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He realized at a young age he was different from all the other boys.
He stood tall and lanky, tripping over his own feet down the way too narrow hallway that made it impossible for him to be invisible.
His hair was often flat to his head, shielding his vision through his cokebottle glasses when it hung over their rims.
His voice sometimes got too shrill when he got excited, and he found it alot harder than most boys to calm himself down when he got excited.
He found it hard to make friends because normal boy things didn't excite Richie Tozier.
He didn't like cars, trains, and sports.
He didn't like roughhousing or getting dirty.
He didn't have much of a stance on video games, but he didn't like cartoons.
And he really didn't like girls.
Every time Richie had a friend he liked, a girl would take him away.
First Stan.
Then Eddie.
And Bill.
He was so, so sick of girls taking away his friends.
What did they have that Richie didn't?
He thought maybe, maybe he could get to the girl before his friend could this time.
Maybe he could steer them away with his charm, then politely tell them that he isn't interested?
The girl would understand, right?
Friendships are so much more important than romance after all.
So, the first day of middle school, he plopped himself down right next to Beverly Marsh.
It nearly made him nauseous how her hair was so long and perfect, how her eyes shined with joy, how her lipstick gave her an innocent pout that could lure every man in the room.
Every man except Richie.
He wouldn't be fooled by her physical appearance, because deep down he knew she would hurt him. She would ignore him and push him aside, cast him away like dead weight and sail off in her little paper white boat with his friend.
He wouldn't let that happen again.
He took a deep breath and unclenched his fist from his shorts as he smiles, drawing in her attention.
"Hey, I'm Richard but, everyone calls me Richie!" He beams, extending a less than friendly formal hand.
She smiles back at him and takes it, unaware of the consequences. "Beverly. But you can call me Bev."
"You look really pretty today, Bev!"
"As opposed to...?"
"Huh?"
She chuckles gleefully and waves him off, shaking her head. "Just a joke. Thanks Richie."
"You're welcome. Hey, i left my book at home. Can we share?"
She examines him up and down with an eyebrow raised as if she has to verify his identity.
He finds it scrutinizing and shifts in his seat.
"Of course we can. Scoot in, Rich." She smiles, and he swallows down his hateful instinct to oblige.
Richie ends up dating Beverly all through middle school, receiving praise from all his fellow losers, except for Ben.
Ben didn't seem happy for Richie. He looked angry, jealous, exactly what Richie wanted him to be.
He would much rather have Ben be passive and depressed than disappear. Passive and depressed Richie could fix.
Beverly, on the other hand, was beginning to get suspicious of Richie's behaviour. She found it odd he'd never tried to kiss her anywhere other than her cheek, and even that held hesitation. He hated holding hands or showing any type of affection in private, but he treated her like a princess when he was around their friends. There was also the time she came over to his house and found him panting and stroking himself to pictures he shut his laptop too quickly for her to see.
Something about Richie just wasn't adding up.
So she devised a plan.
"Hey babe?"
"Yeah sweetums?" Richie beams, straightening his clothes in his closet to heavy metal while Bev sits criss cross on his bed.
"Can I borrow your laptop? I'd like to get started on research."
"Sure! You know where to find it. Be right back!"
She nods easily to him as he disappears to another room in the home, quickly opening the laptop and heading to his gallery.
"Just me, Projects, Funny, Default...Private?" She mumbles questioningly, clicking on the folder and gasping in shock.
She scrolls through the thousands of photos, skin crawling as the faces in the photos change from file to file. She recognizes some of the boys from their younger years, but some of them must be from Richie's new high school. Among all the photos, she notices, she doesn't any girls.
Not just any girls, she doesn't even see photo of her. She was Richie's girlfriend, he should have tons of photos of her.
While rolling that over in her brain, she notices something else. Nobody in these photos is posing. They all look caught off guard, or they aren't even looking at all.
It's almost like Richie just went around with a camera and took pictures of unknowing victims.
Victims?
She shakes her head and scrolls to the bottom where she finds a folder called Special.
Beverly checks for footsteps, but doesn't hear anything, and clicks the zipped folder.
Her heart nearly leaps out of her chest as dozens of photos of the loser's appear on screen, drawn and scribbled on with Richie's messy handwriting.
She felt like she was in a horror film, searching through Richie's things.
He'd drawn red X's on Bill's eyes, but he'd also written words like handsome and beautiful under his smile.
He'd covered up Myra completely in a photo of she and Eddie and photoshopped in a photo of himself.
He'd drawn a heart over a photo of he and Stan at a birthday party, but had completely blacked out Stan's face in anger.
It was all finally clear to Bev why Richie had always acted the way he acted.
Richie had been struggling with his sexuality this whole time, and she was too blind to see it.
She should have known with how protective and clingy he was with his friends, how his eyes lingered a little too long when Mike's shirts were too tight, how his face flushed red when Ben hugged him, why never tried to make a move on Beverly.
