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“Richie!”
It’s screamed seconds before there’s a heavy weight in his arms, causing Richie to stumble back a few steps. He catches his balance easily, swinging around the tiny boy that launched himself at him and delights in the giggles he lets out in the process.
“My favorite Georgie!” Richie replies, smile wide on his face as he looks up to the Denbrough’s front door, Bill watching with obvious fondness in his gaze. “And my favorite Bill!” he calls out, letting Georgie monkey his way up onto Richie’s back, grabbing the boy securely so he doesn’t fall.
“The only Bill you know,” Bill corrects with a laugh, ruffling Richie’s hair when he gets close enough and steps aside so Richie can fit through the door with Georgie on his back. Richie plops Georgie down on the living room couch, maneuvering the Denbrough’s house as easy as his own at this point. It’s no surprise that Bill followed them, and Richie gives him a smile in proper greeting.
“So, what are we doing today, lads?” Richie says, clapping his hands and putting on his best (read: worst) British accent. Bill rolls his eyes, but it makes Georgie giggle so really, Richie wins.
“Monopoly!” Georgie screams immediately, looking at Richie with wide, hopeful eyes. It’s not like Richie can say no to that face. He nods in affirmation, and Georgie jumps up immediately to go get it, out of the room as quick as lightning.
“Thanks for this, by the way,” Bill says softly, standing close to Richie in front of the couch, arms crossed over his chest loosely. He’s not as tall as Richie, none of them are anymore after his growth spurt, but he’s still tall enough he doesn’t have to look up to talk to Richie. “He really likes when you come over,” he adds, giving Richie a smile.
“Well who wouldn’t? I’m amazing,” Richie says with a smile of his own, and it’s the closest Bill’s going to get to an affirmation that Richie enjoys this, too. It’s not like Richie would deny it if asked, but saying it unprompted? Unlikely.
Georgie returns with the box, walking carefully so he doesn’t trip, but quickly with barely contained excitement. He places it down on the dining room table adjacent to the living room, and stares expectantly at Richie and Bill until they make their way over. They sit, watching silently as Georgie sets up the board like a pro, handing out the money and pieces (hat for Bill, dog for Richie, car for Georgie, like always).
“Get ready to lose,” Richie says happily, rearranging his money into a neat pile.
The game goes by painstakingly slow, but Richie has fun regardless. He might be on his last five dollars, one move away from going bankrupt, but it’s still fun. That is, until Bill gets caught cheating.
“Bill!” Georgie whines out, feet tucked underneath him on the dining room table chair, leaning over the board to pout at Bill. “You can’t take extra money from the bank every time! That’s 100% cheating!”
Richie laughs, long and loud at the seriousness in Georgie’s voice, and says, “Yeah, get it together,
Bill Denbrough;
Admiration might be too weak of a word to use when it comes to you, Big Bill. You’ve always been there for me, even back when we were six years old and we stole cookies from the cookie jar and we had to swear it wasn’t us (yes, I remember that). You were there for me then, when I was shaking in anxiety over the prospect of being yelled at, and you’ve been there for me over and over again ever since. Bro, I’m not about to wax poetic or anything, but you might just be the best person I know. No, seriously! I know you’re gonna try and deny it, even if you’re reading this at home, alone -yes, Bill, I do know you that well- but don’t! Don’t try to deny it, because I’m pouring my heart out here and you know how often that happens.
Really, what I’m trying to say is- you’ve helped me become the person I am today. Whether it was the cookie jar incident of ‘05, or the bloody nose incident of ‘12 (yes, I remember that one too), you’ve always just- been there. If I ever needed a shoulder to cry on, you were readily available (sorry for sneaking into your bedroom window so much- but to be fair, the tree outside of it is perfect to climb), or if I needed advice, you were ready to give that, too. Like I said, I’m not here to wax poetic, but you deserve to know just how much I love you.
So, I guess I’ll say it.
