Archive of Our Own

It was New Year’s Eve in Derry, Maine. And all throughout the town, people gathered with one another to celebrate the birth of new beginnings. In the rarity that it was, Derry seemed alive. As if the mysterious town had always been that way. 

Missing posters that covered the town like a constant omen became a fleeting thought. Kids that had vanished without a trace were only a brief memory, nothing more. The screams a select few still swore they could hear during the quietest moments, were now blamed on the rustling of leaves or jovial laughter. 

People who drove past Mrs. Bainbridge’s house waved American flags, honking car horns as they cheered merrily. For one night, Derry was lined with golds, silvers, and hope for the future. And additionally, the only sparks going off tonight would not be comprised of gunpowder and potassium nitrate. Something deeper would be in the air, something new. Something that wouldn’t garner fear, but safety and love.

The record player thrived within the bustling house. The chatter and dispersed conversations of friends and family filled the room, champagne swirled in glasses. Streamers lined the walls, some reading “1963” painted in gold, lights dimmed to accentuate the decor. Kids ran through the house, blowing party favors at one another, each honk quieted the farther they ran. Some people took their partners out in the middle of the living room to dance. Others remained deep in conversation. 

Poppers were lit outside on the cold December night, sending bouts of colorful confetti into the air. In the kitchen, various hors d'oeuvres and desserts rested on the counters, guests helping themselves delightfully. Mrs. Bainbridge spoke with family, wine glass in hand, hair done up into a neat style she spent hours perfecting. In another room, someone laughed a little too loud, another popper went off. The atmosphere was pleasantly warm, and in three hours or so, the town of Derry would welcome the New Year. 

Rich Santos stood in the corner by the record player, absorbing the rhythm of the music. He tapped his foot along to the beat, a small cup of cola in his hand. His eyes surveyed the room openly, letting the indistinct chatter of guests keep his mind going. He wore a neatly pressed white dress shirt tucked into dark slacks, compliments to his mother. A striped bowtie was fitted beneath his collar, with his hair neatly combed back. Across the room, across the noise, Rich spotted dirty blonde hair and browline glasses. He clutched his beverage tightly in his hand, taking another drink to calm his nerves. Before he could think, he was already making his way over to her. 

He pardoned himself between strangers, weaving his way through the small crowded area. Marge’s back was turned, hands clasped behind her while she spoke with Lilly. Rich hesitated for a moment, not wanting to interrupt whatever she was talking about. He retracted the hand he outstretched to tap the girl on the shoulder, turning around to stand by the record player again. He went back to tapping his foot absentmindedly, once again letting the rhythm guide him. Taking a sip of his drink, he saw Will come up to him, a gentle smile on his face. Rich smiled back, coming to meet him halfway in the room. 

“How’re you holding up?” Will asked him, glancing around. 

“Nothing to complain about,” Rich shrugged, his attention elsewhere. Will followed his eyes, turning his head to see who Rich was staring at. 

“How’s that been going?” he asked. Rich startled, squeezing his cup of cola. Will smirked at him. 

“..Same as it’s always been. What’s it to ya?” 

“You guys have gotten closer, that’s all.” 

“You.. could say that.”

Rich sighed, letting his shoulders sag, eyes still on Marge. He thought of that night the two of them left Will’s house, recalling what they spoke about. When Marge had broken down into his arms, how Rich had held her in falling snow and shaking voices. He wondered how she was doing since that night, he hoped she’d recovered a little bit. 

Maybe he should ask her? Though, he didn’t want to ruin tonight. Not on New Year’s Eve, he thought. Then, Rich remembered the sensation of warm lips against the back of his hand, the pounding of hearts against ribs, and a feeling so intense it made him lightheaded. He smiled to himself, sparing another glance across the room. This was the beginning of something special, he could feel it. 

A sudden wave of a hand in front of Rich’s face made him jump, Will looked at him with concern. “You zoned out on me. Is everything okay?” He asked. Rich nodded slowly, tearing his eyes away from Marge. “More than okay! Just thinking,” he replied, taking a sip of cola to distract himself. Will didn’t pry anymore, choosing to believe his friend’s words.

“Well, don’t think too hard. Save that for 1963,” he jested. Rich chuckled, lightly jabbing Will on the arm. “I have potential, for your information. That’s why I’m in the school band,” he refuted, reaching in his side pocket to pull out a pair of drumsticks. Will looked at Rich with mild surprise, raising an eyebrow. 

“Why’d you bring those?” he asked. 

“In case people wanna hear a mean percussion performance,” Rich replied, sliding them back into his pocket. Will hummed in acknowledgment, rocking on the balls of his feet. 

