins to make from scratch a recipe he doesn't have memorized. He's hoping for the best.

Eddie comes into the kitchen as the food is cooking, drawn to such a delicious smell. He's dressed in new clothes, a towel draped over his shoulders as he dries his hair. He looks at Richie curiously, then at the pan frying up what look like... tortillas? Then, he looks at Richie again, admiring the way the boy sways his hips back and forth while cradling a mixing bowl in his hands, his eyes closed as he mouths along to the words streaming from the record still playing.

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"Elvis? Really?" Eddie asks, causing Richie to jump.

"Jesus, Eds. I didn't see you there, you scared the shit out of me," Richie gasps, his hand slipping and nearly dropping the strawberry filling. "Warn a boy before being all sneaky like a ninja!"

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Eddie puts his hands up and apologizes, then follows Richie over to the pan to watch what he's doing. He stands on his tiptoes to look over Richie's tall shoulder, then eventually asks "What the hell are you making?"

"Crêpes," Richie says as if it's obvious. "Have you ever had crêpes?"

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"Once," Eddie says. "Bev and I shared one at the fair once, but she accidentally leaned forward on the table and her- her... her breast got on the plate."

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"What're you whispering for, weirdo?" Richie laughs, flipping the crêpe like a pancake. "You can say the word boob, you know. Which one was it? The Destroyer or DJ body butter?"

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"You- You named her breasts?" Eddie scoffs in complete disgust. "I am appalled, Richie. I truly didn't think someone could hit rock bottom twice, and yet here we are."

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"Hey, I didn't name them. She did," Richie defends himself as he moves around the kitchen to get the plate setting right.

"Why the hell do you know the names of her breasts?" Eddie asks in an incredulous voice.

"What, you're telling me you don't know the name of Bill's knocker? C'mon, man, that's what best friends do," Richie laughs.

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"No, it most certainly is not," Eddie gives him a very disgusted look. "Honestly, Richie. I would say I'm disappointed but at this poi-"

His sentence is cut short by Richie's finger invading his mouth, his fingertip smothered in strawberry filling. Eddie's teeth automatically clamp down on the foreign object, causing Richie to squeal and retract his hand, but not before Eddie gets a proper lick of what he was being forcefed.

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"Oh, wow, that's actually really good," Eddie frowns, stepping forward to dip his fingers into the bowl Richie is holding.

"Ah, ah, ah," Richie slaps the boy's hand away, waving his injured finger in Eddie's face. "Not on my watch, Shortstack. Go sit down and wait until I serve you."

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Eddie pouts, blinking up at Richie with those devilishly gorgeous eyes. Richie stays strong, though, which causes Eddie to sulk into the living room, where he immediately changes the record. He changes it to something that Richie has never heard before, but the air fills with a romance that can only come from 50's music. Richie sways as he cooks, finishing up the last touches while being serenaded by the sweet sounds of a man with a voice like a legend.

100

As Richie carries the plate of crêpes into the dining room where Eddie is waiting, he asks, "Who is this? It's so good it should be illegal."

"Oh, this?" Eddie digs into the food as if he's been famished for days. "Paul Anka. Put Your Head On My Shoulder."

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"It's so dreamy," Richie sits across from Eddie, closing his eyes and feeling himself pulled to the tunes.

Eddie watches him for a moment, just a moment, a moment where he admires the way that the morning light builds a home on Richie's skin, the way that secrets reside in the shadows, and the way that beauty seems to radiate from every surface of him. He looks like he is floating weightless through a space of good music, his oxygen tanks filled with sweetened air. This is the Richie that hears music differently than the others, the Richie that makes Eddie jealous of how in love one person can be with simple instrumental combinations.

"Why aren't you eating?" Eddie breaks the spell.

The bubble pops, and the voice no longer sounds like a serenade, it sounds like a death sentence.

Richie opens his eyes to look at him, then says "I did. I ate while you were in the shower, then ate as I was cooking. I ate mine first because I didn't want it to get cold."

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Eddie narrows his eyes at the boy but they both know they won't push the subject. Instead, Eddie just gives a curt nod, and continues eating as silently as he can.

"So, what do you have planned for me today, Eds? What's this magical journey you plan to take me on? It better be worth skipping school for, kid. You know I'm a stickler for the rules," Richie smiles, changing the subject as quickly as he can.

Eddie immediately rolls his eyes. "Jeez, first of all, don't call me Eds. Secondly, your date was a surprise, why can't mine be as well?"

"Oh, wow, adding in a little mystery, are we?" Richie taps his fingers on the table as a bad attempt at doing a drum roll. "That's hot."

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"Oh, beep beep, you idiot," Eddie grins, and he doesn't even try to hide it.

Richie smiles back at him, filled to the very brim with affection. He used to degrade himself to piles of rubble and nothing any time he would get beeped, but now, the saying doesn't sound so violent when it's coming out of Eddie's mouth.

While Eddie steals money out of his mom's not-so-secret stash, Richie stands in the hallway and smiles at the copious amounts of picture frames that document Eddie's upbringing. From the looks of it, he's always been a bit of a clean kid, but maybe he didn't really have much of a say in that matter. Either way, Richie thinks the photo of Eddie dancing on the shoes of an older man is about the cutest one up there.

"Hey- What are you doing?" Eddie announces his arrival, stuffing the money into his fannypack.

"Hm? Oh, just looking," Richie shrugs, turning his attention back to the photos on the walls. "Is this your dad?"

Eddie is quiet for a moment, then says "Yeah. Momma says I look like him. What do you think?"

"I can see that," Richie smiles. It's evident where Eddie gets his good looks, because it's certainly not from the cowardly Sonia that he's learning to hate. Then, to change the subject to something a bit lighter, he turns and grins at Eddie very carefully. "Hey, maybe I can finally get you a Walkman since we'll be in town today."

"Town? Who said anything about going into town?" Eddie asks, zipping his coat up so that he can endure the blistering cold.

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Richie widens his eyes, to which Eddie replies with a challenging smirk. There's a bit of that familiar flame lit behind his eyes, and the fire only makes Richie's bones ache with anticipation.

"Where are you taking me, you little rebel?" Richie inquires, tilting his head to the side as Eddie's smirk only spreads to a grin.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Eddie teases him, then slips by Richie in the hallway. He calls out over his shoulder, "Strict parents raise sneaky kids, my dear."

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Richie fumbles to catch up with him, blindly following the boy out the front door and into the street. Eddie seems confident, and Richie can't deny that he's extremely attracted to this much personality. Eddie doesn't say a word to him as they walk, but, he does walk with his hand outside of his pocket so that it can occasionally brush against Richie's. The thing is, two kids holding hands isn't a big deal. Two boys holding hands is different. That isn't exactly acceptable in the year 1988. Not in Derry, anyway.

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"Are you finally going to fucking tell me where we're going?" Richie asks in exasperation when the two arrive at the bus station. The heat blasts in their faces as they enter, and Eddie instantly files in line for "immediate departure" like he's done it a thousand times.

"Fine," Eddie says. "There's an iceskating rink up in Bangor. I doubt you've ever been, so I thought it would be fun to take you up there."

"Your mother lets you ice skate?" Richie asks in disbelief.

Eddie shrugs, then says "She doesn't know about the day trips I take with Mike and Bev. Why should she?"

As Eddie approaches the counter and asks for two tickets, Richie watches him with awe in his eyes. He can't believe how brave Eddie is today, and he's not exactly sure where it all came from. Eddie would let this fire show occasionally, but in small amounts. Either sitting next to Richie at Bev's party when nobody was looking, or asking him to dance at the quarry after an afternoon of splashing, it's always been small portions. This side of Eddie is daring and courageous, and he doesn't care of the repercussions.

He pays for the two tickets, then looks over at Richie and says "Well? You comin' or what, Trashmouth?"

Richie stumbles after the smaller boy, completely dumbfounded and shocked by his sudden dominance.

"Eddie, you really find new ways to surprise me every damn day," Richie tells him. The two return to the cold outside, searching around for the bus getting ready to leave.

Eddie looks around with narrow eyes, reading the directory to find the designated transportation assigned to their tickets. In a distracted voice, he says "Richie Tozier, you find new ways to annoy me everyday."

102

Richie's heart drops as he instantly looks away, his eyes dropping to the icy ground as they walk towards their bus. His hand comes down quickly to pinch his thigh, but before he can do so, Eddie's fingers slips into his and he gives it a tight, quick squeeze.

120

Richie looks over at him in surprise, to which Eddie only gives him a soft smile.

"And I wouldn't have you any other way, okay?" The hazelnut-eyed kid whispers. "No more pinching, alright?"

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Richie nods, his cheeks flushed from the exposure to the cold and Eddie's observant skills. He can't believe that Eddie picked up on the habit, not to mention cared enough to intervene. Richie is truly speechless, yet again blown away by Kaspbrak's ability to shock him over and over.

The two get seats located in the very front of the bus, so they sit quietly as the carriage fills up with a variety of folks that all seem to have something to say about the two youngsters who aren't in school. Eddie keeps his head down, but Richie stares each boarding passenger dead in the eyes as if he's challenging them to speak up. Richie would never fight anybody without reason, but he definitely would not fight someone in front of Eddie, and he absolutely would never fight someone while on a date. He just likes to... challenge, that's all. Just challenging.

As it turns out, Richie's challenging seems to turn out well for the two, as no adults have the nerve to approach the boy with the edgy stare. So, as they begin their commute to the neighboring city, Richie braves the risk and decides to hold Eddie's hand in front of others. He keeps their entwined hands stuffed down between where their hips touch, but the point is that they're still getting away with it. Eddie smiles and turns to the window, fogging the glass up with his breath, then painting a smiley face into the condensation with the tip of his free hand. Richie watches the smiley face fade, yet it's replaced by one much better when Eddie turns his head to grin at him.

"Can you imagine being in second period right now? Totally gross," Eddie laughs, and Richie falls weak with affection.

131

"What do you think the others are doing right now? Ben's probably studying like some nerd," Richie chuckles. "And Bill's definitely failing a science lab as we speak."

"Oh, he's awful at chemistry. Honestly, who let him sign up for that class?" Eddie throws his head back as he laughs, causing Richie's amusement to die down as he gets caught up in the slow motion shots he seems to view Eddie in.

"Hey, Eds," Richie blurts out, tugging on their hands. "You're really beautiful, dude. You really are."

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Eddie looks up at him with a doubtful expression, but still smiles nonetheless and says "Thanks, dude. That's very sweet of you to say."

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Richie smiles and nods, then asks Eddie to tell him all about these mysterious day trips that nobody seems to know anything about. Eddie spins wonderfully threaded stories, nodding any time Richie asks if he's being serious, and taking breaks to laugh with the boy who just can't seem to get enough air. They don't realize it, but this bonding is much more intimate than when Richie is bundled up in Eddie's arms late at night. There's something much more personal about telling stories with no end to someone who is incredibly eager to listen just for the sake of hearing your voice. That's a strength that nobody else in Derry will ever find, no, just these two boys pressed so tightly against each other's sides that you would assume they're only attempting to spread warmth in this cruel, unforgiving morning.

As it turns out, Richie is absolutely terrible at ice skating. He assumed it would be just like rollerblading, but he could not be more wrong.

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He wobbles slowly, his hands gripping the railing, and he takes deep breaths to calm his nerves. Eddie, however, might as well be an Olympic figure skater based on the way he does flips and spins so gracefully. He makes the ice his, owning the solidity beneath them, dragging his leg out in finishing moves.

111

"Come on, Richie!" Eddie laughs, skating in figure eight motions around the boy. "Keep up!"

Richie glares at him and says "Excuse me, not everyone is a fucking ice-ballerina like you, Eds."

157

Eddie smiles, skating over to a delicate stop in front of Richie. He gently pries Richie's hands off of the handrail, entwining their fingers together.

"I'll help," he says.

Richie looks up at him, then at the neighboring skaters who seem to not give a shit about the two holding hands. From this point of view, it certainly just looks like Eddie is being a good instructor, not a homosexual romantic partner.

273

So Eddie slowly skates backwards, dragging Richie along carefully, his grip tightening anytime the taller one begins to lose balance. When Richie gains some momentum, Eddie lets go and swivels around to stand behind Richie, pushing the boy forward by the waist.

"I don't know, Eds," Richie shakes his head as his skates begin to wobble beneath him. "I don't like this."

"You'll get the hang of it, I promise," Eddie moves closer, his chest against Richie's back with his hands on the narrow waist. Eddie moves smoothly, gaining speed very rapidly, only to Richie's displeasure. His pale, broken hands come up to clench Eddie's, his body stiffened with fear.

When Eddie lets go of Richie, the lanky boy goes flying in a mess of tangled limbs and clumsy movements. He skids across the ice, his coat doing absolutely nothing to protect him from the cold, while his jeans tear at the knees from such friction. He lands on his side, his glasses straying from his face and landing only a few feet away. Richie squeezes his eyes shut, absolutely flushed and reddened with embarrassment. He can't believe he fell, especially in front of Eddie, who is not only his crush, but also an Olympic fucking figure skater.

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Eddie considers the options for a moment with a hand covering his mouth. Mostly to keep the laughter stifled, because he truly doesn't want to damage Richie's ego right now. So, he does the first thing that comes to mind, and automatically throws himself on the floor.

109

"Oh, ow! Ouch! Owww!" Eddie cries out, "Ow, I think I bruised my tailbone! Ouchie!"

364

Richie opens his eyes to see Eddie lying beside him, writhing around in faux pain. It's obvious what he's doing, though it seems to be working. All the onlookers are now staring at Eddie in confusion instead of mocking Richie's tumble.

"You didn't have to do that, idiot," Richie sits up with a smile. He slides across the ice to help Eddie sit up, dusting some of the ice shavings that dusted his coat.

"No, I didn't," Eddie shakes his head. He lets his hand settle on top of Richie's skinned knee, reaching over to put the glasses back on Richie's face, and says "But I did. Come on, let's go sit somewhere and talk, okay?"

Richie sighs in relief, following Eddie off of the dangerous ice floor and instantly kicking his skates off. The two find a table in the diner portion of the establishment, hiding away from anybody who might ask why they're not in school. Richie looks at the menu, and Eddie looks at Richie.

"Hey," Eddie taps the table gently.

"Hey," Richie responds, pointing at the menu. "What's a kamikaze meltdown? It sounds incredible."

"No, seriously," Eddie taps again to get his attention. "Can I just- Can I- I don't know, Rich. Can I be honest?"

Richie immediately puts the menu down, his muscles tensing up as he prepares for rejection. To hide his fear, the boy puts on a Voice and says "I don't know, can ya?"

Eddie doesn't get annoyed, which is a new sign to Richie. Is he unbothered by Richie's obnoxious jokes? Or is what he's about to say really that serious?

"I feel a little overwhelmed sometimes," Eddie admits. "You have to take it all in from my point of view. Maybe you're comfortable being openly gay, or bisexual, or whatever, but I'm- I'm not? I don't know. I have been told that I'm a queer for, like, my whole life, and I just don't want them to be right, you know?"

"Them?" Richie asks.

Eddie looks up, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Henry Bowers. You know, your boy toy."

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Richie bites his lip and looks away, the sting wounding him.

"That's what scares me. You're so open with it, Richie. You're okay with kissing boys. I'm... I'm not. I'm scared. And I am scared that you will get bored with me the way you do with everything, and that you'll only go to Stan or Bowers or one of your other backup plans."

110

"You think I have backup plans?" Richie asks. He tries to not let out a laugh, but the sound comes out of him involuntarily. "Eds, you're a complete dipshit. You're the only plan I have. Everything else is just... accidents."

"Making out with Stan over and over again was an accident," Eddie frowns at him.

121

Richie shrugs, his hands coming up to make vague gestures out of his power. He then says "It is what it is. I can't keep apologizing for it. It happened, but it isn't going to happen again. It is what it is, take it or leave it."

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Eddie nods, thinking his options over and considering where the two can go from here. He watches the way that Richie fumbles with the pages of the menu, then reach over to start organizing the sugar packets by color and size. Most people would think these are weird behaviors, but they're so overwhelmingly Richie Tozier that Eddie doesn't think they're anything but endearing.

After a moment of silence, Eddie says "Let's order a kamikaze meltdown, I wanna see what the big deal is."

Richie doesn't realize it, but that's Eddie pushing all his chips in and completely devoting himself to this unconventional relationship they've been formulating. Eddie's all in.

After stuffing their faces full of a terrible dessert nachos platter, Eddie takes Richie down to the used book store on the corner of the street. Eddie only gets one book, but it looks old and well loved. Then, after they leave the store, Eddie announces that it's time to go home.

"Already?" Richie asks.

Eddie smiles and says "Tozier, it's two PM. It takes an hour to get back, and I have to be home before my mother."

Richie pouts and looks away, but then says "Okay."

"Hey, cheer up," Eddie elbows Richie as they walk down the street. Strangers pass by them, bundled up in winter clothes. The chilly air surrounds them in dry, unforgiving anti-romance, yet the two insistently pour loving steam into the air by smiling. "This was our second date. You know what happens on the third, right?"

112

Richie's eyes light up as he says "'Course I do. You know about fuckin', right Eds?"

431

Eddie's face burns brick red as he looks away and focuses hard on walking. Since he was a kid he has made sure to walk carefully against pavement after Mike told him a tall tale about his mother's back breaking. Even now, fifteen years old, he still takes precaution wherever he steps.

"Idiot," Eddie says. "I just wanted to give you a kiss, that's all."

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Now Richie is the flustered one, his hand coming up to cover his mouth so he can physically prevent himself from blurting something ridiculous out. He doesn't want to ruin the moment, not after such raw honesty from Eddie. He learns to take it as it comes, feel the genuineness, and continue to breathe.

"Even though I kissed Stan?" Richie asks, then curses himself for being an idiot. With the hand that isn't next to Eddie's, he punches his thigh through his jeans.

"Yeah," Eddie shrugs, his eyes on the ground as the used book sticks out of his pocket, the well worn pages ruffling in the wind. "It is what it is."

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Richie smiles and looks out ahead at the streets of Bangor. He wonders what it would feel like if the two were to just... run away together. To leave their shitty parents behind, to leave Henry Bowers behind, to leave all of their school pressures and anxieties in Derry and just run.

119

Right now, everything feels open and possible. Richie can't help but have a sense of impending doom waiting for him back in Derry, as if all of this will come to an end if he doesn't take Eddie and run as far as they can in this moment. The world is a sandbox, and Richie wants to build a castle on the other end of it. He feels as if everything can happen as long as they stay here, and the alluring road to running looks more and more appetizing.

For a moment, Richie considers the money in his coat pocket and whatever Eddie has leftover, and he thinks, maybe. Just maybe.

But Eddie has other plans.

"When we get back to Derry, you should go hang out with Beverly."

"Bev?" Richie is pulled from his thoughts, frowning at Eddie. "What's up with Bev?"

Eddie shrugs.

"She misses you."

Chapter 32

"You know, you could have just fuckin' called," Richie mumbles. "Didn't have to go through Eddie."

105

"Well, can you blame me?" Beverly Marsh asks from the living room. "You're practically attached at the hip."

"We are not," Richie scoffs, carrying the two mugs into the living room. This is the first time that Bev has properly been in his home besides the morning she barged in. With Richie's parents around, he never had much freedom for friends. Now, he can do just about anything he wants. For example, setting Bev's coffee down on the table without using a coaster. "You're a freak, you know that? Who the hell drinks their coffee black?"

195

"Cut the shit," Bev waves him off, propping her feet up on the coffee table. In front of them, MTV plays a Michael Jackson video that the two of them both know the choreography to. "Why didn't you tell me about Stan?"

"Stan? What about Stan?" Richie feigns innocence as he tucks his legs up into his father's recliner.

"Rich," she says flatly.

Richie shrugs, drawing the answer out as he traces the rim of his hot cocoa mug. "Didn't seem important."

"Didn't- Didn't seem important?!" She scoffs. "Jeez, Rich. It never crossed your mind to tell your best friend about whose throat your sticking your tongue down?"

Richie shrugs again, "He wasn't ready to come out. I was just respecting that."

"Right, because confessing this during a game of truth or dare is obviously the right way to come out," she scoffs. "I don't get you boys."

Richie smiles and watches the television in silence, his leg bouncing. Bev isn't angry with him, no, despite her words, she's very much glad to be sitting here with her old friend. Richie doesn't tell her that Stan has become his best friend, he doesn't want to hurt her like that. He thinks she'll figure it out eventually, or she'll move on. Besides, she said so herself. Ben is her best friend. Stan was his, but now... now it's shifting over to Eddie with the closer the two become.

138

"We've been going on dates," Richie speaks up. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he automatically lets out a huge grin, his face lighting up as he remembers how Eddie looked in that dusty bookstore. "We've gone on two now. Like, proper dates. Not just hanging out."

"Oh?" Bev lifts an eyebrow. "Is that what he's been gushing about lately? I knew I missed something."

"He gushes?" Richie asks.

"Oh, god, all the damn time," she rolls her eyes. "You should hear him at DnD. 'Guys, Richie said he's never seen Dirty Dancing.' and 'Do you guys think Richie looks better in the yellow hoodie, or the pink windbreaker?' He never shuts up."

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Richie smiles and looks away, then says "He's a good kid. Real good."

112

"Are you going to ask him to go steady?" She inquires, saying "Ben asked me on the third date. You said you've been on two, right?"

Richie nods, his face flushed as he takes precautions sips of his hot chocolate. "Mhm. I wanna ask, but I'm nervous. Can you believe that? Richie Tozier is nervous."

"Not as tough as you thought you were, huh?" She laughs.

"Shut it," Richie shakes his head. "I'll ask. I just want it to be special, you know?"

"It will be, Rich. I know you, and I know you've got a heart of gold buried deep down in that cool exterior of yours. You'll make it special, don't worry," she says, then glances at the grandfather clock and lets out a silent curse. Bev stands up, gathering her bag and leaving her coffee untouched. "Fuck. I've gotta meet Ben down by Curly's. You wanna come with?"

"What, and crash your date? No thanks," Richie scoffs, though he can feel the disappointment. He made an effort to reach out to her, but now she's just running off after a measly half hour? Richie becomes increasingly aware of how alone he feels, and he hates it. "I've got planning to do."

She smirks at him, zipping her leather jacket up. "Yeah you do. Good luck, dipshit. I love you."

152

Richie nods, pointing fingerguns at her to avoid saying it back. Not because he doesn't love her, but because the words feel too big to come out of his throat and leave his mouth. Bev doesn't mind, just stoops down to kiss his forehead on her way out.

157

Richie glances at her mug of pure black coffee, followed by the smudges of dirt that her boots left on the table. Without even thinking about it, he slowly gets up and moves her mug over to a coaster. He uses his shirt to wipe the table down, terrified of receiving another angry note on the fridge.

I've got planning to do, Richie thinks to himself, trudging up the stairs to work on some of his homework. It's gotta be special.

Richie is consumed by his thoughts for the rest of the evening, and most of the next morning as well. He hardly even pays attention, only pulling himself out momentarily to smile and wave at Eddie when the boy enters their math class. Then, as soon as class begins, he resumes his quick-paced thought track that revolves around where to ask a boy out and how to do it.

When class ends, Eddie waits by the door for Richie, the two silently smiling and leaving the room side-by-side. They don't say much to each other, but that's the beauty in it. They don't need to.

"Tozier," a voice calls behind them.

The two stop, turning to look at who is calling for Richie's attention. When they see who it is, Richie immediately rolls his eyes while Eddie grabs onto his jacket out of fear.

"What do you want, Hockstetter?" Richie groans. Eddie presses closer to him, so Richie sets a comforting hand down on the smaller boy's shoulder.

162

Patrick Hockstetter slinks through the hall menacingly, his body moving like that of a shadow. He radiates danger and poison, his dark hair curling around his sharp cheeks, his eyes focused on the tiny one cowering in fear. Like a cat hunting a mouse, he prepares to pounce on Eddie, but then he remembers what he's really here for.

"Can we talk?" He asks, then looks back down at Eddie with some of that raw evil stare. "Alone, preferably."

Richie clenches his jaw, then slides his hand off of Eddie and says "Alright. Make it quick."

Eddie tugs on his sleeve, but Richie turns and gives him a promising look. Quietly, so that Patrick can't hear him, he says to the mousy boy "Go. I'll be fine. I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

Eddie gulps and nods, but remains fixed to where he's standing while the two tall boys shuffle through the hall traffic to find somewhere quiet. Patrick ends up pulling Richie underneath a stairwell, the sounds of the rush to get to class dying down underneath this secluded area. Richie leans against the wall, looking at Patrick expectantly, his arms crossed over his chest as he waits for an explanation.

"So," Patrick uncomfortably sticks his hands in his pockets. "You're, uh, gay."