Bill Denbrough, I love you, even if you have kicked me in the ribs during multiple sleepovers throughout the years and burnt the pancakes every single morning we’ve spent together. I loved you then, and I love you
“Now,” Mike says, lifting one edge of the wood slab at the same time as Richie. They place it down in its designated spot, and Richie groans loudly in relief once it's settled.
“What’s this for again?” Richie asks, picking up more pieces of wood in both hands. He moves them to another part of the stable, and goes back to look for other things he can pick up without Mike’s help.
“Baby horses! Our mare is expecting soon, so we have to get this stable ready for her and the foal,” Mike explains, looking over to Richie with a gentle smile. “Grandfather normally does this stuff, but the sheep have to get shaved today as well, so.”
Richie hums, feeling the ache in his arms already. God, he needed to work out more. “Can we go see the sheep later? I wanna see how stupid they look,” he says, laughter in his voice as he thinks about how silly shaved sheep look. Mike just gives him a fond smile and nods.
They fall silent for the next little while, leaving Richie’s mind to wander. He liked hanging out with Mike alone, even if it often meant doing work or running various errands. It was never annoying, or tiresome, not with how upbeat and happy Mike always was. His moods were always contagious, Richie found.
“So the mare,” Richie pipes up after a bit, stopping to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his forehead. “She all, like, big and stuff?”
Mike laughs, soft and sweet. “Yes,” he says simply, stopping as well so Richie doesn’t feel alone. And wasn’t that always Mike? Doing something for someone, even if he didn’t need to, just so they’d feel good? “Real big,” he adds, stretching out his arms wide to illustrate his point. “I’ll show you her later, too.”
“Fuckin' sweet,” Richie responds, stretching out his arm and walking across the stable in a few long strides. Mike follows, and Richie stares down at the second wood slab they have to move. “This one next?” he asks, already bending down to grab one side of it. Mike nods, going to grab the other side, and counts down from 3.
They lift it together, moving it towards the stable door and placing it down. Richie sighs heavily, and is just glad that was the last big thing they had to move.
“I bet you I can move both those hay stacks,” Richie says, self challenging. Mike nods in amusement, and Richie doesn’t catch the soft “sure, Rich,” he lets out. Richie tries, and tries again, back and arm muscles straining with the force of how hard he’s pulling. He manages to drag it a few feet, but not nearly as far as he needs it to go.
“Here, I got it,” Mike interrupts softly, bumping Richie’s hip with his own so he’ll move out of the way. He lifts up the two stacks of hay with ease, placing it in the spot Richie was trying to drag it to before.
Richie smiles over to Mike, dropping down heavily on a pallet. “You sure know how to make a fella swoon,
Mike Hanlon;
This is a little dumb. Like, I’m pretty sure you know everything I’m about to say already, but someone did say writing it down makes it more real (or something like that. I’m not actually sure). God, this is stupid, okay. In case you didn’t already know, somehow, someway, I love you. I love you, and I love your warmth, and your stupidly big hands that rival mine in size and how they always seem to find mine when I’m scared but won’t admit it. It’s always been like that, I think, ever since you joined the Losers… you just seemingly knowing when I needed something, without me even saying it. Are you a mind reader, Mikey? Or am I just that easy to read?
I think, really, I could go on for days about all the ways in which you make me feel special. The ways in which you can make me feel like I’m the only person that matters, just for a little while. I don’t know if you know you’re doing it, but with the ease in which you do, I don’t think so. Which is why I’m telling you.
I just- you care for everyone, don’t you, Mikey? I can see it, in the ways you check over all of us after we get into something we shouldn’t have, in the ways you make sure we’re safe before even thinking about yourself. I wish I could lie and say it doesn’t make my heart feel like it’s going to leap out of my chest, like it doesn’t make my palms sweat uncomfortably to the point where I have to wipe them on my pants. I wish it wasn’t like that, but the truth of the matter is, I like you, Mike. I know I said I loved you earlier, but I like you, too. I like you, and I wish you would do that for me because you like me, too, and not just because you’re an actual angel in human form.
Regardless, I see you and I appreciate
“You,” Ben says with a smile, teasingly harsh. His voice is hushed because of the library, but Richie knows he has the ability to be just as loud as Richie himself.
