Chapter Text
September, 1989.
It's a few weeks after the Losers defeat IT—at least for the time being. School started back. Richie has been attempting to cope. Really, he was. The other Losers were struggling just as much as he was—Bill was grieving his brother, Bev was moving in with a nearby relative, Mike, Eddie, Stan and Ben were all coping through what they've experienced like the rest. Richie didn't go through the worst of it, surely.
But Richie still struggled with falling asleep at night. Usually he stays awake by the adrenaline of a pulsating fear in the back of his mind, then crashes as soon as he gets home and wakes at 6pm. Maybe he goes down for dinner, maybe he goes back to sleep. Depends whether or not he feels like food will make him even more sick to his stomach, and he really doesn't have the energy for vomiting.
He feels like he's on autopilot in school. He wakes up at 5am, puts his glasses on and finds decent clothing to wear. He doesn't bother to brush his teeth. Or find breakfast. He eats at lunch, even if he has to pray he can keep it down.
Richie hasn't been to the arcade after school or during weekends for a while. It's not like he doesn't want to, he does. It's just this crippling fear of stares, whispers, violence. Bowers was still fucking around. His cousin? He hasn't gone home yet. He was supposed to by now. He's heard whisperings that his parents don't want to bring him back, or that they can't make it over to get him. Supposedly he isn't with Oscar, however, so where the fuck is he supposed to be staying? That's not something Richie heard.
So that angry fear deep in the pit of his stomach, about words being strown about, about being watched, about terms and insults being shouted or shoves or punches or worse. That's all the fault of Henry and Connor Bowers. And don't get him wrong, Connor was pretty. He did want to play Street Fighter more, but he also just wanted more time with a guy he thought was nice looking and acting. A little crush may have been forming. He still had a deep love for Eddie, but Richie sure as hell can like multiple people at once.
But Connor wasn't nice. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was true. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But he still said those things. He practically sent Henry after him to attack and publically humiliate him. Putting him in more danger than he already was in with the constant rumors. Richie Tozier's a queer. Richie Tozier likes boys. Richie Tozier is a perv. Richie Tozier wants to kiss men. Don't get too close to Richie, he'll plant one on you. Richie Tozier shouldn't be allowed in the boys locker room. Richie Tozier will try to bone you if you get too close. That lame-ass loser club are probably all kissing each other behind closed doors, that girly bunch. Sissies. Fairies. Faggots.
Richie Tozier sucks flamer cock. Written on a bathroom stall in sharpie, for every boy to see, and think, Richie Tozier is fucking disgusting. I hope he never touches me and spreads his disease.
Now here Richie was, by himself, in a park. A public place. He could get beaten or murdered here and no one would care, just because he's a fag. But it's a lower possibility. He's by himself since no one asked him to hang out and he didn't ask them to hang out. He felt too out of it anyway. It's Saturday. The weekend. He should care, he wants to, but he feels too numb. He can't go anywhere if a Bowers family member is there.
Richie enjoys the sun, the warm weather, while he's out here. It's truly nice out. It's nice to soak it in before the Fall comes. He does love Autumn, but Summer is great when it's not boiling.
He closes his eyes as warm bright light engulfs his whole body. Good thing he put on sunscreen as his mom and friends hound him about. You're part Irish, Richie, you're pale, you burn easy.
Maybe he'll fall asleep here. If he gets kidnapped or robbed then he gets kidnapped or robbed. No big deal. It's warm and peaceful...
"Can I sit here?" A familliar voice speaks, disrupting his peace. Richie does not want to open his eyes, but he feels he has to. Once he opens his eyes his fear was correct, obviously. He remembers that voice vividly saying "I'm not your fucking boyfriend."
Richie glares at him, "What are you doing here?" He questions.
Connor ignores the question. "Can I sit here, please?" He asks again.
"Fine," Richie grumbles. Connor sits down beside him. "What do you what from me?"
"I don't want anything from you." He replies, and Richie hears the slightest shake in his voice.
"There's, like, five other benches in this park. Why sit by me?" Richie makes it clear he wants nothing to do with Connor.
Connor sighs, and it's the first time Richie really looks at him. He does look genuinely sorry and ashamed. That's good, Richie still doesn't trust him yet. "I wanted to talk to you."
"About what?" Richie softens his tone ever so slightly.
"About what I said, I'm sorry." He said softly but firmly. "That was very stupid of me. I was just terrified of Henry so I panicked. But I shouldn't have said that. I really shouldn't have and I fucked up and I'm sorry."
"I appreciate the apology," Richie raises his voice. "but that doesn't fix the fact that Henry called me a faggot in public. Where anyone can just believe it and put me in danger."
"I know, I'm sorry." Connor repeated desperately, "But maybe I can help?"
"Help how?" Richie questions.
"I could tell people you aren't gay, or fight them off, or tell people I-" He cuts himself off quickly. He swallows down a lump in his throat.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"It's just-" He lets out a deep breath. "Are you actually gay?"
"Wha- Why are you asking that?" Richie says, offended.
Connor shuts his eyes, "I am." Richie's eyes widen.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"So am I."
Connor opens his eyes, hope and surprise glisten and swirl in them. They look pretty in the sun. "Really?"
"Yeah, but if you're tricking me, I swear." Richie says protectively.
"No, no. I'm not. Promise!" Connor assures frantically.
"Alright then." Richie nods, "I might forgive you. Not yet, but I don't hate you."
"You don't?"
"No." Richie says, "Hey, why are you still here anyway?"
"My aunt lives here. At the cusp of Derry. I've been with her until my parents get me." He says, more like he's trying to believe it.
"How long until your parents come?"
"I don't know."
"But they are coming?"
"Of course they are." Connor snaps, but apologizes after.
It catches Richie off guard, he didn't mean it that way. "You're good. Sorry. Where d'you live?" Richie asks to change the subject.
"Miami." Connor shrugs, "It's okay, we used to live in New Hampshire."
"Ooh, Florida. See many alligators and snakes?" Richie jokes.
Connor snorts a laugh, "Not really. Once in a while a snake shows up in our backyard, but I don't get near it."
"Aww, too bad. Thought you'd have a pet alligator."
Connor giggles. "Hell no. Mom wouldn't allow that."
Richie smiles. Just a bit ago he hated this guy and now he's joking with him like the first time they met. He should go home and really think things over, and he's fucking exhausted.
"Well, I gotta get outta here." Richie says, standing up. "Stay out of trouble, please?" He sees Connor nod before he walks away with a dumb smile on his face and confusing feelings in his heart as he makes the trek back home.