Richie scoffs. "Kinda, sure."

"The fuck do you mean kinda?" Patrick spits, then shakes his head and drops his shoulders down from their defensive state. "Shut up. 'M not here to fight."

"Then don't," Richie offers the obvious solution.

Patrick glares down at Richie, but pushes his anger aside to ask "How do you... How do you tell people? Like, mom and dad and stuff. What do you say?"

329

Richie blinks in surprise, waiting for the punchline of the joke or for Belch to come out of nowhere and announce he's on some prank show right now. But Patrick loses some of his edge, the gleam in his eyes dying down, and he... looks vulnerable. He came to Richie for genuine advice.

"Why are you asking me?" Richie questions. "I'm two years younger than you, dude. How am I supposed to know?"

Patrick shrugs, nervously kicking at the ground with the toe of his shoe. "I don't- I don't know, okay? Henry said that you are, and I obviously can't ask him, y'know, 'cause... y'know."

"Because of his dad," Richie nods. "Yeah. Henry told you about me? Wow, kinda shitty."

"He told you about me, too. Welcome to the fuckin' club," Patrick frowns. "I wanna tell my family. I think they'd be okay with it, you know. They're pretty open minded. My aunt is a Prince fan, so she might be supportive."

100

Richie laughs at this, and then says "I don't know, dude. I wish I could help you, but I haven't even heard from my parents in weeks. You're on your own with that one."

Patrick lets out a frustrated groan, rubbing his conflicted eyes. He says "Okay, then can I ask another question?"

"Shoot."

"How do I, uh, take things to the next level? God, this is so fuckin' stupid. I swear, if you tell anybody about this, I'll-"

"Save it," Richie waves him off. "I'm right there with you, dude. I'm gonna ask the little one out soon, I think. Is that what you want? To go steady with Hen?"

"He hates it when you call him that," Patrick points out. "I hate it too."

Richie gives a slight shrug, then says "Sorry, Pattycakes. Nickin' names has been my thang since I was pissin' in diapers."

138

"God, what did he ever see in you?" Patrick scoffs, then shakes his head. "Just tell me what to do, flamer."

122

"Well, for starters, you might wanna dial it back on the flamer comments. Or should I remind you that you're also a flamer? Secondly, you should know Hen, dude. He doesn't like grand gestures, and this is especially something he really wouldn't want to be publicized. Just ask, man. That's all it takes with him," Richie shrugs.

"Is that what you're going to do with girlyboy?" Patrick asks, then says "Sorry, habit. His name's Eddie, right? Eddie."

237

Richie nods, a tiny hint of a smile finding his face. "Yeah. Eds. It's a little different with him because he does like big gestures, so I'm working on a bigger plan. Hen is simple, though. He's always been so simple."

Patrick tenses a little, then asks "Have you... Have you thought about this a lot?"

"What? With Hen? No, obviously not," Richie lies through his teeth as if he wasn't heavily considering starting a relationship with the guy less than three weeks ago. "There's a reason we aren't friends, dude. Has he not told the story?"

Patrick nods. "Yeah. I had to pry it out of him, though. You mentioned New Year's when we were all jumping you, and I brought it up again later out of curiosity. Sorry about that, by the way. The whole beating you up thing."

Richie laughs, motioning towards his cracked glasses. "Yeah. Real fair fight, wasn't it?"

"I'll tell ya, that kid of yours has got a solid right hook on him," Patrick nods. "Vic couldn't stop talking about his reach. Flexible, too. Be careful, dude, he's dangerous."

102

"I'll survive," Richie chuckles again, his heart fond at the topic of Eddie and how feisty the boy truly is. He gave those bullies hell that day, even if it took him his whole life to do so. "You watch out for Hen, though. He knocked out about half of my baby teeth growing up. Now he's got a blade, talk about double threat."

Patrick smiles, saying "I'll survive."

Richie nods, then asks "Do your friends know you're not that much of a douchebag?"

"Ha," Patrick fakes a laugh, then says "They haven't figured it out yet. But, if we're being honest, between me and you... none of us are really that douchey. Not really."

168

Richie tries to picture all of them sitting around and taking care of each other the way that the losers do, but it's hard to imagine. Any group of kids that hold underclassmen at knifepoint in the bathroom are automatically labeled as douchebags for the rest of their lives, no matter how kind they might be on the inside. Richie doesn't share these thoughts, though. He just reaches forward to pat Patrick's shoulder.

"Good luck with your family, dude. Good luck with Hen," Richie says. The bell rang a little over two minutes ago, but it's not as if either of the two are in a rush to get to class. It only proves that Richie has the attitude to fit in with the Bowers gang, but he doesn't have the heart to commit cruel acts of violence like they do. That's what separates them; Richie's heart of pure gold.

"Can I just-" Patrick grumbles out in an annoyed tone. "I know you've got the short kid, but just leave Henry alone, dude. He's trying to get over you, he doesn't need you coming over when your friends are being pricks. Just leave him alone."

Richie frowns, all the good feelings washing away as he remembers exactly why he hates these guys so much.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Richie says with hostility in his voice. "I'm sure it's hard knowing that you're only rebound. My respects to you, good sir."

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"Excuse me?" Patrick lets out a sick laugh, one that's deranged. "Care to repeat that, Tozier?"

"No, no," Richie sticks his hands up in defeat. "Just can't help but wonder how it feels to have my sloppy seconds, Hockstetter."

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Richie's mouth will ultimately be the death of him one day.

Patrick swings at him, but Richie catches his wrist and gets a punch in before the junior can recover. Patrick stumbles backwards, clenching his nose, looking up at Richie with wild eyes.

"Tell Henry he can fuck himself," Richie says, "He needs to leave me alone. I've fucking moved on, its about time that he does too."

168

When lunch finally rolls around, he tells Bill that he's excited to see Eddie.

"Jesus, you t-t-two," Bill laughs, pushing the door to the cafeteria open. "Luh-Lovesick sweethearts."

Richie smiles, nodding to himself as they navigate through the cafeteria to their table. As per usual, Stan sits patiently with his packed lunch, waving at the two boys that approach. Richie takes his seat next to where Eddie usually sits, looking out at the crazy sea of students to see if he can catch sight of the smaller boy.

By the time that Bill returns with his school lunch, Eddie still isn't here. When he sits down, he sees Richie's frowning face, and says "Wuh-Where's Eddie?"

"He has biology before lunch," Stan says, looking over to Richie. "Maybe check second floor? That's where Henry lingers."

"Henry? No, he wouldn't bother Eddie," Richie shakes his head, but then has a terrible gut feeling settle in the bottom of his stomach like coal. His knuckles sting as a reminder that he physically punched one of them earlier today, and they're all just psycho enough to get revenge on what is most important to Richie. Richie stands up, exhaling in a frantic breath "Fuck, fuck, shit. I'll go look for him."

Richie finds Eddie in the exact spot he feared.

The boy only moves this fast when he fears that Eddie is in danger. The last time that his muscles burned this good was when they were put to use in the midst of the woods, breaking through underbrush to get to a boy crying in a tent. When Richie knows Eddie is in danger, his body kicks into a hyperdrive that lays dormant for any other human.

Second floor boy's bathroom, pinned between two urinals with Henry hovering above him. Richie bursts in, shoving Henry aside and taking Eddie up into his arms, looking at Henry in disgust. There's only one other person in the bathroom with them, and that is Patrick Hockstetter himself; leaning against the sinks and sporting a shiner that would give Richie a sense of pride had it not been for their current situation.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Richie nearly yells, his hands clutching onto Eddie so very tightly. Eddie is trying very hard to make his sobs sound silent, but his whole body trembles and acts as a dead giveaway for how terrified he is.

109

Henry regains his composure, his face calm and collected. There's a few red splotches flourishing in his pale skin, making Richie wonder if Eddie got a few good punches in.

"Oh, my bad," Henry says in a low, dangerous voice. "I could have sworn that we were attacking each other's toys. Is that not the game we're playing, Tozier?"

265

Richie's arms tighten around Eddie, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Maybe if you could control your fucking ape, I wouldn't have to put him back in his place."

127

Patrick stiffens up by the sinks, but Henry raises a hand to get him to remain calm. It seems to work, Patrick resumes his slouching and evil glaring. The thing about Patrick Hockstetter is that he holds a much darker energy than anybody else in their sick gang of misfits, a vibe that makes it easy to believe he would kill someone if given the chance. Although, judging by Henry's disconnect from reality, Patrick only seems like the perfect option for him.

127

"I'm not his fucking pet," Eddie spits, finding bravery when he's sheltered under Richie's protection. "You're fucking psychopaths. I hate both of you."

"Oh, the feeling is mutual, little one," Patrick steals the petname that Richie had referred to Eddie as only mere hours before this.

Richie ignores their banter, instead putting a hand over Eddie's mouth and looking Henry dead in the eye. "You're not going to do this shit again. Ever. If Eddie tells me that you even look at him wrong-"

"What, you'll expose me? You'll tell our little secret?" Henry laughs. "Guess what, sunshine. You're in the same fucking boat. Who do you think they're going to believe is really gay; me, or the faggot who can't keep his hands off of the infamous girlyboy?"

"Go ahead," Richie shrugs. He moves to cover Eddie's ears with his hands, threatening the next part with more malicious intentions than he originally planned. "Doesn't matter if you expose the two of us, neither of us have parents that would put a bullet through our heads for liking men like you do, you little bitch."

500

Henry takes a step back, clearly thrown off by Richie's sudden ability to come off as menacing as he wants. He may crack about a hundred jokes a day, but that doesn't make him any less terrifying when it is needed. Henry clears his throat, regains his confidence, and asks with a chuckle "Oh, you want to bring parents into this, Richie? Remind me, when was the last time you saw your mom?"

167

Richie's jaw tightens, and he merely shakes his head. Every tie that he had left with Henry has been cut, then burned, so that they may never be reknotted again. It was a longtime coming, and Richie can't believe that it took him so long to come to this closure. Henry is a psychopath. Richie shouldn't have given him as many chances as he did.

"You're a cocksucker," Eddie says.

459

Richie looks down in surprise, letting his hands drop from the boy who radiates anger and fury. Eddie's face holds something that Richie has never seen before, a whole new level of rage. Something about the way that Henry talks down on Richie just... infuriates the tiny boy.

"Excuse me, pixie?" Henry laughs.

"I said you're a fucking cocksucker. Richie has kept your secret for years. Richie has been nothing but a loyal, good friend to you, and you're such a fucking arrogant asshole that you- you- fuck you. You deserve every beating your dad gives you," Eddie says, his eyes watering in blinding rage. He's not crying because he's sad, he's crying because his body feels as if it is going to come unraveled with the overwhelming desire to slew a string of insults into the two that stand in front of him and Richie. Eddie isn't mad over the years of torment that he has endured at the hand of Henry Bowers, no, he is furious over the years of mistreatment that Richie has suffered despite being nothing but kind hearted and trusting of the piece of garbage that leads the whole garbage gang.^[a]^[b]^[c]

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"Hey, Eds, tone it down," Richie says quietly, "Backpedal a bit. That's a bit harsh."

120

"Stop defending him!" Eddie shouts in exasperation, looking up at Richie with those tear-stricken eyes. "How can you still be so- so- so naive! He's never going to change, Richie, stop defending him!"

164

Richie glances over at Henry, who has lost some of the edge in his stance. Eddie has only gained it, however, as he stands with his fists clenched at his sides like he's ready to be given a good reason to start swinging. Richie says, quietly, delicately, "There's... history, Eds-"

"Bullshit," Eddie spits. "If you were two seconds away from dying, he wouldn't lift a finger to help you. He doesn't care, Richie. He's obsessive, but that does not mean he cares. Stop acting like he does! He's not your childhood best friend, he's an absolute psychotic fucking asshole who just held a knife to my god damn throat. Just be angry! You don't fucking owe him anything!"

280

Richie takes a deep breath, gently comforting the tiny ball of anger by rubbing his shoulder's. He says, "I hear you. I do. Can you go wait outside? I'll be out in a second. I... need closure."

Eddie drops some of the rage, nodding his wide brown eyes up at Richie. He picks up his bag from the ground, tightly slinging it over his shoulders, before bouncing up on his tiptoes to press a secure kiss to Richie's cheek. He whispers, "Good luck, hero," before turning to Henry Bowers and glaring harshly. "Fuck you. You're an asshole. I hope you realize you're about to lose the only good person in your entire pathetic life."

435

Eddie leaves the bathroom before he can get grabbed and punished for his loose tongue, so Richie watches the swaying door for a moment before finally getting the courage to face Henry and Patrick. He sees the two standing idly close to one another, and he wonders what things would be like if he chose the path of destruction over creation. He would be one of them, there's no doubt about it. Whether or not he's got a heart of gold, he would not be able to stand up for himself like Eddie has just made abundantly clear.

"Just leave us alone," Richie says after a moment, his voice tired of all this tension and betrayal. "We aren't friends, Hen. We haven't been for a very long time. Just leave me alone."

Henry's jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth back and forth, insults pounding against the roof of his mouth as they demand to be let out. Instead, he simply nods, pocketing his knife. The gesture is massive, and Richie definitely does not miss the symbolic meaning behind it.

"Are you kidding me?" Patrick speaks up, nudging Henry's shoulder. "You're just going to let them get away? After everything that pansy just called you? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Yes, we are just going to let them go," Henry snaps, pushing Patrick's hand away. He gives the stare that can only be him asserting dominance as their leader, his eyes threatening Patrick in silent ways. The knife may be in his pocket, but his hand hasn't left it. "And you're going to not fucking bother them anymore, got it?"

Patrick frowns, but doesn't speak up again. He simply backs away, giving a solemn nod, and staring at the ground in shame and embarrassment. Henry returns his attention to Richie, who is twisting an object off of his thumb with meticulous precision in his movements. Richie steps forward, not breaking eye contact with the boy he broke up with, and holds out his hand to offer the object over. Curious, Henry extends his palm, his nerves spiking at how close his hand is to Richie's.

127

Richie drops the object, then gives one last nod before turning on his heel and heading past the urinals to leave the bathroom. Henry looks down at the golden ring in his palm, the memories of winning them at the arcade surfacing up in his brain like painful stab wounds spouting up blood. He drops his grip on the knife, his other hand coming up to cup the ring like an injured baby bird. Then, as he realizes this truly is Richie giving up on him, he becomes filled with an inexplicable rage.

136

"You're a fucking coward," Henry speaks up. Richie stops in his tracks, but he doesn't turn around. "You're an asshole. What happened to being each other's watchguards?"

"That was a stupid promise we made when I was eight," Richie says over his shoulder. "That was before you fucked me over time and time again."

"This isn't over," Henry calls out, throwing the ring down so hard that it ricochets off the tile and bounces through the bathroom. Patrick flinches at the sheer anger in Henry's voice, knowing that this can't end well for any of the Bowers' gang.

"I'm sure it isn't," Richie drones, pushing the bathroom door open and entering the hall. He takes a deep breath in, allows himself to relax, and officially comes to terms with what he just did.

Henry is out of his life. Officially out. Gone forever. The bridge has been burned, the ring has been returned, and now he only has an eternity to spend with people who don't drag him down. He breathes in the fresh air, and he feels himself starting over.

"Are you okay?" Eddie's voice comes up from his left, so Richie looks over to see his perfectly golden honeynut boy waiting so patiently, his peach pit eyes examining Richie for any injuries.

Richie smiles. He is starting over. He feels as if he has tended to the garden after years of neglect, and he can finally see the flowers beneath all the weeds. He has been given a clean slate, a brand new shot, a chance to start over.

"Yeah, I am now."

"Okay, good. Come on, lets go," Eddie drags on his arm, leading Richie towards the direction of the stairs. He turns and says, "I've got this book that's, like, super good. You wanna borrow it?"

"Oh? What's it about?" Richie smiles, willing to listen to Eddie recite the entire novel if needed.

He is starting over.

Chapter 33

Richie Tozier sits on his bed, book in his lap, a tape playing from his boombox. His homework sits untouched on his desk, but this book that Eddie loaned him seems much more important than anything school may have to offer.

129

At first, Richie thinks the tapping noises are merely part of the song he's listening to. It's not uncommon for Echo & The Bunnymen to sample strange instruments in their songs, so he doesn't think anything of it. But then the tapping gets louder, and it becomes impossible for him to ignore.

Cautiously, the boy presses stop on his stereo, sitting at the corner of his bed and waiting for the noises to show their heads once again. Eventually, after a moment, the tapping continues on his window, so Richie quickly pushes the curtains aside to be surprised by bambi brown eyes.

"Eddie?" he asks, pushing the window open. "The fuck are you doing? Oh my god, how did you get up here?"

"I wanted to see you," Eddie says as if it's obvious. "You're always climbing through my windows, I thought I would take a chance and come to you instead."

130

Richie smiles, leaning against the windowsill that has the most committed relationship with the soles of his shoes. If you look carefully, you can see all the scuff marks on the windowpanes from the times that his converse have taken the leap of faith down into the dirt below. Now, here Eddie is, gazing up at Richie as if he is the reason the moon glows.

"Well, I'm truly honored," Richie smiles. "Wasn't it cold? Did you walk? Will your mom find out?"

"Who cares?" Eddie asks, a hint of that familiar rebellion in his voice.

"I think I'm starting to rub off on you, Eds," Richie says teasingly. "Getting a bit too cocky, aren't we?"

"Shut up, I just couldn't wait till the third date," Eddie grabs the front of Richie's shirt through the window, pulling the boy through the tiny space that the frame allows.

307

Richie feels the entire galaxy constantly expanding. He becomes aware of the tides that have receded on Mars, he can feel the rings of Saturn, and the pits of the sun open up right in his very chest. He becomes one with the entire never ending universe, and the cosmic supernovas are given to him in the allusion of two lips curved like constellations. Eddie kisses him, and Richie feels the second Big Bang explode within him.

745

"Oh my god," Richie exhales against Eddie's lips, feeling as if he will never be able to pull away. His glasses get in the way, so as he reaches up to push them on top of his head, Eddie leans down to tangle his hands with the roses that crawl this far up on the trellis. Richie watches nervously, saying "Be careful."

Eddie looks up at him, rolling his eyes at Richie, though the role reversal is not lost on either of the two boys. How drastically they have changed one another is unbelievable, but Richie knows that they're changes for the better. These two have improved their entire beings by just simply knowing one another, and Richie wonders just how lucky he got to have met somebody like Eddie Kaspbrak.

His thoughts are cut short by the creak of wood coming from beneath Eddie. Both boys stop, Eddie's hand frozen mid-postion where he holds the rose outwards, their eyes locked onto one another as they have a million silent conversations with just stares.

Richie finally says, "Don't you dare fall."

118

The rose trellis snaps as soon as the words leave his mouth, Eddie falling too fast for Richie to catch him by the arms. It's over within the blink of an eye, and Richie doesn't even have time to process the boy falling from a two story high window before Eddie is crying out in pain.

579

Richie moves into gear, hiking his leg up to fit through the window frame, not taking a second to plan his landing like he usually does. He jumps without a second thought, landing on a clumsy knee, the snow crunching beneath his body's impact.

"Hey, hey, Eds, look at me," Richie cups Eddie's cheeks with his hands, inspecting the boy's head for any blood. Eddie fell ungracefully, whereas Richie has been jumping from that window all his life. "Look at me. Look."

Eddie opens his tear-filled eyes, the golden orbs catching light in the pale moonlight. His irises sparkle with pain, and Richie hates himself for finding it so damn beautiful.

"Ow, ow, ow," Eddie cries out, attempting to keep his suffering down to a minimum. The last thing he wants is to wake up Richie's neighbors, but the excruciating feelings he is experiencing at this moment makes him feel as if he's been shot through the bone. "My arm, Rich. My arm, my arm, ow, ow, ow, ow, my arm, my-"

348

The two look down at the exact same time, their eyes feasting upon the inhuman angle that Eddie's arm is bent at. It's clearly broken, there is no mistake in that whatsoever. The curve is undoubtedly a jagged piece of bone sticking out of places it's not supposed to be.

155

"Hooooly fuck," Richie whispers, his hands dropping from Eddie's cheeks to the broken arm. His mind races a million miles per second, no thoughts solidifying long enough for him to grab onto one. Panic sets in, and he gently squeezes Eddie by the wrist, trying to gauge just how broken the arm is.

"Ow! You fucking asshole!" Eddie jerks back and slaps Richie upside the head with his good hand. He pulls his arm close to his chest, attempting to cradle the wounded limb into safety. He breathes heavily, the unmistakable rasp of an asthma attack coming on. He looks around in fear, quietly shouting "My mom's gonna kill me, oh god, she's going to fucking kill me."

Richie thinks that there's something a bit sad about Eddie's first thought gravitating towards the punishment rather than the actual bone dislodged in his body.

"I'm gonna try and snap it back into place," Richie says with sudden clarity. It seems like the only logical thought, the only thing that makes sense in this whirlwind of what the fuck.

217

"Do not fucking touch me," Eddie says quickly, his words biting more harshly than the winter air.

668

Richie grabs Eddie's arm by the wrist, then looks up at the boy with honest eyes. Richie says "I'm sorry," right before he pushes his hand down on the crooked right angle.

There's a moment of silence between the two for a moment, where the world is still and they are engulfed in the dead of the night. Then, as if releasing the flood gates, Eddie opens his mouth and lets out the loudest scream that his lungs can possibly produce while simultaneously seizing up.

258

Richie panics even harder, standing up and picking Eddie up out of the snow. The boy begins to hyperventilate, so Richie sprints around the side of the house to get to the front door as fast as possible. He struggles getting the knob open, but once he does, he pushes it open with his hip and heads straight for the guest bathroom located downstairs.

Before even turning the lights on, Richie drops Eddie down in the bathtub and rummages through the medicine cabinet with only the moonlight to guide him. After finding the tylenol, he flicks the light on and tosses the bottle into the tub, to which Eddie scrambles to catch. The two work silently, tossing pain killers in and taking the appropriate amount of dosages. After a moment of dry swallowing pills, Eddie looks up with shallowed breaths, his eyes full of panic as he knows that things are only going to get worse from here.

110

"Stay right here, don't move," Richie says to him, his hands shaking with tremors. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

"Where the fuck am I going to go?" Eddie wheezes through a tight throat. The words sound raspy and tired, as if they're being forced out of him like an accordion being pushed as tightly together as possible.

Richie shakes his head, exiting the bathroom and clambering up the stairs with twice the speed he usually holds. He bursts into his room, heading straight for his desk drawer, and opening the top shelf to grab the object he never thought he would have to use. Richie flies back down the stairs, busting back in through the bathroom and causing Eddie to jump.

"Here," Richie tears the package open, discarding the box onto the floor. He hands the device over to Eddie with desperate hands, his eyes exasperated and in need of some sort of validation that they're going to be okay. "Here. I bought it awhile back. I didn't know if you'd ever need it, but I guess now I'm glad I did."

110

Eddie takes the aspirator from Richie's hands and puffs on the mouthpiece with gratitude. Once he feels like he can properly breathe again, he looks up at Richie and says "My asthma is the least of our concern right now."

Richie looks back down at the broken arm, which appears so much worse in proper lighting. The skin is already flourishing with bruises, Eddie's skin swelling up in blatant pain. Richie is afraid that he only made it worse, so he feels as if he has to fix it.

Richie kneels down and digs around underneath the sink until he finds the gauze his father keeps around for when his knee starts acting up. He quickly leans over the bathtub, his hands delicately hovering above Eddie's arm, waiting for approval to touch the injury.

Eddie nods, symbolizing "Go ahead," before Richie starts to wrap the arm in the ace bandage. He doesn't really know what he's doing, and he definitely wraps it more tightly than needed, but he just wants to make sure that he did something for Eddie instead of leaving the boy there to hurt.

"Richie," Eddie says quietly, watching Richie's ADHD hands work rapidly. "I think I need to go to the hospital."

172

"No," Richie shakes his head, panicking even more. Just when he starts to calm down, something else arises that brings a whole new wave of nausea. "You'll get grounded. I'll never see you again. Your mother will hate me."

"Would you rather have me lugging around a broken arm?" Eddie asks. He knows it's scary, he definitely feels that exact fear as he speaks, but he knows when he needs to step forward and reach out for help. As much as the two rub off on each other, some things just don't change. Richie's inability to accept defeat, and Eddie's level head maintaining its cool seem to be stuck in the roots of their foundations.

"I don't want you getting in trouble," Richie whispers, struggling with the pin in the bandage. "...Just for my sake."

"It was worth it," Eddie then says. Richie touches a sore spot, causing him to flinch and pull away, but he tries to relax again as the pain killers work their way through his bloodstream. "It was worth kissing you."