“Me ~” Richie sing songs, leaning back in his chair, tipping away from the table. He grins, sharp and so utterly himself, winking obnoxiously at Ben’s breathless giggles.
“Seriously, Rich, why don’t you nerd out like this around the others? They know how smart you are.”
Richie shrugs easily. “It just doesn’t fit right with them. ‘Cept you, because you’re just, comforting.” He trails off, shooting Ben another wink to ward off the impending anxiousness crawling in his stomach.
“Richie!” Ben laughs, ignoring the loud shushing coming from the front of the open room. He ruffles Richie’s wild curls, full of love. “You’re great, too, Richie. I like hanging out with you because no matter how much you joke I know you’d never actually make fun of me.”
“Damn right! I’ll kill anyone who does Haystack, just say the words and drop a name,” Richie says with faux bravado, puffing out his chest just to be annoying. It earns another laugh from Ben regardless, and it has a flare of pride welling up in Richie’s chest.
“Oh! Check out what I found,” Ben says after a second of silence, seemingly remembering why he asked Richie to come today of all days. He shoves a book across the table, open to a specific page, and waits expectantly for Richie’s reaction.
“This is vaguely morbid, Benny boy,” Richie says after a beat, continuing to scan over the page with rapid fire interest despite his words. “Murder? On this fine Thursday?” he asks, smile betraying the questioning in his voice. No one ever said him and Ben weren’t weird about true crime. It was a guilty pleasure, honestly.
“Isn’t it cool, though?” Ben asks, eyes shining.
“Oh, 100%,” Richie says, looking back down to the book and flipping a few pages just out of curiosity. He goes silent, just reading, and Ben watches with a soft smile on his face at how sucked into it Richie seems. “Might be the coolest one yet, honestly,” he adds as an afterthought.
“You’re the only person who knows about my true crime stuff,” Ben says after a while, flipping through another book while Richie still looks through the one from earlier. An errant curl falls into Richie’s face, and Ben watches as he tucks it back behind his ear haphazardly, like it’s second nature rather than a conscious action.
Richie hums, glancing up. “You are too,” he says, mouth quirking up at the corner.
“Thanks for not thinking I’m weird, Rich,” Ben responds, voice soft as he gives Richie a smile. It meant more to Ben than Richie could ever imagine, but he’d save Richie the trouble of having to hear just how much it meant.
Richie smiles, a soft and muted one, but no less meaningful. “Of course. Thanks for trusting me with all of this stuff,
Ben Hanscom;
I never thought I’d write one for you, nerd. But you went and made me fall in love with you, so here I am. I can’t lie and say this wasn’t unexpected- because it totally, totally was. Now, that’s not me saying you’re unlovable or something silly like that, because you aren’t. You’re really the easiest person to love, I think. But- it doesn’t change the fact that I never thought I’d feel like this for you. It might have been unexpected, but it was never unpleasant.
Truthfully, it just started out as fondness. Fondness, because you’re one of the most unapologetically nerdy people I know. You know your way around a library better than I know my way around Calculus, which to a 14 year old Richie, was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. Now, though, I think it’s endearing. Endearing, wholeheartedly. While I love you for a whole host of reasons, I love you the most because you let me be who I am.
Who I am, in the sense that you let me be a nerd, and geek out over math like it’s a new comic book we got. You don’t mind when I’m bent over textbooks for an hour, doing different problems for fun and not because I’m actually studying. Plus, you show me just about the weirdest (but coolest!) books on this shit town, which makes it a little more bearable (besides you being in it, obviously).
Now, don’t get me wrong. This is no January embers (yes, Benny boy, we all still remember that), but it’s my own version of a love poem. A love letter, if you will.
While it might be cheesy, I hope this letter makes you
“Smile,” Bev instructs, cocking her head to the left so she can stare at Richie from a different angle than just head on. Richie does as he’s told, smiling as gently as he can (he messed up, the first time they did this, and smiled so wide it ruined everything. He knows to be gentle, now).
