Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I have... A normal life? I'd say so, I guess. I go to Derry high every weekday and go out messing around with my friends on weekends. I don't really have much parental guidance but I still don't get into trouble, my friends don't really either- except Richie, he's the exception. I guess I live a normal life. Except one thing. A secret that I've kept for the past few years. Nobody knows I'm gay.

The first bell of the day breaks open Bill's thought process. He slams his locker shut after gathering his textbooks all in his arms. Back to the daily rat race , he thinks to himself.

"Heyyyy, Billy Boy!" Richie exclaims, clapping on bill's shoulder. "On ya way to chem-eye-stree?" He asks, reading bill's textbook incorrectly to try and get a smile out of his solemn looking friend.

"You kn-know it, Richard," he smirks, shoving Richie's shoulder playfully, "you got s-sociology?"

"Eeyup, analyzing how absolutely fuCKed society is for an hour," Richie grins, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Bill slides into his desk just as the bell shrieks, a few students trickling in after the bell earning a stern look from the teacher standing at the front of the room.

Bill looks over to the window, a blue cloudless sky looking back at him. He sighs dreamily and trains his gaze in that direction until the boy sitting in front of the window gives him a look, thinking he'd been staring at him. Maybe I was , he thinks, being defiant in his own head just to be defiant.

He watches the sunlit bounce off the dark curls and how the blue shirt he was wearing sat neatly on his sharp shoulders, not a single wrinkle or speck of dust on it.

"Bill? Can you answer my question?" The teacher snaps him from his own head, leaving him looking panicked.

"B-b-b-b-b-," he stutters out, giving her a sheepish look and she eventually just moves to a student raising his hand, the same boy that Bill had his eyes on.

"Hydrogen peroxide," he answers confidently, looking over at Bill as sheepishly as Bill had looked at the teacher.

Godamnit, he's cute and smart. And straight probably , Bill thinks to himself, rushing to take down the notes on the board.

The teacher drones on for an hour, Bill getting caught up in taking the notes, forgetting about the curly haired boy in the corner. The bell rings and he drops his pencil to the ground, jumping in surprise when he does.

He's caught even more by surprise when the boy in the blue shirt hands it back to him, "think this is yours," he says simply.

"Y-yeah, thanks Stan," Bill says with a nervous nod, rushing to shove his things in his backpack.

Bill finds his way to the bike racks after school, meeting up with Eddie to bike home with him, "hey, Eddie," he smiles, Eddie looking at him warmly.

"Billy! Hi!" He grins, unlocking his bike clumsily.

Bill finds his lock on silvers handlebars, scrolling around for the password and spring it open, getting on the bike seat.

"Have you seen the post on Derry Diary?" Eddie asks curiously as he gets on his own bike.

"N-no, what is it?" Bill asks, lifting his eyebrow in suspicion.

"Some kid, came out as gay, anonymously though," Eddie whispers as he gets on his bike. "Signed it blue birb , Bill, there's a kid at school who's gay that isn't me," Eddie says even more quietly, terrified of being heard.

Bill nods absently, his brain having tuned Eddie out at the thought. Another one. Another closeted one , he thinks to himself, kicking down his kickstand to bike home.

"I'll text you about i-it later? I'll s-see you," Bill calls behind himself as he pedals clumsily off, through the woods and down a street until he's in front of his house, bolting up to his laptop in his room.

His fingers fly over the keys until he finds the post, sure enough, blue birb is the poster. He finds the email, about to type something until he sees his own email, bdenbrough, pretty obvious.

He flips over to make his own anonymous email, his eyes drawn to a picture of Georgie on his desk. Bigbro14 , and with the click of a mouse he has a new email, copying the blue birb on there.

Dear Blue Birb,
I'm like you. Everything about me is normal, I have good friends, regular hangout spots, good grades. But nobody knows I like guys. Fuck. That felt good to get off my chest. You don't need to respond- just know you're not alone .

Chapter Text

When Stan's phone tings with an email notification, he's in the car making casual conversation with his mother. The hair on the back of his neck pricks up when he sees the email address he'd received a message on.

He swallows thickly, opening the email expecting it to be hate or homophobia, making him suddenly so much more glad that he'd made a new email address. He reads the email, a relieved smile and sigh escaping his lips at the same time as he reads it, going to read the address of the sender only to realize it was another fake or alternative one. He lets his head fall back on the headrest of the passenger seat.

His mother looks over at him from the steering wheel, concern showing in her eyebrows in the way they furrow in worry for her son's obvious sudden distress, "Stanley, are you alright?" She asks, having to train her eyes back on the road for safety's sake.

Stan jumps back into reality from his wandering mind, "Yeah, mom, I'm fine," he says with a smooth smile that contradicts his shaking voice.

Andrea looks worried but doesn't push him to talk, not worth making him uncomfortable. She keeps on her drive, pulling smoothly into the driveway, "Celebrating hanukkah with your dad this year, a week early," she reminds him, stepping out of the car, "Also, it's getting cold, you should be wearing a jacket," she mothers.

Stan sighs, "Mom, I'm fine," he promises, unbuckling and getting out of the car, shutting the door hard with a huff, his mom giving him a warning look about it.

Andrea rolls her eyes, holding the strap of her purse, her heels clicking on the pathway up to the door, opening it and walking in as Stan sighs, leaning against the car. He shuts his eyes, rubbing his hands against his tired eyes. He scoops up his backpack from the back seat, slinging it over his shoulder and walking inside.

He sits in front of his laptop in his room, pulling his email up. He takes a deep breath and and dances his fingers on the air above the keys in hopes that a response will come to mind.

Finally the tips of his fingers tap the keys with the same satisfying clack as always. Dear Big Brother,

It feels good to know I'm not alone, thank you for that. I'm not sure I want to reveal my identity for I'm unsure how I feel, I'm sorry to question you but for all I know you're just trying to out me, I'm sorry.

He sighs as he types, sinking down in his seat and shutting his eyes tightly. He chews at a chapped part of his lower lip, tearing the skin in his stress. "I can do this," he mumbles to himself, hunching back over his keyboard.

I'm willing to keep talking though. I know how isolating the closet can be, he types out.

Sincerely,
Blue Birb.

He finishes with a sigh, feeling exhausted only from typing those words, coming out is harder than I thought, he thinks to himself, slipping out of his chair and pushing it back in.

He gets out his homework, trying to work through the normally simple math equations in his head, wracking his brain for answers that come easily on a normal day. He decides this has been a bad idea, the knowing but not knowing is too terrifying- but maybe everyone knowing would make it worse.

He thinks about the one boy in their school who's out. Adrian. Adrian gets bullied endlessly by all the boys, beaten to black and blue bruises when the boys are given the opportunity to do so. Other times it's the teasing. Stan can't know for sure but he thinks the teasing must hurt the most.

Bruises and scrapes heal, but mental scarring caused by the words of others leaves thick skin that hides the pain that never really goes away. And that, Stan thinks to himself, is what I'm most scared of.

Chapter Text

Bill can't help his shifting gaze now as he comes to school, scanning over every guy who could at all possibly be gay. He's desperate to know who Blue Birb is despite the fact that he constantly tells the other boy that he's not bothered by the fact that they've stayed anonymous. Which is for the better, no possibilities for bullying in that, he's just unsure how much longer he can take being in love with someone when he's never seen their face as far as he knows.

He walks down to the lunchroom, having successfully made it through another three hours of school, clueless even of the classes where the so called Blue Birb sits in the exact vicinity to him, sometimes across the room but other times in the seat nearly right next to him. He doesn't know it for sure, but he sure does fantasize about it much too much for his own good.

He drops his backpack on the floor behind the bench where he and his friends sit, it's near the trash can and they're always called losers, but at least nobody steals their spot, and the trash can isn't so bad anyways.

Soon the other losers trickle over, Ben with his book held up to his face, obviously completely enveloped in the plot as he often is by this time a day. Bill swears he sees the boy with a new novel every time, he has no idea how he does it.

Mike walks over next, also in a book but instead a textbook. "Hey, Billy," he smiles warmly, sitting down and placing the open book in front of him in lieu of a tray, "I swear I'm gonna fail this math text next hour," he says sheepishly, prompting Bill to lean across the table to eye the material.

"Sorry, can't h-help, I didn't do w-well on that either," he says as a red blush runs over his face, the one unit in math that he hadn't aced, probably because he's been so preoccupied trying to deduce who his mysterious lover could be, too curious for his own good.

Richie comes next, "Mikey boy! Look who's studying," the boy exclaims teasingly, rubbing Mike's head playfully, "Do you have any clue what you're doing?" He jokes, though softening when he realizes his statement was a bit too sensitive, Mike actually struggling with the work in front of him. "Hey, don't stress, lemme help," he says with a soft smile, sitting next to his shy friend.

Stan comes next, his lunch box neatly in his hand, sliding in across from Bill and starting to take out his sandwich, studying the edges to make sure he'd cut the crusts off adequately.

Bill can't help but stare, Stan is the only one who seems to look good even in the yellow lighting the lights at school provide, it gives him even more of a golden glow that Bill is nearly enamoured by, though he has to remember that he's practically taken, Blue Birb.

"Hey Stan," he smiles, pulling out his own lunch, a browning banana he'd shoved in his front backpack pocket to eat later, he definitely has to go shopping soon.

"Hi Bill," Stan replies smoothly after swallowing his first bite, pulling out his phone to signify that he doesn't much feel like talking today, which Bill regards as pretty disappointing, his conversations with Stan are just about as good as the ones with his practically boyfriend.

Eddie comes next, sitting up next to Bill's side, nearly touching shoulders, "Hey, Billy," he smiles happily, pulling out the lunch his mother had packed for him, she still insists despite the fact that he's nearly 18.

"Hey Eddie, ready f-for rehearsal t-tonight?" He asks the entire group with a smile, they'd all been awaiting theatre season, excited for the start because it means that finally have something to do as a group.

Eddie wholeheartedly agrees, "it's gonna be great!" He grins, wrapping his arm around Bill's shoulder for a small half hug before pulling back awkwardly.

Bill watches Martin from the corner of his eye as he enters the lunchroom, he's not a good kid. Especially not to the losers, he's not mean per say, mostly just rude and offhanded.

He turns back to his group of friends peeling the peel off the banana, setting it in the center of the table for when they go to throw out their trash. They always go all together to make sure none of them end up in the can as the Bowers gang would like to see them.

"Y-yeah, it's gonna be great," Bill says with a confident nod, no matter who else is a part of the show, at least all seven losers will be there for each other.

Bill looks over at Stan again, his hair nearly glowing in the light. He sees him eating an Oreo from a baggie of two as he studies his phone screen. That boy can make anything look attractive.

Chapter Text

Rehearsal comes that afternoon after school, a show many of them aren’t familiar with but they try. By them, it would mean; Bill, Eddie, Beverly- and Martin Addison. It starts with blocking, their director going from place to place and taping xs on the floor, telling students to stand on them one by one until they form a triangle on stage, Beverly ending up at the very front and center. She deserves it. She may be new around here and new to the group of losers, but they already know her star quality.

The show is an odd one, and Bill can’t see to understand how it’s school appropriate. The choreography and lyrics have been changed enough to be school appropriate, but the show at its core doesn’t seem quite right for a school setting. The losers had been chuckling about it for days leading up to auditions. Eddie says they may as well have done something like Rocky Horror, at least he thinks that one would be more worth it, chuckling about how he’d love to see Bill in the gold speedo in front of all these people.

Mrs. Smith has always been a tough director to deal with, they knew that much since the eighth grade when they decided to do their first school show together. Finally, less people stand on stage and the losers meet in the audience, sitting in the backmost right section. Bev sits in her seat with a satisfied sigh, lifting her legs to rest her ankles on the top of the seat in front of her. She pulls a bag of pretzels from her bag, swatting away Ben’s hand when he goes to grab one before she even gets the chance.