330

Richie stops and looks at Eddie, the two breaking into completely lovesick grins at the exact same time. The situation they're in seems to be absolutely life-threatening for the both of them, and yet, they still find it in themselves to smile.

"A sling," Eddie then says, holding up his heavily bandaged arm. "I should have this in a sling."

"A sling?" Richie repeats, now rapidly putting the pill bottles away. He tries to think of anywhere in the house where they might have anything remotely close to that, but he can't seem to think of one. "I'll tell you what, I'll make one for you."

"You're going to make one?" Eddie scoffs, his eyes filled to the brim with pain. He tries his best to mask it for Richie's sake, he knows the boy is freaking out and Eddie needs to be stable for him right now.

"Yeah, I went to Scouts for a year, I think I know how," Richie nods, looking around. Then, he reaches up over his shoulders to grab his shirt by the collar, tugging up and off of his body. He holds onto the two ends, raveling the shirt up into a rolled strip, then ties the two ends together in a knot. He slips the shirt over Eddie's head, gently guiding the broken arm into the sling, then tightening the knot accordingly. It's absolutely awful and nowhere near a proper sling, but he still tried his best, and it's absolutely the next best thing in Eddie's eyes. Richie says, "How's that?"

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Eddie can't respond, not when he's distracted by protrudent ribs and sharp hipbones. He knows Richie is skinny, but he had no idea that the boy was so... sickly. Richie usually wears about a hundred layers of clothes to cover it up, so it's nearly impossible to see how thin he is under three flannels and jackets, but now it becomes painfully apparent by the shadows cast across his stomach from the dim lighting.

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Richie realizes where Eddie's eyes are and he shrinks up in insecurity, the boy bringing his arms up to shelter his body from the naked eye. Quickly, he picks a towel off the rack, and drapes it over his shoulders in a way that requires minimum movement. At an attempt to lighten the mood, he says "What, you want a slice of Tozier's meat, pretty boy? My eyes are up here."

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Eddie blinks as he snaps out of it, his head lifting up as he returns to maintaining eye contact. The pain is absolutely unbearable, but it's slowly becoming nothing but a dull throb thanks to the muscle relaxers that Richie tossed into the tub. He slowly stands up, his legs shaking, the boy using his good arm to balance himself out on the wall. He doesn't know what else he and Richie are going to do from this point on, but he knows that he can't go home with an arm in a makeshift sling. Eddie is terrified of all the tests she'll run, and he's even more scared of all the additional pills that are going to be added to his daily routine.

When they were about six years old, Bill and Eddie had been playing doctor out in the Kaspbrak front yard. When it was Eddie's turn to play the patient, he feigned a cough and told Dr. Denbrough that his throat was growing fungus in it. Even though they were just kids playing games, Sonia still spent the weekend in the ER with Eddie, getting every imaginable test done on the poor kid. That precise memory is what makes Eddie feel so scared to go home, so he opts to be irresponsible and just stay here with Richie. Nothing can hurt them if they stay together, the rest of the world doesn't matter when the two of them are trapped inside this house.

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"How you feelin'?" Richie's voice brings Eddie back to reality, the tall boy guiding Eddie out of he bathtub carefully.

"Sleepy," Eddie admits. He doesn't know if it's the pain killers or the concussion he might have, but his body suddenly sends the signals to the brain that they're ready to go to bed. He tries to tell Richie that he can't sleep if he's got a concussion, but the words don't leave his mouth. He feels as if his whole jaw is cement, and it takes a crane to open or close.

"We can sleep," Richie nods. "We can sleep, yeah."

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Eddie nods, letting Richie guide him out of the bathroom. When Richie tries to move upstairs, Eddie remains completely transfixed at the bottom of the staircase.

"Can't climb?" Richie asks, halfway through his ascent. His bedroom door hangs open, the cold air creeping in through the gaping window.

Eddie shakes his head, moving his legs apart as if they feel weighed down with lead. He looks down to see if he's wearing concrete shoes, but upon doing so, his head just sleepily bobs and it starts to occur to him that maybe he took one too many Xanax.

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Richie comes back downstairs and leads Eddie to the living room, disappearing for just a moment to grab a sweater out of the dryer to avoid anymore staring. Upon his return, Richie lies down on the couch on his side so that Eddie may have enough room. The small boy curls up against Richie, the wounded arm held at a direct angle to avoid getting smushed. Eddie's eyes are closed before he can even drag his legs up onto the cushion, so Richie silently moves hair out of the boy's eyes and strokes his cheek as Richie watches him fall asleep.

It hasn't sunk in just how severe the situation is. Sure, they both have seeds of fear planted in the back of their brains, but neither of the two teenagers really have the ability to step backwards and realize what they're doing. They're ignoring a broken bone, pumping pain killers into someone the size of a nine year old, and hiding from any sort of help or authority in a household where a boy has been abandoned. Neither of them realize just how terrible their situation is, mainly because neither of them have the ability to see things for what they are. When you're in love, you tend to have tunnel vision. That tunnel vision is obscured with rose tinted glasses. Those rose tinted glasses seem to be more out of focus the younger their beholder is. Richie and Eddie have all the odds stacked against them, but for right now, they don't see any of it like that. All they know is that they want to be around each other, always. No matter what, they will cross town just to say goodnight to one another, even if it results in broken arms.

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That peaceful ignorance does not last long.

Richie is woken up by sounds of disorientation and pain, his body becoming alert when he recognizes familiar whimpers. When he opens his eyes, his glasses are not on his face, so he has to squint to get his eyes to focus.

"Eds? What's wrong? Nightmare?" Richie asks, moving his arms around the boy's tiny waist. Eddie is sitting up on the couch, holding his arms close to himself and sniffling as quietly as he can.

"N-No," Eddie tries to act as if he hasn't been crying. "My arm. My arm fucking hurts, Richie. Those meds you gave me are wearing off-"

"Oh, let me go get more," Richie sits up and prepares to hop over the back of the couch, only to be stopped by Eddie's good hand coming up to grasp the back of Richie's sweater.

"I need to go to the hospital," Eddie says, this time with a more affirmative tone. "I need to go, Richie. This is... This is fucked up."

Richie is silent for a moment as he weighs his options. He know the only choice that they have is to either walk to the emergency room themselves, or to call Eddie's mom and explain why he's being picked up from a stranger's house in the middle of the night. Richie sighs, not wanting this romantic atmosphere to come to an end, but he knows he can't keep Eddie here with such a brutish injury. Richie just has to accept that the memory of his first kiss with Eddie will be tainted by the broken arm.

"Okay," Richie nods in defeat. "Okay, I'll go call your mom. What should I say?"

Eddie looks at him, his very brave boy, and tries to not jut his bottom lip out as his eyes water. He instructs Richie on what to say and how to say it, wishing the boy all the luck in the world to get through this phone call.

Once it's done, Richie comes back in through the doorway and watches Eddie on the couch. The tiny boy tries to adjust the makeshift sling, but only ends up flinching every few seconds. Richie stares for a long minute, afraid that this might be the last time he sees Eddie free from a school environment.

"She's on her way," Richie then says, his voice soft and gentle to not disrupt the mood. "She's not happy."

"Why would she be?" Eddie laughs to cover up his nerves. He feels himself growing shaky again, so he puffs from the inhaler that Richie gifted him, taking deep breaths to exalt his anxiety.

"Let's go wait outside," Richie suggests. It's freezing cold out, but his idea sounds like the right thing to do for both boys.

Eddie stands up, following Richie to the front door and resting his head against Richie's shoulder as the tall one unlocks the deadbolts. There's a certain sense of dread and misery in their actions, for instance, the way that Eddie sits down on the porch step as if he will never get to visit again.

Richie goes to comfort Eddie, but he realizes he sat on the side with the injured arm, so he can't exactly hold his friend's hand. Instead, he rests his hand over Eddie's knee, his thumb rubbing the material of his jeans with soft, gentle movements. Neither of the two say anything, the mood is too depressing for words. Richie tried to keep that phone call as friendly as possible, but it's obvious what happened. He knows he's only leading Eddie to his death like lambs to a slaughter. That woman was so furious that there is no doubt in Richie's mind that he'll never be able to see his little one again.

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Richie suddenly chuckles, soft tendrils of air dancing in the shafts of moonlight breaking between heavy cotton-soaked clouds.

Eddie looks up at him, sleepy and delirious, and asks "What's so funny?"

"God must really hate us fags," Richie says. He looks down at Eddie, then rests his cheek on top of the boy's head. "Nothing says punishment like making you fall from a second story window after kissing another boy."

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"Hmph," Eddie pouts. "Not sure it was retribution for sins, per se. Maybe because you're the antichrist, that seems more logical."

"Oh, am I?" Richie laughs, "I think you're just falling for me. Physically and metaphorically."

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Eddie laughs but does not deny that claim, just rests his hand on top of Richie's. The fabric of the sling rubs against their cold skin, acting as the only barrier between the two's hands from touching. Yet somehow, the skin molecules break through the material to mingle, because the two both still feel those little electric tingles they get at the thought of one another.

"Damn it," Richie whispers as he watches a car squeal around the corner at the end of the block. He knows this is it, he knows that Eddie is about to be grounded until his eighteenth birthday, and he knows that he will never get late night kisses again.

"I didn't get to give you your Christmas present," Eddie suddenly says. He sits up, alert, ignoring the car that approaches faster and faster. He looks Richie in the eye, the headlights beaming into his eyes like angel halos. "I'm going to be grounded. I can't even give you your Christmas present."

"Present?" Richie responds, completely shocked. Richie Tozier has never received a Christmas present in his entire life. Sure, there was the occasional card from his relatives that would show up on the fridge, and some years they would write his name in it, but he never had a gift to call his. With him and Beverly, the rule has always been birthdays only. "You got me a present?"

"I did, yeah," Eddie nods, smiling. "I'd bring it to school, but, uhh... I think I would get in trouble."

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"Oh my god, Kaspbrak, you take my breath away," Richie laughs, oblivious to the car pulling into his driveway. It doesn't matter that Sonia is crawling out of the car, screeching her head off for her baby boy. It doesn't matter that this boy is about to be taken away from him. It doesn't matter that they won't get to have anymore dates. All that matters is that Eddie got him a present. "I have to get you something now as well, don't I?"

"You don't have to," Eddie shakes his head, pushing Richie's hand off his knee as Sonia draws closer. She may be frantic, but her stubby legs sure make it hard for her to waddle quickly. For once, Richie is grateful for the long driveway.

"What kind of shitty boyfriend would I be if I didn't get you a gift?" Richie asks.

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The two both realize what he said at the exact same time, but neither of them have strong reactions. Eddie's smile just grows, and Richie tries to casually play it off as if he isn't as red and flustered as a cherry ripe tomato.

"Eddie? Eddie! Eddie my boy!" Sonia's squawking can finally be heard. Something snaps in their mind, and they suddenly remember as if there are other people on this earth. As soon as that realization floods back, so does the background noise. "Oh, dear god, Eddie!"

When Eddie Kaspbrak told Richie Tozier what to say when calling his mother, he instructed the tall boy to just explain the situation without any kissing. The scenario was supposed to presented as Eddie coming over for a sleepover and breaking his arm by falling down the stairs in the Tozier home. Richie did not stick to this script, however, mainly because he did not want Sonia to blame him for Eddie's injury. (Although he does feel as if he is at fault.)

Instead, Richie stands up and starts spinning his tale as if he's rehearsed this script for weeks before giving his best performance. "Hi, you must be Sonia. This little guy's been going on about how you take care of him. I'm so terribly sorry to call you out this late in the night, but I am very worried about his arm. I was up late studying when I heard a crash, so I looked out my window and saw him in the street. Must have flipped his bike, Miss. The roads are quite icy, you see. He's a little out of it, but I'm so glad we were able to get ahold of you. He may be concussed, his memory may be a little fuzzy."

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Eddie looks at Richie in genuine surprise, shocked at the boy's coherency and polite manner. The Richie he knows is the Richie who would not miss a beat when it came to making a joke about fornicating with the very woman standing before him, but when presented the opportunity to prove himself, Richie goes so far above and beyond that he's damn near nearly unidentifiable.

"What are you, a doctor? Get out of the way!" Sonia pushes Richie with her shrill voice, yanking Eddie up to examine his face. Richie's fists tighten at the sight of such a handsy approach, but he bites his tongue to refrain from what it so desperately wants to say. Instead, Sonia asks "What on earth were you doing out this late? And talking to strangers? You know better than to leave after sunset, Eddie! Nighttime is when the junkies come out! What if a junkie had found you!"

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"Ma, stop," Eddie pushes her hands away. "I was- I was- I was-"

Eddie looks over his mother's shoulder, his eyes seeking Richie's for help. The goofy boy mimes a pretend box, mouthing the word "Present."

"I wanted to get you a Christmas gift," Eddie says suddenly. "Yeah. I wanted it to be a secret, mommy. I'm sorry for going out without permission, it won't happen again. I learned my lesson."

Richie deflates a little, trying to not look so dejected. He fondly remembers the Eddie Kaspbrak that once stood in his room and yelled "Fuck my mom!"

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That boy is gone, he seemed to have faded with Eddie's ferocious fire. Richie wonders how long it will take before Eddie eventually extinguishes his feelings for him. He fears that day, knowing that their relationship has an expiration date.

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As Sonia drags Eddie back to the running car, Eddie brushes past Richie and lets his hand roam across Richie's stomach as he walks by. Before Richie can even react to the hand being there, Eddie is whispering the word "Eat," to him.

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Then, car doors slam, and Sonia tears out of the neighborhood in a rush to get to the hospital. Richie stands on the icy sidewalk, watching the glaring red taillights flicker farewells, his heart burning like the shell of a missing muffler.

Richie returns to his bed, sitting down and staring at the open window that led to Eddie's literal downfall. He's not as angry with himself as he imagined he would be, only because it's hard to self loath when he imagines Eddie's lips on his. Everything he's done seems to be forgiven; kissing Stan, associating with Bowers, being annoying, etc. etc. It's all written in between Eddie's lips, an inky apology waiting to be stamped onto Richie's mouth. He feels warmth, infatuation, and forgiveness.

Richie feels happiness.

He wonders what Eddie is feeling, though it's hard to imagine the boy can focus on anything other than the fading painkillers and broken bone. The truth is, Eddie is sitting in the passenger seat of his mom's station wagon, a grin plastered on his face. He feels the exact same renewal of romance blooming and budding within him, the traces of nicotine still lingering on his mouth.

Eddie feels happiness.

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As Richie goes downstairs to make himself something to eat, he thinks of Eddie's little push towards taking care of himself. With Eddie's blessing, he doesn't feel bad about eating, in fact, he almost feels proud knowing that Eddie would approve of this. Richie eats a few snacks, his body finally relaxing at the presence of substance.

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The two boys, although apart, feel the exact same mutual happiness.

And Richie thinks that yeah, maybe things will be okay after all.

Chapter 34

Richie sits patiently, watching the library door for the last of their group to arrive. Richie taps his pencil against the cover of his algebra book, nervously tapping his foot.

"He'll be here soon," Ben says in a comforting tone. He's sitting across from Richie at the table, pouring himself over the world studies textbook. "Relax."

Richie bites his lip and glances at Ben, trying his best to remain calm. Richie doesn't reply, only because Ben wasn't at the lunch table the day that Richie and Eddie came back after being held at knifepoint by two closeted queers. Now, any time Eddie is late, Richie can't help but fear the worst has happened. With a broken arm, Eddie is just about ten times more vulnerable than he already is, so it's only natural that Richie feels more on edge than usual.

"H-H-He's okay, R-Richie," Bill stutters. "C-Can you huh-help with my m-mm-math?"

"Yeah," Richie nods, averting his gaze from the door to focus on the textbook Bill is sliding across the library table.

For the past three days, the losers have been using their fifth periods as study halls for upcoming finals. Next week is finals, then the week after that is the start of their Christmas break. Richie feels uneasy with the upcoming holiday, but he guesses there's no real reason to be afraid when his parents aren't around in the first place. Richie hates Christmas, mainly because his mother drinks more than usual. He hates hearing about what gifts the kids at school were spoiled with, and he hates knowing that he will never receive a gift in his life. But without his parents around, maybe Christmas won't be spent hiding out in his room.

"Just carry the exponent over," Richie marks on Bill's paper, trying to explain the equation in simple terms. Bill is awful at math, so Richie tries to tutor him before the upcoming tests. But Stan is bad at chemistry, so Richie also tries to help there. On top of that, Bev is failing her lit&lang class, but he's hoping that Ben the Poet will help her with that one. "Here. Multiply these two - yeah, like that. See! You're getting the hang of it, Billy boy."

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"Th-Th-Thanks, Rich," Bill smiles, then writes down an answer that is totally incorrect.

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Before Richie can point out his error, Stan is tapping him on the shoulder. Stan is much more subtle in his approach, too prideful to admit that he needs help from Richie of all people. Stan rests his hand on Richie's arm, then says "Hey. Do you remember the formula for density?"

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"Yeah, yeah, let me finish up with Bill," Richie nods, his hand coming to brush over Stan's. He remembers Eddie's dejected expression after learning of their thirteen shared kisses, so Richie pulls his hand away guiltily. It's not that he's against showing platonic affection, he just really doesn't want Eddie feels insecure with the idea of Stan being a back up plan.

Just then, the library door opens, and Eddie Kaspbrak bustles in, arms full of books and lungs out of air. He rushes over to the table, looking at the two boys on either side of Richie, then shamefully takes a seat next to Beverly.

Richie stands up, ready to swap seats, but realizes he doesn't want to bring so much attention to this secret love that the two boys are sharing. It's really not that secret, just about everyone at the table knows how the two feel about one another, but that doesn't mean Richie particularly wants to confirm what is meant to be only his and Eddie's.

"Where ya been? We were worried," Richie sits back down with flushed cheeks. Nobody says anything about his abrupt movements, probably just equating it to classic Richie Tozier ADHD tendencies.

"Sorry, sorry," Eddie exhales, digging around to find his inhaler. "I was talking to Mr. Irwin about my report, apparently I got a D."

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"What? We were up all night writing that one," Ben huffs, shaking his head.

"He said the writing was spectacular, it was just my facts that were fabricated," Eddie shrugs, taking a few hits off of his aspirator as quietly as he can in the silent library. Around them, many other kids study for their finals as well, but most of them are actually doing proper work instead of socializing.

There is a table that Richie knows for a fact isn't doing any work. He spotted them when he came in; Victor Criss and Belch Huggins waiting in Richie's familiar back table isolated behind shelves. It seemed like they were waiting, and that is made abundantly clear when Henry and Patrick come in a few moments after Eddie sits down. The two have flushed cheeks and their appearances are in disarray, and Henry is busy wiping the corners of his mouth away when he makes brief eye contact with Richie.

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At least they weren't terrorizing Eddie. Sure, probably getting up to no good with one another in a bathroom stall, but they seem to be leaving Eddie alone. That's what matters.

As Richie looks away to avoid tempting Henry through prolonged eye contact, he assumes the role of his southern Voice and turns to his friends. "Eye'sa do declare that we's gon havta go on down to that boy there Hanlon's farm-o."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Stan nods in agreement. "He could help us with history. You guys in?"

"I'm not failing history," Bev laughs. She leans back in her chair, putting an arm around Eddie comfortably. The boy smiles and leans into her side, but not in a way that Richie should feel jealous of. He knows better than to think anything of Beverly's friendly gestures, that's just how she is. The girl points a single finger gun at Richie and asks "Neither are you, meaning we can go down and catch a flick at the Aladdin."

Richie's eyes glance over to the cast adorning Eddie's arm, then the pair of hazel clean eyes pouring into him. Richie shrugs, then says "I'm the one who suggested going to Mike's. Don't you think it would be a little weird if I didn't go?"

Bev frowns, feeling dejected and humiliated. She takes her arm off of Eddie, fully realizing that the small boy is the only reason that Richie is not shooting out of his seat at the idea of a movie. It's as if she needed a reminder that Richie no longer considers them best friends.

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"I'll g-g-go with you, B-Bev," Bill pipes up, doing his best to give a comforting smile. "D-Don't really wuh-want t-t-to be ssss-smelling like cow shit anyways."

Bev laughs, then nods and agrees to go with Bill, but it's undeniable that it's not really the same. Her and Richie used to throw popcorn into people's hair, and then sneak outside snacks in through Richie's pants. The two would almost always get caught, and nothing can beat the way that the security guard shone his flashlight on the two loud mouthed teenagers in Richie's prime moment; trousers down and twizzlers in each hand. Bev is sure that Bill will be just as fun, but again, she just wants her best friend back.

249

Richie doesn't dwell on it for too long. No, his attention is almost immediately snapped up by Stan folding paper delicately, his fingers creasing the edges of his creation with artistic precision. Both Richie and Eddie watch, the two enthralled in Stan's fastidious movements. Eddie picks up early on what the boy is crafting, but Richie doesn't quite comprehend until the paper bird is placed upon his text book.

"Oh, shit, Uris!" Richie picks up the paper bird by the wing and turns it over in his hands to inspect the intricate folds. "Stan the man! I didn't know you like origami!"

"Shh," Ben hushes Richie, reminding the trashmouth that they are in fact still located within a library. Upon being shushed, Richie guiltily raises a hand in apology, then gives Eddie a sheepish look.

"Just something I picked up on," Stan shrugs, tearing out another sheet of notebook paper to make another bird. "I don't know. It just kinda makes sense to me, you know?"

Richie nods, though he doesn't know at all. Still, even then, he watches Stan more closely this time, trying very hard to memorize the movements. Stanley finishes the paper swan off with a bit of a flourish, then takes his pen and begins to ink something into the wing. When he finishes, he sets the bird down on Eddie's notebook, giving the small boy a friendly smile.

Later on, when the losers are all packing up and heading to their sixth period, Richie holds the door open for a lagging Eddie who got caught up checking a book out. When Eddie finally makes it to the door, Richie lets his hand grace against the back of Eddie's neck, his finger running along the shaved stubble growing in from Eddie's last haircut.

"What did Stan write on the bird?" Richie asks, habitually following Eddie to his locker as he always does.

"Hm? Oh, hold on," Eddie shifts his books to one side of his arm, then digs around in his pocket for the bird. Despite being stuffed into Eddie's tight jeans, the bird still remains stiff and untouched, blessed by the gentle hands of Stan Uris. Eddie holds it out, wings up, and shows the inky word 'Bellbird'.

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Richie then fishes out his own bird, turning it upside down to inspect the underside of the spread wings. As expected, in Stan's precise handwriting, the word 'Chickadee'.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Richie asks, comparing their origami swans to one another. The boys start descending the flights of stairs it takes to get to Eddie's locker on the first floor, and Richie watches carefully to make sure that Eddie does not slip his footing anywhere.

"That's me," Eddie points at the bird in Richie's hand. "I'm chickadee."

"You're what?" Richie laughs. His eyes linger on the cast wrapped around Eddie's arm, feeling a bit bad about the fact that it's his own fault Eddie got hurt.

"You seriously don't know?" Eddie asks in mild surprise. "You were oh so chummy with Stan, yet he never told you about the birds?"

"I know he likes them," Richie states a bit defensively. He hates when Eddie acts like a know-it-all, it makes him feel completely foolish. "I don't know any of the names."

"Stan gives all of his friends these, uh, assigned birds? I guess that's what he would call it. I don't know, it's just always been his thing. We all have a designated bird that fits our personalities. Mike is a saddleback, Ben's a kiwi, I'm a chickadee, you know."

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"Then who's the bellbird of the group?" Richie asks, stopping beside Eddie as the small boy begins to put in his locker combination. Richie admires the paper swan honestly, completely astonished by Stan's artistic precision.

"Well, I'm assuming you are, dipshit," Eddie remarks, swinging his locker door open.

Richie lifts his head to throw back a quick-witted remark, but he's caught off guard by a photo of himself staring back at him. Still taped up inside Eddie's locker, still on display for the whole school to see. Eddie carefully makes room amongst his pharmacy for the tiny paper bird to nest, then begins to grab his chemistry textbook from his bookbag.

Richie feels himself burning up with admiration, so he covers his face with his ring-clad hand. He would make some smart comment about Eddie's inability to carry more than one book at a time, but his tongue seems to be stuck in his throat after seeing such a blatant love proclamation. Especially such a public one.

He expected Eddie to take that picture down, that he was only keeping it in his locker for that one day so that he would not lose it. Richie did not expect the photo to stay there, especially not to be joined by a gift of Richie's designated bird given to him by their friend. Stan giving the two boys the other's respective birds was as much approval as they could ask for, meaning that at least one of the losers is okay with the two of them dating. Richie wonders how long they can keep this facade up before the rest of them find out what they probably already know.

