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The wind whipped through Richie’s hair as he rode through the street on his beat up bike, swiftly approaching the arcade. He was pedaling as fast as his legs would let him, since Stan had bet him that he could get to the arcade first. Richie was never one to back down from a challenge. He was going to win.
He hadn’t been to the arcade in a week. He was scared to, at first. Last time he was there, Henry Bowers had publicly called him a faggot and accused him of trying to bone his cousin. Richie had been convinced he had been permanently banished, but fucked up things happened in Derry all the time and the moment something new happened, people forgot the old. So, unless Bowers was at the arcade, Richie was safe. Besides, Stan would be there to protect him.
Stan thought of himself as weak. A lot of other people did too, for some reason. And yes, Stan was sensitive, mild mannered, meticulous and terrified of getting dirty, but he was all of those things and brave. He used to hit Bowers over the head with his bird book when he caught him and his gang beating up Richie. Stan hadn’t even cried when Belch had broken the book in two, and Richie knew how dearly Stan loved that book. Stan also kicked Patrick Hockstetter in the dick once. That had been when he had discovered the older boy standing menacingly over Richie at the edge of the kissing bridge. Patrick was, in a way, scarier than Henry. Richie would take being alone in a room with Bowers over Hockstetter any day. Patrick would call Richie slurs all day long, but he’d still look at him with a sort of hunger. Stan always pushed Richie faster when he saw Patrick ogling him in the halls. He didn’t want to find out what he would do to his friend if he was with him alone, but he had a suspicion.
All that to say, Stan was sort of Richie’s protector. Richie didn’t particularly want a protector, he wasn’t a damsel in distress. Besides, he was tripping over himself trying to protect Eddie. What kind of protector needs protecting? Not a good one, that’s for sure. But still, he acknowledged that sometimes he needed it.
Richie skidded to a halt in front of the arcade. He haphazardly pushed his bike into place on the bike rack. He didn’t bother to put the kickstand down, the bike was a piece of junk. The paint was all chipped and there were more dents in it than smooth metal. He didn’t care if someone stole it, in fact he welcomed it. His parents wouldn’t buy him a new bike, they told him to wait until Christmas, but he knew they’d buy him a new one immediately if it got stolen. He had to get around somehow, and his parents never gave him consequences for his own actions.
He walked toward the arcade, hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. He was about to open the doors to the building, Stan and him had agreed that whoever got there first was to wait in line at the food counter so they could get lunch, but before he could go in, a flash of bright red caught his attention, from the corner of his eye. Please God, don’t let it be a balloon, Richie thought half jokingly. It ended up being just as bad.
In all capital letters, dripping like blood on the side of the building next to the arcade: RICHIE TOZIER’S FLAMER COCK GETS HARD FOR STRAIGHT BOYS.
Oh God.
Richie sank to his knees in front of the painted side of the building. He didn’t know what to do. He was frozen in fear and shame, he couldn’t think logically. There was no way out of this, everyone was going to know he was gay. The world might as well swallow him up whole, it would save him the pain of getting brutally murdered and dumped off the kissing bridge.
The worst part about the paint wasn’t that it was there in the first place, it was that it was true. It had been a misunderstanding with Connor, he was cute enough but Richie’s heart had already been claimed. ‘Claimed by someone who doesn’t want it’, Richie thought bitterly. Eddie was almost certainly straight, he’d told the Losers about his crush on Greta just the other day. But yet no matter how many times Richie tried to stomp on his heart, make his feelings go away, his pining wouldn’t fade.
Richie couldn’t help it, he started to cry. He didn’t like to cry outside of his bedroom, it was just another signal that he wasn’t like all the other boys. He was sensitive, and sensitive was practically a synonym for “gay”. But he could allow himself to cry just this once, since everything was already crashing and burning. He’d just have to be quiet about it, he couldn’t just start outright sobbing.
“Richie? Oh my God.” Stan was coming up behind Richie, and read the painted words. He slapped a hand over his mouth in shock for a second, before closing the distance between the two boys and dropping beside Richie, enveloping him in a hug. It felt safe, like home. Richie wanted to shrug him off, he didn’t deserve to feel safe.
“Stan, get off, they’re gonna think you’re gay too.” Richie grabbed Stan’s collar frantically, but didn’t push him away.