Richie doesn’t know what color Bev puts on his lips this time, but he’s sure it matches whatever color she put on his eyelids earlier. One of the rules of this thing was that Richie wasn’t allowed to see anything until it was all complete. Richie didn’t mind, no matter how much he whined about how bad he just wanted to see.
Truthfully, the whole makeup thing started as a way for Bev to just practice. It’s not like she really had any girl friends that she consistently hung out with, not like she did with the Losers. Which is exactly why Richie offered himself up as the tester, content to just sit and bask in the attention for however long it took her to complete a look (in the beginning, it was always an hour or more, huffs of frustration ringing out in the room while Richie said soft words of encouragement. Now it doesn’t take more than a half hour, but she often drags it out just for Richie).
She goes back to swiping something over his eyelids again, brush moving in small, tight circles on the outside of his eye. Richie honestly could not tell you the names of half the stuff she puts on him any time they do this, but it doesn’t stop him from enjoying it. He knows he could just ask and Bev would explain each thing she does, but somehow this was the only time Richie felt like he could actually relax, brain going quiet for once, so the silence was more welcome than uncomfortable.
“How’s the thing going with you and that girl?” Richie asks after a while, voice soft. He opens his eyes when she says he can, and looks up at her face.
Bev hums, looking off to the side for the next thing she wants to use. “Okay? We had that project thing due for work, and I think we did well on it. God she was so happy about it. It was adorable,” she says, making a noise of happiness when she finds what she’s looking for.
“Yet you still haven’t asked for her number,” Richie says, mirth filling his voice. “Bi disaster,” he says, voice full of fondness.
“That’s so rich coming from you, asshole,” she says, blush dusting her cheeks as she brushes something over his cheeks. “Mr. I won’t ask for anyone’s number until I’m sure they won’t reject me, even if it takes years,” she mocks, sticking out her tongue when Richie pinches her side.
Richie doesn’t deem her with a response, instead falling silent again. His eyes fall closed naturally, and he only reopens them when Bev speaks up again.
“So pretty,” Bev says, smiling down at Richie from where she’s still perched on his lap. His hands have been holding on to her waist for what seems like hours now, just to make sure she doesn’t fall back.
Richie cocks his head to the side in question. “You really think so,
Beverly Marsh;
God, where do I begin with you, Miss Bevvie? I guess, most simply, the word enamored is a good place to begin. I guess I could also say I’m in awe of you, as well, but you might laugh at that (I’m sure you’re laughing already, anyway, and that’s okay! I am too!). The point is- I love you.
I’ve loved you for so long it feels like second nature, at this point. Nothing seems more easy than loving you, Bev. I think for as long as I live I’ll remember all our talks on the fire escape at your aunt’s, sharing a pack between us and smoking haphazardly. I’m trying to quit, now, and I know you are, too, but those are some of my favorite memories. I’d really do anything for you, lest you just ask for it.
Now, I don’t mean to get sappy, because you know like I know that’s totally not our style, but you might be one of the most comforting people in my life. You know what I’ve been through like the back of your hand, like you’ve lived it yourself (and maybe you have, with the way I can easily tell you every detail without closing up). You really are the most lovely person I know, even if I know you don’t believe it to be true. I’ll tell you everyday, if I have to.
And remember, just like me, you’ll always be a
“Loser,” Stanley lets out, causing everyone around them to laugh. They’ve all heard this story five times over, but Richie was the only one who was actually there.
He remembers Stan’s bar mitzvah like it happened just yesterday.
Sitting in the pews, listening to Stan speak into the mic, his Hebrew somehow sounding flawless when just a few weeks ago it was a jumbled mess. He feels a flare of pride well up inside him, and a smile form on his face.
It’s when he’s done reading the Torah that everything goes to, well, shit (or, in Richie’s opinion, gets leagues more fun).