"I'll see you after school," Eddie then says, shutting his locker and spinning the lock dial absentmindedly. He stands on his tiptoes to get Richie's attention, the curious boy saying "Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Richie blurts out, nodding his reddened face. "Yeah. Sorry. Zoning out."

Eddie smiles a completely bashful smile, his face practically being a dead giveaway about his feelings for the boy in front of him. Thankfully, nobody is really paying attention to the two, so their embarrassed and flushed actions go unnoticed.

"I'll wait out back behind the soccer field," Eddie says, his expression one full of mischief and trouble. "Maybe you can finally get me a fancy Walkman to match yours."

Richie pouts. "But if you get your own, what else would I have to offer?"

"True," Eddie nods, half smirking. "Maybe your handsome face and dazzling personality can make up for it."

237

Richie bends down to Eddie's height, grinning with satisfaction. The bell rings, but neither of the two really move from their conversation, too absorbed in each other's dreamy eyes. "You think my personality is dazzling, Eds?"

Eddie frowns, furrowing his brows as he scrunches his nose up in faux disgust. He says, "Let me rephrase that; your obnoxious personality."

"Oh, but you love it," Richie moves forward, only for Eddie to lean back. Richie suddenly remembers where they are and quickly stands up, correcting his posture in an attempt to collect his composure. Embarrassment seeps into him, the boy nervously glancing around to see if anybody caught onto the kiss that nearly just unfolded.

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"You're an idiot," Eddie then says, but the smile is back just as soon as the words leave his mouth. "After school, Tozier."

"Right. After school. See you later, chickadee."

Eddie rolls his eyes at the nickname, but does not protest it. He shakes his head, turning on his heel to hurry to class, leaving Richie standing lovestruck and whisked away with infatuation.

Richie doesn't know how anything could possibly mess this up.

400

As promised, Eddie Kaspbrak is waiting so very patiently by the end of the soccer field at 3 pm, his petite body leaning against the frame of the goal. He perks up when he sees Richie approaching, the tiny boy grabbing his bag from the ground and jogging to meet Richie halfway across the empty field. The snow crunches beneath their footsteps, and Richie genuinely wants to remember the earth like this forever. Eddie's shoes leaving marks as they run to come meet up with his own footprints. Nothing seems more beautiful than the display of their paths connecting.

"Hey," Eddie grins, his words completely breathless.

Richie wraps his arms around Eddie's middle, picking the boy up as Richie scatters tiny little kisses all over Eddie's melting face. Eddie laughs, so brightly and alive, tiny hands pushing on Richie's chest with no real force.

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"Knock it off!" Eddie giggles, his legs wrapping around Richie's hips tightly. "You saw me, like, an hour ago!"

"Tell me about it," Richie mumbles between kisses, his lips craving to be pressed against Eddie for the rest of eternity.

143

"Richie, stop, someone could see us," Eddie protests, but his fingers still entangle with the back of Richie's perpetually messy hair.

"Let them," Richie shrugs, his hands finding the back of Eddie's thighs to support the boy clinging onto him. Richie looks up at Eddie, enjoying the ring of light reflecting in sugar tea eyes, and he asks, "May I kiss you?"

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"You may," Eddie nods, leaning forward to brush his lips against Richie's.

Richie surges forward just the slightest, invoking the most gentle of kisses, just a pinch of sweetness on both of their lips. Then, he lets Eddie down, his hands traveling up the small one's back as he does so. He smiles, brushes some snow out of Eddie's hair, and asks "Ready to go, chickadee?"

161

Richie and Eddie spend hours downtown shopping with one another, blowing money on useless trinkets that remind each other of one another, Richie showing Eddie how easy it is to shoplift despite the boy's protests, and more importantly, traveling to Blue's to get Eddie a proper tape player.

136

Richie was careful to guide Eddie around in that store, not wanting the boy to accidentally slip past the beaded curtain and be greeted by the plumes of smoke that pirouetted throughout the air. He kept his hands on Eddie's shoulders the whole time, guiding the tiny one around like a toy car. They did not stop and look at the vinyls, they did not check out the TV playing MTV, they went to the walkmans and then straight to the register. In and out in under five minutes. That store is no place for Eddie to be hanging out, and Richie really doesn't want the aroma of hemp getting caught in the threads of Eddie's knit sweaters.

113

Now, the one he so carefully protects, sits on his bed and fiddles with the batteries for his fancy new Walkman. He's said thank you about a million times, but Richie keeps waving him off. It was money left on the kitchen counter, presumably from his father's pocket. He can't remember what he was told to buy with that money, but nothing seems appealing enough to purchase unless it's for Eddie.

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Richie sits in the desk chair, his long legs pulled up as he holds the mug to his chest. Eddie's own hot cocoa remains untouched on the nightstand, but something about his pure excitement erases all offense Richie might have taken.

"Hey," Richie speaks up, his eyes trained on the golden halo of afternoon light glowing throughout the silk threads of Eddie's hair. He thinks of how beautiful this boy is, inside and out, and he know he needs to do something about it.

"Hmm?" Eddie hums, his delicate fingers finally pinching the back into place. Then, with the side of his cast, he scratches the spot above his knee absentmindedly.

"We should talk," Richie sits forward, letting his legs drop from the chair onto the floor. This seems to catch Eddie's attention, his wide fauna eyes lifting up to penetrate Richie's.

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"What's up?" Eddie sets the tape aside, now reaching over and taking the lukewarm mug into his hands. Richie watches the way that his gentle fingers wrap around it, finding new ways to love every appendage on this hypochondriac boy.

"What do you think?" Richie asks, suddenly losing his nerve and glancing over to the photos taped to his wall. Next to a picture of Bev on a swing set, there's a napkin from Curly's that has a reminder set on it. The reminder is cryptic to anybody who isn't Richie. Learn to love other things besides b-sides. He looks back to Eddie, and he knows that this may be his only chance to fall in love with something outside of music. "About us?"

"What about us?" Eddie feigns innocence.

Richie bites his lip, but finds the courage to continue. "Like...? You know? Like Bev and Ben."

Eddie spills out a hearty giggle, attempting to hide his mouth behind the rim of the mug, but it's too late. The damage is already done. Richie is already shaking his head, attempting to move onto the next subject.

Fuck. Fix this, Kaspbrak Eddie thinks to himself.

"I think we could be boyfriends," Eddie says suddenly. "If that's what you want, too. We could work towards that, yeah? Keep going on proper dates and doing it how Bev and Ben do."

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The two realize that the only real couple they have in their lives are the redhead and her chubby companion. That's not much of a good model at all, however. Not when you're both boys.

"You think?" Richie sounds hopeful. "Like, for real? Real boyfriends? Not just high school dating, you know, like, only dating for the reputation."

"Jesus, if I was worried about my reputation, do you really think I'd go and fall for the likes of you?" Eddie teases, a tone so loving that it can't be mistaken as an insult. Richie understands it as it was meant to be understood, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Much less another man."

This raises concern.

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"We'd have to keep it a secret," Richie nods. "Nobody could know. I don't- I don't want to find out what would happen to you if people thought you were a fruit."

"But I am," Eddie finally admits outloud.

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Richie must say, he's shocked. He stops in his tracks, mouth held agape, a complete surprise taking over his emotions.

"You are?" Richie asks.

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"I thought the kisses would have explained that," Eddie bites sarcastically, taking a long sip of his cocoa. "Maybe you're too dull to understand that, though."

"Shut up," Richie laughs, setting his mug down carefully. "I'm serious, dude. Nobody can find out. They'd... I don't know. They wouldn't approve. So if you're serious about being serious, then it has to be a serious secret."

"What about the losers?" Eddie asks. It's a valid question; can they trust their own best friends? Their homemade family?

"Let's be real," Richie says, "They already know. I think Ben is the only loser without a clue, but it won't take him long to pick up on it."

Eddie nods, accompanied by a laugh. He glances down at his mug as if he sees a mystifying truth swirling around in the substance. What he comes up with, however, seems to be "Yeah, that's okay. We should keep it a secret. That way... it's just for us."

"Are you serious about this, though?" Richie isn't sure how many times he can ask for emotional validation before Eddie gets tired.

"Deadly," Eddie responds. "I really like you, Rich. For some odd reason, I really like you. Are you... Are you not serious?"

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"No, I am! I am, I promise I am!" Richie quickly protests, his mind panicking at the thought of losing Eddie. He pushes some hair out of his eyes and continues. "I really want to be with you, too. Like, outside of high school too. Like... when we're adults and shit."

"I think people would frown upon two men living together," Eddie mumbles.

"Fuck 'em. We'll move somewhere crazy. We'll move out to Vermont, or Oregon, or California. One of those crazy places. Hell, we can build our lives in San Francisco, I hear it's the gay capital of the world," Richie rambles in his usual overly energetic fashion.

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Eddie watches him with a fond smile, loving that little jitter that Richie gets in his bones whenever he is excited. He listens to Richie list off capitals and cities, before finally interjecting. "You wanna start a life together? Just the two of us?"

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Richie stops in his tracks, realizing the grave danger he's put himself in. With a knot in his stomach, he begins to ramble once more, but this time he spends his time backtracking. "I mean, yeah. We're young and stupid, and I've only known you for, like, two months, but why not? We'd be good at it. It would be fun, just the two of us. Just think about it; the shenanigans. Imagine one day opening a pill bottle and a bunch of snakes jump out of the can. How great would that be? Again, I know I'm getting too far ahead of myself, but I really like you, Eds. I don't know what could come in the way of that."

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Eddie says nothing, just smiles. He takes long drinks of his hot cocoa, nearly finishing off the cup as Richie watches him. Not expectantly, no, Richie would never push Eddie to answer, just waiting to see what Eddie has to say.

Eventually, Eddie opens his mouth to reply, but before the words can inject themselves to the tip of his tongue, there's an echoing chime that rings throughout the whole house. Richie and Eddie both freeze, unsure of who would be disturbing the Tozier residence. They don't ignore it for long, however, because frantic pounding begins to beat the front door immediately consequently following the bell.

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Richie stands up, Eddie of course following him. The two hold hands as they descend the stairs, but when Richie sees the flashing red and blue of police cars through the smoked glass, he drops Eddie's hand and pushes on the boy's chest.

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He turns around, keeping Eddie contained to the bottom of the staircase. From the front door, the stairs are hidden, so Eddie will be fine if he stays out of sight. Richie points a finger at Eddie very accusingly and says "Don't move, Eds. Don't move."

"Rich-" Eddie reaches out for Richie's sleeve, but he misses the fabric by a fraction of a centimeter. To busy his hands, he retrieves his inhaler from his pocket, and he begins nervously huffing on the mouthpiece.

Richie braves up to answer the door, knowing that it would be far worse if the police were to bust the door in and barge in themselves. He tries to look respectable and mature, the boy straightening his back out and he smooths some of his hair back.

"Hello, officers?" Richie's voice shakes despite his confident demeanor. Upon the words leaving his mouth, he realizes that there is only one police officer, accompanied by a woman wearing a very fancy business suit. She's got a stack of paper in her hands, all tucked into a manila folder.

"Hello, I'm from the Derry PD, I've received an anonymous tip that there's a case of child neglect and abandonment? May I speak to the man of the house?" The police officer's voice sounds growling, a threat that sends Richie's bones into a chill.

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"Ch-Ch-Child abandonment?" Richie feigns ignorance, his words jumbling up, making him sound like Stuttering Bill.

The woman with a pantsuit seems much more calm and friendly. She opens the file in her arms, and then asks "May I speak to Mrs. Tozier, please? Is Maggie home?"

"They're, uh, both at work," Richie begins to outwardly panic, his legs tapping against the doorframe, his hand patting his thigh in rapid successions. "They work late. That's all."

"It shows here that Mr. and Mrs. Tozier haven't showed up to work in the past... 42 days? Does that sound right, Richie?"

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Richie's vision begins to blur, his brain exploding. This can't be happening, no, this can't be happening. Nobody was supposed to know. Richie has grown up in the shadows, always being cast aside and ignored because he was taught that his life didn't matter. He grew up with the assumption that he could go missing one day, and nobody would look for him. Now, here are two adults, accusing him of being abandoned, and he doesn't understand it. How did they know? Who told them? Who saw Richie's loneliness and decided to go to the police?

132

Richie's heart thuds inside of his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts at a millions miles per second. He instantly retreats from the door, recoiling and instinctively drawing in on himself, attempting to find some shelter in the isolation that he has grown up in. He feels naked, raw, exposed. In his driveway, there are two cop cars, and then a third SUV parked across the street. Here are all these people that suddenly notice him, see him and his flaws, his imperfections and all the little details that his mother never understood. He feels naked, but worse, he feels as if he's being stared at. Richie is not an exhibitionist, he can't stand the idea of being examined. Once, Bev spoke of getting a psych evaluation, and the idea of having his brain picked apart like that sends Richie into a frenzy of over exposure. He doesn't like being noticed, he doesn't like being in the spotlight.

For someone whose entire personality revolves around desperate attempts to gain attention, he now realizes all at once that he absolutely hates being singled out.

"Th-They're here, they're in town," Richie stammers over his words, his chest rising and falling with rapid acceleration. His stomach squeezes beneath a tight fist, a pool of dread settling in his chest like a concrete slab solidifying inside of him. "They're in town. They leave me notes. They leave me money. They didn't abandon me, they're here."

The two standing on the front porch step exchange sneaky glances, a conversation between their eyes that drives Richie crazy. He needs to know what they're saying about him, he needs to hear it out loud. He can't deal with this body language and behavioral subtext, he needs to know what they're saying about him.

"May I come in and look around?" The woman asks, her voice sweet and kind. Richie decides that he hates her more, her aura appearing too plastic to be considered real. He doesn't trust her one bit, but he's more afraid of the gun strapped to the police officer's belt to say no to her.

Richie nods feebly, opening the door a bit wider so that the woman and police officer can step inside. Upon doing so, the cop shuts the door behind them, leaving Richie and him trapped in the living room.

Richie nervously bites his nails as the woman approaches the kitchen, knowing that Eddie is going to be discovered. For some unknown reason, Richie prays that Eddie had enough common sense to go upstairs and hide when this conversation first ensued.

But he didn't, and that is made apparent when the woman stops in her tracks and looks to the stairs as if her eyes have met something. She holds a hand outwards, and says "We've got another. This one looks younger, just under 11 or 12. Broken arm."

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Eddie is pulled from his hiding spot, his ghostly face frozen in absolute horror. His eyes find Richie's for some sort of comfort, but the taller one is just as scared as he is, if not more terrified. The room feels tight, and neither of the two boys think they can breathe.

"This your baby brother, son?" The cop asks Richie, planting a large hand on Richie's skinny shoulder.

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"N-No," Richie shakes his head, saying "He's just a friend. He's got a mom. He's just a friend."

Despite the situation, the words still sting in Eddie's ears. But he knows that Richie can't exactly tell a cop that Eddie is his boyfriend, that would seem too... too bold. He doesn't want to risk the two of them being arrested, as delusional as that may be.

The woman seems satisfied with that answer, and then leaves to enter the kitchen. Richie feels his guts knot up in anguish and fear, and without having to speak a single word to Eddie, the smaller one automatically follows the woman to see what she's doing. Once he knows that Eddie is on the case, he visibly relaxes, some of the tension easing up in his shoulders.

"Son, would you come down to the station to answer a few questions for us?"

Richie's relaxation is cut short as his blood runs cold. He feels as if he's been shot in the chest, and now he is bleeding out all over this cop and the polished hardwood floors that his mother worked on so fervently.

Suddenly, all in one moment, Richie misses his mother. He knows that there's no real reason to miss the reason you're now being investigated by the local police, but he still feels sick with nostalgia as he remembers the scent of her perfume. He misses waking up on Saturday mornings to the sounds of her doing laundry, he misses coming downstairs and being yelled at for not washing the dishes already, he misses being slapped around for dragging mud in the house from outside. He misses the way she filled her wine glasses with whiskey during dinner, and he misses the way that she looked at him with confusion in her stare. It wasn't that she hated him, she didn't, she just never understood him. That's all.

108

Richie even misses his father. His father was a bit nicer, would occasionally go out and throw a ball around with Richie if he had had a good day at the office. He encouraged Richie's voices sometimes, but other times, would get irritated and slap the boy upside the the head to get him to stop. He misses his father blackmailing him into chores, the way his father's aftershave smelled, and the way that his father looked at his mother as if he could learn to love her if she would just give him a chance. But she never did, and Richie supposes he misses that too.

107

Richie ends up with his arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to shield himself from the raw stare the policeman is giving to him. He needs some sort of protection from the outside world. Eddie has now followed the woman upstairs, so Richie has no choice but to protect himself alone.

"Sure," he murmurs quietly, as if the house is too big to talk in without hearing an echo. He doesn't want to hear himself; not now, not ever. His own incessant babbling is what ultimately drove his parents away.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, he doesn't count the minutes. He knows it feels like an eternity though, and his racing thoughts aren't doing him any favors towards calming him down. He feels as if he spends a lifetime next to that police officer, standing there and waiting for Eddie to come back downstairs and report on what the woman is doing. He feels like he has aged years by the time the two both come back down, and when he dares to look up at Eddie's face, he's not pleased by the expression that he's greeted with.

Eddie is looking at him with sympathy.

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Sympathy.

No, no, no. That's not supposed to happen. Eddie knows his parents are in town, he knows. Why is Eddie looking at him like that? Eddie shouldn't pity him, he shouldn't feel sorry for Richie, there's nothing to feel sorry for. What had the woman done or said that suddenly turned Eddie against him?

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"The tip was correct, there's perishables that have been bought recently, but the master bedroom wardrobes have been cleared out," the woman says to the officer as if the two boys weren't even standing there. "Food was most likely bought by our tipper. There's a collection of dust over everything in that room, they haven't been home in awhile."

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Richie's stomach plummets through his body, freefalling off of a high story building and leaving Richie weightless, with nothing to anchor him. He looks at Eddie, his eyes lost at sea and pleading for comfort, but Eddie betrayed him by giving him another sad expression.

No, no, no, no. Richie becomes so painfully aware of how alone he is in that exact moment, and it isn't fair at all.

"Can you come down to the station for us, son?" The officer now asks Richie, and the tallest of the two kids can only nod.

Eddie has never seen him this grim before. Sure, Richie gets upset and anxious, but never has he seen Richie so... complacent. Flaccid. Passive. Richie always fights back just for the sake of arguing. He always stirs up trouble, even if he knows he's wrong. He lives for being stubborn, but now... he's just surrendering, showing how weak he truly is. Eddie doesn't think he's seen anything sadder.

"Only if I can come with," Eddie interjects, taking a deep breath in and trying his best to appear taller. If Richie won't argue, if Richie won't fight, if Richie won't be Richie, then Eddie will. Eddie twists his face up in embarrassment at what he's about to do, but then clears his throat and tries his best at Richie's auctioneer voice. "Buy one, get one free! Step right up! We've got a package deal; you can't take one without getting the other!"

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Richie immediately breaks into a grin, one focused towards the ground, but a grin nonetheless. He can't believe Eddie sometimes, that boy is going to be the death of Richie. What's he doing making a fool of himself like this?

It dawns on Richie as the two are escorted to the officer's vehicle; Eddie is trying to make him smile. The sympathy nearly crushed Richie, and Eddie could sense that. So to return the balance to their relationship, Eddie did his best to bring some of the fire inside him to the surface.

"You impersonation was awful," Richie says in the backseat. He smiles at Eddie, his face not exactly matching the true emotions he's feeling at the moment.

Eddie looks away from the window, or more specifically, the people outside the window. The woman probably retells the scene of complete abandonment that Eddie had witnessed with her the second they stepped foot into that master bedroom, but for now, he can't worry about that. He turns back to Richie and frowns, saying "I didn't see you doing any better."

Richie shrugs, a small smile on his face. His life may be coming to an end in this moment, but by God he is so completely and utterly head over heels for Eddie Kaspbrak. Who else would follow him into the back of a cop car? Not Bev, no, she hates cops. Definitely not Henry, he's got a record twice as long as anybody else in all of Derry. Eddie Kaspbrak is the only one crazy enough to follow him into the backseat of a sheriff's temporary holding cell. But it's not just that, no, Richie thinks that Eddie would follow him anywhere.

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The two boys both reach over at the exact same time, entwining their fingers with one another, gripping their hands like it's the last time they'll ever touch. And as Richie brings their connection up to his face so he can press a kiss to the back of Eddie's hand, both boys think the exact same thing.

It very well might be the last time. It might be.

Chapter 35

Richie was under the impression that he would be locked in a concrete room with no windows and one-sided glass. He assumed he would be interrogated of his parents' whereabouts as if they had just killed a man and Richie is their only suspect. That didn't happen, of course, but it still took some time for Richie to process what had actually happened.

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Him and Eddie were separated almost the second they walked into the police station. Eddie was guided towards a waiting room of some sorts, and given a dollar for the vending machine. Richie, however, was taken to a man behind a desk, a computer sitting on top.

Richie had only seen a computer a couple times in his life. There were two in the school library, but both had games disabled and were purely for research only. There was always someone inhabiting the seats in front of them, however, so Richie never got to experience the technology himself. Here, however, he was sat right next to the computer screen. He stared at the computer, at how it was less boxy than the ones at school, his eyes following the wires down beneath the desk and disappearing to some place he cannot seat. The keyboard looked less clunky, too. Richie guesses that this is where the taxpayer's dollar is being spent; the police having up to date innovative technology.

The man asked a lot of questions, some that seemed irrelevant. He asked about Richie's birthday and where his dad works. Richie answered everything the best he could, but there were some questions that were left blank, such as "When was the last time that you saw your parents?"

When the interview finally ended, the man started printing directly from the computer, and Richie was fascinated by it. Before he could stay and see the result of the quiz he had just taken, another officer was guiding him by the arm out of the office area. As he walked down the hall, a door opened up in front of him, and the last person he expected to see walks out from the doorway.

Henry Bowers.

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Certainly Henry was no stranger to the police station, being taken down for petty crimes such as vandalism and loitering. But this was different, the timing was too convenient, and Richie was being taken into the exact same room that Henry had just been coming out of.

"You fucking told them," Richie blurts out, his eyes pouring into Henry's. He feels himself grit his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides as bile begins to rise in his throat. "You called the fucking police on me, you piece of shit."

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The officer that's guiding Richie tightens his grip on the thin arm hidden beneath a jean jacket, pulling him back from Henry in just the slightest.

Henry looks away, guilt evident all over his expression. He moves like an injured rabbit, one that's just had its lucky foot cut off. It's a familiar walk, Richie knows the way he limps quite well. He knows that if Richie were to lift up Henry's coat right now, he would see belt lashes and welts raising all over Henry's pale skin. He went too far this time, Henry's dad. He went too far and Henry felt cornered to telling someone. But instead, he panicked and ratted Richie out rather than telling the truth about what really goes on. After all, his father is the sheriff.

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"I was worried," Henry says dejectedly. He is at a low, maybe his lowest point, and he doesn't really need nor want Richie's opinion of him being added onto that pile. But Richie doesn't care, he's going to kick Henry while he's down.

"You don't have the right to be worried!" Richie spits, trying to twist his arm free of the officer's grip. The man only tightens his hand, now attempting to coax Richie into the tiny room. But Richie is done being complacent, he's done giving up. He's fighting back so that Eddie doesn't have to. "You don't get to be worried after you held a knife to my fucking throat!"

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Then, Richie is shoved into the room, and the door is shut. He stands there, rigid with anger, his hands shaking in fury as he tries to swallow the betrayal he just experienced. Henry doesn't have the right. He just doesn't.

Even if he doesn't have the right, they had promised to each other. Promised when they were little. Two young boys huddled under a tree in Henry's backyard, pinky promising one another that they would never tell anybody their secrets. Now, here Henry is, breaking that promise by dragging the police into Richie's abandonment case.

"He beats him, you know," Richie blurts out. He makes a vague arm gesture towards the door, looking around at the cops in the room. "His father beats him. If anybody needs social services on their doorstep, it's him."

"Chief?" One of the cops almost laughs at Richie. "No way. Docile as a kitten."

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"I would beat him if he were my son, too," the one still holding onto Richie's arm suddenly says. Richie yanks his arm out of the man's grip, feeling disgusted by the words that just came from his mouth.

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"He beats him," Richie repeats, with more emphasis on the word. Why is nobody listening? Are they really that caught up in what they think of their precious Chief?

The only one who takes him seriously is the woman from before, sitting at a desk with another computer, but her piece of technology is slightly older. She nods at Richie, then takes the pen from behind her ear and makes a note on a pad of sticky notes. Richie leans forward so that he can read it, but when he can't, he bounces back in defeat.

"Sit," she asks him, motioning towards the chair in front of her desk. She pushed the pad forwards, so Richie takes another look.

