Chapter Text
Richie was sure he'd been seen.
The thought made him feel stupid and naive. There was no way to know if he had really been seen, and it's not like he could currently ask. As a result, he merely stood at the edge of the sidewalk, watching as the pink-clad boy tumbled harshly into the asphalt.
Feeling somewhat guilty, he rushed out to help him up, realising his stupidity when he hit the ground immediately afterwards. Groaning frustratedly, he sat himself up and observed as a group of teens approached the boy.
They rode by bike and Richie had seen them many times, passing by the house without a second thought. He didn't know their names, nor where they lived in Derry, he just knew that he longed to. It was hard seeing them so often, looking so happy, knowing that he couldn't even walk up to say hi, and see if they wanted him around. It was hard to admit it, but he felt jealous. He pulled his knees to his chest, wincing at the damp feeling of his own congealed blood seeping through his shirt. Sighing, he looked up as a familiar red-headed girl approached the guy on the ground.
Richie focused on him mostly, conscious that he was currently invisible to even himself, he didn't care if he wasn't acknowledged. He mainly wished to take in his features, somewhat surprised by how smooth his skin looked. Although his stature was small and dainty, he appeared to be in his teens. Richie wasn't entirely sure, but it made sense for him to be around his age, or at least how old he was when he was alive.
Maybe he was just hoping for them to have at least one thing in common, because goddammit this was the only person who'd seen him in 27 years. Richie still felt like the thought was irrational, but he knew there was something more to their short-lived eye contact than him simply staring into space. He was used to people looking directly into his eyes as they walked by, and deep down he hoped that it meant something, but they always looked so distant and empty. It hurt, really, it felt like they were literally looking through him and it served as yet another reminder that he was alone, but this time was different.
Now, don't get him wrong, the neibolt house was creepy to look at, and honestly a sight to see, but why would you stop to look at it whilst riding a bike? Surely it's not that much of a spectacle, but then he took himself into consideration. Sure, he looked normal, at least he did before he got fucking murdered and wound up permanently pale and covered in blood with the mistiest eyes any spirit could be graced with. He wondered if his eyes were part of it, remembering how they'd caught sight of the boy's warm brown irises.
Something about him felt odd. Richie had never seen him in Derry before and yet, if he'd still had a beating heart, he was sure it would be pounding in his chest. Even through his broken glasses he could see the boy's perfect, warm-toned skin, only highlighted by his rosy cheeks, which reminded Richie of soft, pink cotton candy. His face was framed by feathery, dark chestnut hair, which seemed to scatter in shades of red and gold in the gentle sunlight. It was neatly combed over to this side, but had been somewhat displaced after his fall, and Richie couldn't help but find it adorable.
Something that surprised Richie further, however, was his clothing. An oversized, pink polo shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, and below them was a pair of bright red shorts, loose around his slim legs. He could admit that the shirt was more of a corally shade but nevertheless, it was dangerous to wear something so feminine in Derry. That wasn't the only weird this though.
Around his hips, just above his waistband, was a fucking fanny pack.
The raven-haired spirit nearly squealed at the sight, completely enamoured by how the clunky accessory made the boy look so cute and small. However, he couldn't approach him, nor could he ignore how he looked when he laughed. He was giggling with the rest of the group, and although Richie couldn't distinguish his laugh amongst the others, the look on his face was enough. Adjusting his glasses, he came to the conclusion that the boy in his entirety radiated pure joy and warmth, and rather oddly, he reminded Richie of strawberries and peach.
Somewhere deep within him though, he knew the feeling, because despite the twenty seven year gap between then and now, he remembered Connor, and most importantly, the way he felt about him too. It was almost horrifying as a realisation, that despite dying, he was still a disgusting predator. How could he excuse himself when he'd already been staring at this poor boy who he didn't even know and thinking of him in such a way?
He gulped loudly and stood up, restoring any visibility and he watched the group ride away. It made him feel hollow and he stared sadly, with deep longing as they left. He was sure they'd come back, they rode down neibolt street often, and hopefully the fanny-pack wearing male had joined them, but he was still painfully aware that no matter how many times he saw them go by, that's all he'd be able to do. Watch them from a distance, and remain alone.
So he watched the group leave, and hoped they'd come back soon, praying that he wasn't wrong. He knew it was pointless, but he timidly lifted a hand to wave shyly as they left, almost like a silent goodbye to the thing he wished he was a part of. His mind was screaming at him that he was stupid and overly hopeful, and that he was delusional for being so obsessed with a boy who he'd seen once in his (after)life, and he believed it wholeheartedly.
Despite this, he was still shocked when glistening doe eyes met his for a second time. It was in a rushed glance, but it still sent a buzz through him, almost confirming that he, Richie Tozier, had been seen for what felt like the first time.