Stan frowned against him. “I don't care if they do, I just want you to be okay.”
Richie cried against Stan’s shirt, his sobs being muffled by the fabric. His friend was always far too kind, but he obviously didn’t understand what he was saying. If he got hurt, that was one thing, but if someone laid a hand on Stan-
“Richie, are you listening?'' Stan forced Richie’s head off of his shirt and made him look him in the eye, “I could not care less what they think about me. And there’s nothing wrong with how you feel. They’re the ones who are wrong, God they’re so wrong. Do you understand?” The curly blonde haired boy’s eyes bored into Richie’s skull until the latter nodded his head reluctantly. Satisfied, Stan pulled him back into the hug, knowing he needed it.
They stayed like that for a moment, but Stan was acutely aware that the longer they stayed like that, the more the paint dried. Thankfully, Bowers and his goons were so stupid they’d used paint instead of graffiti, that’d be much harder to clean.
“Hey, Rich? See that pay phone over there?” Stan pointed down the street a little, “I’m going to call Bill so he can bring us some stuff to clean this. I don’t want to leave you here while I go to store myself. Is that okay with you?”
Richie nodded. Stan got up, but before he could go far, Richie called out in a choked voice, “Don’t tell Eddie. I don’t want him to see.”
Eddie couldn’t know. Every time Richie got called any variant of: fairy, flamer, faggot, at school, he was waiting for Eddie to realize that it was true. To put the pieces together and realize that he was the object of his affection. That never happened, but surely if he saw this, he’d know. It wasn’t that he thought that Eddie was going to throw punches at him and call him disgusting if he found out, he’d just become uncomfortable and slowly drift further and further away from Richie. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t have Eddie, but at least he could remain in his life as long as he kept it a secret.
Stan nodded. “Sure thing, man. Do you want me to tell Bill to call Beverly?”
Richie thought about it. Stan knew him well, sometimes he just wanted it to be the four of them. Well, three of them, in this case. He didn’t always want to splay his heart out to others, even if he cared about them. The four boys had a special bond that had been built up by years of spending every day together. It was a nice change, having more friends, but a lot of times, when things got serious, he’d turn back to his oldest friends. Still, Bev was like a sister to him. She could comfort him well, not as perfectly as Stan could, but that would be nearly impossible. And it’s not like she had anything better to do, alone at home with her dad.
“Yeah.” He watched Stan as he walked away and put a quarter into the pay phone.
It took three rings before Bill’s father picked up.
“This is the Denbrough residence.”
“Hi, Mr. Denbrough. This is Stanley. May I please talk to Bill?” Stan used his most respectful voice. Parents had always loved him. Well, except for Sonia, but there was nothing he could do about that. He couldn’t stop being ethnically Jewish, which was her problem with him.
“Oh, Stanley, of course,” Stan heard Mr. Denbrough pull away from the phone and yell for Bill, who was probably upstairs in his room. A moment later Bill was on the other end, fumbling with the receiver, which was quite loud.
“H-hi Stan!” Bill greeted brightly.
“Bill, I need you to come to the arcade with paint remover and towels. Fucking Bowers- well you’d just have to see it. He wrote stuff about Richie.” Stan tried to sound as concise as possible while also barreling through his words. He wanted Bill to get there as soon as possible.
“S-son of a b-bitch. Okay, I’ll be t-there, j-just a second.”
“Can you ask your dad to drive you and bring your ladder?” Stan was pretty sure none of the three of them would be able to reach the top of the paint, and he didn’t trust the other boys to be able to balance him on their shoulders for him to do it without a ladder.
“H-he’d definitely a-ask questions about t-that. Dad would want to h-help.” Bill lowered his voice, knowing Richie wouldn’t want that.
Stan shook his head, ignoring the fact that Bill couldn’t see him. “I don’t know, steal his car or something!”
“W-what the f-fuck, Stan?” And yeah, that had been a stupid suggestion. Bill couldn’t drive and he’d get in a lot of trouble later. Stan had always been the logical one, ‘the little adult’, but seeing Richie wrecked always made him panic.
“I don’t care how you do it, just get down here with the stuff and the ladder! Also, can you call Bev?” Stan could have probably done it himself, but he was running out of quarters. He’d brought a few, but Richie usually covered the arcade costs. He mostly just had dollar bills for the snack bar.