Investigate Bowers for potential child abuse.

The words are underlined, giving off a sense of urgency that calms Richie down. He nods, thankful that somebody actually listened to him. So, Richie takes his seat, his body stiff and uncomfortable in the room he's been locked in.

"I'm not talking to any other cops," Richie says bluntly. He eyes the woman, preparing to see how she reacts, but she barely even bats an eye at him.

"I'm not a cop," she says simply.

Richie eyes the other men lining the room, and with a simple wave of her hand, they all start to vacate the room. Suddenly, Richie straightens up and turns to one of the officers on his way out.

"Wait!" Richie calls, his voice panicked. "Can you check on my friend? He's in the waiting room, his name is Eddie."

"Little one?" The man asks, to which Richie nods. He waves Richie's request off, saying "That kid is fine. He's been calling up a storm, using up all his money on phone calls."

Richie's stomach drops at this, but he knows that Eddie would not dream of calling his mother. Not in this position. Sonia would quite possibly quarantine Eddie for the rest of his life if she were to have to pick him up from the police station. No, Eddie is calling people who matter. Richie just isn't sure if he wants all of them involved just yet.

192

As the last officer leaves, and the door is shut behind him, Richie suddenly doesn't want to be alone with this woman. She came into his home and went into his parents' bedroom, and Richie feels like that is partially illegal on its own. He avoids eye contact with her, looking at the pictures of various children on her desk. There's no way these are all hers, there's dozens. Kids of varying age and race are all framed for whoever enters her office to see.

"He means a great deal to you, doesn't he?" she asks.

Richie is caught off guard, his body tensing, muscles locking up in fear. He feels as if he swallowed a ton of molten lava, his insides stripping away from the inside out as it eats him alive.

"Sure, I guess," Richie tries his best at being nonchalant.

"Does he take care of you?" She asks. "Eddie?"

Richie bites his lip, not trying to give away anything too crucial to his and Eddie's true relationship. "Um, sure, I guess."

She nods, and Richie braces himself for whatever her next question is going to be. When Richie finally works up the courage to make eye contact with her, he notices that she doesn't look annoyed like all the other cops did. She looks friendly. Pleasant. He doesn't trust the facade at all.

"What's your name?" Richie asks so he can stop referring to her as the woman.

"Dr. Wendy Patome, PHD in behavioral science and sociology."

Richie shakes his head, saying "I don't want your credentials. I'm not an employer. What's your name?"

She smiles at him, tucking some hair behind her ear. She's really quite beautiful for an adult; long brown hair, dazzling green eyes. Eyes that haven't been dulled by her line of work yet, eyes that are still hopeful. Upon inspecting her hands, Richie doesn't see a wedding ring, but that's no surprise. This woman is married to her work, and all these children are just lives that she has saved.

134

"Wendy," she tries again, and Richie seems to accept this answer better. She's got a young face, almost too young for someone who has a doctrine in sociology or whatever it was that she said.

"Are you smart?" He asks.

Wendy doesn't blink at this question, merely nods and says "Yes, I graduated top of my class at NYU."

"Then why come to a shithole like Derry?" He questions.

She hums a little in amusement, then sits back in her seat as if she's getting more comfortable. Richie just wants to derail her from the topic of his parents, and even if it seems obvious that that's what he's doing, she still humors him.

"I tested to be placed in the FBI," Wendy tells him, her voice full of nostalgia for a life she never lived. "I was going to be in the behavioral analysis unit. Do you know what that is?" She doesn't wait for Richie to answer before she continues. "But I requested to be moved to Derry, Maine. Do you know why?"

Richie shakes his head.

"The crime rate here is higher than any other town all throughout Maine. The missing children files are almost double what they are in Chicago. I've seen a lot of towns, a lot of crime, a lot of death. But I have never seen a town like Derry. The adults here... they don't really care, do they? It's the strangest thing. I saw this, and I knew that I could help. Sure, I could help in the FBI as well, but I knew that I could really make a difference in Derry. So, I packed up, and I moved. Now, here I am, about to make a difference in your life."

224

Richie frowns at the last sentence. He doesn't want a difference, he likes his life the way it is. Sure, there's some rough patches here and there, and not everything is ideal, but he likes it. He likes seeing his friends every day, he likes being able to cook with the radio on, he likes not having to climb down the rose trellis that broke Eddie's arm, he likes being able to walk out the front door with nobody stopping him, he likes having Eddie over whenever he wants, he likes it. He likes the sense of responsibility that he was given, and he doesn't want that to change. Not now, not ever. He wants to be with Eddie, just like they talked about.

Him and the woman, Wendy, talk for ages. He feels like she's dissecting every bit of his personality, her questions ranging from "What do you like to eat after school?" to "What's the worst thing that your parents have ever done to you?"

This.

Richie's answer is this.

The worst thing they have ever done is leave him alone for so long that he has to be taken into police custody. Richie doesn't tell her that, though. He just says "They never bought me Christmas presents," despite the fact that Richie is not much of a materialistic boy and he doesn't mind the lack of gifts in his childhood.

Wendy talks to Richie as if he's another adult, not talking down on him or simplifying her vocabulary for the sake of making sure he understands. He does, he does understand, and she recognizes that. She tells him about what their next step will be, and what they have to do to take that step. Richie feels sick by the end of their conversation, but there's really not much else he can do about it. Wendy tells him that it's unlikely his parents will come back, and she also tells him that it is not his fault that they left. Those were the words that Richie had been searching for from the moment he noticed they were gone. He just needed somebody to tell him it wasn't his fault.

Wendy finally releases Richie, walking him to the station's waiting room while talking about the best Chinese restaurant in town. Richie nods as he listens, somehow enthralled in her tale about egg drop soup. When they turn the corner, though, her story is cut short by the smile that takes place on her face.

Richie follows her line of vision to see what's caught his attention, his heart pounding and threatening to leap out of his throat once he sees. His knees buckle in, legs growing weak, stomach doing somersaults and backflips at the scene in front of him.

It's not the whole group, but it's enough to make Richie want to break down and cry. There, sitting in the waiting room, are four out of six of his friends, all worried sick. Mike paces through the room, while Bill and Bev try their best to comfort a sobbing Eddie. Richie thought he didn't want the others to know, but now that they're here, he couldn't be more grateful.

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"Your friends?" Wendy asks. The two still haven't been noticed yet, which Richie is thankful for. He doesn't want them to see his stupidly shocked face, though he knows they would not make fun of him. When Richie nods, she places a hand on his shoulder. "Bill Denbrough's a great kid."

"You know him?" Richie turns to ask, alarmed. He didn't think that Wendy would know anybody else other than him and Henry, it just makes sense. Him and Henry are broken.

She smiles sadly and rubs Richie's back in small circles. "I worked his case after... after his brother died. His parents... well, can't say they're the best."

Richie's eyes widen and his gaze goes back to Bill, a new light shining down on the kid who has been in Richie's shoes. To know that... to have that information... it feels unlike anything else. Richie and Bill share a bond now, whether Bill knows it or not. It's a bond stronger than anything, and Richie knows that they've become connected for all of their future life.

"You stay with a friend tonight, okay?" Wendy asks. "I'll see you again on Thursday, just like we discussed."

Richie nods, now desperate and eager to get out her clutches so that he can meet his friends. He looks back at her one more time, trying to see if she has anything else to say, but Wendy stays silent.

So, without hesitation, Richie jogs down the hall to the waiting room where he automatically throws his arms around Mike. The darker boy yelps in surprise, but once it's clear who is hugging him, it does not take long for Mike to hug back.

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Bev hugs next, inserting herself into the equation by forcing her arms around Richie and Mike. Richie doesn't even need to open his eyes to know it's her, he can smell her perfume from a mile away.

"Jesus, Rich," she sighs, squeezing her face against his. "You had me worried, kid."

Richie laughs, his grip tightening on Mike as he hugs harder. "Sorry," he laughs, a classic Richie laugh, one that can make everyone smile.

Mike pushes on Richie's chest, attempting to get the boy off of him. "Eddie. Now."

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Richie doesn't need to be told twice. He separates from the two, spinning around to face Eddie now standing up in front of the chair. Bill is behind him, a hand on Eddie's trembling shoulder.

Eddie's eyes are the most heartbreaking part. Wide, sparkling, full of pain and confusion. Tears streak his face, and his eyelashes clump together to form wet triangles. Every single emotion that he has stored for Richie is shown perfectly in that moment, the two need not confess another word to one another. It's written all over his face, as if Eddie is wearing love as an accessory.

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Richie steps forward and hugs Eddie without fear of holding back. He doesn't care about the other losers around him, he doesn't even care that they're in the police station. He stoops his body down low enough to Eddie's height, and he nuzzles his face into the side of Eddie's warm neck. The boy seems to cry a bit harder, his tiny arms wrapping around Richie and squeezing as hard as they can. Neither want to let go, they know if they do, they might get taken away from one another. It feels as if the sunshine is finally ending, the sun is setting, and the moon is rising to take it's place. Richie once would have fallen in love with the moon. In fact, he's sure that he did. He loved the moon when it lived along the outskirts of Eddie's features, illuminating the boy's face late at night. Now, Richie would give anything to have their eternal sunshine back. He never wants this day to end.

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Richie feels the same way that waves do when they cling to the shores come high-tide. Once again, a current controlled by the moon. He's afraid that the riptide is going to suck Eddie in and pull him under until the boy drowns. Richie knows that the longer he hugs, the more water is filling up in Eddie's lungs. So, he gathers every single bit of strength he has in his body, and he pulls away first.

Eddie looks up at him completely heartbroken. Richie pulled away. Richie pulled away. There are many things for Eddie to be freaking out about right now, a countless supply of factors that he should be more primarily fixed on, yet his brain seems to get stuck on a mantra of Richie pulled away. Richie pulled away. Richie pulled away.

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"Come on," Bill speaks up first, oblivious to the other worldly conversations that both Richie and Eddie are holding within their eyes. Bill says the only thing that comes to his mind in a situation as dire as this one, and that is "Let's go home."

Home.

What a foreign fucking concept.

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****

a/n: early update because im going to be in Chicago tomorrow lol enjoy

Chapter 36

"W-W-We can uh-uh-uhdopt you," Bill suggests.

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Richie shrugs, his body weak and exhausted from the day's events. His arms are crossed tightly over the front of himself, as if hes guarding his heart from being prodded at by yet another person. "It doesn't matter. It's not- It's not- I don't think you can, Bill."

"We can t-t-try," Bill says persistently.

Richie shakes his head, staring down at his leg bouncing up and down on the couch with impatience. The fabric of his jeans is ripped at the knee, threads criss crossing all across his skin in a disorganized manner. Richie reaches down and slowly starts picking at the fabric, only for his hand to be slapped away by Beverly.

"Stop fidgeting," she comments, motherly as always.

"Then give me a fucking cigarette," Richie replies with a distant tone.

They sit in Bill's basement, the only place that Richie can really go without having to explain anything to overbearing parents. Mike suggested they go to Stan's, but Richie quickly shot the idea down. Stan Uris is a boy who worries about everything to the point of giving himself stomach ulcers, Richie's afraid that the Jew just might damn near have a stroke if he were to hear about the current situation.

The basement door opens, followed by a clatter of footsteps descending the long hallway. Well, a pair of footsteps, and then a kickdrum setting off in time with the beat of Richie's heart. One sounds like a pair of shoes, a regular old pair of shoes, while the other sounds like a ballerina symphony calling his name.

Richie looks up to greet the two new guests, Mike and Eddie finally making their way to the Denbrough household after stopping at the convenience store to get snacks for everyone. Richie denied this, claiming he wasn't feeling hungry, but Eddie gave him that kind of look that can get him to do just about anything. So Richie nodded, told him he'd pay Eddie back, then kissed the boy on the forehead as he mounted himself in the basket of Mike's bicycle. Nobody has spoken a word of the blatant affection that the two boys are sharing, there's a much bigger issue than whether or not two of the losers are gay together.

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Even now, when Eddie chooses to ignore the empty seat that Bill left open next to Richie, and the tiny one instead opts for bringing himself up onto Richie's lap, tucking his feet between Richie's thighs to warm them up from the cold outside, nobody says anything. Richie takes notice of the ducks decorating Eddie's socks, and he smiles a little at the sheer absurdity of it. Still, even then, he fastens his arms around Eddie's torso and rests his chin upon the heavenly shoulder. Mike passes out snacks, making small talk with Beverly about the road block set up on fourth street to avoid car crashes that could occur while descending the hill.

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None of it seems important. Stupid Derry and its stupid fucking hills, stupid fucking road blocks, stupid fucking downtown traffic. It's all meaningless, none of it matters. We're all going to die eventually. Why don't I just... die now? I could die now and it wouldn't change a thing. Not a damn th-

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Richie's train of thought is cut short by the feeling of warm lips being pressed to his temple. His eyes flutter upwards, and he is brought back to reality by the sight of Eddie, the tiny one holding up a bag of chips.

"Here, eat," Eddie says encouragingly, holding his own snack on his lap.

Richie looks at the bag of food for a moment, his eyes glancing over the nutritional facts label and counting the calories per serving, but then his gaze returns to the resting place they have decided to call home; locked with Eddie's own hazel sweet eyes.

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So, without thinking it over much further, Richie takes the bag of chips and leans back so that he can eat them without hovering over Eddie. He thinks that this boy really can get him to do just about anything, it's a little alarming just how much of himself he gives up and surrenders in the name of Kaspbrak.

"This is so fucked," Beverly says, bringing the mood in the air back down to a dead standstill.

Richie's whole body stiffens, his instant reaction going towards the idea of her disapproving of Eddie sitting on his lap, but then he slowly calms down when he remembers the task at hand. Oh. Right. Abandonment. Child neglect. Court hearings. Foster home.

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"I don't see why we can't just..." Mike begins to say, but then he trails off once he realizes that there's nothing they can do. Mike itches with the need to create a game plan, to invent something that will save Richie from being packed up in foster care. But... there's nothing.

Eddie rests his head down on Richie's shoulder, curling his legs up so that he can fit in Richie's embrace. The one holding Eddie merely wraps his arms around the cluster of a boy and connects his hands. For a moment, there's a sense of... completion. As if the two finally feel whole. Only when they are touching in such a manner do they feel this way, and it weighs heavy on their chest that they will never be able to touch again come next month.

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"It'll be fine," Richie finally says after awhile. "It'll be fine. Wendy said I'll just go into foster care. I'll still go to school with you guys, I'm not leaving Derry."

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Eddie holds on a little tighter, but it's obvious that his muscles have relaxed tremendously. The news still weighs heavily in the air, but there is a silver lining of hope along the edges of the dark storm cloud lingering overhead.

"Should we... tell the others?" Mike asks. He's looking at Bill, but the words are clearly meant for Richie. Whether or not Richie feels comfortable sharing this awful tragedy resides entirely within him, so now Mike is just asking if he has permission to call Stan like he so desperately wants.

"I mean, I guess," Richie shrugs. "They've got a right to know."

Bill nods at Mike, giving the darker boy all the permission that he needs. He asks Beverly to come with because he doesn't have Ben's number memorized, and the redheaded girl is reluctant to leave Richie's side. I think that's how all of them feel at that moment, however. They're all afraid to let Richie out of their sight, or they might lose him forever.

Richie thinks he wouldn't mind getting lost right about now.

He's spent years terrified of oblivion, he practically ran from the void with all the strength that he's got. Richie is terrified of being forgotten, terrified of going missing, terrified of being irrelevant. His biggest fear is that of a missing child poster, but right now... he's come to accept that maybe the world is better off if his face just isn't on it. Richie craves to not exist, to be nobody, to mean nothing. He's starting to slow down, his limbs heavy with fatigue. He thinks it's time he lets the void catch up with him. Richie is inviting oblivion to swallow him whole.

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"Why didn't you call them to begin with?" Richie whispers softly, his mouth muffled by the collar of Eddie's sweater. His tone isn't accusatory, merely curious.

"I called the ones I thought could help," Eddie explains himself and his choices to pick the three losers currently sitting in Bill's living room. "Bill, because he would know what to do. Bev, because she's your best friend. And Mike, because he knows how to make people feel better."

Richie smiles a little, letting out the ghost of a chuckle from his haunting lips. Then, as quietly as his first sentence, he asks "You're wrong."

"What?" Eddie lifts his head in surprise. "Should I have not called Mike? I just- he always cheers me up, I just thought-"

"No," Richie shakes his head. "That's correct. You were right about that one. I just mean you were wrong about Beverly. She isn't my best friend, you are."

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Eddie catches his bottom lip between his teeth and he sucks in a breath of surprise. The sheer shock of it all is what takes him by surprise, but that astonishment is quickly replaced by flattery. Eddie melts further into Richie's arms, nuzzling his face against the boy's chest while letting his hands wander up Richie's neck to play with the delicate woven silk curls laying along Richie's fair skin.

"T-T-Told you he luh-liked you t-too, Eh-Eddie," Bill interjects from where he's sitting in a chair adjacent to the couch.

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Without missing a beat, Eddie responds with a huff and the sharp words "Shut up, Bill."

Richie smiles, knowing that Eddie's cheeks are warm and glowing red from embarrassment. He can practically envision the way that the freckles twinkle like ghosts in the snow without having to even look down at the one in his arms.

"This just in," Richie announces, but he does not use the booming energy that his auctioneer Voice usually has. He says the words gently, albeit goofily, but still with care and precision. "Richie Tozier is completely head over heels, and he's not afraid to admit it."

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Eddie lifts his head up, but before he can say anything, Bill's basement door slams open with a burst of fury that only one person is capable of producing.

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The three in the room jump in surprise, then relax only the slightest when they see none other than Stan Uris coming down the stairs. Mike emerges behind, confused by all of the commotion, his confusion deepening when he sees Stan approach Richie with a look so evil that Mike wonders if he is about to witness a murder.

"You fucking- You dumbass! You absolute dipshit!" Stan shouts, his face red and furious. "How much of a moron do you have to be to let things get this bad? Are you fucking braindead? What is your problem! You're fucking- You- Richie! You're so unbelievably stupid! You seriously would not be able to dump a bucket of water if the instructions were taped to the bottom of it. How could you be so dense?"

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Eddie straightens up, sliding off of Richie's lap but keeping a protective arm around Richie's shoulders. He narrows his royal bourbon eyes at Stan and defensively says "Watch it, Stanley. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

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"I'm talking to a fucking idiot," Stan does not cower under the wrath of Eddie Kaspbrak. As if to make his point abundantly clear, Stan reaches forward to smack Richie upside the head, the boy's dark hair falling down in front of his eyes carelessly. "Are you seriously braindead? Is there even a brain up there? Am I just talking to an empty shell?"

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Richie looks up at Stan finally, his eyes steady and full of acceptance. He doesn't even have to ask what it is that he's done, he just knows that whatever it is, he deserves to be slapped around. Stan could only tolerate Richie for so long, and apparently he's reached his breaking point. Richie doesn't blame him. Not at all-

"Why would you not come to us sooner?" Stan finally asks, his voice now trembling as he struggles to keep up this strong facade. Richie's eyes snap up in confusion, his entire chest constricting when he sees the pained expression twisting upon Stan's face. His smart, assertive eyes now fill to the brim with tears, while his lip trembles and quivers. The very same lip that Richie once kissed before. Beautiful Stan, breaking before his very eyes. As if to twist the knife sticking out of Richie's chest, the Jewish boy then whispers out one last question "Why didn't you let me help you?"

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Richie stands up off the couch then, his hands coming up to touch Stan's shaking shoulders. Upon the contact, Stan's frame wobbles as it becomes increasingly hard to support himself, so Richie steps forward and holds the boy up in his arms. Richie hugs him tightly, stroking the back of Stan's curls as gently as he can, Richie's eyes looking at Bill sitting quietly to the side.

105

The two hold a silent conversation through shared looks. Richie asks Bill to do something, to fix this, and Bill merely replies and says there's nothing he can do. This is a pain that they all just have to sit and feel.

After a few moments, Stan finally pushes away from Richie and asks if he can talk to Eddie outside, so the two travel out to the blistering cold to have a secret conversation that sets Richie on edge. It's not that he doesn't trust either of them, he just... he fears what they would have to say. Richie believed every single insult of hurt that Stan had to say, and he doesn't exactly want Stan convincing Eddie that those braindead statements were all factual.

Mike sighs once the drama is over, returning to the kitchen to see what's taking Beverly so long. Richie remains standing, his arms dangling hopelessly by his sides, a silence filling the air between Bill and Richie.

"It's guh-guh-gonna be okay, R-rr-Richie," Bill says quietly. He's trying his best to ease the pain of this whole situation, but if he's honest, he is absolutely terrified.

Richie is quiet for a moment, watching the basement door to wait for Stan and Eddie to come back in. Richie wonders how everything got so absolutely fucked in just a couple hours, his body yearning to be back in his bedroom and discussing plans to have a sneaky escapade to San Francisco with Eddie. He wonders if it's too late for the two of them to run away.

"What if it's not?" Richie finally asks, his voice small and lacking any of its usual humor.

Bill thinks for a moment, his big crystallized eyes conflicted with all the different emotions bubbling up inside him. He shrugs, shaking his head imperatively.

"I'll m-make it ok-k-kay," Bill says, then says the next line with such certainty that it only shows he's finally found the right words to ease at least one member of the losers' club today. "I'm n-n-not losing a ssss-second bruh-brother."

836

Richie feels the weight of the universe collapse within his chest, the never ending expanse of a galaxy, and a supernova burst of energy and matter all coexist inside him. He smiles, big and wide, showing off all the teeth that once had braces lining them, and he just can't help but feel some security in this freefalling state of mind he's been pushed into.

Chapter 37

Richie isn't as angry as he thought he would be.

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He stands on the front porch, staring at the chipping paint and peeling wood encasing the whole house. Even their home looks abused, neglected, and forgotten. Mr. Bowers sure knows how to destroy everything he touches.

Richie pauses for a moment, trying to remember exactly what it is he's doing here when he should be on his way to Curly's. He promised Beverly and Ben he'd meet them there, but instead, he's about twenty minutes outside of town, standing on property he shouldn't be standing on.

Eventually, the cold ultimately makes up Richie's mind. He's certain that he will give himself frostbite if he continues to linger outside, so he raises a steady hand to knock on the front door. He doesn't know exactly when he and Henry got on formal standards, but maybe it had something to do with the switchblade threats that were made in high school bathrooms.

Henry answers the door wearily, cracking it open just enough to investigate who is knocking. Once he sees Richie's patient face, he slams the door shut. Richie doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. He just sits, waits, waits some more, and then relaxes his shoulders when he hears the sliding of a deadbolt lock.

When Henry opens the door this time, he opens it all the way. He doesn't say anything to Richie, doesn't even mutter a weak hello. He simply avoids eye contact and holds the screen door for the freshman to walk inside.

Richie shakes some of the snow from his hair, kicking the frost off his boots in the doorway. Once standing in the foyer, he turns to look at Henry, or more so, the damage on the boy's face.

"What's the story you're telling people?" Richie asks, nodding his head towards the two swollen bruises puffing up around Henry's hazel eyes. The fingerprints engraved into his neck are a rich purple color, and there's a nasty gash running along his lower lip from where a set of teeth clamped through.

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Henry looks to the side in shame, his voice lacking any of the usual anger and insanity that it always has. He sounds... broken. Like this time really did just completely break him. "Fell down at the Barrens."

Richie nods. The Barrens can be quite a dangerous place if you're not looking where you step, it's almost believable. But he knows better, he knows that Henry is a regular explorer when it comes to the muddy waters, he knows those fingertips better than anybody else in Derry. So, he asks "And the actual story?"

Henry doesn't respond, just lets his head fall and starts walking down the hall towards the kitchen. When they were younger, it was tradition for the two boys to make their own hot chocolate by heating up milk on the stove and adding cocoa powder. It always tasted like complete shit, but it was just their thing. It made them happy, and now Henry craves to taste that nostalgia more than anything.

Richie doesn't ask the question again until he sees Henry pouring milk into the pot on the stove. He feels a bit of the past flicker up inside him, but there is no way for that fire to be rekindled. Eddie made sure that the embers were all extinguished, stomped on the ashes, and kicked them around to insure that absolutely no bridge could be built there again.

"What actually happened, Hen?" Richie asks.

Henry blinks a couple times, his body curling away as if he's expecting to be hit. Richie notices the boy wearing two thick sweaters over one another, causing his brain to start fabricating images of what Henry's skin looks like. Henry's dad likes the torso the most, he can whip that with his belt as much as he likes without it showing to a single person. If he was angry enough to leave such evident bruises on Henry's face, there's absolutely no way that his torso went unscathed.

"Someone tipped off that child abuse lady," Henry mumbles. "Said my old man hits me. He didn't like when they started pokin' their nose around."