His speech starts out simple, something about becoming a man and all that good stuff. Richie doesn’t remember the beginning so much as he does the end. Stan talks for a while, saying things Richie wonders how long it took him to come up with (or maybe he’s doing it all on the spot, and he’s just that good?). His father tries to stop him at one point, reaching out for the mic with a “thank you, Stanley,” but Stan walks away from him, shooting his father a look that signals he’s not done.
“-and I’ll always be a fucking loser,” he says, directly into the mic, in front of all his family and friends. Richie can’t stop the clap he lets out, and ignores the look of shock from his mother next to him. She shoves his hands down, causing him to stop clapping, but it doesn’t change the fact that he already did, so he’s pleased.
Stan’s reprimanded heavily after that, and it’s only later when Richie and Stan are sitting on the steps of the hall where the party afterwards is being held that they say anything to each other.
“That was kinda ridiculous, huh?” Stan says, unable to hide the smile on his face. He’s been yelled at on and off for the past few hours, but Richie can tell he holds no remorse for what he did. He said what he meant, what he felt he had to.
“Just a little,” Richie says, smile growing on his own face. He laughs after a beat, Stan joining in next to him. They don’t stop laughing for a few minutes at least, tears forming in their eyes and stomachs hurting with how hard they’re actually laughing.
“That was the best thing I’ve ever done,” Stan says through giggles, once most of their laughter has died out. “Like, it’ll be omitted from all future stories from my parents, but we’ll always remember it, no?”
“There’s no way in hell I’m forgetting that,” Richie says, bumping his shoulder with Stan’s and laughing once again. “Ridiculous,” he echoes from earlier.
“I wish I could do it all over again,” Stan admits, smiling over to Richie and bumping his shoulder back. He’s completely serious, too, and Richie has to hold back yet another laugh lest it gets them started on a fit again.
Richie whistles, long and low, smile growing on his face once again. “You’re a fucking madman,
Stanley Uris;
Stan. Staniel. Stan the Man. My sun and moon and all the stars, Stanley. Too much? Maybe, but I do mean it. You are perhaps one of the most special people in my life, no matter how often you try to fade into the background so as not to be seen. It’s impossible for you to disappear completely, with how bright you shine without even trying. I’ve known you for a long, long time, Stan, and you’ve only gotten better as the years go by.
I guess the main thing is, I just love how I can be myself around you. Like sure, I can be myself around all of you guys, but you especially. I never feel any hesitation just being weird around you. I can let all my walls down whenever we hang out, and sure, you might call me weird, but I know you don’t actually mean it (yes, Stan, I see through you). One day you’ll realize just how special that is to me- the ability to just be myself around someone. It means a lot, Stan.
Would it also be too much to say I want to hold your hand? Like, really fucking bad. Don’t call me out, but they look soft as hell! Just tell me your secrets, man, I swear I won’t tell anyone else. Regardless, I really, truly love you, and not just the things you allow me to do or be. I love you, Stanley Uris, and all you have to offer.
And Stan? Never, ever stop being so
“Lovely,” Eddie says the second he walks in, voice full of irritation once he sees the mound of tissues Richie has piled up next to his pillow.
“I’m sick, asshole, you can’t get mad about cleanliness right now,” Richie says, voice stuffy with how congested he is.
“Have you ever heard of a fucking trash can?” Eddie replies, rapid fire. Apparently being sick was in no way an excuse to be free from Eddie’s wrath.
“No, please enlighten me,” Richie says snappily, more annoyed than he usually would be because of how sick he is. Eddie makes a noise of apology, not wanting to make Richie actually upset while he’s sick, and drags over the tiny trash can from under Richie’s desk.
“Here,” he says softly, placing down the pharmacy bag on Richie’s bed. “Medicine, cough drops, more tissues. Everything you need.”
“Thanks, angelcakes,” Richie responds with a smile, a little bit dimmer than it normally would be if he wasn’t sick. He coughs, and Eddie tries his best not to cringe. He watches as Richie shoves all the tissues in the pile into the trash can, laying back down with a sigh once he’s done, like that simple task sucked all the energy out of him.
Eddie takes a seat across the room, in Richie’s desk chair. “You never get sick, what happened?” Eddie asks, like Richie would actually know the answer.