She pops a pretzel in her mouth, letting Mike take one next. “Hey! Why does he get one?” Ben complains, pouting overdramatically, they are in the theater after all. He takes his usual seat next to the redheaded girl, now successfully taking a pretzel of his own, earning an equal pout from her.

“Because he’s Mike!” she giggles, now holding the bag much closer to her, like a firey dragon protecting her hoard from the surrounding males. “You guys don’t get any more, if I give one to one of you, I need to give one to all of you,” she complains, nibbling pieces off the pretzel in her hand comically slowly only to tease them further.

They don’t notice that Bill has disappeared for a few short minutes, off to the library. With how much time he’s spent in the library you’d think he was Ben Hanscom in the sixth grade. School wifi is shit on his phone, and he’s been logging into his email on the library computers to talk to Blue in between classes when it’s possible. He wouldn’t want to call himself obsessed- maybe infatuated- dare he say in love?

He doesn’t know who this boy is, he doesn’t know what he looks like or how he speaks out loud or where he lives in relativity to Bill’s own home- or how his parents would feel about Bill. he can’t stop thinking about the mystery guy. The smallest part of him still thinks that this could be a hoax, a scam to try and pull all his information out like thread drawn from the deepest part of his heart and soul, only to have his identity revealed and be outed. Who knows, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? Eddie’s gay, it’s quite obvious to some though he’d never say. Adrian though, he came out in the ninth grade and the bullying has been near relentless.

So really now he’s at a crossroads, sitting here at the computer desk, the lights all dim and the library empty of others, after hours are always the best hours to do something private. He stares at the paragraphs the other boy sent this time, his fingers dancing restlessly above the keys, finally pressing down to reply, talking about the musical and what he’s working on for world lit and how he probably will be back in about three hours.

He sees Eddie appear in the hall, the fluorescent lights casting his shadow into the library. Bill’s heart races a bit, slamming the laptop shut without shutting it down and collecting his book bag and trying not to look too dishevelled. “Coming,” he says with a soft smile even before Eddie can tell him that break is over. He joins Eddie with a smile, nudging him playfully in the elbow.

“Finally, I checked two different bathrooms and the art room before I found you,” Eddie teases, pulling Bill by his sleeve by his wrist, not wanting to be much later and piss Mrs. Smith off so early in the theatre process; especially considering how long they’re be dealing with her.

“Well I wasn’t in the bathroom or art room,” Bill says with an awkward grin, letting Eddie lead the way. His own awkwardness lingers, his heart still racing at the idea of being caught sending that email. He never logged out. Crap. He’ll get back there to close it out as soon as he can get off the stage again- it’s imperative. He feels as if he must be overreacting as well as feeling completely valid. Is this how all teen relationships feel?

He follows Eddie back to the auditorium, sitting with his giggling group of friends, Bev still hogging the pretzels, though she sees how anxious Bill looks and offers him a pretzel as soon as he walks over, wanting to remedy the situation.

Bill respectfully denies the snack and sits back in the blue chair, listening to Smith drone on and on about the next scene they’d be blocking. The next mistake aside from leaving himself logged in on the computer is waiting so long before making the excuse that he has to go to the bathroom, letting a feeling of relief set in once he escapes the theater to head for the library, logging in his head exactly which laptop he borrowed, and exactly where he’ll have to drag the mouse to power it off completely. The overthinking almost brings a form of comfort, thinking about how he could think of every possible solution and predict exactly how to deal with the consequences.

What he hadn’t predicted was to see Martin Addison standing there at the computer, taking pictures of the screen with his cell phone with the most devilish grin on his face, obviously finding this to be some sort of joke. Bill stops dead in his tracks. His email for talking to Blue doesn’t have his name on it so maybe if he just walks away, Martin wouldn’t notice it was ever him at all. Bill turns on his heel only to bump into the corner of a bookshelf, letting out a sharp hiss of pain.

Martin swivels around on his ankle, his laughing stopping dead in the moment he hears Bill’s whimper. It becomes evident to him in that moment why Bill had returned. Almost like how a murderer almost always attends the funeral. He smirks, a little sadistic considering that Bill is fingering at his forehead, trying to see if he’s bleeding. Only a little. “Hey… Big Bro,” The teen says, his voice low, a menacing undertone swimming beneath the waves of his voice.

Bill stops letting his fingertips graze over the scratch, instead covering his face entirely with both of his hands. He doesn’t want to be seen, though in his heart of hearts he knows that Martin has already seen his face. They’ve been in the same room for the past several hour for rehearsal, of course he’s already recognized him. It’s not dark enough in the library to distort faces, though he wishes. It’s only dark enough to carelessly bump into bookshelves.

The other teen approaches him, his stance wide and confident, much unlike his usual attitude towards others. If Martin wasn’t normally such a creep, maybe he’d be a part of the losers too. He’s gone unliked most of his high school career, but for good reason. He’s not mean per say, but he gives off an uncomfortable vibe and his tone seems sleezy and he makes girls giggle uncomfortably in his presence. Though, it doesn’t justify the whispered jokes about him looking like a school shooter or how they bet he was dropped really hard on his head as a baby. They may not be justified, but nobody really wants to be around Martin Addison.

“So… You’re gay, huh?” Martin says, his tone gentle, tenseness underlying beneath the surface. He doesn’t have good intentions, though; Bill can see it in his face. Despite being in the school show, Martin isn’t that good of an actor. He’s too driven by his own personal gain to hide what he wants.

Bill draws his hands away from his face, nodding slowly and trying to steady his hands. Nobody was supposed to know yet. His best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t even know yet, and Eddie himself is out to Bill as gay. “I- I guess,” he responds, his watery blue eyes trained on the floor.

“I’ve got the picture proof, buddy,” the teen reminds him, patting his shoulder condescendingly. It only makes Bill feel that much smaller when people do things like that. It almost fills him with rage, but he remembers the position he’s in before he moves to act on that anger, deciding the better of it.

“Listen. I won’t tell anyone. But I ask one thing of you. I want one date with Beverly Marsh, that’s all she’ll need if you know what I mean,” the boy says, winking suggestively to go along with his words, somehow he doesn’t understand how wrong he’s being. It’s like he doesn’t know how blackmail works, but that’s exactly what he’s doing.

“Uh- okay,” Bill says anxiously, teetering on his heels, just wanting for the conversation to end as soon as possible. He feels uneasy around Martin even when he isn’t threatening him, the boy himself is a threat.

Chapter Text

Bill comes to the conclusion that he should go along on whatever outing he asks Bev to go on with Martin. Just to supervise, make sure he doesn’t pull anything. He knows Martin meant it when he said he wanted a date, but Bill still can’t stand the idea of him being alone with Bev. She’s new this year, she doesn’t need to be immediately put off the school by the minority that Martin Addison is.

He already has Martin’s Snapchat in “has mutual friends” so it’s not very difficult to contact him. He sure as hell doesn’t want Martin to have his phone number. He’s not attached enough to his snap score to be above deleting his snapchat if he needed to. “You wanna meet me and Bev at the waffle house tonight? Going over lines.” he ends it with a period, showing he means business in his own passive aggressive way. He’s in no way here to make friends with him. He’s got enough friends.

The response comes quickly, it’s obvious the other teen has nothing better to do; though, Bill wouldn’t have thought he would. He agrees, there was almost no margin of a chance Bill would have gotten to get out of it. This is really his feeling of safety he’s talking about.

The evening comes too soon, and though Bill would usually be hungry for dinner by now, he’s so nervous that his stomach is turning over and over in knots. He hopes he’ll be able to eat though, he won’t be able to eat at home afterwards, he and Bev always go to the waffle house on Thursday because his parents are usually home and he doesn’t want so much to cook for himself when they’re around, the kitchen is an unwelcome place when it’s not just him. Though when he is alone it is like his own personal sanctuary.

Bill picks Beverly up from her house, he notices that there’s always a car in the driveway but he’s never met her parents, nor does she talk about them much. He elects to not ask though, seeing as he doesn’t talk about his family either. She slides into the passenger seat, she doesn’t get to sit there often, it’s essentially Eddie’s designated spot in their morning carpool.

“Hey,” she breathes out, her bag slung over her shoulder and her hair messy, flyaways on every angle of her head, just genuinely herself. Bill hasn’t told her Martin is joining them for their normal Thursday evening hang out, but hopefully she won’t be too upset when he slips into the booth with them, he can only hope.

“Hey, Martin is joining us,” he says quietly, pushing his left foot on the gas pedal again, trying to get the car moving before she could just get out at the idea of spending the evening with Martin Addison. If Bill has to do it, she should too. As well as the fact that Martin is fully ready to out him, Bill can’t let that happen.

“What?” Bev asks, looking uncomfortable already, her eyebrows going up in surprise, looking not angry, more so offended. She doesn’t like Martin Addison, not one bit. She’s already specifically uncomfortable with most boys, she has a hard time explaining why. Being the only girl in her group of friends is difficult, they don’t understand the danger of simply being a woman in America.

Bill sees her face and his heart sinks. All the losers trust him, but in that moment the trust and security in her face seems to drain away, and he’s never been more ashamed in the presence of one of his close friends. He may not have known Beverly for very long, but she’s just as much a part of their friend group as the ones who have always been around. Ben only moved here around five years ago, and Mike didn’t start going to Derry high with them until around three years before. The point is, Bev has found a place in all of their hearts, and thus a permanent place in their group.

“I’m sorry, I promised I’d help him go over the scenes we’re in, he isn’t that great at remembering lines and needed some help so I offered. If one of us in the cast fails, we all have failed,” he lies, though at least his reasoning seems valid enough, especially to Bev, who supposedly did theatre before she moved here. He feels awful lying, he avoids it as much as he can. But the prospect of his emails to Blue being leaked is even scarier than the idea of spending a few evenings with Martin Addison.

“Alright,” Bev sighs softly, “He’s sitting on the opposite side of the table to us, I’m sitting next to you, not him, and it’s not getting personal,” she says, her voice steady and serious, setting the ground rules for them. Nobody likes Martin, and she wouldn’t be an exception.

They get to the waffle house, Martin already had been dropped off by his mom and is standing in the area by the front door, looking out through the glass and visibly brightening when he sees them, he doesn’t seem to know how much he’s disliked, maybe it’s better that way. He steps out of the way to let them push the door open, immediately engulfed by a warmth only familiar to restaurants. “I picked us a booth, it’s by the window though and I don’t know how you guys would feel about it but the window seat just looked nice,” he rambles out. It almost makes Bill feel bad for him, he obviously craves friendship. Though he can’t excuse that he blackmailed him to get here.

“Window seat is fine,” Bill says quickly, snapping out the words, he’d just reminded himself the context of the situation. He has to get Bev to be nice, doesn’t mean he has to be. He’s often a nice person more in his head than in practice, but he doesn’t see it necessary to be kind to a blackmailer, which may be a bad decision in itself. This is about Martin knowing things he could tell others, after all.

“Yeah, I like that booth,” Beverly says absently. She’s trying to distract herself from the situation about as much as Bill is. If only she knew the half of it, she’d probably be a lot more sympathetic.

But Bill isn’t ready to come out. He doesn’t know why, his parents would probably not care, his friends would be cool with it, heck, they all know Eddie’s gay, he came out to them only in late middle school. He doesn’t seemingly have anything to lose, he just doesn’t have the balls to tell anyone upfront yet.

He thinks maybe he’ll come out once he hits college, it seems like the perfect life transition. Faking it through high school, then going to college and be able to “gay it up” all he wants. He could listen to musicals and wear all sorts of rainbow paraphernalia, but he’s just not ready for that yet.