"Yeah, it's a bit shitty, isn't it?" Richie smirks, the irony of the situation presenting itself oh so perfectly. "Sucks when social services show up on your doorstep, huh?"

Henry flinches but tries his best to not show weakness. He gets the cocoa powder down with a few pained sighs, clearly struggling to lift his arms above his head. Richie watches all of this with examining eyes, clearly trying to assess all the damage done.

"Those ribs never healed up, did they?" Richie asks.

Henry doesn't respond. He feels embarrassed by his own weakness, his own mortality practically laughing in his face. He continues stirring powder in silently, the dragging of the spoon being the only sounds shared in the kitchen.

"They're worse now," Richie continues. He says thoughtfully, "You need to see a doctor."

"Yeah? I need a fucking doctor?" Henry snaps, "And tell them what, Rich? Tell them I fell down some stairs, and that's why three of my ribs are cracked? Who's going to believe that? Social services won't. If I go to the hospital now, they'll only- they'll just-"

"Put you in a foster home?" Richie finishes his sentence for him. He has a smug smirk on his face, letting the words flow from his mouth easily. "Join the club, eh chap?"

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Henry pauses as if this is the first time he's hearing this. He slowly lifts his bruised eyes up to look at Richie, his greasy hair hanging down across his neck like fingers reaching down for his shirt collar.

"What?"

Richie blinks back, his expression indifferent. "What? You didn't know that? Yeah, apparently when you're abandoned, they get to declare you an orphan. My court sessions tomorrow. Thanks for that, by the way."

"I-" Henry tries to explain himself, but there's really no way to justify what he did. Even to say he was worried is a lie, they both know that Henry only turned Richie in as payback for their last encounter involving a ring exchange. So, instead of trying to spin lies that make him into the victim, Henry just nods and retrieves two coffee mugs.

Richie doesn't plan on staying long, he honestly just came to see if Henry would even be here. He didn't expect Wendy to find much on Henry's dad's abusive behavior, especially considering his father is the sheriff and everyone who does know what happens behind closed doors is too scared to spill the truth. Richie didn't expect her to find any solid proof, but he did expect Mr. Bowers to put Henry in a grave by now.

"Sorry about..." Henry trails off, his face twisting up and contorting in confusion and anger. He looks as if he wants to bite his own tongue off, furious that an apology even escaped past his lips. He continues, but through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth. "Sorry about Eddie."

Richie goes to say 'it's okay,' but the only thing that comes out is "You should be."

"We'll leave him alone from now on," Henry nods.

"Yeah, I know," Richie confirms his threats once more, reminding Henry what will happen if they don't leave Eddie alone.

"Did you-" Henry stops himself, biting down on his lip only to wince and pull away in pain, licking up the bit of blood that spurted from his wound. "Did you ask Eddie out?"

Richie shrugs, "I kinda got interrupted by the fucking police, so no. Thanks for that."

"Patrick asked me out," Henry then says, his eyes meeting Richie's to see if he can detect any sort of emotion. He doesn't know what he's looking for; jealousy? Rage? Hurt? All he knows is that he doesn't want the expression that actually is on Richie's blank face, and that is, complete and utter indifference.

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"Okay," Richie nods. "Did you say yes?"

The question was asked more out of obligation rather than genuine interest, and Henry can recognize that. Still, he says "Yeah. Isn't that fucking crazy?"

Richie shrugs. "Stranger things have happened."

874

They stand there for a moment, complete silence taking up the space between them.

Then, Richie bravely says "You fucked up my life, Henry."

Henry doesn't respond. He stares at the stove in the hopes that this conversation doesn't escalate to kicking and punching. He really, really cannot handle another beating. Not in his current state.

"You fucked up my life," Richie says again. "I'm a fucking orphan now. I'm an orphan because you fucked up my life."

"You're an orphan because you have shitty parents," Henry points out, causing Richie to scoff in belittlement.

"You still contributed to the chaos," Richie responds just as harsh. "Do you feel bad? Do you feel anything?"

Richie doesn't wait for a response. He shakes his head and turns on his heel, passing by the old furniture that he used to spend Saturday afternoons on.

Henry bites his tongue from lashing out any harmful words that he wants to say, knowing that his own rage and anger will only make things worse. He doesn't mean to be so angry, he was just never shown any other emotion. Henry grew up in a house where feelings were foreign, and those that did show even a hint of remorse, were crushed beneath a belt lash.

"I feel bad," Henry says quietly, his voice just barely above a whisper. The ring inside his pocket burns deep against his thigh, yet he continues to watch Richie walk out of his life yet another time. He doesn't understand why it hurts more than the last.

Richie does not dwell on it for too long. He wants to feel bad for the the bruises blooming beneath Henry's skin, but all Richie can think of is the way that Eddie cried in the police station, and he feels a little less sympathy.

Richie mounts his bike and begins riding down the long driveway, keeping his eyes forward so that his gaze does not stray to the tree with his initials carved next to Henry Bowers. They aren't the same kids playing around with switchblade knives anymore, no, they've evolved. Now, Henry just holds them to the throat of Richie's new lovers because there's a jealousy planted in him so deeply that it resembles the roots of that very same tree.

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Richie pulls into the parking lot of Curly's, discarding his bicycle against the bike rack without any sort of concern about locking it up. He spots Ben's bike carefully secured to the stand, the seat collecting snow and the metal frosting over. Winter is unforgiving this year, and Richie quickly hurries around the side of the building to get out of its cold grasp.

Ben is sitting in the back booth next to the jukebox, two milkshakes already sitting on the table. His face lights up when he sees Richie enter, the bell above the door chiming to inform the diner of his presence. Richie shakes some of the snowflakes from his hair, kicking his dirty shoes against the floor mat to knock some of the snow off.

"Hey, Haystack," Richie sings in a light, airy voice. He slides into the booth across from Ben, looking down at the book spread across the table with lots of sticky notes coming out of various pages. "Whatcha got there, man?"

"This? Oh, its just a book about famous buildings," he laughs, closing it and tucking it into the bag before Richie can read the cover. Ben's cheeks flush pinker than the strawberry milkshake sitting on the table, and he shakes his head in embarrassment. "It's nerdy, I know."

"No, no," Richie remarks. He thinks of how Eddie said it was absolutely beautiful to see what people are passionate about, and Richie is finally starting to understand that sentiment. "Reading isn't nerdy. It's cool as fuck."

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"No need for the sarcasm, Tozier," Ben rolls his eyes. Richie almost feels hurt. Does Ben think he's being sarcastic? Is it so out of character for Richie to say something nice? Before the boy can become introspective, Ben speaks up "Bev should be here by now, she's usually not late."

"Well, it's snowing out, you know how it goes," Richie shrugs. "She's probably busting her damn ass on a patch of ice somewhere."

"Let's be honest, she probably hasn't even left her neighborhood," Ben smirks.

"Probably hasn't left the damn driveway," Richie retorts, a grin finding its way onto his face. Henry Bowers leaves his mind, the court trial leaves his mind, his parents leave his mind, and for once, he's just a kid. Just a kid who is sitting at a diner with one of his friends, listening to terribly awful music.

No, really, terribly awful music.

147

"God, who the fuck chose this song?" Richie scoffs as his eyes wander over the jukebox. He digs around in his pockets to find some change, finding an assortment of things instead. Receipts from the gas station, crumpled up gum wrappers, bent paper clips, empty lighters, three dollars he won from a bet with Bill about who could chug a pint of milk the fastest, and lastly, a business card with Wendy's phone number on it. He hasn't called her, though he knows he probably should.

Richie takes his three dollars and stands up from the booth, approaching the jukebox with full expectations to be disappointed. They change the songs out every once in a blue moon, but Richie doesn't expect them to have anything new since his last trip to this scummy diner.

But one song does catch his eye, one that makes him smile and think of falling headfirst out a window to rescue the boy who fell trying to kiss him.

Africa by Toto.

719

It seems perfect. Richie has heard the song on MTV so often for the past few years, but now the words finally start to make sense. It almost feels as if it's something bigger than him, even bigger than Eddie. As if something clicks and he just finally gets the lyrics. He finally understands.

Richie puts in coins and presses the right amount of buttons, feeling an overwhelming amount of euphoria bum rush him and his emotions. He has never felt this happy before, he has never felt like he is just an elevator rising through the roof on its ascent to heaven. He's locked in four walls, the buttons of the control panel glowing in the reflections of his heart shaped eyes. Richie feels the elevator rising, but what he doesn't realize is that the cable supporting it is as thin as an angel's feather.

A feather that gets cut loose the second the bell above the door rings to alert customers of a new customer.

Except it's not a customer at all. It's Richie's worst nightmare, standing in the diner with wild eyes, trying to locate some kind of safety when they finally make eye contact.

Richie's heart, as well as his elevator of love, plummets down to earth. It shatters against the impact with the ground, and then Richie is pulled through the soil straight down to the pits of hell, where he can feel the fire ignite on his body starting with his toes. Richie has never felt more gutted, all his threads coming undone and stuffing flowing out of him like an abandoned teddy bear. He feels like his lungs are rubber tires that just got nails pierced into them, and he feels those very same nails aiming for the bullseye centered on his glass shaped heart.

Beverly Marsh's fair skin tends to stand out when she's bleeding. The blood compliments the swelling of her face.

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The moment of absolute silence ends, the elevator is out of service, and reality crashes through the front gates of Richie's mind. Beverly comes to at the exact second, and then she's weaving between tables to get to where Richie is standing at that stupid jukebox.

Ben stands up and rushes to Beverly's side, his words completely lost and drowned out by the music filling Richie's head. The lyrics have been tainted now, completely tortured by the image of Beverly so clearly beaten and damaged.

Ben asks "What happened? Were you robbed? Did you fall on ice? What happened?"

But Richie doesn't need to ask. Richie knows.

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Because of this, Beverly is pushing Ben aside to get to Richie, her movements frantic and sporadic. She's got the twitch of someone going through aftershocks, telling Richie that she just barely escaped her torment. His arms are around her in an instant, the boy stooping down to shove his face into the crook of his neck. He feels like the world is coming to an end. Judgement day is finally here.

"Where'd he hurt you?" Richie asks so quietly that he can't even hear himself. The blood rush flowing through his eardrums is much more glaringly loud, but he whispers the words against her pulse, and she still knows exactly what he says despite the mumbled fragments being so broken.

"Ankle," she says back. And the tone of her voice is what kicks Richie's anxiety into gear.

The room seems to collapse underneath an earthquake. Richie feels everything tremble, but perhaps it's just his own equilibrium that is completely fucking shaken. Richie has been a glass snowglobe sitting idly on an antique shop for the last fifteen years, but now he has been shaken completely. His twist-tube intestines gather and bunch up into a singular knot, weighing down everything inside of him. His body is dipped in tar, or maybe he's been encased in amber to preserve this terrible fucking feeling for the rest of all history.

"You're okay," Richie then says. Once he says it, the words all shout and scream at him inside his brain. There isn't a siren, but more like a complete fucking wail of horror. He begins to sweat cold droplets, tiny bullet ammunition for the soldiers of the panic attack war. He begins to talk all at once, the words piling up and stumbling out of his mouth at a mile a minute, his teeth chattering and clacking as he tries to talk around the locked jaw he has clenched in fear. "You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. We're okay. Everything's okay. Safe. Safe. Safe. Beverly, safe. I'll make you safe."

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"Guys," Ben's voice seems to come into frame, and it's almost as if Richie had completely forgotten where they were. When the earthquake struck, all that was left in Richie's mind was Beverly Marsh and this god damn jukebox playing Africa. "Can we- Can we move this outside? I don't want to make a scene."

But a scene has already been made, as proven by every single adult in the restaurant jabbing their knife-like stares into the two absolutely broken teenagers.

See, the thing is, Richie hurts. Even when Beverly's father would just toss her around, give her a cut lip or a busted finger, Richie would physically ache in sympathy pains. He couldn't stand the absolute helplessness of it all. He can't function knowing that she is hurt and he did nothing to prevent it. He can't bear the thought of being weak. Of being useless. Of being worthless.

Now, here she is, the fighter of a girl who could set off dynamite with just a simple smirk. Completely fucking tattered. That's the only word for it; tattered. She's ripped beyond belief, her whole entire face resembling the work of what Henry's father unleashed on his son. Richie feels this one though, he feels it so deeply that he could easily be convinced that he's the one who has shown up bloody and beaten.

As the two silently limp out of Curly's, Ben paying for the two milkshakes, Richie has an epiphany.

Both Henry and Beverly look like this... because of him.

Because of him.

It's his fault. It's Richie's fault. It's all his fucking fault.

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My fault. My fault. It's all my fault. I did this to them, I did this, this is because of me. I did this I did this I did this I did this my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault-

"We have to- to go somewhere," Beverly says with a labored exhale. Bruised ribs. Henry breathes in the exact same way. "He oughta be looking for me. We- I have to hide."

Richie nods, frantically straightening his bike up and mounting it with just enough space for Beverly to ride double. Richie thinks for a moment, trying to figure out absolutely anywhere he can go where they will not be found.

"Mike's-" Richie breathes out, but Bev's girlish eyes grow wide with fear as she shakes her head. It feels crushing to see her so terrified, Richie has never seen Beverly so... so gone. So fucking gone. Her spark, her fire, her flame... it's all extinguished.

"No," she says quickly, her voice scratching. Four little bruises slowly painting themselves up against her neck. Richie is too scared to look, but he doesn't even need to. He knows that there is the imprint of a thumb on the opposite side. "No. He knows- He knows where Mike is. He called Chief Bowers and he told daddy that I ride out there a lot. He- He knows. He knows, Richie. He's..."

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She trails off, too weak to finish the sentence. Water springs to her eyes, soft rivers flowing down the ivory planes of her freckled cheeks. She can't carry on, she can't.

"What's happening?" Ben finally interjects. He is frantic and worried, scared to the god damn bone.

"My- My parents told Bev's dad about us," Richie exhales. "My parents. My fucking parents. All because I'm failing math."

"Your parents...?" Ben trails off, his confusion deepening. "But they're-"

"Still in town," Richie says. "Come on. We have to go. We have to get somewhere. Her ankle..."

So Richie goes the only place that he knows he can be safe. He doesn't think anything of it, it's just muscle memory for his brain to take him to that little house at the end of Ashburn street, the one with the red mailbox.

"Eddie's?" Ben breathes out as Richie practically screeches to a halt in the boy's driveway.

Richie looks back skeptically. "Yes?"

"His mom will have a c-"

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Ben's sentence is cut short by Beverly letting out a low groan as she tries to put weight onto her leg. Standing seems to be a struggle, so Ben quickly dumps his bike next to Richie's and comes to the girl's side as her crutch.

"Come on, come around out back," Richie waves over his shoulder, his heart thudding frantically. He's overstimulated, nervous, and quite frankly, he's scared. It's exhilarating.

When the group of kids come around the bend of the house, Eddie's window is already wide open and showing a very flustered boy. His eyes soften at the sight of Richie, but only widen once more when he catches sight of the wounded Beverly stumbling behind him in the snow.

"What the fuck is going on?" Eddie asks, "What happened to Bev?"

"Hey, Eds?" Richie asks, grinning up at the boy. He hears the words to Africa running through his mind, and they don't seem as scary anymore. This is how the words were meant to be heard- with ears full of love. Not blood. "Could ya not ask so many question, my dear?"

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Eddie tries not to smile, but he finds it difficult. Instead, he reaches his unbroken arm down to link hands with Beverly. Richie and Ben both give the girl a boost, and Eddie is clumsily pulling her through the window within seconds. Ben is a little bit more difficult, and for once, Richie doesn't crack a joke about how chubby the shorter one is. He merely kneels down and lets Ben stand on his back, ignoring the aching bend of his spine.

Richie climbing through the window is much easier, however. He has had practice from many nights of saying goodnight to Eddie, and Eddie doesn't even attempt to help Richie. Both boys know that Rich is capable of climbing in by himself, so neither of the two reach out for one another. Richie grasps the windowsill easily, hauling his body weight upwards like he's done a million times before.

When Richie stumbles in, Eddie's room looks a bit different. It looks like... it looks like a different room entirely. The desk has been pushed to the far wall, and the TV has been relocated to the top of Eddie's dresser. The fishtank is fixed into its spot, but now Eddie's bed is turned to a different corner, opening up the floor space and allowing for more room. Richie's eyes wander around, curious about the behavior in his little one, spotting all the unusual things. The inhalers have been cleared off the desk, but they're now replaced by a familiar moleskin journal that has been left open, pages of ink written so elegantly in Eddie's wonderful scribe. The closet door has been left open, displaying half the wardrobe that used to be in there. Richie knows exactly just how many shirts should be hanging up, and he knows that half of them have been cleared out, as well as the boxes on top the shelf above the racks.

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Richie takes all of this in, the furniture, the new space, the journal, and he comes to a conclusion pretty quickly.

Without thinking about it, he barely skips a beat when he asks "Are you making room?"

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Eddie looks up from where he's standing next to Beverly, a bandaid in his mid-frozen hands. "Huh?"

Richie looks around once more and notices that Eddie's comic books have been sorted into crates that are now peaking out from under his bed. The bookshelf next to the door remains empty, except for a single tape that is sitting on the middle shelf. Not top, not bottom, the middle. Eddie height. Somewhere he can access it easily. He's going to put music there.

"You're making room for me," Richie repeats. He can't believe it. He is in so much shock and wonder, he genuinely does not comprehend how Eddie could surprise him so much. The sleeve of his neon windbreaker peaks out from under the pillow on Eddie's neatly made bed, and Richie just feels the weight of it all. Eddie is making room for him... to move in.

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"Do you think you'll need more closet space?" Eddie asks, wiping a cotton swab along Beverly's bleeding mouth.

211

"No," Richie shakes his head truthfully. "I don't have that much stuff. I... I don't... You didn't have to make room for me, Bill's-"

"We should call Bill," Ben says out of nowhere.

Richie jumps, fully forgetting that Ben was sitting amongst them in the first place. Then, before he can recover from the scare, he feels panic hit him like a ton of bricks. "Bill."

"Oh," Eddie says at the same time, realizing what that single sentence means. "You just got here, though. That- I- Beverly..."

"I can't be late again," Richie shakes his head, "She nearly beheaded me for wanting to stay with you last night. I have to get back."

"What's going on?" Beverly asks, her once strong and powerful voice now weakened and full of confusion. Richie feels little ping pong balls of pain ricochet around in him whenever he sees her face, the constant thoughts of this being his fault not washing away in Eddie's presence.

"I've got a curfew," Richie explains, "My caseworker comes by at 8 to make sure I'm where I'm supposed to be."

"Can't Bill lie for you?" Ben asks desperately, his hand reaching out to squeeze Beverly's. "We need you right now. This is a lot. We need a leader."

Richie hates that sentence.

He immediately takes a step backwards, his ankle knocking against the desk. He shakes his head, and looks straight at Eddie. "I'm not a leader."

Eddie looks away. It nearly kills Richie.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," Eddie says. "Nine, right?"

Nine.

"Yeah," Richie confirms. "Nine. Just us."

"Ohh, a date?" Bev smiles through her busted lips, a bit of the fiery girl's spark reigniting in the wreckage of what her father left. Richie admires that about her; sure, she'll get beaten down, but she does not hesitate to get back up.

"Yeah," Richie smiles, leaning out the window as he glances at his watch nervously. If he's late, he knows he'll get in trouble with Wendy. He hates putting the Denbroughs through so much, especially with... the loss of Georgie still fresh in their hearts. "A date. Just us."

But the two do not have a date, and that's apparent by the look of absolute dread on Eddie's face. You can tell the softer one of the pair just wants to blurt it out and tell Bev what's really going on, but he has to respect Richie's wishes. Richie doesn't want anybody there, because he knows it'll be too hard. He wants Eddie, and he wants Bill. That's it. He doesn't want anybody else to witness his demise.

Tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp; Richie will be attending a court session for his case of abandonment.

Chapter 38

"How do I look?" Richie asks.

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Eddie glances upwards at Richie, then straightens the boy's tie. Richie looks like a hot mess, but Eddie isn't going to tell him that.

Richie showed up in a powder blue suit that barely reached his ankles. It's evident he's grown so much since this suit was purchased, but the only other clothes he owns are neon striped shirts and torn band tees. He even managed to comb some of his hair back in an attempt to look presentable.

"You look so handsome," Eddie smooths some of the fabric down, the material returning to puffing out around Richie's chest. "You're going to be alright. I promise."

"You'll be there in the crowd?" Richie asks.

"Bill and I are going to sit as close as we can," Eddie nods. In the back of the room, the Denbroughs sit next to Bill, the whole family watching the two uneasily. Richie wishes they would all look away, because all he wants to do is lean down and kiss Eddie until they can both see stars.

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Instead, he looks down at those heaven sweet eyes, the pouting lips that have whispered countless reassurances to him, and that little polka dot nose that he gave a nosebleed in a drugstore many months ago. Richie holds up his hand, making a fist, and he smiles down at Eddie as fondly as he can.

Eddie glances at Richie's hand, then rolls his eyes and reaches up to fistbump the other boy. "Love you."

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Richie falters a little, his hand pausing in midair even after Eddie's drops away. His stomach clenches, his world spins, and he feels as if Eddie just pulled the pin on his grenade heart. Fireworks burst within him, setting all the blooming flowers ablaze to fill Richie's ribs with a sickeningly sweet hazy smoke.

"Love me?" Richie repeats, his cheeks growing flush as his lips turn up at the ends.

Eddie's eyes widen, and he pulls away just the slightest. Then, he looks away quickly, embarrassment scattered across his face. "Yeah. I guess, yeah."

Richie smiles harder, the fluttering twitches of butterflies and moths making colonies within his lungs.

"Love you too," Richie responds, his voice very, very quiet and lacking any of that classic Richie sarcasm.

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"Richie?" Wendy's voice calls from the doorway. Richie instinctively takes a step backwards, his eyes shooting up in fear. He's not afraid of Wendy, no, he's afraid of being seen with Eddie in such an intimate manner. Richie is terrified of love. Wendy doesn't notice, however. She just smiles very sadly at the boy's powder blue suit and says "It's time to come meet your lawyer."

The trial comes too quickly, much too quickly, and it all seems to pass by just as fast. Richie can't really understand any of the words they're using; not because he can't process them, but because he's choosing to ignore what's being said. Instead, his eyes are focused on the window placed behind the judge, one with reflective glass that shows the people sitting in the pews. He can see Eddie's faint reflection, sitting next to calm Bill, hunched over that damn journal of his and writing feverishly. He watches Eddie write pretty much throughout the whole trial, only answering questions when directly spoken to, but those are mostly "Yes," "No," and "I haven't seen them."

And then it's over.

It's over with one sentence and a pound of the gavel.

One sentence.

Richie's life is over in one fucking sentence.

"Then Richard Tozier will proceed down to Philidelphia's Orphanage where he will remain under the care of Madame Tusoe until his 18th birthday. Court adjourned."

Richie turns around in his seat so that he can see his friends, not their reflections. His mouth has fallen open in despair and heartbreak, and that's all that he gets back in return. Bill's face is gut wrenching, sure, but Eddie's face is downright painful. His hot eyes are immediately filled with tears, rivers flowing down his freckled cheeks so easily. He feels the world beneath him shake and crumble as an earthquake swallows them whole.

Philadelphia.

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"Wendy, I can't do that," Richie automatically turns to say to his caseworker. Richie hasn't said much to his lawyer, only because his lawyer doesn't care whether he stays in Derry or not. Wendy does. "I can't leave. Please. Please don't make me leave. The Denbroughs are here, they said they'd take me in, please. Please tell the judge the Denbroughs are adopting me. Please."

Wendy looks stricken with grief. The attractive woman leans forward on the desk they're sat at, her hand covering her mouth in horror. She... has lost her first case. She's lost her first kid.

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Richie shuts down after that. There's not much else he can do at this point, everything's already been decided. He is quiet as he's led down a hall, away from Eddie and Bill, away from his family, away from Derry. He's driven to his house in the back of a cop car, which Wendy claimed was absolutely ridiculous and borderline horrendous. They didn't listen to her, and now Richie sits in his driveway, stuck in the backseat behind bars.

"Come on, kid. You've got to gather your things," the cop says from behind the wheel.

Richie feels ill. He doesn't want to comprehend what's happening, he just wants to go upstairs and get in his bed and never come down. He wants the world to go away, Eddie included. He can't bear to look at those broken hearted eyes right now.

But still, even then, Richie quietly goes inside with the cop and the caseworker that isn't Wendy. He doesn't know her name, but he doesn't care. She's not Wendy. He doesn't care.