Apparently, he does.
“I walked home from Bill’s in the rain, because I was too lazy to drive that day. My immune system just said fuck it, and now here I am,” Richie explains, head lolling to the side so he can look at Eddie while he speaks. His hair is a mess on top of his head, and Eddie wonders if Richie’s even left bed at all in the time since he was called this morning.
Eddie sighs, feeling bad for Richie, knowing he’s not used to being sick like Eddie is. While it doesn’t make it any less shitty, being sick often does get you used to it. “Take the medicine I got for you, it works,” Eddie says, shifting forward in the chair, like he’s ready to get up if Richie protests.
Richie does exactly that, making a noise of complaint and shaking his head like he’s a toddler. “Absolutely the fuck not,” he says, voice scratchy. He coughs loudly, and groans. He watches warily as Eddie gets up out of the chair, rifling around in the bag for the bottle, and huffs. “You couldn’t just get me pills? It had to be liquid, huh? You hate me that much?” Richie complains, watching as Eddie places the tiny measuring up on the bedside table and starts pouring the liquid in.
“Just take the fucking medicine, asshole. Don’t be a child,” Eddie responds, huffing as Richie stares at the little cup in Eddie’s hand as he straightens up. It looks like way too much, but Richie knows it’s the correct dosage. Eddie measured it out to the exact millimeter.
Richie blows his nose, lets out a cough, and rolls his eyes. He says, a little miserably, “Whatever you say,
Eddie Kaspbrak;
Eddie baby, the love of my life, the person on the other end of my red string of fate. God, I love you so much. I love you for all your curses and witty comebacks towards me, and I love you for all your anxieties and paranoia that might get the best of you sometimes (but I’m always here for you, no matter what). I mean, you have to know this, right? I carved our initials onto the goddamn kissing bridge in 9th grade, didn’t I?
Regardless, I think you know, like I know, that the universe has put us together for a reason. To make each other better, maybe. Or maybe, just maybe, so we’re never alone. Because that’s what it’s like, being friends with you, Eddie. I’m never alone, even if sometimes I desperately want to be (but we both know I’d never kick you out). It’d be easy to deny all these feelings, pretend that none of this matters.
But I never want to do that with you, Eddie Spaghetti. You’re way too important to me to just… deny. I know we’ve had our fair share of fights and arguments (nearly everyday, honestly, and that’s okay!), but I just want you to know I wouldn’t trade them for the world if it meant losing you. I don’t think physically my soul could take it, not one bit. I could cry with how much I love you, sometimes.
Just know, I’m cosmically bound to you, Kaspbrak. Legally, by the laws of the stars, you’re stuck with me forever. I hope that doesn’t fill you with a sense of dread, but I’m almost certain it won’t. You love me too much to let go of me, too, even if you won’t admit it.
Have I said I love you enough, yet? Eh, what the
“-hell? ” Eddie hisses, holding up the letter in his right hand, the rest of the Losers behind him with matching letters of their own. There’s fire in his gaze, and even with Eddie standing at only 5 ‘9, Richie’s a little terrified of him right now. He can never tell if the fire behind his eyes is good or bad, even after all these years. “You just wrote us all fucking love letters and then disappeared for two weeks? ”
Richie holds up his hands in surrender, shoving them out in front of him and shaking them wildly like it’ll appease Eddie in the slightest. His eyes are wide, distressed, like he genuinely didn’t think through actually sending the letters, just writing them.
It softens whatever is in Eddie just a bit, but it doesn’t touch the guardedness in his gaze or in the others’.
“I can explain,” Richie says, voice just a little desperate for understanding. When the six of them stare at him in expectation, he takes a deep breath and goes to begin, pausing after a beat like he changed what he wanted to say completely in that split second. “Actually, I can’t explain. Because I don’t know how to explain, or even what there is to. It’s-” His voice cracks, a characteristic so unlike him, “They’re there in the words. That’s the explanation. I don’t know what you want to hear, but even if I did, I don’t know what to tell you. Everything’s just- it’s all in the letters, guys.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you disappeared,” Bill says from the back of the group, confusion evident in his eyes. “It doesn’t explain why now, or why every time we came here Maggie said you were gone, but you’d be back soon. It doesn’t explain how it seems like you skipped town, but were apparently here the entire time, right under our noses while we all begged to know what was going on.”