They go over to the booth, the ketchup and mustard bottles decorated with googly eyes and a black construction paper jack o lantern grin, the cafe doing its little bit to prepare for the Halloween season, Bill already knows what his costume is going to be. He and Eddie are going to be Buzz and Woody from Toy Story, they often do partnered costumes, have since they were young.

Bill pulls the script out of his bag, the others following suit. Martin drops his on the table dramatically as he plops on the worn faux leather seat. The red shade of the booth is fading, which probably would look okay if it weren’t for the long stripes of duct tape covering the holes formed from years of use. “What scene do you want to start at?” he asks, looking over at Bev for the answer, not really in the mood to hear Martin talk again.

“From the top. It’s easiest that way,” she announces, looking over at Martin with a less than pleased expression. He’s sitting there and looking over the menu, licking his lips at the images, it only sends a shiver down her spine.

“Martin, you listening?” Bill looks over and asks, shoving his shoulder gently enough, just to get his attention on the task at hand. Maybe Bev would be able to tolerate him more than Bill can.

They do sit and go over lines in hushed monotone voices for a while, Martin’s slowly getting more dramatic, making obvious efforts to impress Bev. It’s not exactly working but she can admire his bravery, using his outdoor-loud-projected voice inside a diner with only one other table seated.

They hit the break between the two acts, leaving them a break to order waffles, Bill hoping and praying to himself that Martin won’t pull anything. Bev probably wouldn’t take any flirting. A few bites in, Martin makes a joke and Beverly actually laughs, and it seems genuine. And for now, Bill feels safe.

He pulls out his phone and refreshes his email, seeing the bold text of an unopened message from Blue, which tugs temptingly at Bill’s heart strings, he wants to open it now but he knows he can’t in here, not with Bev’s prying eyes right next to him. “Gotta take a leak,” he excuses himself, sliding out of the booth.

Bev and Martin are too deep in conversation to notice Bill not going in the direction of the bathroom, the bathroom here isn’t too clean, but instead he goes right out the front door and opens the email.

Dear Big B,

Halloween is coming up, I think you mentioned you had plans? I don’t know what I’m gonna do on the 31st quite yet. Probably just stay home and eat the orange Halloween Oreos. They’re the best kind, and you can fight me on that.

Do you have plans with friends? Or something with your family. You haven’t brought up a younger sibling but I assume you have one based on your email address, are you taking them trick or treating?

Sorry for such a short email, night with my mom, hope to catch up more soon.

Sincerely yours,
Blue Birb.

Bill smiles at the playfulness of the first paragraph, though the question of the second one hurts a bit. He’s been on his toes waiting for that question. There’s a reason he hasn’t asked about Blue’s choice in email address. He doesn’t want to explain his, it would give him away. He’ll always be known to Derry as the kid whose brother died in the fifth grade, at least to those who have lived here since then.

He tries to brush it off, hearing the jingle of the opened door behind him, expecting to see Bev or Martin finally coming to seek him out now that they surely must have realized he’s not in the bathroom. Instead, a blonde boy comes out, his eyes a shining blue that reigns similar to Bill’s own eyes. “Hey,” the other teen breathes out, a puff of warm air hitting the cool air becoming visible for a few moments, a true sign of the incoming fall and winter weather.

“Hey,” Bill smiles back smoothly, shutting his phone off and shoving it into his pocket swiftly, somehow paranoid that this total stranger would read his private emails with his anonymous lover. It’s silly, really, but he almost likes the feeling of having a nice secret to himself, even through the moments of wanting to shout about Blue from the rooftops. He has this just to himself, and it makes him feel special for about the first time since he was young.

“Food okay?” the boy asks, brushing his hands on his apron absently, the same busboy who had served the table Bill was sitting at before. Bill offers the nervous teen a smile, trying to pass him some sort of comfort, Bill would like to consider himself less than threatening.

“Yeah, really good, as always,” Bill says with a coy smile. He’s only ever so charming when he’s making no effort to do so. It’s ended in numerous school dances with girls he doesn’t like, he never had any intention to attract them, obviously. He doesn’t even like girls. Or does he? He’s not even sure about that yet. All he knows is that he had dream after dream about Daniel Radcliffe after reading the Harry Potter series when he was thirteen.

“Good,” the boy says with his own smile, obviously mostly done with the conversation. Bill could almost take him for smitten with him. His mind begins to wander, if only he knew who Blue is. He likes it being anonymous, mostly because then Blue doesn’t know who he is, it feels safe. But other times he yearns with all of himself to hold the other boy’s hand.

Bill steps back inside, the warm air soothing his cooled skin. He shoves his hands into his pockets and sliding back into the booth next to Beverly, who’s still deeply engrossed in a conversation with Martin. Maybe getting Martin a full fledged date with her wouldn’t be so hard. Bill thinks that, at least until Martin asks why Bev moved to Derry, which she always avoids talking about, even with the losers.

“Well, uh, some stuff happened with my dad, my mom left him and kinda just ran and left me living with him. He wasn’t... great and now I moved here with my aunt,” she says, visibly uncomfortable reliving the subject of the story, “But that’s behind me.” she ends with a certain finality, to most people it would very obviously mean she’s not going to talk about it anymore.

“Well, your dad can suck my dick. You deserve better than that. You’re a princess and you deserve a goddamn prince. Don’t get me wrong, you aren’t a damsel in distress, no knight needed. But you deserve a prince who will take care of you,” Martin says, slamming a fist on the table, Bev obviously becoming rigid with the words. She’d rather not think of her father in relation to other guys under any circumstances. He’s behind her, those experiences are behind her, and if she tries hard enough, they don’t even feel like her own.

“Yeah…” she mumbles in a soft voice, rubbing her neck awkwardly and looking down at a spot on syrup on the table, shaking her head ever so slightly to watch the square of fluorescent light dance over the sticky droplet.

“No, seriously, say it, Beverly Marsh deserves a fucking prince,” Martin says, his voice demanding and only gaining volume in the small, nearly empty diner. It makes Bev squirm a little in her seat, mortified now that it’s being shouted alongside her name. “Bev, I said say it! I’m gonna keep saying it until you admit it,” Martin eggs her on, getting up on his knees on the bench to seem bigger than he is. He cups his hands around his mouth, “Beverly Marsh deserves a prince,” he chants, probably getting it out two and a half times before Bev shoots up from her seat.

“Fine, Martin! I deserve a fucking prince,” she says, matching his volume with her pent up frustration, panting for air once the words come out. “Fuck you,” she sighs out as she sits again, red in the face. She doesn’t mean it in full malice, moreso relief. She doesn’t yell often, and though the situation wasn’t ideal, it felt good to raise her voice once in a while.

The rest of the evening goes on pretty normally. Martin’s mom comes to pick him up. Finally. Bill couldn’t take another minute of him. The goal may have been to get Bev to like him to protect Bill’s closeted status, but it still made his blood boil to see Bev laugh and smile along with Martin’s words.

He pulls his autumn jacket back over his shoulder with a huff as the door closes behind Martin. Finally alone with his friend again. The saddest part is that Martin knows his biggest secret but one of his best friends doesn’t. He slides out of the booth and puts his hand out to Beverly, quite gentlemanly so if he would say so himself. “Back to the car m’lady?” he purrs in a voice that aligns with his character in the show.

“Oh so now you decide to be dramatic and go along with it.” She rolls her eyes at him, taking his hand and sliding her way out of the booth, the slight heel of her shoes clicking quietly on the linoleum.

“But of course, Martin is gone,” he jokes, already pulling her to the car, watching the busboy from earlier wipe down tables and now feeling out of place now that it’s closing time. He finds that he feels out of place a lot, like as if he’s a unicorn in a sea of zebras. It’s not always bad though, just a bit isolating.

She follows him, moving a bit faster than he is, her legs are shorter and she falls about a head shorter than him overall, getting the slightest bit winded trying to keep up with his long gait. “Hey, maybe he isn’t so awful, just misunderstood, that’s all,” she says. Miss Beverly “try and find the good in people” Marsh back at it again. But this is the first time it’s really made Bill hurt and he can’t even tell her why.

He slows down after he notices her struggle. He doesn’t mean to go so fast. He assumes it’s his subconscious trying to run off some steam. He doesn’t mean to take it out on her, or anyone really. He’s just not used to being this stressed. He’d kept this to himself for so long, so many held breaths and quiet moments that could have been moments mapping out his coming out story. Instead he’s stayed in the closet, and all he has to show for it is some romantic emails with a boy he isn’t even sure he’s met. He hopes, maybe even begs the universe, that this could be a part of an amazing love story too.

He gets into the driver’s seat wordlessly, letting his eyes wander to peek over at Bev getting in on the passenger side. He waits for her buckle to click before he turns to her, “What was that about? In the waffle house, about your dad I mean,” he asks in a soft voice. He wouldn’t make her talk if she didn’t want to. He knows how that can be. St-st-stuttering Bill would know best.

“My dad just wasn’t that great sometimes. He’d take me to the movies and buy me ice cream but that doesn’t make up for.. Y’know,” she says softly, and of course Bill knows. It’s just the kind of thing that doesn’t need to be said out loud. The kind of thing that makes even grown men cry when they talk about their own experiences if they’ve been unlucky enough to have them. And in that moment, Bill knows Bev hasn’t talked aloud about this, maybe to anyone.

He feels almost as if he owes her something of equal weight. Beverly Marsh just grew ten times stronger in his perception with just those few words. He can only hope to be that brave. “Bev, I’m gay.”

“Yeah?” she replies, a bit taken aback with the suddenness after the solemn quiet only moments before. “You know that’s okay, right?” she follows up after seeing his face fall at her reaction.

“Yeah- yeah, you’re not- surprised?” he asks, looking down at the glovebox, finding it hard to meet her eyes.

“Not particularly. It’s not a big deal, right?” she says, bringing herself down a little in hopes of pulling his gaze back up to meeting her own.

“I’ve just- I’ve never told anyone before,” he says sheepishly, his blue eyes flickering to the backseat for just a second. Coming out somehow felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders again, though it feels a bit wrong not to bring up Blue or the emails or the blackmailing. But she may just be mad he used her, even though it’s not like that. With Martin knowing but nobody else he’s almost felt like he was being watched at all times, eyes glued to his back.

“I’m proud of you,” Beverly says back to that, he eyes shining in a way Bill hasn't seen them shine before, and for once since all this. He feels at ease. He finally drives Bev home and goes up to his room, sighing before his laptop screen.

Dear Blue Birb,

Yeah I have halloween plans, this guy who sits with my friends, Stan is having a Halloween party and we’re going to that as a group. I don’t know if I’m dressing up this year. My brother goes to a school where he’s not home much.

Bill swallows a little at the lie, he’ll have to correct that later if they ever do reveal their identities and Blue finds out the true state of his brother, but for now the only thing he really feels bad about is lying about Georgie. He doesn’t like hiding things about his brother, he feels like it’s disrespectful to him to seem so secretive about his existence, but he has to convince himself that just for now it’s okay. Only to protect his identity.

Chapter Text

The days go by after quite well, Bill feeling freed by sharing his secret willingly for once, and even better, to someone he actually can speak to face to face. There’s test after test and iced coffee after iced coffee as a group, subtle smiles directed in Bill’s direction whenever a hot guy passes, only from Bev, and only when the losers aren’t paying close attention. But still, it serves as one of Bill’s favorite interactions, aside from the ones with Blue.