“Don’t break anything, or Mrs. Bainbridge is gonna kick you out,” he warned. 

“Nah, don’t worry. The only thing I’m breaking is the record for ‘coolest drum solo on New Year’s Eve’,” Rich said proudly. 

“Does that really exist?” Will asked curiously. Rich shrugged, taking another sip of cola. 

“I’m not sure. But if it does, you’ll know who’s gonna break it.” 

Hearing the commotion of various conversations taking place inside, Marge knocked on Lilly’s door. She wore a light yellow dress dotted with white butterflies, cut off just below the knees. Overtop, she wore a white cardigan to match. Her hair was kept in the same clipped style she always had it, now with the exception of her curled ends. Marge adjusted her eyepatch, fluffing the ends of her hair. She carried a leather satchel slung over her shoulder, clutching the strap tightly in the bitter cold. When Lilly asked her what was inside after greeting her, Marge simply said she had to make a return. 

Inside, people moved about casually. Some discussed plans for the future, goals they promised they’d fulfill but deep down knew they never would. She could hear the iconic vocals of Elvis Presley on the record player, and couldn’t help but think of a boy who’d really love the beat of his music. Will and Ronnie sat on the staircase, the latter pressing him about something Marge couldn’t quite make out. After setting her bag by the stairs, she and Lilly approached them. Will sported a navy suit with a white tie, Ronnie wore a dress to match him. Their conversation was cut short when they saw Marge, both of them bounding down the stairs to embrace her tightly. 

“Marge!” They bursted, Ronnie pulling back to get a good look at the girl. 

“Hey guys! How’ve you been?” Marge asked, an automatic smile on her face. 

“For the most part? Pretty good! Except for the fact that Will swears our outfits aren’t the same shade,” Ronnie glared at the boy. 

“Rons—your dress is marine blue. My suit is symphony blue. There’s a slight difference,” he argued, wincing when Ronnie softly jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. 

“Sure, Picasso. Whatever you say.” 

Marge giggled at the banter of the two, Lilly laughing behind her hand. During the group’s catch up, Marge’s mind withdrew from the conversation and more so to a missing piece. Between nods and back and forths, she couldn’t help but glance behind her. With each time she looked, she’d never set eyes on a small boy whose smile could brighten up any room, carrying energy that felt like living light. 

Lilly placed a hand on the small of Marge’s back, startling the girl out of her head. She turned to her friend, who looked at Marge with a knowing gaze. Lilly’s lips were pressed into a small smile, eyes that knew who Marge was thinking of. 

“Guys, I think Marge and I are gonna get a drink. Catch up later?” Lilly asked. 

“Go on ahead, I still need to debate this boy,” Ronnie replied, looping her arm with Will’s. 

Lilly took Marge’s hand and led them to the kitchen, weaving through people, Marge quickly apologizing when she accidentally bumped into the side of a gentleman. Mrs. Bainbridge still chatted with a few family members, her glass of wine nearly gone. She caught Marge’s eye, giving the girl a polite smile. 

“Rich should be here soon, if that’s what’s got your mind in a jumble,” Lilly began, taking a cup from the stack on the counter. She ladled some punch carefully, taking a sip. 

“Lills, how did you even?—“ Marge started, lowering her voice. 

“Marge, we’ve known each other since first grade. I think I’d know when my best friend’s caught feelings,” she giggled. 

Marge stared at Lilly, brows furrowed and her lips pursed. Cat’s out of the bag. Though unknowingly to Marge, the cat’s been roaming around the room for quite some time. 

“How long have you known?” Marge groaned, putting a palm to her cheek. It was uncomfortably warm in the kitchen. 

“First, I had suspicions in the sewers, but last week at Will’s pretty much confirmed it,” Lilly spoke casually.

Marge dragged a hand down her face, this kitchen really was warm. The two of them walked out, Marge now spiraling as they stood in the living room. The record player crackled to a halt as someone flipped the vinyl, the sound scratched her ears unpleasantly. 

“Do the others know?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they did. But I can’t speak for Ronnie or Will.” 

Marge made a nervous sound, something between a whine and a grumble. Were they truly that obvious? Short answer: yes. But to have the entire group in the know was not at the end of her 1962 bucket list. She recalled last week in the front of her house. How her heart thudded hard in her chest as she warred with herself whether kissing the back of Rich’s hand was a sane way to wish the boy goodbye. Marge took the chance anyway, and she was glad she did. 

She wished she could read his mind, to uncover everything she never heard him say after they parted. Clearly, he was ecstatic to have received such a gesture. If his crooked smile and blushing face wasn’t a sign, then his celebratory cheers in the snow would have been. Marge smiled to herself as she recalled the memory, hands clasped behind her back. 

