Chapter Text
Richie's hair had been the subject of his dismay for as long as he could remember. There were a lot of things he didn't like about himself: his coke-bottle glasses, his buck teeth, his lanky body that always seemed to take up just too much space, but his hair most of all.
When he was younger, it was thick and had the tendency to knot, but nothing his mother couldn't run a comb through before Stan's bar-mitzvah. It curled only a bit, just at the ends; Richie really should've taken his history with cruel foreshadowing into account. When he hit puberty, his hair seemed to have grown a mind, body, and soul of its own: it had gotten thicker, almost to a ridiculous degree and impossibly curly. It was the summer of 1991 when his hair first stared to morph into tight, dark ringlets that didn't so much frame his face, as it did stick to it in sweaty clumps. Maine’s humid air didn't help, neither did the rain, but he figured that this strange development would eventually leave with the heat, as many things did in Derry. It didn't.
The fall brought its dry, dull air that certainly made Richie's hair more brittle and a little less puffy, but no less curly. Autumn also brought taunts of “do something that hair before you leave the house,” from his parents and “pube head,” from his most adoring classmates. He'd never missed being called a trashmouth so much (he did still get that one, but now the bullies would spilt it with jabs at his hair).
He'd wanted to cut it, but the (reasonable) fear was that that would only bring more attention to his glasses and teeth, he didn't know which was worse but he didn't really want to find out.
That is until he found some of his dad's styling gel and decided to have a little experiment. He'd been looking for glasses cleaning wipes in his dad's bathroom cabinet, (he didn't do this unless he literally could not see out of them and it had gotten to that point) and had found something better.
It wasn't as if he hadn't considered it before, but now it was here for him to try. He quickly stashed it under his his shirt and ran into his own bathroom. He closed and locked the door and slowly opened the tub of gel, just sort of staring at it for a minute, taking in its possibilities.
Of course, the expectation will always pale in comparison to the reality. A product intended to solve a problem is interpreted subconsciously as a cure all; improve one aspect of your life and suddenly all is as you want it to be. Richie Tozier was not immune to this way of thinking by any means.
However, in his case, maybe it was a little bit true, more conventional hair meant less jabs about it from his bullies. In practice, It would probably just shift their attention to other aspects of his apparently unbearable existence, but it was nice to indulge a happy thought.
He looked in the mirror as if it was the final push in saying, "enough", and began warming up the gel in his hands.
It took several layers of the stuff and a considerable amount of time to get it looking reasonably slicked back. Looking in the mirror at himself, Richie had mixed feelings. On one hand, his hair was a lot more tame and that was something... new. On the other, his glasses seemed bigger and he had a feeling in his stomach that mirrored anxiety, he couldn't place it. He would later learn it was the feeling of being just a little bit more vulnerable, more open.
Richie decided he would try the new look out on the losers at the movie night later that day. Richie hadn't thought much about what he was wearing, he couldn't really be bothered with all the anticipation of the losers' reactions; he wore some standard black jeans, a t shirt, and his dad's old brown leather jacket.
The sight of this evening's festivities would be at Ben's house. Richie walked the few blocks it took to get there with an anxious spring in his step. He took one last deep breath and approached Ben's door, knocking more gently than he ever had.
His favorite redhead answered the door, to no surprise, she had been here early to hang out with Ben.
She took in his appearance for what to Richie seemed like hours before deciding on a response, "Zuko! You're here early! You must've taken that greased lightin'!" She exclaimed and began swinging her hips. Anyone else and Richie would've been insulted, but he knew this meant Bev liked it and the humor had made him loosen up a bit.
He chuckled and walked into the house, using his best greaser voice, "Yeah? Does that make you my Sandy?" he teased.
She giggled, "Fat chance, stud. I'm Rizzo if anything."
"Yeah? Does that make Ben... uh the guy that's with Rizzo?"
"Alright, now you're just cruisin' for a brusin' buddy" she quipped. They joked and went to find Ben in the living room with movies sprawled out on the floor. Ben looked up from the ground and smiled, "Hey Richie, nice hair, man."
Bill, Stan, and Mike had all given similar compliments when Richie had answered the door. Richie was especially happy about Stan's approval, compliments from that kid were few and far between, they meant something. Sure, it had only been Richie asking how it looked and Stan grunting a "nice," after Mike had gushed about it. Mike always had the nicest things to say to everyone, especially Stan.