"Whatcha doin' in my gallery?" He whispers behind her, and she nearly knocks the laptop to the ground in fear. She quickly turns to face him, cheeks hot with embarrassment.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He clicks his tongue and takes a step forward, flipping his hair nonchalantly. "Tell you what, Bevycakes?"
"That you were...gay." She swallows nervously, watching his body tense then release like the day they met.
"What makes you say that?"
"Richie, I know this is hard to deal with, but you should really talk to some--"
"The only thing that's hard to deal with is the fact that my fucking girlfriend broke my trust!"
"It explains why you can't kiss me, why you're standoffish, why you're never aroused by me even though I've seen you jack off at least 10 times."
"I'm not gay, Bev."
"I never noticed how much attention you pay to the guys until now...it's like you were mesmerized...why did you even ask me out?"
"I liked you."
"No you didn't!" She stands up, and he takes a menacing step forward to make her back down. "You never even pay attention to me Richie! Those photos date back to before we even met, back to when I was interested in...wait."
"Bev. Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."
"You liked Ben, didn't you? You liked Ben, so you...you dated me out of spite?"
"Leave it alone, Bev." He laughs, and she finds it's dark and unfitting.
"Richie we've been dating for three years...how long have you known?"
"It's taken me way too long to build this, do not tear it down."
"You've been repressing your feelings for years Richie, you need to understand--"
"NOTHING!" He screams, sending his bedside lamp slamming against the wall. He clences and unclenches his fists again and Beverly backs away. "Every time I find someone, one of you takes him away from me. It takes me so long to fit in, Bevvy. I never had anything in common with the other boys except...I liked playing with boys too. But I...I didn't want to play games I--I wanted to touch them. I wanted to take off their clothes and I wanted to kiss them and I can't have that. I can't ruin what we had for some...petty urges." He looks up from the ground, crazy look in his eyes. "When I saw how much Ben was into you, I had to get rid of you. I couldn't kill you, and you just wouldn't go away, so i took away the option for you to take him away from me." He swallows quietly, gaze averting to his broken lamp. "Each day has been so hard for me. Pretending to be someone I'm not just to keep my friends around."
"Richie..."
"Shut UP! This doesn't let you off the hook for what you did. Every time I decide to let one of you in my life you go and fuck it up. You take, take, take and what do you give, huh??"
"Love. Life. Support. But you can get that too, you just need to understand yourself better."
He scoffs at that as she takes a step forward.
"I can't. I-I tried so hard and I did all of this just to fuck it up again."
"Rich--"
"Stay back."
"I'm sorry, okay? This is unfair and frustrating, i know, but we can fix this. I can get you help. But these pictures...Richie you can't live like this."
"What if I want to?" He sniffles, stumbling towards her. "What if this is what I want? What I need? What if I'm too fucked up for help?"
"You're 15. There's plenty of time to help you. You don't have to change who you are because you're gay, but your coping mechanisms are borederline psychotic. How many photos are even on there?"
"Close to 3000. All those guys...they're so pretty..."
"I know. I know, and once you get help maybe you can find a pretty guy that likes you for you, okay?"
"He won't like me. He'll be my friend, and he'll be nice to me, but then...then one of you will come along and take him from me." He mumbles, and his hand glides across his bedside dresser and fumbles in the drawers.
"What?"
"You'll just come back, and whisk him away, and leave me alone."
"That's not true."
He laughs loudly, pulling a gun from his drawer and examining it as if he'd never seen it before. Beverly takes a step back, but he just sits on the bed.
"He'll say hi to me while passing by, but he will pretend like I don't even exist. That's what happened with the losers, right?"
"Relax, okay?"
"I'm relaxed. I'm so relaxed, that I think I'll rest this gun right here." He smiles, and she notices the bright tear tracks doning his cheeks. He places the gun right under his chin, and she makes a move to stop him, but he cocks it with her steps. "Don't."
"You can get help..."
"No...but. Can I tell you something?"
"A...Anything."
"I'm sorry. God, never thought I'd be saying that to a girl."
"Sorry for what?"
"For leading you on. For making you suffer for all these years. You're the only girl that's ever been interested in one of my friends that took the time to know me."
"Of course...of course Richie."
He laughs at her response, and then he sobs, and he sobs, and the gun still rests under his chin.
"God, I can't even do this right..."
"Ssshh...please, please get some help. This isn't the answer."
"I messed up...I don't want to be here anymore..."
"We need you here, Rich. What would everyone do without Trashmouth?" She smiles, and he gives a pitiful laugh.
"Great things. I keep holding people back..."
"No, you're just lost. Look at me." She begs, and he does. Her eyes still shined, and though her hair was shorter, it was still soft and light. She grabs his cheeks and kisses his forehead, and when he tries to kiss her lips, she backs away, shaking her head. "We both know you don't want that."
"That's how it's supposed to be."
She grins at him and sniffles, softly grabbing the gun from his hand and laying it on his dresser. "It doesn't have to be."
He collapses onto her chest in tears, and all she does is hold him. She knew there was something odd about Richie Tozier, he was never like the other boys at all.