Halloween approaches even nearer, and Bev invited Martin along with them to go to the party Stan has planned. They don’t get to hang out with Stan much, he’s pretty quiet and one heck of a loner a lot of the time, but sometimes he pulls bigs things like this, a party when his mom’s out of town. Martin had overheard the group talking about the plans and asked about them, and Bev simply shrugged and invited him to come along.

“What’s the harm in it? We probably won’t all hang out at once anyways, he won’t bother us,” she reasons when Bill asks her why on the walk to AP U.S. History, he hates that class because how much of his time it takes, but it’ll prove itself worth it by the time college coursework rolls around in a year.

“Yeah but will he fit in my car? He carpooling with us?” Bill leads up, he softens a bit, making Bev feel guilty isn’t his goal, but he doesn’t want Martin to join them. Honestly, he’s a bit peeved that the entire group is warming up to him. He’s usually the first person to invite someone new into his life but a blackmailer is going a bit too far for his taste.

“You’ve got the middle back seat, and I think Eddie’s mom insists on driving him to the party, Stan is already there, and Richie lives right across the street, there’s five seats overall, I’ve thought it through, but I promise I won’t make you talk to him,” she huffs, getting just a bit frustrated with his unwillingness to become friends with Martin. He may not be her best friend or anything, but she doesn’t completely mind him and he doesn’t have many other friends. She feels bad for him. Bill almost wishes he could feel bad for him, and probably were if it weren’t for the incident with the emails.

“Alright,” Bill sighs, walking a little faster ahead of her, his long legs making the faster pace easier than he thought, and an easy excuse for why he got so quick so suddenly. He spies the clock on the wall for a moment, only a minute before he needs to be in his seat in the classroom, ready to share out about the reading they were supposed to do the night before, which he coincidentally hadn’t done, but he could make like Richie and fake it until he makes it, and just take notes from the conversations the class has.

He slips wordlessly through the open classroom door and right to the back corner of the room, it may be a coveted seat but he always sits there during this hour and at this point no one dares to sit in his spot. It isn’t a matter of intimidation, but merely a sense of order of the social hierarchy. Bill hangs out with the losers, he is a loser, and thus it makes sense that he belongs in the back of the room.

He can’t help but let his mind wander as the class bell rings and the teacher begins. He doesn’t usually pay much attention in this hour, if the teacher was interesting he would but he’s had Miss Taylor for the past two school years and he can’t find it in himself to find what she says interesting. What he can find interesting, however, is how Eddie’s coming over later to work on their costumes. They had originally planned to buy them online in a set but they realized the quality wouldn’t be worth their hard earned money over a summer of working at the Aladdin scooping up others spilled popcorn. Instead, they’ve decided to rustle up things from their own houses, piecing together hopefully cohesive costumes, pressure on the hopefully, their partner costumes are a tradition and if they aren’t recognizable they’d consider this year a complete failure.

He stares out the window, watching the leaves drift drowsily to the pavement, he has to admit that he really wishes he liked fall. The leaves changing reds and oranges can only remind him of a certain young boy who donned a yellow rain slicker on the afternoon of October 14th, and from then on October simply wasn’t his month. He snaps out of his thoughts to the kid in front of him prodding him with a sheet of paper, another quiz passed from the front, he breathes out an apology for taking so long and sets himself to the work, only giving Bev a quick glance from across the room.

When the final bell rings he sighs deeply in relief until Bev catches up with him again. “Please be nice to Martin? For me?” she asks, her eyes doed and drooping in a way they only sit when she really wants something, and that’s when Bill decides he’ll just have to do his best to avoid Martin Addison for the next few weeks, hopefully not much longer than that.

He meets up with Eddie as the shorter teen slams his locker door shut, clicking the lock back into place. He’s probably the only senior besides Ben or Mike who actually uses his locker, most of them have given up at this point, senior year may as well just be a drop year replaced for a long, nine month walk in the park.

“Hey, woody, ready to go over to your house?” Eddie asks as he adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. His mom always criticizes him for only using one strap of the heavy bag, ranting and raving about how he’ll destroy his shoulders and his back doing that, but at this point Eddie doesn’t know what to think of a single word that comes out of her mouth and decides to ignore the lecturing as most other teens would.

“Yep,” Bill says with a small smile, his eyelids wrinkling at the edges. His day has been tough but hanging out with his childhood best friend always helps. They’ve known each other since the days Bill couldn’t talk without stuttering over every other word and when Eddie still peed his pants genuinely any time someone startled him. They understand each other, they can almost read each others minds when it matters most. Except, that is, when it comes to Bill’s inability to come out.

The night is spent full of laughter and popcorn and scrolling through Amazon filtered from lowest price to highest, trying to make these costumes on a budget, at one point Eddie even suggests the idea that he could use Bill’s old fish bowl as a helmet for his Buzz costume. It leaves both of them cracking up for a good couple of minutes.

The costumes get fully planned and ordered and Eddie goes home, walking carefully down Witcham street back to his own house to turn in for the night, his mom wouldn’t let him stay over at Bill’s, especially on a school night. Bill lays back in bed and holds his phone over his head, clicking on the small white and red icon, finally able to respond to Blue again.

Dear Blue,

The Halloween party is this weekend, my friends and I did finally get our costumes put together just tonight. I hope all the pieces come in time for us to dress up together. The party is supposed to have drinking so I don’t know how to feel about that. Haven’t had the best experiences around drunk people, but who knows? Maybe if I am one of the drunk people it won’t be so bad.

I forgot to ask you about your Halloween plans I think? I’ve been really meticulous about deleting these emails, don’t want to be caught. So, what are you doing for Halloween? Are you dressing up? Or going to a party?

I have to go with this one kid I’m not very close to but I’m really just driving him so I suppose it’s alright. Do you drive? I’m about the only person in my friend group who drives so I’m basically always designated driver, but this weekend Bev says she’ll stay relatively sober so she can drive us home with her learner’s permit, at least we probably won’t get caught.

Goodnight, sweet dreams,
Big Bro

He sighs blissfully, letting his phone screen dim and setting it next to himself and closing his eyes. The day finally feels complete once he’s said goodnight to Blue. He can’t help but cringe a bit at the way he ended the email, it’s totally, completely obvious, how fucking whipped he is for the boy on the other side of the screen. The cringe doesn’t last very long though, tiredness taking over and finally letting himself rest, not in pajamas or even under the covers.

A couple houses down, Stan hears the soft sound he has set for his email notifications. He turns over in bed, blinking at the bright light against the dark his eyes had adapted to in his efforts to sleep. His anonymous pen-pal hasn’t said goodnight yet and he knows he will, it’s a matter of waiting. It’s much later than usual, and they usually can spend the evening and early night talking, but today he’s gone mostly silent. Stan doesn’t want to complain but their talks can often be the highlight of his day.

Dear Big,

For Halloween I don’t plan on dressing up, it’s not really my thing. I don’t really get invited to parties and I would probably get made fun of by people if I went trick or treated. So it sounds like I’m gonna sit on the couch with a bowl of candy and watch old horror movies. The old ones aren’t that scary so they’re okay. I don’t know how you can handle the newer ones, all the cgi is getting pretty ridiculously realistic.

I hate to admit that I couldn’t sleep until you sent your message. I was worried, I’m glad you’re getting sleep now though, I swear from the times I sometimes get emails from you, you probably have Derry’s worst sleep schedule, like a carnival attraction. “Young Gay Never Sleeps,” it’d make a good headline, don’t you think? ;)

Sleep well,
Blue Birb.

Stan hums in embarrassment as he presses send with the admitted bit of info, his sleepy self not having much of a filter at this point in the night. He supposes he’ll have to deal with it now, he already pressed send. And besides, they’ve grown so close by now that it doesn’t feel too extremely creepy. He can only hope the clingy feeling can be matched by the other.

Chapter Text

The night of the party comes, the amazon packages of Eddie and Bill’s costume pieces trickled in slowly through the week and thankfully they all come on time for the night of October 31st. Bill looks himself in the mirror with his cowboy hat and spurs, the cow print definitely something he’s not used to but makes for a good costume.

“There’s a snake in my boot,” Bill says to his reflection, trying to match the accent and vernacular of the iconic character, the movie of his late elementary school aged self. He tips the hat and leans back to rest only the heel of his right foot on the group, giving a sly smirk and an attempt at a wink. Okay, maybe he just won’t wink at all tonight. He rolls his eyes at himself, picking up his brown faux leather jacket from the bed. Eddie hates this jacket, Bill had purchased it at a thrift store, Eddie could scream for hours about how bad and unsanitary that decision was, but Bill still likes the jacket.

He slips it over his shoulders, starting his way out of the room and down the stairs in his comically clompy boots. He purposefully scuffs his heels all the way down the driveway to the street where his car is parked. He turns his music up, a Halloween playlist Richie made way back in fifth grade. It’s basically iconic now, another loser tradition to listen to around the season of candy and tie-dyed looking trees.

The low grumble of his motor serves as a comfort at this point. His car always sounds like it has the lungs of a smoker, not unlike his Grandma Lou who he only sees around summertime when she and his grandfather come up from Bangour. He drives down the street, it only takes a while to arrive at Bev’s. A small scowl tempts him when he sees Martin on the porch with her already. He promised he’d be nice, he always keeps his promises. But he doesn’t usually make promises he isn’t sure he can keep. Beverly begging him to be kind was just too much to admit defeat to.

The bubbly redhead climbs into the back seat with Martin. Thank God the boy took the hint and follows her into the back instead of deciding the front would be a good spot for him. Bill probably would die if he needed to sit up front with Martin. His skin already crawls when the teen speaks to him, he really hates feeling so mean but he knows it stems purely from his discomfort, the feeling of unsafety. For all he knows, Martin could tell anyone at any time, and Bill simply cannot have that.

“What song is this? It sounds straight out of 2011,” Martin asks, his tone more critical than Bill feels ready to deal with. He glances back before starting the car again, only realizing then that Martin’s costume includes nothing but a short black dress with words taped all over it, not even to mention the scraggly looking fake white beard hooked over his ears with elastic.

“It is from 2011, it’s a playlist one of our friends made several years ago, it’s legendary, and no, I won’t turn it off,” Bill says, his own tone short and frustrated, he doesn’t really like his plans to change. He’s clung to his friends for a reason. They have always been kind and there for him. They care for him a way his family simply doesn’t, by now he can admit it. And Martin Addison does not have anywhere near the right to change any of this, he’s only an asshole that Bill needs to keep happy so his own private information stays private.

“Alright,” Martin sighs, lifting his arms at the elbows in defeat, nobody really expects quiet Bill Denbrough to snap on them, especially when the losers are around. Usually, if Bill is going to scold someone or be rude, he makes a point to keep that away from his friends. They’re too positive a piece in his life now to want to taint that with his sour attitude.

Bev raises her eyebrows, giving him a look through poking her head up to be visible in the rearview mirror, giving him a disappointed look. Bill would be fine if she was mad, but disappointed is what he can’t deal with. “We’re picking Mike up next and then Ben on the way back in the direction of Stan’s place,” he changes the topic, not knowing how else he could possibly diffuse the situation.

“Alright, Billyboy,” Bev sighs. She doesn’t appreciate his avoidance, he could have apologized. If only she knew how Martin had been to Bill in private, maybe she’d understand the seemingly random aggression coming from her fellow redheaded friend.

Bill turns the dial up for the music to play louder, rolling his window down a crack, thinking briefly about taking his hat off to feel the wind in his hair, but decides against the possible hat hair situation he has going on. He presses harder on the gas pedal, the car humming louder and the air whipping in through the window with a choppy sound that Bill is so used to that he hardly notices. He likes the feeling of the wind in his face and coursing through his hair. It’s a main reason he always pumped his legs so hard on that old bike of his, now gathering dust in the garage, subject to being the base of many spider homes.