All of this was nice, but Richie would be lying if he said he wasn't worried the most about one person in particular's reaction. After everyone (minus one) was situated in the living room, Richie looked at the Hanscom's clock- 7:40- he was 10 minutes late. The movie would be decided soon, Richie (told himself he) didn't want him to miss it, he cleared his throat,
"Hey has anybody talked to Eddie today?" He asked, trying to sound neutral.
"H-he's p-probably just c-caught up with his m-mom, R-Richie," Bill answered, seeming as if he was trying to calm Richie down.
"Yeah, prob-"
The doorbell rang,
"I got it!" Richie sprung up instantly,
"No one was going to try to challenge you on that," Stan remarked, but Richie was already at the door.
He tried to settle his panic and draw upon his friends' compliments and opened the door.
"Ah! There's my Eds!"
Eddie was ripped out of his thoughts and turned his head towards Richie, he started, "Don't call me-" he stopped and looked up at Richie.
Richie laughed nervously, "Cat got your tongue, spaghetti man?"
Eddie looked... surprised but then maybe a little mad?
"Your hair," he said, his voice void of any readable emotion.
Richie reached up and smoothed it over once more, trying not to sound panicked,
"You like it?"
Eddie looked like he was trying to muster a smile, that was some how worse then his initial reaction,
"It's... it's different," he said.
Default, defensive Tozier mode set in during this panic, "yeah, well, your mom seems to like it a whole lot," he quipped, a little more bitterly than he intend.
Eddie looked more mad than he usually did, less playful and more genuine, "Beep, Beep, asshole."
They both looked, at the ground, feeling embarrassed.
"Guys! We're about to pick the movie! Come on!" Mike shouted, Richie led him into the house without another word.
Richie tried to brush off Eddie's unusual coldness with his usual jokes. Eddie would respond like he always did, but he didn't seem to be all in it. Every once in while, Richie would catch him glaring from his side but Eddie would turn away before he could meet his eye. The night carried on like this.
All this tension came to a head when it was time for the losers to head home. Ben's mom had work early the next morning, (Sunday, she always took extra shifts to make sure Ben had everything he needed) and no one wanted to keep her up.
Richie took this as a mere opportunity for party relocation, rather than an end to the night.
"Alright losers, sleep over at my place?"
"I c-can't," Bill responded first, "work tomorrow," he cited simply. Bill had started work at what he deemed, "Derry's only authentic coffee shop." He took as many shifts as they would allow him to on minimum wage, claiming he wanted to save up for a car. Richie, as well as the other losers, more accurately believed that it was another reason to get out of his house, things still weren't the same at the Denbrough's. Richie doubted it ever would be. No one mentioned it.
"Stan the man?" Richie asked hopefully, but he already knew the response,
"Sorry, Richie Tomorrow's study day and I'd have a headache from hanging out with you. I can't work under those conditions," That earned a laugh from everybody. It was true though, Stan would always wake up early on Sundays to get ahead on school work, he wanted to get into Yale. Richie knew he would.
"Got it, don't want me keeping you up from banging your mom, it's cool," that earned a laugh followed by several beep-beeps.
Bev had a curfew that she'd already broken four times this week (usually the limit for her aunt), so he didn't bother there. Ben was already asleep on her shoulder, a peacefulness Richie didn't want to disturb.
"Mikey?" Richie asked, again already knowing the response,
"Sorry buddy, chores tomorrow," Mike said, already sounding exhausted.
Richie looked to Eddie last and everyone in the room, (save for a sleeping Ben) was weirded out by that. That's not to say that they felt any less loved when Eddie and Richie were automatically at each other's sides. They all sensed, however subconsciously, it was not more love that Richie and Eddie had for each other, but that of a different breed. No one really had to think about it, acknowledging Eddie and Richie's pull to each other was like acknowledging your own breathing.
They were all a little thrown off when Richie asked,
"Eds?"
In a sheepish voice, instead of slinging an arm around him and walking off without thinking about it.
Eddie was hard pressed for an excuse, his mom was always more pissed when he came back late at night. Walking at night meant murder, violence, abduction (Eddie found his mother's concern very ironic, considering what he'd been through). He also didn't want to solidify the weird tension between them by declining,
"Yeah, okay, let's start walking." The words come out of his mouth in a way that felt foreign leaving his lips, he'd never had to talk these actions out before.
Richie coughed, "Alright, goodnight losers, have fun with your responsible bullshit tomorrow, me and Eddie are gonna have some fun," he said, trying to call upon his normal voice. (What did it sound like? Not this.)
No one took the bait with that one, things were weird enough. Everyone said their goodbyes and began to head home (safely, in pairs).
Eddie and Richie began their walk to the Tozier house.