“Umm, y-yeah,” Bill was clearly trying to think, “Have you c-called Eddie? I c-can.” He offered.
“No!” Stan yelled, too loud and fast not to be suspicious.
“W-what? He’s g-going to b-be mad when he f-finds out. H-he’d want to h-help Richie.” Bill stuttered out incredulously.
“He’s not going to find out,” Stan gritted his teeth, “Listen to me, Bill. You can’t tell Eddie. Do you understand?” Stan’s baseline was serious, but now his voice held the weight of the world.
“Y-yes, lighten up. I h-heard you.” Bill responded, intimidated, before hanging up
Stan sighed. This whole thing would be so much easier if Richie and Eddie could be honest about their feelings. From 1-100%, Stan was 300% sure Eddie liked Richie. Of course, 300% was illogical and Stan hated being illogical, but that was just how obvious it was. If only one of them would crack and admit it to the other. Stan figured he had a better shot of convincing Richie to confess to Eddie, because Richie was always the bolder of the two and Stan actually could talk to him about it because he’d admitted the crush to Stan years ago. It was still difficult to convince him, though, and he didn’t want to push him too hard until he was ready.
“Hey, bud, Bill and Bev are coming.” Stan walked back over to Richie and gingerly rubbed his back.
“Stop doing that, Stan.” Richie wiped the snot from under his nose. If it were anyone else, Stan would find it so disgusting that he’d have to walk away, but he could handle it for Richie.
“What?” Stan pulled his hand away from Richie’s back.
“Treating me like everyone else. Like I’m different.” Richie buried his face in his hands and shook his head at the whole situation.
“You are different. Why would you want to be like any of these assholes?”
Richie supposed he didn’t.
Stan spent the next 15 minutes distracting Richie by pointing out every passerby and making up some silly story of how they were flawed, too. He even got Richie to laugh a few times, which he considered a win.
“See that lady? She broke into the temple and stole all our collection money!” Stan pointed to a little old lady on the bench across the street, knitting a little cardigan.
“Really?” The edges of Richie’s mouth tugged up into a smile.
“Yeah! She probably bought all that yarn with our congregation's hard earned money!” Hopefully Richie hadn't been paying as much attention to Stan's faith as he seemed, or else he would know that they didn't take collection money during the service. Tithing was something extra outside of the allotted time for worship.
Stan had never seen her before, and he didn’t like lying, but seeing Richie calm down was worth it.
Bev raced towards them on her bike, skidding to a halt and jumping off before it properly stopped. She made no move to pick her bike off the side of the road, where it could very well get hit, she was too busy eyeing the red paint. She clenched and unclenched her fists before rushing to Richie’s side.
“Richie, hun, I’m gonna kill them. Do you understand? They’re gonna die.” Bev tended to go for more violent tactics when she saw someone she loved get hurt. It was like she saw red, the only words that could spill from her mouth were malice, not comfort. She was all talk, though. She was a brave girl for sure, but she wouldn’t stand up against Bowers. He was too much like her own dad. The day she finally broke, though, and both Richie and Stan saw it coming from a mile away, it would be Hell to pay for both Bowers and Mr. Marsh.
Richie laughed humorlessly. “I don’t think that’d help me. Getting a girl to murder my bullies for me. Everybody will think I’m more of a sissy than I already am.”
Bev elbowed him. “Hey, not just any girl. Bev Marsh, the school slut!” She yelled grandiosely. A few passerby’s stopped and looked at her weird, but as was the case with everything in Derry, shrugged it off and looked away.
Richie thought on it for a moment. “Well I guess if they thought you were my girlfriend, then that would be different.”
“I will gladly be your girlfriend, Richie. All these other guys are asses. No offense, Stan.”
“None taken.” It wasn’t a secret that Stan wasn’t pining for Bev's attention. She wasn’t his type. Richie thought that was a good call, Beverly Marsh was not the “good little Jewish wife” type. But Bev was just teasing Richie, she knew she wasn’t his type either.
A beat up motor revved up beside them. Bill (and his dad, although he made no moves to leave the truck) opened and closed the truck door with great vigor. He had some supplies in a bag and quickly fetched the ladder from where it was sticking out in the truck bed. Stan went to help him, so the ladder wouldn’t clatter to the ground.