He rolls up in front of Mike’s farm, the radio playing loudly being enough to signal Mike to come out. The boy comes out in a scarecrow costume, a bright orange face paint triangle drawn onto his nose, a green circle on his right cheekbone to be a patch of fabric. It honestly really does look really cute on him, the colors stand out bright on his skin and it looks especially good on him.

He cringes a bit at seeing Martin in the back and hearing how loud Bill is playing the music, he immediately knows what’s up. He slides into the passenger seat up front with Bill, not liking Martin much himself. Hopefully Bill can help him not have to deal with him through the night. Ben and Eddie and Stan and Richie all seem not to mind Martin, it’s only Mike and Bill who are bothered, and Mike doesn’t even know why the latter is bothered by him.

“We’re gonna go get Ben now, you sure Stan will appreciate your costume scaring away all the birds in your yard?” Bill jokes, nudging Mike in the arm teasingly before he turns back to pull out of Mike’s driveway. Pulling out of this driveway is genuinely a skill, seeing how long and bumpy it is, but with Bill often being the losers’ driver he’s definitely mastered this skill. “I do like the costume by the way, it’s cute on you,” Bill smiles softly.

“Thanks,” Mike says with his own happy smile. Halloween is one of the losers favorite holidays. They don’t need to be cool on Halloween. “Ah, we’ll have to tell Stan not to worry, I look too friendly to scare anything off,” he says with a very Mike-esc smirk. Mike has an easy smile to go along with, having smooth teeth and a little gap between the bottom two. It gives his smile the most contagious aura among the losers.

“I wonder what Ben decided to dress as, I can assume you can already tell what Eddie’s gonna be,” he chuckles to himself, keeping his eyes on the part of the road that his headlights illuminate. He’s a careful driver. The stutter he had as a kid was apparently caused by a car accident when he was three years old, or so his mother always ingrained into his young head up until the point when she felt she no longer had to warn him, he was hardly into double digits when he understood the full danger of two things, cars and pedophiles.

“Probably something cute, I think it’s kinda funny, as kids we always wanted to be scary,” Bev chuckles, though she shouldn’t be talking in her flowy short white dress and angel wings. She’s seen the pictures of the young boys in their vampire and zombie costumes, bottles of fake blood and latex, wanting to scare some other unsuspecting kid in a way that would have Eddie pissing himself at that point in life. “It’s like we always wanted to be older but now we just want to grow downwards. Taxes are gonna be so lame next year,” she says, her voice far away and wistful.

Martin, being the kiss-ass he is, immediately starts laughing at the joke, it wasn’t even much of a joke but he’s trying so hard to impress her that he’ll take it as one to please her, she looks confused for a moment but his hyena cackle draws her in, bringing out her own giggle to the sounds of the car.

Bill finally pulls into the driveway of Ben’s bungalow home, waiting for the boy to come on out, his form covered by a thin linen sheet, holes cut for his eyes so he can see. It’s the most classic of costumes, sounds exactly like something Ben would do. This isn’t the first year he’s worn this costume. This was obviously a fresh sheet but it’s the third time (not consecutively, Ben decides that would be just sad) that he’s donned the same persona on the night of October 31st.

“Happy Halloween!” he says brightly as he slides into the backseat of the car, lifting the sheet so he can talk without the white fabric muffling his words. He lets his sheet fall again before buckling into his seat, pushing Bev into the middle seat next to Martin.

“Happy Halloween!” Bill returns, “Who’s ready to go party until we regret it?” he smiles to his crowd in the back seat, the company of his actual friends diffusing his anger about Martin, just as he’d hoped they would. He’s always grateful for them, but especially in times like this.

“Yeah!” the group choruses as he finally pulls out of the Hanscom driveway to bring the group to Stan’s place. This is their first year not going trick or treating, but surprisingly not their first year with plans to go through with getting shitfaced on the night of spooks and ghouls.

The outside of the Uris residence is not often decorated for the Halloween season, Andrea always makes jokes about how she’s “too good of Jew” to decorate the home with such things only about a month off of the start of Hanukkah. It’s entirely a joke though, she and Stan just have never been the type to decorate the outside of the house, it would never get taken down in that case. It would be too exciting to put up but taking it down would just fill the mother son duo from their holiday high.

The gang files all out of the car, stumbly and laughing enough that they could probably be taken as already drunk, but it’s only the attitude they have around each other. Bill takes the initiative to knock on the thick door, already hearing the beat of music inside, Bill knows they’re late, it’s in his brand to drop his group off slightly later than he should, it just means the party has already started.

Stan himself comes to the door, his dark hair slicked back with gel that makes it shine in the light of the chandelier in his foyer. His leather jacket holds a similar glisten. He’s dressed as a greaser, which totally makes sense, considering his recent love for the book The Outsiders, and damn does he look good like that with his olive-y toned skin and hazel eyes.

The group shoves their way in at his invitation, Stan himself sliding to the side to make way for them, the most of the party going on in the living room. Youtube is up on the television playing music, currently on some iconic pop song of the last two months. The teens in the living room are grooving around to the music, a few with cups in their hands, reeking of alcohol and disappointment. The cups aren’t even the iconic party red solo cup, they’re actual glasses from Stanley’s kitchen, he’s never been much of a party thrower and aside from the alcohol, he didn’t know what else he was supposed to provide for his guests.

Bill goes off on his own already, Stan’s home is more than familiar to him, he’s been here quite a few times. He grabs a green plastic kids cup that he’s probably has owned since his childhood. Bill doesn’t trust himself with booze and something glass, he’s sure to drop it when the beer goggles kick in and he loses his balance.

He pours himself only a bit, he knows he’s a lightweight, he hardly drinks. He’s what many of the kids would call “mostly preppy”. He behaves himself and most of his rebellion comes with due cause and wouldn’t harm anything but himself. He returns to the living room with his cub, cringing at the taste of the beer, he would never admit that he often goes for something smoother and fruitier, but obviously Stanley Uris would have absolutely no knowledge of the tastes of alcohols. He may be providing the drink, but this is his first time ever not being sober at a party, and only because it feels safe in the confines of his own home.

It surely takes time, but Bill finds himself even drinking more whenever Martin speaks. It’s like a drinking game, whenever he hears the awful screeching sound of that man’s voice, he takes another long gulp off of his drink. He doesn’t know how they end up outside, but some kids are playing beer pong, as soon as they lose interest Bill finds himself shoving Bev’s arm incessentely, “Bev- Bev, B-Bev, Bev, can we play?” he begs in his less than fully coherent state.

She only smiles, drinking from her own glass, her expression warm like the buzz flowing through her veins. “Good idea Billy!” she exclaims, holding onto his arm to guide him to the table, she honestly worries more about his sobriety than her own, though she also isn’t the one who’s been drinking to drown out someone in specific.

They hardly make it to the table before Bill places a kiss to Beverly’s cheek and goes to stand on the other side, he doesn’t even know why he kissed her, it’s like if he drank enough to make everything swirly it makes his mind turn a little bit straight. The thought of swirling colors and lines dancing around behind his eyes makes him laugh to himself. He just continues proving how much of a lightweight he is to his peers still hanging out and talking around him. Heck, it’s the first party of the year, they’re probably just as shitfaced.

Martin is definitely equally as bad, taking his spot next to Bev on their side of the table, it’s like a given that he’s playing on her team. Mike takes a spot off to the side when he sees Stan stand beside Bill, knowing full well that none of the white boys at the table even fit their own stereotype of knowing at all how to play beer pong and finding a bit of humor in watching Bev try and explain it, her hands moving wildly with the waves of her voice.

He stays sober, knowing his mom would have him by the earlobes if he came home more than a little tipsy, and he fully respects his mama. He also doesn’t doubt that he’ll need to drive the others home in Bill’s car, having his license on him, he knows Eddie will also be sober, but Sonia Kaspbrak has way too much against Eddie learning to drive. She claims it’s about safety but really it’s probably about how he hungers for independence.

Bev finally makes her first shot, Bill as her opponent. The white plastic ball bounces with little whacks against the table, plopping luckily right into the cup, making Bill groan. “Sooo, I gotta take a drink now?” he asks, already having forgotten the rules of the game. Bev nods with a devilish grin that fully contradicts her angel costume, Bill lifting the cup to his lips to let some of the gross liquid run it’s way down his throat. He gags and looks over to hear a whooping cheer coming from a familiar voice, he could hear it anywhere.

The losers usually keep their costumes secret until the day of if they don’t get too excited and spill about them. They’re all glad Richie didn’t tell him about this costume, thankful they didn’t have to imagine this sight until the exact moment they spot him behind them in Stan’s backyard. It almost looks like he didn’t even know his own costume himself until today, signature Richie.

He dons a yellow cropped tank and some shorts, already missing his shoes, they’d been some tall black boots that his intoxicated self simply couldn’t walk in. On his head rest a pair of black swimming goggles, his hair up in a ponytail on the top of his head to try and mimic the small bits of hair that minions have on his head. It’s only cemented and proven by the name tag plastered right above his belly button. “Hi, my name is.. Bob the Minion” and it’s the only piece of the look that makes it obvious, they’d otherwise be at a loss.

“Go Beverllyyyyyyy!” he shouts in a slurred tone, his voice ringing through the backyard, having everyone looking in his direction, the neighbors probably even hear him so Stan shushes him almost as loudly as Richie’s original shout.

“Beep beeep Rich,” Stan grumbles, rubbing his face to try and gain some clarity. Being himself, he really doesn’t like how alcohol makes him feel. He doesn’t like the minimal control his brain actually has as he’s under the influence. This will definitely be his last time being drunk for quite a long time, thankfully his first time is enough to teach him.

Richie takes the shushing with the utmost importance, having the tendency to shift in and out of seriousness when he’s been drinking, a very unique drinking personality, though the losers attribute it to that he already damn near acts drunk when he’s not under the influence of anything at all.

The games goes on, Mike deciding to cheer on Bill and Stan’s side seeing as Richie obviously took Bev and Martin’s, he just wants everyone to feel supported. At one point Stan walks away and nobody notices. Finally it comes to Stan’s turn and their beer fuzzy minds realized he’s disappeared off somewhere else, which prompts Bill to announce that he’ll go seek him out.

Bill finds his way up the stairs, clinging onto the railing to keep his jelly legs upright. He goes to Stan’s room, opening the door as he sings the other boy’s name. Fuck, the gay comes out when he’s wasted. “Stannnnyyy~” he coos, peeking in and seeing Stan’s hands up a girl’s shirt, their lips locked together, lips pulling at each other. The two look back at Bill in shock as he catches them, and Bill pulls the door shut as fast as he can. He stumbles right back down the stairs until he finds his Buzz counterpart again, damn near crying.

“Eddie, take me home, I’m drunk,” he demands, looping his arms around Eddie’s waist and dropping his head to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie hugs in return, taken aback by Bill’s state. Even as his best friend, he doesn’t see him like this much. Bill gets all clingy when he’s sad but it can also been seen as just his drunkness so Eddie doesn’t see it entirely as cause for alarm, simply taking Bill’s hand to guide him.

“Hey, let’s go find Mike, he said he’d drive us if you couldn’t,” he says in a hushed voice, imagining that being that intoxicated must be almost like sensory overload, which he knows quite too well with his anxiety. He pulls Bill close to him as he maneuvers around the other teens, taking him outside where he last remembers mike being, hopefully well on his way to finding them a ride home, he just wants to get some water and sleep into his friend so he’d be ready for school again by the time Monday comes.