Richie is told what to bring, not even given a choice on which clothes to pick. He can't bring his pillow, not even his favorite jean jacket. He doesn't feel real panic until he reaches for his Walkman, and they tell him that no electronic devices will be allowed.

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Richie ends up with a backpack containing the following; five shirts without a band logo, two jumpers, three pairs of pants, four pairs of underwear, six pairs of socks, a toothbrush, one reading book, and a photo from his bedroom wall. Richie chose the book that Eddie gave him, the only thing tied to Eddie that he's allowed to bring, as well as the photo of Beverly that was taped above his desk. Everything else, he has to say goodbye to. Including the rest of his friends. And his beloved tapes. His fucking tapes.

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The ride to the train station feels like the most painful thing he's ever had to endure. Why is it happening so fast? Can't he stay in Derry just another day? Can't he say goodbye?

"Hey," Richie speaks up from the back. "Hey. Why the fuck am I being rushed off?"

"The orphanage is expecting you by the end of the day," the male up front says, his voice cold and lacking compassion.

"Can't I say goodbye to my friends?" Richie asks, desperate and scared.

He gets no response. They continue driving.

Richie holds onto the straps attached to his backpack, standing in line next to the social worker. He's told that this woman will be accompanying him to Pennsylvania, because Wendy has cases in Derry to attend to, she can't cradle Richie every step of this life changing process. He wishes she would. He sees a mother in her that he never had, but then again, he thinks he'd see a mother in any woman that pays him the slightest bit of attention.

"Richie!"

Richie is pulled from his thoughts, his eyes lifting to track the familiar voice finding its way home. He sees a bit of a struggle a few lines over, and then little Eddie is breaking through the wall of people to get to him. He's followed by both Bill and Stan, which makes him feel... empty. He wishes everyone were here. He wishes Beverly were here. He loves her so much, he needs to see her one last time to make sure she's going to be okay. Although, with Richie leaving town... Maybe it's for the best. Maybe Mr. Marsh won't be angry about Beverly hanging out with him.

"Richie!" Eddie calls again, colliding straight into the boy roughly and knocking him out of line. Richie doesn't respond at first, his eyes seek the caseworker he's been assigned to, silently asking permission. She nods, waves him off, and then turns to tap on her watch. Richie understands their time is limited, but he is endlessly grateful that there's any time at all.

So Richie allows Eddie to push him out of line, the small one directing Richie's tall frame straight to the back of the station. There's a man sleeping on a bench, so Richie turns their direction just a bit. With Eddie's hands on his chest, he remembers the way those little fists punched into him in a bathroom stall. Back when Richie was unsure, when he was scared. He wishes he wouldn't have wasted so much time being indecisive, because that's time he could have spent loving Eddie.

"We had a chance," Richie starts out, his voice cracking and surprising himself immensely. He didn't know he was so emotional, but his throat feels tight, and the backs of his eyes are hot with forming tears. "We... We gave it our best."

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"We're not over," Eddie says stubbornly, furrowing his brows in that little disgusted way that he does. "I'll write to you."

200

Richie isn't hopeful. He still gives Eddie a sad smile, embracing the little hands between his own, his eyes carving along the wooden edges of Eddie's delicate fingers. He touches and feels each and every crevice of the boy's hands, his mouth filled with a bittersweet feeling. Doubtfully, he asks "Will you?"

"Every day," Eddie promises. He squeezes Richie's hands tightly, then leans forward to put his face in Richie's line of sight. "Hey. Look at me. We're fifteen. You're turning sixteen in three months. Then, it's just two years. Two years and you'll come home."

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"Home?" Richie repeats. He can't really remember what that word means. He once felt like his home was in Bill Denbrough's basement, packed between Mike and Ben in a game of never have I ever. Then, home became honeycomb eyes and hazel sweet lips. Now, he just doesn't know. He doesn't know.

"Home," Eddie says more surely, squeezing down on Richie's hands again. He steps forward, balancing on his tiptoes to look Richie in the eye. "You come home to me, Richie Tozier."

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Richie smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He feels like his life is ending, just slowly. One fragment at a time.

"Don't hog him, Eddie," Stan scoffs, rolling his eyes at the blatant affection the two are showing. "Some of us want to talk to him too."

"Oh! Right, yeah, sorry," Eddie blushes, stepping away and surrendering his love. He looks at Richie, smiles, and then turns away so that Stan can have a private moment.

Stan approaches Richie slowly, as if he's unsure about whether or not he wants to say anything. He stops in front of Richie, looks up at him through his perpetually curly hair, and opens his mouth to say something. Before any words can escape, Richie bursts forward and seizes Stan in a hug.

"Thank you," Richie exhales, something that's been weighing heavily on his chest since day one. "Thank you so much."

"For what?" Stan asks, cautiously hugging back. Stan Uris is not a boy who receives many hugs. He is apprehensive of the motion, but he understands the severity of the situation and will allow it to happen just this once.

"For being my best friend," Richie whispers, words partially muffled by Stan's shoulder.

Stan Uris smiles, a soft smile, one that's never been on his cynical face before. "Yeah, yeah. You're not as bad as they say you are, Trashmouth."

Richie lets out a laugh, a pathetic one, a laugh that makes him realize he's crying. Fuck. Don't cry. Not in front of them. Wait. Wait until you're away, Richie. Hold it in just a little bit longer.

When Stan pulls away, Richie quickly wipes at his face with the sleeve of his stupid suit, and he lets out a shaky laugh. "Should we kiss for old times sake?"

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"Absolutely not!" Eddie swivels around, which makes the three boys bust up laughing.

187

"Richard," the pin in the bubble bursts the happy atmosphere, and all of them turn and look to see the unhappy caseworker waiting off to the side.

"Just a few more minutes, please," Richie whines, trying his best to use his puppy eyes.

It seems to work, because the woman sighs, nods again, but holds up two fingers to let him know his minutes are limited.

"Okay, g-g-get outta th-thh-the wuh-way," Bill shoves Stan to the side, wrapping his arms around Richie much tighter than Stan did. Bill is confident and sure, as always, and he doesn't hesitate to convey his love for Richie.

"Thank you for being my brother," Richie remarks, his voice as fragile as a spider's web.

196

"Th-Thank you for b-b-being mine," Bill responds, running his fingers through the back of Richie's messy hair. "I'm j-j-jealous. You guh-get t-t-to live in Philly. The s-s-sports are... incredible."

"C'mon, Bill. Do I look like a guy who gives a shit about sports?" Richie laughs, pushing Bill away just to give him a slap on the shoulder. "You take care of these assholes, alright? Eddie's going to be writing to me everyday, I better not hear that you're letting them run loose like some hooligans."

"But isn't that what you do?" Stan pipes up, earning a shoulder slap as well.

"Fuck you guys," Richie laughs, but the words have never been more affectionate. "I'm gonna miss Derry. What a shithole."

Eddie surges forward again, wrapping his arms around Richie's middle and clinging on for dear life. He presses his ear against Richie's chest, trying to memorize the rhythm of his heartbeat just right.

"I love you," Eddie says. "I fucking love you, idiot."

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Richie looks at Stan and Bill, then at the caseworker impatiently tapping her foot. He looks at all the people in their train station, and then he looks down at Eddie's full head of hair. He wishes he could kiss his boyfriend goodbye, but there are far too many eyes watching to be able to do that. Instead, he settles for resting his hand on the back of Eddie's neck, and pressing a feathery kiss to the top of the boy's head. He hopes that equates all the love that Eddie is trying to give him.

"I have to go," Richie says, his eyes nervously glancing towards the caseworker walking towards them. "I have to go, Eds."

Eddie pulls away, gripping the front of Richie's powder blue shirt. "No. Please. Stay."

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"Aw, c'mon, kid," Richie rubs the back of his neck painfully. "Don't make this any harder than it already is."

And Eddie knows Richie language. He knows it quite well. And in Richie language, that translates to "Please don't make me cry." Eddie can respect that. He nods solemnly, taking a step backwards, and watching as Richie straightens his backpack out and turns to face the approaching caseworker.

"You all set? The train leaves in ten minutes. We've got to board now."

"Okay," Richie nods, his playful attitude washed away and replaced with the heartbroken submissive boy that goes wherever he's told. It's clear that Richie has given up on everything, his whole life has just completely been taken from his own hands and given to anybody who would take it. He feels helpless, and out of control, and most of all, he feels heartbroken.

Heartbroken that he has to leave his family in Derry. Heartbroken that he has to leave Beverly without a proper goodbye after the girl practically raised him and kept him well fed. That he has to leave Eddie. His lover.

146

"Okay," Richie says again, more defeated this time. He begins to walk away, his feet heavy. He imagines himself standing in blocks of cement, and then sinking to the bottom of an ocean. Anything would be better than this. Anything.

"Wait!" Eddie calls out.

Richie stops in his tracks, his heart twisting and tearing out of his chest. Tears swell up in his eyes, and his face flushes with color. He turns around just a little bit, broken in every sense of the word, as he watches little asthmatic Eddie run up to him at full speed.

"I told you, kid. Don't make this hard for me," Richie sniffles, tears streaming down his face.

"Here," Eddie ignores him, shoving a book into his hands. It's bound with smooth leather, the pages feeling worn and loved between Richie's fingers.

Richie looks down, and he sees the moleskin journal that Eddie carries around with him anywhere. The journal that Eddie pours himself into, day and night, writing feverishly as if his life depends on it. Eddie wouldn't let a single person even glance inside. Now, it rests in Richie's hands.

"Your journal?" Richie looks up in confusion, his snotty nose running unattractively. Eddie doesn't care.

"It's yours now," Eddie tells him. "I wrote. You told me to start writing, so I did. I wrote everything in there for you."

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Richie looks down, slowly lifting the cover up, but Eddie places his nimble hand over the top of it and rubs his thumb against Richie's.

"Not here," Eddie says. "Not now."

Richie nods, looking back down at the precious material he's been gifted from the gods. It all becomes too much, and he feels himself starting to lose it. He has to go. He can't let Eddie see him cry.

"Thank you," Richie smiles wistfully, remembering the color red that crystallized from Eddie's fawn-like nose the day that he ran into the little boy in the pharmacy. The boy who crowded him at a birthday party and quizzed him about Elton John. The boy who slowdanced with him in the shade of an oak tree, their hair still dripping wet from a day of swimming. The boy who took a chance to fall in love with an anxious mess. His boy. "Thank you for loving me."

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Eddie smiles. Simple and sweet, always simple and sweet.

"Thank you for letting me."

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Richie doesn't look back this time, and Eddie doesn't stop him again. He boards the train quickly, easily, and settles into his uncomfortable seat without many complaints. He prepares for the rest of his life to be like this chair, that is, uncomfortable. As the train pulls away, its loud whistle blaring through the air, Richie accepts that he will never return to Derry again. Not in two years, not in a million.

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He looks down at the journal in his lap. The well-worn piece of work that's been gifted to him by the only person to truly see endless potential in him. He contemplates whether or not he should read it so soon, his chest still feeling sore from being ripped open, but he decides he can't do that to Eddie. It was given to him to be read, he should read it.

Richie opens the first page, smiles at the familiar handwriting.

And he begins reading.

***

a/n: THIS IS NOT THE END!!! i know it seems like super final and everything, but i PROMISE YOU, there is still so much left!

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from this point until further notice, the story will switch to Eddie's point of view, as the narrative becomes the pages of Eddie's journal.

thank you for your relentless and faithful support. you guys keep me inspired. you are my muse. you are my art.

always yours,

Tyler.

November 14th, 1988

a/n: you guys are all sobbing and panicking so im double updating because i feel bad for making you cry ok ok

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this is in Eddie's point of view, written the night that Richie first snuck in through Eddie's window. sometime around chapter 14 i believe. alright that's all ill stop bothering you guys im gonna go play pokemon

***

Richie,

I'm sitting on my bedroom floor, writing this as quietly as I can. You're still asleep in my bed, it's only around 4:30 am so I don't think you'll be awake for a couple more hours.

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Last night you had said that you wanted me to start writing a journal, which I thought was ridiculous. Who would want to listen to me ramble? But then... you asked about my nightmares, and I realized; you do. You want to listen to me ramble. So, I'm taking you up on the journal idea, but I don't think I'll ever let you read it. I don't know. Maybe. We'll see.

I think I'm just going to recount my days as they come and go, just so that I don't miss out on any of my best memories. Tonight was a good one, though, so I hope the rest of these pages get filled up with other memories similar to the ones we created tonight.

I was waiting for you to come; I was watching the clock so anxiously and I was completely convinced that you weren't going to show up. I don't know why I was so scared of that possibility, but all I know is that I felt a tidal wave of relief wash over me the second I heard your feeble knock on the window.

There's an old saying; the eyes are the windows to the soul. I don't think that's true. As I stood up and checked my hair in the mirror, I thought the exact opposite. The windows are the eyes to the soul. I opened my window, and there you were. A perfect soul. A little damaged, rough around the edges, but still peach ripe and honey sweet.

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Then we sat and talked, and you laughed, and it filled my room with a coating that had never been felt there before. I don't have friends over often- scratch that, Ben will sometimes stay the night because he's the only friend my mother trusts. Other than him, I don't... I don't have people over often, and this room often feels like a shell. This house is far too cold, and it feels more like an imprisonment camp than a home. You changed that, though. You made the room feel warm and bright, and when you started humming those darling songs, it felt... safe. I felt safe. I know I barely know you, but it's just peculiar how comfortable you are.

I know this may be a long shot, but something about you feels like I've heard it before. I don't know what your beliefs are, because again, we just met, but I feel like I've met you before. Maybe in a past life?

134

Maybe I was some business man named Marshall and you were my next door neighbor, Ivan. Maybe we had potluck dinners, maybe we exchanged jokes while watering our lawns, maybe I took your daughters to soccer practice if you had to work overtime, maybe we would have family game nights in the basement of your house and while the kids argued about who cheated, we would go out to the garage to sneak a beer by your Mustang. Maybe when we had those quiet moments alone, no wives, no jobs, no kids, no responsibilities, maybe we would... share a look. And we would kiss. And you would taste the beer on my lips and maybe I would pull away too quickly. Maybe when we came back inside my wife would note how I smell like your aftershave. Maybe when we were all crowded around the dinner table eating a casserole, I would see your hand on your lap, and I would let my fingers overlap yours. Maybe. Just maybe.

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Hold on, I think you're waking up. No, just rolling over. I can see your face now, your bruises are healing up. If you do happen to read this, I should probably remind you of events that happen in case you forget too. You fought Henry Bowers to defend me, and then went out exploring with Mike. You've got a lot of cuts, Richie, but I must admit that I enjoy getting to take care of you. It's nice being so close, and seeing you drop your tough guy guard while I clean you up. Especially when you take your glasses off. You have the most beautiful eyes, it really is such a shame that you hide them. I can see them now, although they are closed. Your glasses are sitting next to my leg, you had taken them off to sleep earlier and I made sure not to step on them when I untangled myself to start this journal.

I couldn't sleep. Not because of nightmares, but because I was entirely overwhelmed with the idea of Richie Tozier being in my bed and holding me. I didn't really want to sleep and possibly miss out on this rare experience, I wanted to appreciate the moment for as long as I could.

And in case future Eddie forgets how it felt, this is a reminder;

Warm. So very warm. Seriously, does this guy just radiate heat? The moon spends its whole life chasing the sun, always coming up a bit too late, always just out of reach, but you've found it. Not only did you find it, but he pulled you in real close and held you for a majority of the night. So very god damn warm, producing more heat than the human body is capable of making. You checked his forehead to see if he had a fever, but in his sleepy state of mind he simply grabbed your hand and held it. He was asleep, you were not, and you just could not even attempt to sleep with his hand in yours. You stroked each individual knuckle, bruised and healing over, and let your breath fan over the skin as if breathing life onto the damaged kid. Even though you were the one to originally ask him to stay, he still held on so very tightly. Butterfly grips, but needing and desperate. I don't think he gets any attention, not even from Bev. Something about the way Richie Tozier acts... as if he is used to being the only person on earth... it's heartbreaking. Even now, writing these words, I feel the need to close this journal and never leave his side again. He deserves to be loved and he deserves to know how it feels, and I just want him to taste that sickeningly sweet rose bloom on his tongue when he finally gets the privilege of swallowing the reality of someone loving him unconditionally.

265

So, older Eddie, if you're reading back on this and you can't remember how his hands felt on your waist, remember this; it felt safe, and it felt warm, and it felt like hot sand on the quarry you used to swim in when you were younger and coming in from winter mornings to see cocoa steaming on the table. It felt like an overwhelming urge to be closer, to open him up and crawl inside and live between his lungs. To never let go, to just grab on and not ever back away, to let the rollercoaster tick and tick up to the top with the knowledge that the drop will be painful and scary, and to feel okay with it. It's okay. The drop is worth it, because he is a little chunk of sunshine that you have managed to wrangle in your bed. It feels like a smile on your face knowing that in the morning the sheets will still smell like him; cigarettes and books, and you hope that the scent lingers for as long as it can. Or, alternatively, you hope that he keeps returning before the scent has the chance to fade. It feels like wanting him to come back over and over again, to crawl in the window, and to hum those songs in your ear until you get goosebumps. It feels like bird feathers and supernova touches running up your thighs, and water faucets that have been running for so long that steam billows up and envelops you in a hug of redamancy.

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He has fingertips that are stained with wanderlust, and you could feel it every time he ran his hand up your bare back. An adventurer, a tiny planet explorer, and yet he chose to be here. With you. He may be the sun, but you are his earth. And I hope to god that you stayed that way, future Eddie.

The sky is starting to paint itself a hazy blue, so I think I'm going to stop writing now and get back in bed with Richie so I can enjoy the few hours of morning before we have to wake up for school. God, school. I forgot all about it. It's hard to think about anything other than Richie Richie Richie. Okay, now I'm really starting to miss being tucked up beside him. I'm going to go, the sun will shine soon enough and I want to be close enough to see how it will make his freckles glow.

Richie was right. Writing is kind of fun. And if Richie ever does read this; ignore everything I just said.

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Eddie Kaspbrak.

November 14th, 1988 (evening)

Rich,

104

It's technically the same day, just later in the evening as opposed to the middle of the night.

The morning started out dry and crisp, as if the weather had taken the life out of Derry itself and not just the changing leaves. My room packed humidity, but it was hot. Not just warm, but rather hot. I could feel myself sweating beneath my clothes, little droplets of rainfall forming under my storm cloud skin and rolling down my body like hurricanes. I didn't move, however. Even though you made me sweat like a pig, I wanted to stay in your arms. Or, actually, I wanted you to stay in mine. I may be smaller, but you love to be held, Richie. I think it's the neglect. You need to be held.

217

When my alarm went off, you sat up and pushed me away very quickly. Instead of staying and getting ready with me, you mumbled curse words under your breath and gathered your things throughout the room like the whole night had been a mistake. I didn't say anything, just sat on my bed and watched you go. Ballerina, I think. In our past life, you weren't some banker or middle aged family man. You were a ballerina. You dance so delicately, you slip out of my window like a finishing move. I couldn't even hear you land, you're so quiet on your feet.

141

Then, I got ready for school and lied to my mother about how I slept. I told her it was fine, but my room was cold, so I didn't know if I was feeling too well. The truth was; my room was hot, burning hot, with fire and lava and heat and just... I don't know what to call it. Passion seems too intense, but it seems to be the closest thing that my mind can think of. I just think I wish you would have stayed. You left your jacket, though, so maybe that can substitute as some kind of Tozier stand-in until you stay over again.

During first period Beverly told me that you are serving detention today. I think it's wrong. You shouldn't be getting punished for self defense, and especially not when the fight was four against one? Henry Bowers is a psychopath and I feel guilty that I ever even got you involved with him. You don't deserve to be punched, not when you have such a heavenly face. Doesn't he see that? Probably not, actually. The kid would rather slit his wrists than ever be attracted to another man. I feel sorry for the broad that marries him.

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Oh, jeez, I didn't mean to imply that I'm attracted to you. I'm not. I'm not gay, but it's okay if you are. I don't know. I just... get those feelings whenever I'm around you? The feelings that you might be a queer? If you are, it's okay, I don't mind. I just don't want people to think that we're queers together, I have enough of a hard time trying to convince everyone that I'm straight as it is. I'll ask Stanley. He knows a lot of the gays at our school, maybe he'll be able to tell if you are too. Bill calls this "gaydar" but I don't know what that means. Billy thinks that Stan is a little gay too. He always catches Stan staring at him, and one time, Stan went to hold his hand while they were walking around the cul de sac. Sometimes I catch you staring at me, so maybe... but I just hope that it's not for me. I'm not gay, and neither is Bill, so. I don't know. I'll ask Stanley to use his "gaydar" anyway. It sounds like an X-ray gun, though, and we all stopped playing guns when we got to middle school.

429

Whatever. I am rambling. The point is, you had to serve detention for defending yourself in a fight that wouldn't have happened if I didn't make you walk to class with me. I should toughen up on my own so that I don't have to make you fight my battles, I hate seeing the way your skin bruises. It bruises easily. I don't want to ever see any discoloration on your face again. It just might damn near break my heart.

At the end of the day, while Bev was taking you to detention, I ran into Ben outside the building. He asked if I wanted to go down to the Barrens with you guys, and I wanted to. I did. But I know that I can't be down in those sewers, not after the time I came home with grass stains on my shorts and my mother made me stay inside for a week. If she found out I was playing down in the Barrens, I think she would homeschool me up until college. I don't want that. I want to be able to see you. Even if it's just in our math class, when you're staring out the window to your left and I can't see your face. I can see the silhouette of it, though, and the outline of your prominent features is enough for me. You usually have headphones on, and I always want to know what you're listening to. Sometimes I wish you would turn and look at me, too.

I hope you had fun at the Barrens. I wish I could have gone. I did, however, get permission to go over to Stanley's where Bill came over with his new comics and we all took turns reading them. That was fun, the little stories are easier to live in than my own life sometimes. Stan has always been nice to me as well, a little too nice, and I think I am starting to pick up on what Bill means about Stan being a queer. He's nice, sure, but sometimes too friendly. Sometimes his touches last a little too long, but it's not like they're uncomfortable. It doesn't feel wrong, but it doesn't feel right either. I think it would feel more comfortable if they were your hands and not Stan's dried out palms from how much he washes them a day. Even though your hands are always filthy, I think I would still prefer them. But maybe I just prefer the person they're attached to, I don't know.

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Bill's mom called him home for supper, but I stayed with Stan since it was a Friday night and I got permission from my momma. I didn't know I would be staying over so I didn't get my sleeping bag, but Stan told me I could sleep in his bed. I was unsure.

But then I thought; why?

Why was I scared of sharing the bed with Stan? I've known him since we were toddlers, and suddenly I'm uncomfortable just because I have the feeling he's a queer? That didn't stop me from sleeping with you, did it?

126

So Stan and I sat under the covers and read older comics together, though I wasn't really reading at all. I was thinking of you. The room was silent except for the crisp overlay of paper whenever Stan would turn the page, the same sound that resembles my mother's magazines turning whenever she reads a new Cosmo. Outside, the crickets got louder and louder as night grew near, and when the afternoon sun came in to say farewell to us for the evening, I found my voice between rays of gold glowing on Stan's face.

"Stan, what do you think about being gay?" I had asked him.

The boy nearly choked.

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He looked scared, but I don't know why. Maybe I was wrong, maybe Bill was wrong. Maybe he wasn't gay, and maybe he hates queers just like Henry Bowers does. He chewed on his bottom lip which is Stan-language for "I want to change the subject."

With a kid as quiet as Stan Uris, you learn to pick up on his body language. Tonight's language was scared and upset. I wish I didn't ask.

"It's alright," Stan said after awhile, but his voice was shaking. "Not for me, though."

"Yeah, me neither," I told him. I think I was lying because I got that heavy peach pit feeling at the bottom of my stomach. Not a sweet peach, not the tender fruit that you pour into my nectarine life, no, but the bitter core of an apple that was planting its bad seeds into my very stomach. I felt like I was going to be sick, and I only ever felt like that when I tell lies.

And then I said "I think Richie is, though. Richie Tozier. He seems a little faggy to me."

639

Stan clenched his teeth and didn't say anything for the rest of the night, so I eventually put my comic away and pretended to go to sleep. After an hour, Stan got up and left the room. His walls are thin, and I could hear the water in the bathroom running in the next room over. It made a loud, hushing sound, one that is meant to mask other noises, but it didn't quite do the right job. I could still hear Stanley crying.