“G-gee Richie, I’m s-so sorry. I l-love you man.” Bill and Richie had been on shaky ground recently, they never knew where they stood with each other, but they were always there for each other when they needed it. No matter what Richie said to him, Bill would never derive pleasure from seeing people torment his friend. It made him feel sick.
“Don’t try to hug me.” Richie scowled. Bill seemed hurt by this, if the way his head hung was any indication, so Richie's features softened and he added, “I’ve gotten far too much affection for today. Maybe next time.”
The truth was, Bill was an annoying hugger. Stan enjoyed it, probably more than he should, but other than that, everyone found it overbearing. He always wanted to cry and hug it out at the drop of the hat. That wasn’t even the worst part about it, what was really annoying was when he’d knock the air out of you by squeezing you as tight as possible and then pulling you up from the ground. Richie didn’t have time for that foolishness. He only ever did when Bill needed comforting, not the other way around. Richie had allowed, and welcomed, more hugs from Bill than he ever thought possible last October, when Georgie died.
Bill nodded and climbed the ladder to start wiping off the paint.
At the same time, Eddie was walking to the pharmacy. He was glad his mother was trusting him to leave the house, even if it was only for 30 minutes. She’d been awful sore with him ever since he broke his arm. The one blessing about Sonia Kaspbrak was that she never seemed to be able to directly blame Eddie for things that occurred. It was always someone else’s fault, but that didn’t mean he was out of the woods. It impacted him indirectly, through her accusing his friends.
“Does that Jewish boy steal? Lord knows his parents have enough money to buy him whatever he wants. You know how it is with those people.”
“Don’t go work on that boy’s farm. You know how his kind are, always wanting something for free.”
“Did that Tozier boy touch you, Eddie?”
She was significantly more insistent on that last one than anything else. Especially ever since he’d slipped up and described the Losers Club to her as “my friends and Richie”. She had slammed her fists down on the table and demanded to know what he meant by that. He tried to backtrack, but it was too late, she sent him to his room without supper.
But he’d been good for the last week. He told her that he agreed that he’d spent too much time outside, he sat in the living room and watched The Price is Right with her all day every day, revealed his “crush” on Greta Bowie to her, and even agreed to go to some church function with Sonia’s friend’s daughter. Absolutely grueling, but worth it for just a little sliver of freedom.
He was soaking it in, it was well earned. The sun shone brighter today, in his opinion. It might have been partially due to the fact that he hadn’t properly been outside in a week, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.
The sidewalk he was enthusiastically walking down, a spring in his step, continued from Main Street all the way to the pharmacy. It was three buildings past where he stood at that moment. He paused to think, excitedly, about what ice cream flavor he would get. His mother didn’t like him to have sweets but she rewarded him with pocket money for them if he acted completely reliant on her for long enough. There was enough money for two cones, really. He hoped maybe there would be a chance one of the other Losers would be roaming around here so he could buy them one. He was passing by the arcade now, maybe Richie was there.
That’s when he saw it.
The Losers crowded around Richie.
The large writing scrawled on the brick.
The purposefully emphasized “FLAMER”, bigger than all the words surrounding it.
He immediately rushed to Richie’s side. “Rich, did they hurt you? Are you okay? I’m sorry I was out when you called, I want to help, okay?” He spilled out frantically, his heart wrenching at the scene.
Richie slapped Eddie’s hand on his shoulder away. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want you to see.” He sniffled.
Hurt and rejection ran through Eddie’s veins. He saw the situation outside of Richie now. Bev, Bill, and Stan, all allowed to surround him no problem while he was turned away. Richie didn’t want him here.
His jaw clenched so tightly that he thought it might break. “What the fuck? Actually, what the fuck?”
Bev walked over to him slowly. “Eddie, listen, we just need some alone time. I’m sure Richie would like to see you later.” Eddie didn’t overlook how Richie shook his head after that. Another rejection.
“No, you listen! We don’t even know you! You run through half the school, and that’s not enough for you, huh? You have to take my friend too? Well congratu-fucking-lations on your catch!” Eddie began pacing back and forth, rubbing his temples. He couldn’t even see straight at this point. “I should have know when you went on that date with her last week, Richie, but now this?”
Richie and Bev made eye contact, confused. “Eds, that wasn’t a date. We went to McDonald's to hide from her dad.” Richie tried to explain, but Eddie ignored him.