“What am I supposed to say? Why now? I don’t know, Bill, fuck, why at all? Why did I disappear? You more than anyone should know why I did- this is me, this is how I do things,” Richie says, seemingly more desperate. His voice cracks again as he says, “Why are you making it seem like I’m the bad guy here?” The patheticness in his voice is loud and clear, almost heartbreaking. It does not help ease the tension in the air.
“No one’s trying to make you the bad guy, Richie,” Mike says softly, mouth pitched down in a frown. He looks genuinely apologetic, and it makes Richie’s throat feel tight. “We just want to know what happened- what started all of this, I guess.”
Richie bites his lip, hand tightening on the door where he hasn’t let go of it since he opened it. His other hand comes up to run through his hair in distress, and he shakes his head, almost to himself. “It was- it was that one night, a few weeks ago. When we all went to the diner like we used to when we were teenagers. I was sitting there, just watching all of you interact, you know? And that’s when I realized- no, not realized, because I’ve known for a long time, but- when it all clicked. When I knew you guys deserved to know how I felt. That’s why I just left, because it hit me like a fucking wrecking ball. I didn’t write the letters until a few days later, but I started thinking on that night. About what to say. About how to tell you all.”
“It’s just, I don’t know.” Richie whispers. His hand hasn’t stopped squeezing, palms digging into the unsanded part of the door. No one sees the blood dripping anyway. “It hurts. What I feel. It squeezes my fucking lungs and all I could do was write the letters and I just. I need you to. I don’t know what I need from you, but, fuck.”
Richie’s voice still won’t rise higher than the heartbreaking whisper it’s tacked onto.
“Richie,” Beverly pushes herself from her place to crowd onto Richie, pulling him into a hug and softly tugging his hand from its tight grip on the door into her soft hands, thumbing away the blood. “Let’s get you cleaned up Rich, okay? We know honey, we know.” Her voice takes on the tone that she only uses for Richie, full of fondness and love. Pushing him gently into the corridor, the Losers follow after as Eddie takes on the task of cleaning his hand up. No one knows what to say, or what to do, so they sit quietly even as Richie attempts to quell his anxiety attack, Beverly playing with Richie’s hair and Eddie cleaning his palm and picking out splinters.
Eddie’s eyes are soft as he glances up from Richie’s now clean palm, fingers pinching at Richie’s soft cheek. “You, by far, are so oblivious sometimes,
Richie Tozier;
You thought you could get away with this so easily, huh? Well newsflash, asshole, you can’t. It’s our turn, now.
Richie, you’re a lot. But like, a good a lot- the best a lot. As much as it hurts to say, you really are funny. You’re fuckin' hilarious, Chee. (Can you tell that’s Eddie? He’s the only one who calls you Chee.)
Do you remember that time in high school where Bowers was just blowin' his shit outta this world? He went on and on about all of us and you just fucking decked him, dude. Even as teachers were pulling you away you kept trying to break free because ‘no one talks about [my people] like that’, saying you were gonna beat the shit out of him for every word he said and how no one takes his threats seriously but when someone defends themselves, they’re the bad guy. It’s almost funny, for every bird you gave a teacher they tacked on another 3 days worth of suspension. We didn’t see you in school for almost 3 months. We never told you how much it meant to us, but gosh, we are so thankful. Have you noticed that Bowers hasn’t fucked with us since? I think he’s scared of you. For a skinny guy, you almost fucking killed him.
You’re Richie Tozier, and by God you’re a fucking handful. But you’re our Richie, and for every flaw and imperfection and quirk that makes you you, we wouldn’t trade it for the world.
We love you too, idiot. We really do.
Love,
Eddie, Stan, Bev, Ben, Mike, and Bill