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The tiny waterfall stopped, and eventually, the ones coming from Stan stopped as well. Then, he came back in, and I shut my eyes so he wouldn't feel bad about someone hearing him. I don't think I've ever heard Stanley cry before; not even when the kids at school would tease him about being Jewish. Not when people would write "big nose" on his lunchbox and he would have to scrub it off with me in the bathroom so he wouldn't get in trouble with his parents. Not when he would get his face scrubbed in the snow until it bled because he refused to sing the Christmas carols they taught us in choir class. Not even when Bill had called him a "fucking asshole" and didn't talk to him for a week because Stan had snitched on Bill when he first started smoking cigarettes with Beverly. (Even then, when the two made up, Bill didn't smoke again. Not because he got in trouble with his parents, but because he didn't ever want Stan to go away again.)

134

Stan Uris has always been the strongest out of all of us, because his strength isn't mentally like Bill's or physically like Bev's, no, Stan is one of the few people who are... emotionally strong. I don't know how to explain it, but he is just so level headed and reasonable about everything. I envy it.

So to hear him crying to himself through a thin sheet of drywall and plywood, it broke my heart. I can't help but feel like it was my fault, because maybe I shouldn't have brought up the gay subject. But it was eating me alive, Richie. I just wanted to ask someone if they think the same things about you that I do. I don't know. I didn't get an answer.

Stan is sleeping beside me right now, and he looks much more calm than when he first came to bed. His eyes were swollen and puffy, his nose was red, and his flushed cheeks were streaked with tears. I still think it's my fault. My fault for calling you gay. I'm writing this underneath his window and using the moon as my only light, but I just feel so bad about calling you gay and making Stan cry.

I don't think I'll ask again.

yours,

Eddie Kaspbrak.

p.s. The moon is colossal tonight. It feels like I could throw a lasso around the whole thing and pull it down to earth, that's how close it is. I can see each individual blemish and crater, and if I squint, my eyes blur together and my vision will double. It resembles your eyes, big and pale and beautiful. I could stare at the moon all night but it will never compare to the way you look when you are so peacefully off guard. Gazing out school windows, sleeping in my bed, all actions I wish I could memorize forever.

November 18th, 1988

Tozier,

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We went to the aquarium today! I was so excited about it, I had been counting down the days on my calendar to November 18th. Bangor is about an hour ride north of Derry, so I had to pack extra medication just in case. The buses left early in the morning, and our bus filled up so quickly that I was worried you wouldn't find your way onto it. I had to save you a spot, and Stan kept saying that you were probably sleeping in late. But then Ben spotted you, and he called you over, and you sat next to me.

I'm really sorry that I said what I said today. I don't think you're annoying, I really don't. Do you know that? You're not annoying- no matter how many vulgar jokes you make. Even... Even when you call me Eds, which I hate. I still think you're as interesting as when I first met you, before all the gross chucks. I apologized to you, but I don't think you accepted it. I think you listened to what I said and believed it, which scares me. Why would you believe something so obviously not true? Do you genuinely think you're annoying? You're not, Richie. You're really not. You're brave. I hurt you, and you still protected me when Henry Bowers approached us today. That takes the strength of a hero, maybe you could be mine.

148

The fish were beautiful, though.

God, they were so beautiful. They flow with water like silk, their fins opaque and transparent at the same time, gleaming with golden neons, touched by the nimble, delicate, and graceful hands of God. They move with elegance, pure beauty captured in their quick-paced movements. I couldn't believe how many there were, and how absolutely stunning each one was. Stan told me that aquariums and places like SeaWorld (?) are cruel to their fish, but the Bangor aquarium must be an exception. Their fish swim with poise and purpose, and I crave to be anywhere near their level of absolute sheer beauty.

255

But you don't have to try. You already are beautiful. I don't know when you'll read this, or if you ever will, but you came up to me and asked me to listen to a song on your tape. That's how I knew we were okay. That was Richie Tozier language for 'you're important to me.' Thank you for letting me listen, Richie. I know I fell asleep on you, but I had dreams circling around ballrooms and waltzing with you in tune to George Michael. You look good in black tie, but I doubt I'll ever see you wear something so dapper outside of my dreams. Do you ever get tired from running around my daydreams all day? Do you look both ways before you cross my mind?

419

I don't know what any of this means. I don't. I tried talking to Bill about it, but I couldn't exactly explain the depth of it all to him without dropping your name, so I just changed the subject and asked him about the new sled his parents bought him for the winter. I don't know, sometimes I wish I did try talking to him about it, just so that somebody can explain it to me. I don't get why I feel the heat of the sun inside my tummy when you touch me. I don't get it, dude. It's so... I don't know. I just want to be around you all the time, I never want to be anywhere else, and I feel angry when your eyes stray from me. Isn't that so stupid? I think I definitely won't ever show you this journal now, not after saying something as embarrassing as that.

242

You walked home with Bev to go retrieve your bike; our plan was to meet back up at the corner of Greendrive and go to Mike's. When I suggested that the two of us go out to Hanlon's farm on the bus, that's all I wanted it to be; just us. But then everyone else invited themselves, and I couldn't explain why I didn't think that was a good idea. I guess I'm just selfish, I don't know. I want to hang out with you alone, but so does Bev. She told me so, and I promised that I can't tell you, or else you would get upset with her and stop being friends with everyone just to prove a point. She explained this with a bitter tone, disdain in her voice, but I can't help but think that your stubbornness is endearing. I don't know. Maybe it's just because you're new to the group; you know, Bev has known you for years so maybe the endearing aspects of you have worn off for her. I hope they don't ever wear off for me, I hope I still think you're just as pretty twenty years from now. Maybe we'll have wives by then, maybe we'll be neighbors, and maybe we can recreate that family-man life that I described in my first entry. Would you want that? Would you want to meet in my garage and share Pabst Blue Ribbon-tainted kisses? Maybe you'll grow up to be a whiskey man. Who knows. What matters is that I'm there to see which you end up to be, you know?

When I was running around and playing tag with the boys, I thought I was going to die. I really did. My lungs burned, but not from the asthma, but rather because of the inactivity. I'm so out of shape that it physically hurt to play with them, but I persisted through and kept going because it was just so fun. And I knew you were there, probably watching me with Beverly, and I didn't want you to think I'm weak or anything. I didn't want to make you have to use my aspirator on me, I just wanted to be normal for a second. So I ran, I ran quickly, and all these thoughts temporarily fell out of line with my brain and struggled to catch up. I thought that was amazing, Richie. I was running so fast and so hard and my lungs burned so much that I completely forgot about the way my stomach knotted up like rope when you would stretch your arms up in class and I could catch glimpses of forbidden territory. But the game ended, the thoughts caught up, and you stood up against the sunlight and started glowing.

235

Then we went inside for hot chocolate, and Stan took the only seat next to you. I was so mad at him for a moment, white hot flashes of blind rage completely hypnotizing me for brief moments. I felt like everything was riding on that seat, as if the world would crumble if I didn't get to sit next to you. In the end, I sat next to Mike, and tried not to feel that weird kind of angry I mentioned earlier when I saw the way that Stan was making you laugh.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you guys are friends, it's really great and it makes me incredibly happy seeing two of my favorite people so absolutely overfilled with joy, but... I don't know. Something about the way I made Stan cry, and all this stupid talk about "gaydar"... it makes me scared. If... I don't know. If Stan is gay, I wouldn't want him to be with you. It seems unfair, I feel like I claimed dibs on you long ago? No, wait, god, what am I saying? You're a living human with real feelings, I can't call "dibs". Sorry. You can date Stan if you want, but just... I don't know. It doesn't feel right to me in a way.

133

Not to mention Stan absolutely hated you when we first started hanging out with you. So how is that fair? I've been in love with your music since the moment we spoke, and I've adored your owl-eyes since the day you gave me a nosebleed.

176

Again, I know you're a human, so I'm really not trying to objectify you, but... I don't know. I deserve to feel those warm fuzzy feelings, not Stan. He can get them from someone else, a boy if he wants, but not you. Not you. You're my boy.

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I don't think I'll ever say any of this outloud. It sounds far too embarrassing and demeaning, and you might just laugh right in my face. You're a jokester like that, it's so hard to tell when you're being serious or when you're just pulling my leg. You're confusing, you know that, right? Like when we were all up in Mike's room later, warm and drunk off hot chocolate, and you put your arm around my shoulders and said "What a good room for some lovin', am I right, Eds?"

135

I frowned and elbowed you in the side because I couldn't tell if you were just trying to get some "chucks" or not. I hate that I can't tell, Richie. I hate that I can't tell, because I know that I'm never joking. I don't want you to be joking either. I want things like that to be serious, I want you to say them with conviction, and I want them to be honest.

I want a lot of things, I guess.

Ben and I left early because of our curfews, but I know that the conversation was circling around going to get cigarettes when we were leaving. I hope you didn't, I really don't want you getting lung cancer and dying on me, Tozier.

196

I thought about you the whole ride home. Ben was telling me stories about his great aunt's side of the family, and I kept nodding and pedaling at a slow pace so that he didn't have to exert himself, but I was just so, so, so lost in the way that your body shaped around mine. Every time you put your arm around my shoulders, I think something clicks together, as if we're cut from the same cloth or carved from the same stone. I want to believe so, but I think I'm just desperate for any sort of attachment to you. For what reason, I have no clue.

You were beautiful today. I forgot to write that until just now. You were very beautiful today, and I wish I told you so. I think you need to hear it sometimes.

110

The blues hues of the fish tanks soaked your skin with saturation, casting hazy shadows across knife-point cheekbones and that marble jawline. You're made from the same composition as Michaelangelo's greatest statues, and Van Gogh's best paints. Such a delicately composed boy, complex in all your little tangled ways, and there's got to be a supernova at the very core of it all. There must be. It's the only way to explain why stardust and glitter shine through your skin so easily. I hate that I'm the only one who can see it, but I'm grateful that I get to appreciate it in its entirety.

God. I just lost my breath at the memory of you slipping your headphones over my ears. Your face was an open door, one that transports me through a subspace that can summon alternate realities. You lead to different universes, Richie, and I want to explore each and every single one of them.

yours,

Eddie Kaspbrak.

PS: (I hope these don't become a tradition, I just find that I have so much to say to the imaginary Richie that reads this journal.) I can't wait to see you at school tomorrow. Hopefully you talk to me in math class, because I'm always too scared to.

November 21st, 1988

Richie,

I haven't hung out with you in two days.

I am aware that that is merely a blip in time, and that two days means nothing, but I still feel the ache in my chest. I thought it was heartburn, I thought it was acid reflux, I thought it was early onset respiratory infection, but it was merely Richie Tozier. Or the lack thereof.

I wish I didn't miss you, because it feels stupid to want to see you. Do you think the same thing? Probably not. I don't know. If you did want to see me, you would probably call me or something, right? But then again, I don't call you either, so who knows? Maybe you do, maybe you don't.

Today you were wearing a really cute shirt. It was a buttonup with tiny little cacti printed all over it, and you had these outrageously ridiculous flame design socks pulled up over your jeans. Has anybody ever told you that your fashion is awful? Bill seems to love it, though, which is so weird to me. That's besides the point, however. The point is that I was admiring this lovely shirt at lunch, taking in all the little details on the cacti, when you looked over at me and smiled.

126

It was a simple smile, nothing ground-breaking here.

But I still felt my heart physically patter against my ribs like a moth trapped under a glass. The delicate wings make such hefty noises against the containment, but I didn't feel trapped. I felt free, scarily free, as if I was falling straight from a helicopter with no parachute. Nobody wants to be that free, and yet you can make me feel that airborne just from a spotty smile.

And then I did something brave. I don't think you see it as brave, but for me, it was quite a big deal. I get nervous around you, Richie. You make me feel such... angry, demanding feelings, so its hard for me to overcome those nerves when they beg to be felt. But I reached out and grazed my fingertips right against your thigh, so lightly that I don't even think you felt it. I don't think you did, or else you would have said something, right? I don't know. You were arguing with Bill about some guy who cheated during gym class, I wasn't exactly listening. But I know that you put your hand down on your leg, right on the spot that I touched. I think you were inviting me, or maybe hoping that I would touch there again, but I lost all the nerve that I had managed to build up and instead went back to peeling my orange. Stanley was stressing over his review notes for history, yelling at you to take this test more seriously, but you just smiled and said you had it covered. I wish things were that easy for me. I feel like I live in a perpetual state of confusion, and you only make things worse, Richie.

Still. Even so, I don't think I would have it any other way. May my life be confusing for the rest of my days if it means you get to be beside me through it all.

I think your parents are still out of town, so I might ask you to come over for Thanksgiving. I don't know how my mom would feel about it, especially considering that I haven't even told her that you exist yet, but I just don't want you being home alone and feeling bad about it. Stan's family doesn't celebrate it because the food isn't "kosher" (whatever that means), so he either goes to Bill or Mike's. Beverly always goes to Ben's, but I suppose you already know that, being her best friend and all. I don't know, I just think it would be nice. Everyone gets to spend Thanksgiving with someone else, and I'm stuck with my mother. Kinda sucks. It would suck way less if you were there.

On a bit of a darker note, I haven't been sleeping well lately. I wish I could listen to your tape, but I don't even have a fucking Walkman. Can you believe that? It's 1988 and I'm the only person in the world who doesn't even have a tape deck. Mom thinks that the devil brainwashes kids through music nowadays, so I don't even get to have a radio. (But she bought me a TV despite all the negative side effects of those?) Oh, I guess I should make a note of that. If I invite you to Thanksgiving, I have to remind you to not wear any Led Zeppelin shirts or anything along the lines. My mother would be convinced that you're an evil, soul-sucking, dopehead. I'd never hear the damn end of it if I brought home a boy with an appearance as rough as yours.

(Just so we're clear, I happen to be very... fond of your appearance. I like you the way you are, dopehead shirts and all.)

117

Back to the point. I haven't been sleeping well because of the fact that I can't hear the music. It feels so fucking wrong of me to have access to this special gem straight from Richie Tozier's brain, with absolutely no way of listening to it. I must admit, nobody has ever given me a mixtape before, but I am beyond flattered by it. The thought and raw passion that must have gone into these songs, all for me... it's more than I could ever ask for, Richie. I know I'm not very good at expressing these things, but I really truly do love the fact that you tailored this mix of songs just for me. I only wish I had a way to actually, y'know, listen to them. It feels wrong to have them sitting there collecting dust, but what else am I to do?

Maybe it's because you're not here. I certainly sleep better when you're around, so perhaps it is just your presence that eases me, not the music itself. I... Again, I wish that I didn't miss you so much, because I just sparked a craving to feel your warm chest cradling my spine. What's the opposite of anemic? You radiate more body heat than what should be considered normal, but I miss the warmth. It feels like summer days and sunburned, scorched skin. Bambi blood and recoils on BB guns. The burn in my pec as I draw the bow. The arrow is pointed at your chest, I hope to god I don't miss this shot.

130

I'm going to try and get some sleep tonight, hopefully I don't have that dream again. I'm still sleeping with your jacket, so maybe that can aid my restlessness. It's worked well as a replacement Richie in these past two days, but I think I would about die from embarrassment if you were to ask me what happened to your favorite windbreaker.

We go camping this weekend. While everyone is still in a turkey-coma from Thanksgiving, I will be spending a whole weekend in a tent with you. Isn't that amazing? I'm- I'm actually excited. Ludicrous, isn't it? I, Eddie Kaspbrak, am excited to stay with Richie Tozier. There's just so many possibilities, you know? So many.

160

I hope you're as excited as I am.

I'm bringing peaches to school tomorrow, I've noticed that you like those more than the apples. I like making sure you're well fed, it gives me a sense of pride knowing that I've helped. Maybe my place in this world is in your wake, feeding off of your ghostly shadow, and taking care of you where I can. If it were, I don't think I would mind all that much. Like living in the shade beneath a tree, I will carve my initials into the bark and leave my mark where I can.

178

yours,

Eds.

November 25th, 1988

Richie,

You're sitting right next to me as I write this. You keep moving closer and closer, and I don't know if I'm supposed to notice or not, but I definitely have. The fire is blazing, embers threatening to attack at any given second. This winter has a bright, glaring sense of death lingering in it, a stiffness in the air that only brings misery with its harsh winds. We're right on the cusp of the first snowfall, the clouds have that pout about them that tells me it won't be long now.

Despite this, I haven't felt warmer. Not because of the campfire, not because of the blankets wrapped around me, but because you just moved a little closer. I really do think you're trying to be nonchalant, and something about that strikes me as humorous. Whatever it is that you're hoping to achieve, I truly do wish that you don't give yourself any splinters by the way that you're digging your palms into the log.

I walked a lot today. I could've had my mom drive me, I could have called the Denbroughs to drive me, hell, even Ben's mom would be glad to pick me up, but I needed to walk. I needed the time to think, and I even left early so that I could loop around town a couple of times and just sit with my thoughts. I was hoping that it would help clarify some things, such as why I shiver and get goosebumps when you exhale, but I'm afraid it only made things worse.

I was reflecting on all of these unique little Richie Tozier things that make me so shaky, and only thinking of them got my heart racing. My feet were treading through dead, heavy leaves, and I considered laying down and burying myself right in a grave of autumn to escape what the conclusion keeps circling back towards. I don't want to say it, mainly because I think you already know. Everyone else already knows as well, I've been called a fag since the second grade. Why should I have to say it in the first place? It doesn't matter. I think it'll go away, it's just a phase. I don't feel anything towards boys in the first place; just you. That's got to mean something, right? That means it's not serious, it's not real. Right?

237

I want to ask Stan. He seems a little weird and bothered since you guys came back from gathering firewood, but I don't want to ask and potentially make him uncomfortable. I still hear the echoes of his muffled sobs through thin drywall barriers. I know that, like, being gay or whatever is a touchy subject, but I just need to know if this is normal. Why is it just you? Just Richie Tozier? Nobody else makes me feel like this, nobody at all. Is it normal? Am I normal?

126

What if I'm not?

What happens then?

Do I have to live the rest of my life knowing that I've had a crush on a boy for a majority of this school year?

Oh god, I actually said it. Oh dear god. The words actually left my mouth- or, left my pen onto the page. Pen. I can't erase this, Richie, I genuinely just wrote those words down. Oh, you're moving closer now. Please don't look. Don't look at this page. Don't look at that sentenc- okay, you're talking to Beverly now.

201

I have a crush on a boy. A boy. I have a crush on a boy. Why do I keep repeating it? Am I trying to convince myself it isn't true? It's almost like those times when you say a word so many times that it no longer sounds real, you know what I mean? Like, apple, apple, apple, apple, apple. Sounds weird doesn't it? I have a crush on a boy, I have a crush on a boy, I have a crush on a boy, I have a crush on a boy.

144

Jesus, it's not working, it's just sounding more and more real. What the fuck, dude? What the fuck. Like, actually, genuinely; what the fuck. Oh god, what if my mom finds this journal? Fuck. Mom, if you're reading this, it's a joke. Richie pulls pranks on me, I'm just trying to get him back.

191

Yeah, maybe that's what it is. I'm just trying to prank him. Or prank myself. Why would I prank myself? But why else would I like a boy? God, none of this makes sense. I just want somebody to fucking tell me if this is okay, because I don't know!! I already get the living shit beat out of me, I don't want to add to it by actually being queer, god, my life would be hell. I can't imagine it, nor do I want to.

The idea of Henry Bowers discovering this journal is enough motivation to not tell anybody. I can't; I mustn't. If anybody were to read this, my life would be over.

You're pressed against my side now. I smell that coconut, that dusty book smell, that old leather. I hate how comforting it is. I hate how warm you are. I hate how familiar you feel. I hate how lovely you look against the tangy glow of the blaze. So beautiful. I hate it.

I feel sick. I need to take some anti-nausea medication so I don't end up vomiting in the marshmallow bag and ruining the night for everyone. I'll be back later- maybe.

For now,

Eddie.

November 26th, 1988

Hey, Richie.

It's the morning after. You're still sleeping, and I'm trying to detach myself from you as I write these words. You have a bit of a deathgrip on yourself, dude. My organs are rearranging themselves under Tozier's deadlock on my waist.

175

I know I had a bad dream last night, it was terrible. I can't remember what it was about, exactly, but it wasn't a spider, that much was for sure. It was somehow worse, scarier. It felt too vivid, too realistic to be a dream. The memories of it are wiped blank from my mind, so I can't even recall anything except for the way I felt. Terrified. Alone. So awfully, terribly alone. It was the worst I have ever felt.

And then it didn't hurt anymore.

It all stopped within a nanosecond, every feeling of isolation instantly being washed out to sea as the waves crash against my shore. You swept me up quickly, burying my head in your chest, rocking us back and forth patiently and whispering quiet songs to me. Then I realized, no, you put the headphones on me. I was hearing Richie's music, that's what it was. And that calmed me down even faster, because I was just so focused on listening to the words that you drill into your brain on a daily basis. If I ever want to know how you're feeling, all I have to do is listen to what music you're playing. It's how you communicate, Richie.

I fell back asleep, it must have been the middle of the night. I don't remember anything else other than you were here, for me. For me. And you didn't leave in the night, you stayed and held me and didn't push me away when we both lied down and I put my leg over your hips. It felt so interlocked and personal, we are vines growing around eachother and knotting together in a grape vineyard. We'll make beautiful wine one day, I know we will. We'll get drunk off of our feelings for each other.

192

Everything feels so good right now, Richie. I read what I wrote last night and I think I was just a little freaked out by finally admitting to myself that I might like boys. No, scratch that. I might like a boy. Not plural.

The sun is coming in through the trees and creating puppet shows on the side of our tent, tiny molecules of light fighting through the thin material to find their land on your freckled cheek. The tent is warm and heavy with loving air, all the sighs and exhales of two boys that want to be holding each other for as long as they can. I can hear birds starting their song, and just a moment earlier, there was a tent unzipping that was undeniably Stan going to respond to their flighty call. You look so heavenly when you sleep, I cannot comprehend how there is someone on Earth as ethereal as you, let alone someone who will lie next to me with his arms around my waist. I feel good about it now, I feel okay. Liking boys isn't as scary if it happens to be this one, and if he happens to hold me the way he is now this bleary November morning.

The birds sing for you, Richie Tozier. Wake up and listen to them.

108

yours,

Eds.

November 29th, 1988

Richie,

I'm sorry I didn't invite you over for Thanksgiving. I really wanted to, believe me, but I grew so scared at the idea of my mom drilling you with thousands of questions. She always interrogates my friends, and that's why I just stopped bringing people over. She likes Ben, though. Everyone likes Ben. He's likable. God, what do you think she'd do if I brought Beverly over? She'd get me tested for STD's on the spot. She hates girls, she thinks they'll corrupt me. We learned a word for that in our humanities class, are you taking humanities? You should take it next year, it's a good class. It taught me that my mom is "misogynistic" and she has "Munchausen syndrome by proxy." That means she makes up illnesses for me, just so that she can shelter me and give her life some sort of purpose. I think that's really sad, so I just let her.

235

I think you stayed home for Thanksgiving, and that makes me really sad. I wish I knew where your parents are, just so I could give them each a hard punch. (I wouldn't in reality, but it's nice to pretend.) Either way, we had two days off for school, and I missed you all weekend. I think you are ignoring me, because I heard that you were going to hang out at Stan's, but once I got permission to come over, you backed out and decided to go ding-dong-ditching with Beverly. I get she's, like, your best friend and everything, but why did you choose her over us? Was it because I was there?

I think it's because of what happened when we went camping. I'm confused too, Richie. Why can't we figure it out together? Sometimes I feel so close to just telling you, just blurting it out and letting you know about every single thought that enters my head, but that would be disastrous. Can't we talk about what happened? It's not normal, no "friends" hold each other like that. I was right, you needed to be held. You curl up against me so tightly, and you somehow make yourself seem so small. You don't have to do that, Richie. You don't have to minimize yourself just for my sake. You aren't a burden, and I'll still hold you either way. It was nice, okay? It was nice. Even after I calmed down from the nightmare, the whole night was spent entwined with one another, and I swear I felt your lips graze my jaw at one point. Why do we have to pretend like it didn't happen? It was so nice. Why are you so upset by it? Was it a mistake? I hope not. Please, please don't be a mistake.

191

I think I really want to go see you. It's a Saturday, you should be home. I haven't heard about plans from anybody, so I think that I'll ride my bike on over to your house and see if you want to talk about this. I hope you do. I really, really hope you do.

I'm going to go now before I lose the nerve. It's not that late, so momma should let me out of the house with no problem. I'll just say I'm going to study with Benjamin. Again, she likes him.

I'll bring the journal with so that I can write down what happens, in case you ever find this when you're old and have dementia. I hope it goes well, I really really... like you, Richie. I do.

I'll see you soon, beautiful boy.

320

Eds.

November 29th, 1988 (evening)

You like me back.

But Henry Bowers likes you.

second part!!!!

[a]never say that to someone. no matter how much you hate them.

[b]_Marked as resolved_

[c]_Re-opened_