He finds Mike sitting on the outdoor table, not on a chair, those are all taken, but on the table with his legs hanging over the edge of it, swinging them back and forth to hear the crunch of the straw tucked into various places of his costume. He looks right over at Eddie and Bill with concern lacing his face, his eyebrows drawn together. Eddie explains that he’s absolutely not letting Bill behind the wheel like this, Mike understands and agrees wholeheartedly to drive them back to the Denbrough house.

Eddie thanks Mike for taking them back to Bill’s house, feeling awful for Mike having to walk back to Stan’s since Bill will need his car, especially once he needs to get Eddie home the next morning. Nevertheless, he pulls Bill on into the house, his parents thankfully already in bed, it’s past midnight by now, so Eddie doesn’t take very long to get Bill up the stairs and into bed finally. It takes the time it does only because Bill is uncooperative.

He pushes Bill onto his bed, bouncing back as he hits the mattress, that limp and pliant now that he doesn’t fight back anymore now that he’s in bed, it’s almost like he felt like he had to work against Eddie to get what he wanted, his mind is too hazy to understand. Eddie disappears for a moment, coming back up with a tall glass of water, coaxing Bill into a sitting position. “C’mon, asshole, you need water.” he pushes him up from behind to get him back into a vertical position.

Eddie tilts the glass to Bill’s lips letting the liquid run down his throat, trying to get him to drink the whole thing. He doesn’t want a hungover Bill the next day. Bill only whines a little at not getting to lay down anymore. Finally Eddie gets him to down the glass and lets him lay down again. He takes Bill’s hat off and removes his shoes and socks, good enough. He won’t be dehydrated or too overheated.

He takes off his own costume fully, taking some of Bill’s pajamas from the drawer across the room, a grey v-neck and some red flannel pajama pants. He crawls into bed next to Bill like he does when he sleeps over on a normal night, chuckling a bit at Bill when he sees him drooling, shaking him awake a little, “I’m lonely,” he says softly.

Bill blinks his eyes open, reaching an arm around Eddie carefully, looking for affection himself after what he saw earlier, and it’s not so different from normal. “I’m here Edward,” he says with a little smile to him, enjoying the sleepy warmth he can leach off Eddie.

“You ever just, think about how in love you are with someone?” Eddie asks, a dreamy look on his gentle face. He rubs Bill’s arm comfortingly. “I’ve been in love with a friend for a long time, it’s really dumb though.”

Bill only nods, holding loosely but close at the same time, nodding off again, snoring even before he can respond to Eddie’s words. Eddie smiles softly, seeing him comfortable being enough. He doesn’t need an answer.

He wishes he could explain further that he’s in love with him, with Bill. but he doesn’t want to wake him again. So he simply decides to sleep himself as well.

Chapter Text

Bill heard Eddie’s words as the two of them fell asleep. He doesn’t fully catch what Eddie was trying to get at, his drunken mind not coming to the conclusion that it could possibly be about him and not some other person. In fact, he completely assumed it had been about another boy in their friend group, Mike Hanlon. And in being the great friend he tries to be, he decides to try and set them up.

Before the first bell rings on Monday morning he flags Mike down, pulling him into the nearest bathroom, thankfully it had been the boy’s, the girl’s being on the complete other side of the hallway. Mike just looks at him with an expression full of confusion, “What do you need to talk about, Bill?” his eyebrows furrow, the losers always worry about him, knowing just from small hints that he doesn’t have the best home life ever since Georgie.

“I have something to confess- not about me, about Eddie,” he rushes out in a breathy mess. “He likes you, has had a crush on you for like forever, according to him at least,” he says this all in a hushed voice, not knowing if any of the stalls are occupied with hidden ears that could turn into hushed, moving lips to spread the word. The words still echo in the nearly concrete room, leaving it ringing in both of their ears for several moments before they fall into a shocked silence.

“I- I didn’t know,” Mike responds with a twinge of guilt, in all honesty he’d always thought that Eddie was hardcore crushing on the ginger before him, not himself. Bill would never lie though, especially about something like this. He’s even unsure if he likes Eddie, or boys in that manor at all for that matter. “I should ask him out,” he says aloud nonetheless. He’d go to extreme lengths to make his friends happy, even if it means a little experimenting.

Bill lets out a sigh of relief. At least he can do something right. He still can’t get rid of the image of Stan making out with that girl at the party. He’d even considered the fact that Stan may have been Blue, but any chance of that has been long ruled out, a gay guy couldn’t possibly find that much passion in something like that done with a girl. Blue, that reminds him, “Thank you, now, I’ve actually gotta take a leak, good luck in class?” He tries to get Mike to leave the bathroom, he needs a moment.

Mike agrees compliantly, not wanting to be late, the long hand of the clock sliding over to the next number, the bell always rings late so he probably has about thirty minutes before the tone sounds, hopefully enough to stop at his locker to grab his Calc book.

Bill slides into a stall, leaning his back against the cold blue door and pulling out his phone. He can only hope that his service will cooperate on this side of the school, he hasn’t tried it many times, it’s a gamble but he’s willing, Blue hasn’t been as active on his email as usual, besides the usual goodnight emails, assuring Bill that he’s alright and just busy, life finding the courage to make him productive. Not as much time to spend talking to strangers on social media.

Dear Blue,

It’s been some time. Life loves to be stressful, I know, you should have seen me in middle school. They should have called me backpack boy because I carried so much in my bag. I may not have so many school supplies now but I’m pretty good at carrying emotional baggage, call it my grief case :P

Anyways! Enough about me, want to talk about life and how it’s going for you? Once you get the time at least. I’ve got nothing but time, I’m always here to listen. I honestly miss talking to you even though I’ve never heard your voice. Good luck, and also isn’t Hanukkah starting in a month? Do you have plans?

Sorry if this was annoying or if you don’t see it for a while, but I’m always here, I’m listening.

Love,
Big Bro.

He sighs and slips his phone into his sweatshirt pocket. It’s an iconic Bill look, from October all the way to January. The same blue hoodie he’d purchased at Walmart much to large to ensure it would fit as long as it had. When Bev met him she insisted on patching up the holes and replacing the string of the hood, which Bill is grateful for. It may not look new or completely fixed, but the patches and messy stitching remind him of his mother’s when she would patch up his pajamas as a kid. It leaves him feeling taken care of.

He finally leaves the bathroom, the halls empty of all other students. They’d all been smart enough to arrive to homeroom on time, unlike Bill who let his mind wander to the boy he’s known for nearly two months now.

Finally, by fifth hour Blue returns his email. To Bill’s surprise it’s longer than he would expect for such a busy person as of late, but he’s by no means complaining. Everything Blue says sounds smart and interesting, like his eyes need to hang on every word to fully comprehend and internalize it. Blue feels like someone he can really learn from.

Dear Big,

It’s kinda funny how I’ve taken to only calling you “big” instead of the brother part. It just feels funny typing it out, because with the things we say to each other sometimes us being brothers would be pretty awkward. I’m lucky I don’t have any siblings, I’d break up into laughter at the fact that you call yourself brother in your emails.

I hope your “grief case” isn’t too heavy, I’m always here to help you carry it. If you’re comfortable talking about what you’ve got in it. I sorta have my own, it’s not much. Just my parent’s divorce and all, I had a lonely few middle school years too what with the court and my dad moving.

And yes! Chanuka is coming up, I’m celebrating near mid November with my father, staying with him out of state for a couple days. He has a pet budgie, only one though. I wish he’d get another, after all, small birds often do better in pairs.

Sincerely yours,
Blue birb.

And with that response, Blue’s responses came more regularly again for the next two weeks. It brings the light back into Bill’s world, the buzz of his phone being something to look forward to. He even sets his email to a special chime, muting all the spam accounts. When he hears the smooth whistle of the blue birb he knows who he’s getting a message from. He may only be able to have his sound on when he’s at home, but the itunes cash was worth the feeling he gets when he does get to hear it in private.

The colder months bring warm drinks instead of the gang’s usual iced coffee. Windows rolled up instead of down so the air isn’t let in. It somehow is comforting, with the exception of Martin sometimes joining the losers on their normally exclusive activities. They know how it feels to be outcasts and would feel even worse leaving him out.

Mike approaches Bill on the side at one of Stan’s last soccer games, pulling him under the bleachers like when Bill pulled him into the boy’s bathroom. “I’m gonna ask Eddie out, y’know the last football game coming up? I’m gonna ask him to get dinner with me before,” he sighs out, the air forming in white clouds as the statement leaves his mouth. Telling Bill is just his way of making sure he goes through with it. He’s still not even sure that he likes Eddie that way, but he’s willing to give it a try, and Bill is the only person he feels right in telling.

“Really? That’s great, big guy!” Bill smiles to him, pulling him in for a hug, more to leach warmth from Mike’s nice coat, but almost as equally being happy for his friends. He hopes they’ll stay together happily. He can just imagine Mike in his tall and muscular self holding Eddie’s smaller hand down the hallway, neither of them caring. That’s all he wants for them, all he wants for himself too really. He and Blue.

He and Blue hand in hand, their feet at the same pace, completely in sync. Sitting with thighs touching at the lunch table, sharing food and soft smiles. He can only imagine it, the hard part of imagining is that he doesn’t know who to put into his vision, it wasn’t Stan. that much is evident. Maybe the boy at the waffle house? He’s pretty sure he fits some of Blue’s description. Maybe it is him, for now he’ll pretend as much at least.

The days up to the game have Bill watching Mike and Eddie very closely, he just doesn’t want either of them hurt. He’s nearly positive he was right with what Eddie had said, but beer goggled vision always leaves room for error. He wishes there wouldn’t be so much room for error with things like feelings.

Eddie comes up to him two days before, looking frazzled, his cheeks flushed a light red against the pale of the rest of him that the cold air leaves. “Mike asked me to dinner,” he says, his voice full of confusion.

“Did you say yes?” Bill asks, a smile creeping up on his lips. Eddie looks so flustered, he must be excited. He feels like a good friend, getting these two together when he’s been so desperately chasing someone on his own with none of the rest of them (aside from Bev) knowing.

“I did I’m just- surprised. I didn’t think he liked guys and he asked me like- like it’ll just be the two of us, not you guys. And I don’t know if he means like waffle house breakfast for dinner in our fluffy coats all bundled in school gear for the game or if he means somewhere fancy and I’d have to dress up? I’ll have to ask him, I wasn’t expecting this,” The small brunette rambles on and on, Bill finds it silly when his friend does this, short and full of pent up energy and frustration, he’s never been one to be quiet, but when he’s got something on his mind his mouth never stops running.

“Sh, it’ll be fine,” Bill shushes him smoothly, putting his hands on Eddie’s shoulders to try and bring him back to earth from whatever cloud he’s screaming from, at this point he hardly knows what the other boy is even talking about. It happens a lot with how fast he talks, he’s worse than a youtube video at double speed.

“You sure, Billy?” Eddie asks, his eyes not even able to stay still in their gaze with Bill’s. He just feels unsure, he does like Bill, he likes Mike, as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin the friendship or the relationship he has with any of the losers, it feels like a bad idea to go through with it. But both Bill and Mike seem so sure, and he definitely trusts them most in the world as far as making good decisions.

“Positive,” Bill says with a sure smile, patting Eddie’s shoulders carefully to try and convince him further. He just wants to make him happy, he feels like if he can make this work he can even make his anonymous relationship with blue work out.

The day of the game is a big one, not only for Eddie and Mike but also for Martin, though the entire group of losers is unknowing of his plans. They all get ready in their fluffy coats and scarves, a few of them even coating their hands in knit mittens that Maggie Tozier has been working on making for each loser.

Eddie and Mike seem happy when they arrive, both in their gloves. Eddie’s a shade of red and Mike’s in a wintery shade of green, reminiscent of pine trees and beautiful forests that look like winter wonderlands when mid December hits.