His voice grew louder. “Stan’s an angel and we love him, so that makes sense, but Bill? He punched you in the face, Richie! How could you pick him over me? You’ve been acting so weird ever since-”
He promptly shut up. Ever since Neibolt. After he had grabbed onto Richie for dear life. And even later, he had let his face be cradled in Richie’s hands, wanting the last thing he ever saw to be him, not the embodiment of fear. Had Richie felt his heartbeat and realized it wasn’t just fear? Or worse, had he said something without realizing? It was entirely possible, the broken arm had rendered him a bit delirious. He had done something wrong and now Richie didn’t want to be around him anymore.
“I’m leaving.” Eddie turned on his heels and walked away, before the group could see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
“R-Richie, we got it here. You s-should follow him.” Bill encouraged. There was absolutely nothing in the world Richie wanted to do less, but he figured he was right. This fight wasn’t going to resolve itself. Eddie was so dramatic sometimes, Jesus. And he always had to bear the brunt of it, Eddie never got this way with anyone else, just Richie.
Richie had much longer legs than Eddie, so he caught up pretty easily. He didn’t bring up the tears that filled Eddie’s eyes, and Eddie didn’t bring up the entire outburst. They walked side by side in tense, but not entirely terrible, silence.
“Are you?” Eddie finally broke the silence. He was shaking.
“Am I what?” Richie asked, confused.
“Well I’m not going to say what they wrote, but gay, I mean.” Eddie wouldn’t look Richie in the eye, which he didn’t take as a good sign.
Richie gulped. Eddie had finally figured it out. And before any of the other Losers, save Stan, who had known for four years. That was to be expected, he supposed. He didn’t know the other three as well, and Bill was the most dense boy he’d ever met. Eddie was a smart cookie, he was bound to discover it immediately. But he couldn’t find it in himself to tell the truth.
“No.”
Eddie stared at him sadly for a moment. Richie was sure he’d been caught, Eddie could see right through them, but then the smaller boy said something that caught him totally off guard.
“Oh. Because,” a pause, but after a few seconds, “I am.”
Richie didn’t know what to say. This had to be a prank, right? It wasn’t funny. It hurt.
“And” Eddie continued, “Obviously, you figured it out, but yes I do have feelings for you. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends! I’ll try to make it go away, I promise. I’ll be normal. As normal as I can. I can’t have you out of my life, Rich.”
Eddie had to be mocking him. There was no doubt about it. The words Eddie spoke came straight from Richie’s own brain. It was like his friend had found his diary and was reading one of his lovesick entries. He couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, because he was mad.
“Fuck. You.” Richie hissed through gritted teeth. He poked Eddie in the the upper chest, where his heart was.
“What? Richie I-” Eddie looked up at him, looking like a kicked puppy.
“You think this is funny? Mess with the queer kid? I can’t believe I ever had a crush on you, you’re an ass.” Richie shouted. He didn’t care if people found out he was gay. Go ahead, toss his body in the river. His life couldn’t get any worse, at this point.
“Richie, what are you talking about? I was trying to tell you about my feelings.” Eddie seemed totally lost and unable to process if he was supposed to be angry or sad.
“Your feelings? You’re just repeating everything I feel. You’ve known I’ve liked you this whole time, haven't you?” Richie accused Eddie.
“Oh, literally shut the fuck up.” Eddie sighed before looking both ways to make sure no people were around, then kissed Richie. It was chaste, and only about 5 seconds long, but that’s all Richie needed. Despite his big talk, he’d never kissed someone before, and the short gesture had butterflies filling his chest.
“Yowza, Eds. Y’know, if that was a joke, you still are considered legally gay.” Richie informed him of the bullshit rule he just came up with.
“It wasn’t a joke, dickwad. I really, really like you. More than should be allowed.” Eddie confessed.
“I like you more!” Richie stuck his tongue out petulantly. That was his confession, he couldn't bear to say more at the moment. Not after the day he had.
Eddie understood. “We should go to the Quarry soon. Just us. Only fair, since you didn't include me today.” Despite Richie confirming his feelings, he was still nervous he might not agree.
“A date, my fair maiden?” Richie gasped.
Eddie took hold of Richie’s hand. “A date.”