Bill can’t help but smile at the two holding hands as they walk up to the group already standing on the bleachers, he can almost feel the post good date bliss from where he stands about ten feet away. Eddie offers him a soft smile as they approach.

“Nice time?” Bill asks with a semi-teasing smirk, he set this up, he has at least some right to poke fun at them if it went well. They are friends after all, and it’s never been Eddie who’s been love struck. Eddie Kaspbrak may be a lover, but not an “in” lover. Seeing him blush is different, he usually doesn’t look so soft. He doesn’t like being vulnerable. Having a mom like his gets to him, leaving him wanting to be in charge of his life more even than other teens.

“Yeah,” Mike says with a smile, taking his hand back from Eddie carefully to shove his hands into his coat pocket, the gloves just a little too thin to completely protect the skin from the cold. Both of them find their spot next to the other losers, standing on the same level of the bleachers as them, Bev holding a to go cup of hot chocolate in both hands.

They all turn when they hear the high shriek of the microphone as it’s turned on. Their eyes scan the field before they spot their principal by a podium off to the side. He clears his throat much too close to the microphone, having it echo through the entire space. “Now, if everyone would rise for our national anthem,” he says in a serious voice. There’s very few times he’s serious, always trying to be hip with the kids, but sometimes it has to come out.

A blonde girl from the musical stands behind him, stepping closer to the podium and claiming the microphone. Of course she’d be the one to sing for the last game of the season. She takes professional singing lessons and has a dramatic flair in her that’s been obvious since the class has been in elementary school. Most kids like her would get made fun of, but she owns it with pride and it makes it hard to shake her with just a few simple taunts, so they just don’t anymore.

She starts the song, her voice unwavering in the mic acapella to all her peers. Bill wishes he had her confidence. She may not be the nicest to everyone, but she’s talented and she knows it. She’s strong, that’s what Bill admires. He knows how difficult it is to turn hardships into strengths, skills into something big.

The mic lets out another ear bleeding shriek when she screams as the teen in the bear mascot costume pushes her out of the way. Martin. Of course. He pulls the head off, holding it cradled in his left arm, taking the microphone in his right. “I have something very important to ask someone really important,” he says, out of breath and panting right up against the mic.

Bill furrows his brow. Fuck. He hopes what he thinks is happening isn’t happening, because it won’t go well for anyone involved. It’s reckless. He remembers how Martin always is. Go big or go home. That kid really needs to just go home and think things through more.

“Beverly Marsh. Red-headed queen. Never a damsel in distress as I’ve learned,” he starts, his voice quivering with passion instead of the nervousness and regret he seemingly should be feeling. This is crazy. To think he’d do it just for a high school crush. Bev’s cheeks flush with a deep red darker even than her hair, switching her balance to her other foot, feeling almost a bit faint as all the blood rushes to her face in this cold weather.

“In grade school they used to say that gingers have no souls but now I’ve learned they really do. She’s kind and caring and just perfect.” Martin continues, people taking videos of this display now, it’ll be all over the internet probably within the next ten minutes, depending on the service in the stadium.

Beverly wipes at her eyes, embarrassed tears threatening to leave her eyes and warm her cheeks, probably to nearly freeze by the time they hit her chin. She starts stepping down the bleachers to the field, but not completely, looking back up at the losers for confirmation that she should be.

He keeps going despite that. Excitement rising in Martin’s chest, thinking her tears are of joy, that this is the right choice. “Beverly Marsh. Will you go steady with me?” he asks, walking nearer to the center of the field, waiting for her to frantically nod and come running into his arms. It doesn’t happen though.

Instead, she stands on the bottom row of the bleachers, shaking her head slowly. “Martin, I don’t like you that way, you’re nice and all. I just- I can’t date you,” she says, keeping her voice drawn low, but loud enough for him to hear her a few feet away. The entire class of students all watching, some even making low murmurs and whistles in response to the whole thing. Proposal failed.

Then, to top it all off, a man on the side of the field releases a few doves from their golden cage, the bird flapping off into the evening sky. It was supposed to be if she said yes. He’d been so sure she’d say yes. “No! No- Eric!” Martin calls, jogging over to the man with the cage. He’s never been so humiliated.

Chapter Text

The next day comes as expected. Martin Addison is the school meme, and not even for his usual pun-ny nature. All over Twitter and Instagram, even littering his classmate’s snapchat stories. It fills him with a rage he’s never matched. He thinks he’s never been anything but nice to them, he doesn’t deserve this. Seeing that Denbrough kid in his call history trying to make sure he’s okay only projects the frustration onto him.

Martin pulls out his laptop, placing it on his desk and going to shut his door. He’s home alone so there really isn’t a reason. But being in complete solitude in this room for this seems right, he craves it. He plops roughly in his desk chair, rolling closer to the desk. Opening the screen suddenly feels ceremonial. He pulls up the school gossip site, taking a moment to email the pictures to his computer from his phone’s camera roll. His fingers dance over the keys in preparation.

Dear Derry High,

I’m sure you all know Bill Denbrough, the scrawny redhead who hardly smiles. That’s him. Well I’m sure there’s something about him that you guys don’t yet know about him. He’s gay. A whole homo. He didn’t want to tell you guys himself because he knows how disgusting he is. So I decided to do the honors for him.

He’s been emailing another one under the guise of “Big Brother”. We all know it’s because of Georgie. The other boy in question is still unknown, but had been going by “Blue Birb”. If you want further proof, simply refer to the images attached below.
[6 Attachments]

Now, this surely should be the talk of the school. Not the one mistake of that handsome Martin kid.

Signed, Anonymous.

Martin smiles smugly to himself as he presses the blue button to post the call out. Normally, he’d want to be the center of attention like he is. But now he’s learned, not all attention is good attention. Bill taught him that, and it’s his turn to teach the latter as well. He leans back in his chair, brushing his greasy blond hair behind his ear. He can’t wait for what’s to unfold.

Notifications go off on phones all over the town of Derry. The Derry gossips eating up every word written into Martin’s post. It doesn’t take long to get to Bill, he can only stare at it with wide eyes. It takes all of three minutes for him to process what had happened, what everyone now knows that he’s kept secret for so long. When he finally realizes, he can feel tears gather in his eyes. Damnit Martin. He puts his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks burn red. Monday won’t be fun. His phone starts lighting up now, the losers trying to contact him. It’s all too much to handle. He throws his phone to his bed, letting the tears trickle out from the corners of his eyes.

He sits back in his own chair, completely shocked and ashamed. He never would have thought he’d be so upset about people knowing he’s gay. It hadn’t felt like too bad of a secret, but now it feels nothing short of taboo that should never be spoken of. What would Georgie think? The boys in the grade he’d be in have discovered “the joy of slurs”. Bill can only hope that the other boys would not have corrupted his own brother as well.

He knows what he has to do next. He needs to apologize to Blue and make sure he’s alright. Make sure he doesn’t hate him. He types with fingers that feel like lead. Heavy and anxious. He explains everything with Martin from the very beginning. He apologizes about a million times in just this one email, even though he truthfully hasn’t done a single thing wrong.

The amount of dread that sets in his stomach when it’s time to send the email is indescribable. It only increases when he immediately gets another email notification. “The recipient you’ve tried to contact is no longer available.” Blue deleted his account. He feels the tears return to his cheekbones. He feels a scream bubble in his chest, but he can’t because his parents are just in the room next to his. Instead he flops face first onto his bed, damn near staying there until Monday arrives. He wishes he could skip, but he knows it’ll only make the inevitable bullying worse.

He finally gets up, sore all over from not moving, he drags himself to the bathroom for a well needed shower. Once he’s finally ready, he goes out to his car so he can pick up the others as usual. Driving down the street is more lonely than it’s felt for a long time. He finally arrives at the first place he always stops at, Beverly’s apartment, only to find all of them standing there waiting for the school bus. They look about ten different shades of angry with him.

Mike and Bev are holding hands, which is definitely new. “Bill, what the fuck?” Beverly already starts, absolutely fuming. He face matches the red shades of her hair. “You seriously fucking tried to set me up with Martin?” for a moment she almost looks more hurt than angry. “Only for your own personal gain. I can’t believe you. That’s low.”

“Bev- please,” He starts, his voice soft, his window rolled down almost entirely to keep this conversation. She steps closer and he flinches out of reflex. “He was gonna out me if you didn’t go out with him. I’m sorry, I was scared,” he says, his voice lowering to be smaller and closer to a whisper.

“You could have told me? That’s still fucking selfish. I can’t even look at you right now,” she growls out her words, just stepping backwards until she’s back to standing with Mike. The rest of them stay quiet until Eddie speaks up.

“Bill? Why’d you try to set me up with Mike? He’s straight, Bill. Do you know how awkward that was to find out? When I said I was in love with my friend I meant you, do you not get that?” his voice quivers, Eddie can be an angry crier if his feelings are hurt enough. “Mike and Bev belong together, I can’t be with someone who literally doesn’t have the brain to like me that way. You of all people should know that. Or maybe you don’t, girl dater.” Eddie gets childish when he’s frustrated, doesn’t know what to say. All that had come to mind was the time in middle and early high school that Bill dated a bunch of girls, which now looks definitely off now that he’s out.

“Eddie, I really didn’t know. I’m oblivious, I was drunk as fuck when you said that. I’m so sorry-” he sighs out, his eyes taking on a more tender tone when they meet Eddie’s.

“Just go. You’ll be late for school. The bus is almost here anyways,” Eddie huffs, his eyes unchanging, the same fire rising in them as was a moment ago. Bill can only look ahead and start driving forward down the road.

The rest of the day isn’t much better. He can feel the other student’s eyes on him wherever he goes, he’s so used to going unnoticed. He would much prefer that over this. Nothing in the morning can match the embarrassment he’s met with near the end of his lunch hour. Two boys, Henry and Patrick, hop up onto a lunch table, blaring “Born This Way” from one of their phones. They lip sync and dance dramatically, mocking what they think if when they think of “pride”. Eyes are all on either Bill or the show in front of them.

All he can do is get up from his table and storm off to hide in a different part of the school. He bumps into someone on the way, his eyes having been trained on his feet in hopes that nobody will look at him. He looks up to meet the eyes of the boy from the diner, the one he’s considered for a moment that he may be his anonymous lover. He’s completely breathless as he asks. “Are you Blue?”

“No, Bill. I’m sorry. Y’know what they did to you was really awful. I hope this all stops soon,” the boy says, hugging his books close to his chest before hurrying off. He’s too awkward to stick around and comfort someone he hardly knows, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel bad about it.

Bill sighs deeply to himself as he adjusts the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. He walks down the hall, sitting on the floor in the corner that isn’t frequented by many students through the afternoon classes. That is, until he’s called down to the office. He’s not sure if it’s about the incident or about the fact that he’s skipping a class, he honestly hopes it’s the latter. He’d rather not talk about that again, ever. Nonetheless, he walks down to the room at the front of the school to speak to the principal as he’s been told. Better than getting himself into more trouble.

He sees Henry and Patrick sitting in the blue office chairs outside the door of the principal. He sits about a chair away from them, not many options of places to seat himself but he definitely doesn’t want to end up next to them after what they pulled a little less than an hour ago. All he can do is hope they don’t try to talk to him, trying to ignore their stares and grimaces. Mr. King finally steps out of his office, a stern look on his face directed at Henry and Patrick.

“Boys, my office. Denbrough, wait out here until we’re ready for you,” he says, his tone matching the authoritative aura he gives off. Nobody really takes principal King seriously, but damn does he obviously try to gain respect from his students.

Bill sits in the quiet office. He watches the red hand on the clock dart from number to number and listens to the monotonous clicking tone as time passes. Time moves slow when you’re sitting in the office of a principal, not knowing if you'll be in trouble or not.

It’s a while before they actually invite him into the office. The two teens mumble out bluffed and forced apologies before they make a break for it to get out before they can be corrected. Bill just nods and holds his hands behind his back, looking down at his messy sneakers. He just takes the “sorry”s even though he knows they don’t mean anything.

“You know you can come talk to me if anything happens like this. I really do care, I see a lot of myself in you,” Mr. King says solemnly, obviously ashamed of the situation. Then, he gives Bill the look that lets him know that he’s allowed to return to class now.

The rest of the school hours don’t bring any more big incidents. Things only truly go wrong again when he heads back outside to the school parking lot. He spots none other than Martin Addison standing leaning against his car. Much too close, much too soon.

He starts walking faster to his beat up vehicle. It’s not very pretty, but it’s his. His pride and joy like his bike. He’s protective of it. “Martin, what the hell are you doing by my shit?” he shouts as he approaches him, letting his anger take over in this moment. He doesn’t even care if Martin shows remorse for what he did or not.

“I wanted to apologize, I didn’t think it would be a big deal, just something new for our peers to talk about, not me and my own failure,” the blond boy starts up on some sort of apology, Bill’s too used to the fake ones, he sees right through it.

“You didn’t think outing me would be a big deal? You’ve liked Bev for maybe a couple months, I’ve been in the closet since I was a kid. That’s a pretty big fucking deal to me, asshole,” he continues, the he takes deep breath. Martin needs to learn a lesson, but for now Bill is still hurting. Martin can learn his lesson some other way, Bill doesn’t owe him anything. He needs some sense knocked into him, but Bill won’t be the one to do it.

Chapter Text

The next few days are lonely. No losers, no Blue, Bill hardly has anything left. He drives to and from school alone, going home just to dick around on his computer until it’s time to sleep. Time moves slow and he’s spending a lot of his life just zoning out. It’s like sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool and watching everyone else swim just fine, but you’re weighed down.

One day he’s walking to the diner to get something to eat, that and the fact that he needs some fresh air. He needed to get out of the house, it was starting to drive him a bit crazy. He keeps his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes trained on his sneakers as they slap against the pavement at an even rhythm.

He gets a bit stiffer as he passes by the Kaspbrak house, shrugging his head further into his hood to the mas the read hair that’s really only attributed to him and Beverly Marsh. It’s nearly the end of Hanukkah, St. Nic would have come for the young children a day or two ago, and the weather matches. He watches the fog escape his mouth as he breathes out, trying not to be too anxious. He deserves a second to relax after all that’s happened.

Eddie’s looks out the window at just the right time to spot his best friend on the sidewalk outside. He feels a softness wash over him. He really does feel bad that Bill was outed. He can’t imagine how he’s cope if it’d been him. He’s not often one to be impulsive, but maybe just this once he’ll let himself make a snap decision. He pulls his coat over himself and zips it up as he dashes down the stairs of his house and out to meet Bill where he’s walking. He knows he was insensitive, but he can only go so long without his childhood best friend, he needs to apologize.

Bill doesn’t acknowledge him nor say anything yet. Eddie jogs to keep up with him. The shorter boy doesn’t say anything yet either, fumbling for his inhaler before pushing a puff of the medicine into his mouth to free his constricted lungs. He gasps for air for a moment, his hot breaths showing up white fog against the cold air.

“Okay, Bill, I gotta be kinda fast. My mom has decided I’ve got a cold this week so she’ll be mad I’m out. I’m sorry for how I reacted and what I said to you. It wasn’t your fault and I never should have done that,” Eddie rushes out, trying to keep up with the strides of Bill’s long legs. It takes Bill a few moments to react, but when he does he looks to Eddie looking nearly as if he’s about to start crying.

“I bet you don’t know how much I was hoping you’d say something like that,” he says with a sigh of relief, stopping in his tracks. He lets his eyes meet Eddie’s. “It’s just been so hard,” he says in a small voice, just glad to be able to verbalize it to someone. He’s never been used to dealing with hardship on his own, he’s had the losers for years and this is one of the only times he’s had to be separated from them.

“I’m sorry this has all been going on, you really didn’t deserve that. Martin should suck a fat one, one that hasn’t been washed in weeks, not even circumcised,” Eddie starts rambling on, not knowing how else to talk to Bill after this long gap in their friendship. It’s never happened like this before. “To be fair. I did think something was up. I even said to Ben one day ‘ah Billy-boy must be in love, only a man in love acts that way,’” he says with a chuckle. “Who is it that you love so much, tell me about this ‘Blue Birb’.”

Bill smiles, chuckling slightly in awkwardness, there’s so much he could say about this boy. Nearly everything except for his name. “Well, he’s quite lovely. He’s kind and funny. And he’s so, so smart. Like all his jokes are about smart people things. We’ve been talking since his post, the one you actually told me about. Thank you for that, I suppose,” he rambles almost as bad as Eddie does, flushing red at the idea of finally being able to gush about the boy he likes so much.

“Have you met him? Like in real life?” Eddie asks, nudging Bill teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows up and down at the tall ginger. He’s almost as bad as Richie, basically asking about their sex life straight away. Eddie’s always been that friend. The one who will gossip with just the losers but keep his mouth zipped all of the rest of the time.

“Actually no. I don’t know who he is, I mean I know him as a person, but not his name or what he looks like or anything. Kinda wish I did, I want to be able to like, kiss him, and hug him and stuff,” he says in a small voice, sighing wistfully. He’s a hopeless romantic in his own sense, longing to meet him now. But he doesn’t know how, the email address has been deleted. Months of talking down the drain, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to talk to him again.

“I’m sorry about that, I hope you get to soon,” Eddie says, trying to meet Bill’s eyes but they’re on the ground again. He still likes Bill, but obviously Bill is deep into this, the thing he’s sparked with Blue. He deserves the happiness that has come with it. He won’t get in the way. He always thought he’d do anything to be with Bill, but now he’s realized really he just wants Bill to be happy.

“Me too,” Bill says, stopping on the sidewalk again. An idea springs into his head, having him turning around sharply, then looking to Eddie. “I just realized I have something at home to take care of, can we continue this conversation later?” he asks, his voice breathless with excitement. It’s only a simple idea, and it may not even work. But speaking with Eddie has given him the most motivation he’s had since Blue ended their contact.

Eddie nods, a little taken aback by his sudden change in tone. “Yeah, yeah definitely. Text me when you can, I should be heading back home now too, don’t want my mom to be too pissy,” he says, shoving his hands up into his warm sleeves and starting off to his home again. He wracks his brain for what could have caused the change, what may have been said to trigger it.

He gets home as fast as he can, his heart feeling as if it’s beating up into his throat. It’s not from fear necessarily. Only adrenaline. His body knows that what he’s about to do is impulsive. But heck, impulsive is Bill Denbrough’s middle name. He pulls out his laptop as ceremoniously as Martin had retrieved his for his callout, but this post Bill is to type up is much different to that. iIt’s even different to how Martin asked Beverly out, though it’s similar in the public nature.

He pulls up the gossip site. It doesn’t feel right in his heart to have to post it here, but he doesn’t know how else to establish what he wants to with this. He starts typing.

Dear Blue Birb,

You’ve seemingly disappeared, and I miss you. I know our classmates just had a problem with asking someone out publicly, but I hope this is different. You once said that life is chaotic when you’re in the closet, all the opportunities to be outed or to reveal yourself. It’s scary, I get it.

It’s almost like living life on a ferris wheel. Up and down over and over, and sometimes you get stuck. In the tone of that, the carnival is coming to town on the opening night of the school musical. I’ll be there, on the ferris wheel. If you want to join me, ride’s on me.

Lovingly yours,
Big Brother

He sighs in relief after he gets it all typed up, changing the wording at least three times before he posts. It’s a gamble, the boy he’s trying to contact may not even see it. But it’ll be fully worth it just in the case of it working. Of him finally being united with him after these few months of messages back and forth.

He’s nearly jumping and shaking with anticipation for the days leading up to the carnival. Not only because of the show opening and stage fright, but because the idea of finally meeting Blue. Maybe it was a bad choice of days, but he hopes his plan and his actions will reward him.

The day finally comes. His costume is pretty simple, just a black suit and tie, but he sweats under the spotlights of the stage. Out of heat and also out of nervousness. He speaks his lines in a smooth voice, thankfully stutterless. Beverly steals the show as expected, her solo in the final song leaving an echoed note ringing beautifully though the auditorium. A standing ovation follows.

As soon as they finish their bows, Bill dashes backstage to pull on his jeans and his flannel over his t-shirt, running his hands through his hair in front of the mirror. He still has thick theatre makeup on his face but he elects to ignore it. They should be expecting an actor to show up with some evidence of acting after all. The cakey makeup could make a funny story.

He makes eye contact with Eddie as he leaves the theatre, waving enthusiastically. He’s in good spirits, better than he has been in days. The show just ended, and he gets to ride the ferris wheel, and best of all, he might finally see Blue in the flesh.

He pays for the ride tickets, spending about all the money he has, he didn’t specify a time for Blue to come, just after the show. And he won’t take any chances in having to stop too early. It’s common knowledge now to the entire school what Bill is waiting for, and there are already people around the ferris wheel but nobody on it, leaving it for Bill to do his honor in waiting, some people even have their phones out to film. Martin’s drama is long forgotten and the outing is no longer the news, now it’s all about Bill. The brave one who had the courage to leave himself the possibility of complete humiliation for the sake of love.

He steps onto the platform to the man who runs the ride, who looks sincerely perplexed about the plethora of teens at the ride usually mostly frequented by children. Bill holds out the entire roll of tickets to the man, who scratches his beard in his confusion.

“As many rounds as this will get me,” he says with a smooth grin. He’s probably never been this excited in his life. He’s finally getting his own love story, the kind he would have seen on Disney channel as a kid. It’s perfect. The sky is darkening and the crowd is growing as quickly as his smile. Goosebumps cover his arms as he gets into the seat, it rocks back and forth with his weight. This is it.

The ride makes it’s first circle. Classmates cheer and take pictures and videos. Finally a wholesome story for their social media. Two rounds done and no Blue yet. Three and the peers start to quiet down, the time taking some of the excitement from them, teens so impatient that they get their main entertainment from seven second videos played in succession.

It keeps turning and turning, slowly getting more lonely and pathetic up there. It’s a while before his tickets run out, but they do. Everyone is surprised when Martin runs up to the platform. “I’m Blue, it’s me!” he shouts dramatically.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Bill sighs, this is embarrassing. Martin has been blackmailing him for about forever, even if he was Blue he wouldn’t be with him. It all makes sense when he speaks again.

“I am, but this is just sad, take my tickets, good luck,” the boy says, obviously finally feeling the guilt of what he did. He presses the bundle against the man running the ride’s chest without looking before walking away, beating his hand against his chest. “We believe in you Billy!”

Bill starts going up in another round of the ferris wheel’s circle. Everyone stands silently until a dark haired boy parts his way through the crowd. He stands before the seat Bill is in when the ride comes to a stand still. “Can I sit here?” Stan asks, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

“I’m waiting for someone,” Bill says softly, flabbergasted. He can hardly look into Stan’s deep brown eyes.

“I know,” Stan says, a small half smile on his lips. He sits in the cart right next to Bill. “Are you disappointed it’s me?” he asks, scared because Bill hasn’t said anything yet, only stared on in surprise.

“No, not at all,” Bill says, his eyes still looking into Stan’s. “You deserve a great love story too,” he says, letting his hand find Stan’s jaw, putting his lips against his. It’s nothing like he’s ever felt before. It feels right. Like two puzzle pieces have found their home.