However, she didn’t exactly know how to move forward since that night. This was new to her, and admittedly, Marge was unsure how to navigate how she should approach this new step in her life. What does she say? What’s meant to change? What’s meant to stay the same?

Relationships looked so effortless on television, portrayed to pertain perfectly to the audience. The girl gets the guy and they live happily in some fantastical sense. It wasn't rocket science. 

Even at a younger age, Marge knew it wasn’t that simple, it couldn’t be. She wondered when Rich would be arriving, she could really use some of his company.

Once he found his cup empty from passing the time, Rich took a deep breath as he braced for the moment he waited eagerly for. He looked up, his eyes locking on the same place Marge was. She was still there, though Lilly was nowhere to be seen. They must’ve finished talking. 

“You can do this, Rich,” he muttered to himself, smoothing his hair back. 

He couldn’t resist the grin on his face as he saw the girl, all draped in yellow and white. He thought she looked beautiful, even more so—Marge looked stunning. With a hand outstretched, Rich ignored the way he felt his knees go weak. 

“Discuple, hermosa, I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room and—” he started, tapping Marge on the shoulder. She turned, curled hair brushing past her eyepatch. Instantly, Rich was engulfed in a tight embrace, catching a whiff of something sweet smelling. Must be her perfume, he thought. Rich immediately returned the hug, the two of them giggling in the unintelligible blend of noises. Marge pulled away from him, still smiling brightly with rosy cheeks. He could stare into that expression for centuries. 

“Missed me that badly?” Rich laughed. 

“You say that like you’re surprised,” Marge retorted, pulling him back in, “Of course I did..” 

The rest of the room seemed to fade away right then and there. It felt like nothing could touch either of them, not while like this. Marge looked down at Rich as if he were something completely sacred, keeping her arms draped loosely around his neck. And Rich—Well, the boy couldn’t help but be completely enthralled by the girl. They stood like that for what felt like hours, taking in each other’s presence. When Rich remembered how to breathe and function normally again, he spoke. 

“I missed you too, Marge. A lot, actually,” he murmured, looking off to the side. He saw Will standing with Ronnie, hand in hand, once the two boys locked eyes, he gave Rich a supportive thumbs up. Rich flashed an awkward smile, facing back to look at Marge. 

“So, how’ve you been since..” he trailed off, hesitating to fill in the blanks. He didn’t have to, Marge already knew the answer. She swallowed nervously, quickly removing her arms to fold them over her torso. Memories of kissed hands and shy glances flooded her mind, she cleared her throat. 

“Fine! Peachy. And uh, you..?”

“Great! I’ve been.. here. A-And there!” Rich quickly replied, clearing his throat.  

"That’s good, that's good...” 

Rich pulled his collar away from his neck, feeling the sudden shift in his body temperature. Was the room getting too hot? Or was it him? Both of them looked away from each other, knowing it wasn’t because they wanted to peoplewatch.

Rich didn’t know why, but he wanted to disappear in that moment. Only to regroup and come back as if nothing had happened. It was getting a little hard to breathe. His mother must’ve fitted his bowtie a little too tight, it definitely was not because of the girl of his dreams staring directly at him. 

Everything he remembered from walking Marge home kept pestering him, over and over again. Rearing its head teasingly, waiting for Rich to take hold and cough up his thoughts. He itched to pull Marge aside from the crowded room, promise her the world, then they could both dance the night away. At least, that’s what he hoped they could do. Tonight was about letting go, wasn’t it?

Rich longed to tell her how much he loved her, to return that special gesture Marge left him stuck with last week. A gesture that still had the back of his hand tingling and his cheeks burning if he focused hard enough. He thought of that night in its entirety, his parents wondering what had their son’s head in the clouds. Both of them knew of their feelings for one another, however, circumstances were different now. They were away from danger, away from things that could harm his fair maiden. 

The two of them chatted some more, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Rich took a sip from his cup, remembering it had been empty when he approached Marge. She laughed at his brief confused expression, Rich not refusing the chuckle that bubbled free from his throat. 

He talked while she listened, only to fill in the silence. And to regulate the way his heart was practically leaping from his chest. Occasionally, he’d have to move closer in order to avoid bumping into passing guests. Sometimes, their hands would brush momentarily, both kids refusing to make a move. The record changed, a chorus of violins erupting in the living room. 

The music moved around them, a sweet sounding song that felt like everything both kids didn’t say aloud. Marge caught herself tapping her foot along, she didn’t know who was singing. She didn’t bother to know, not when she felt this way. 

Guests set their drinks down on coffee tables or on window sills, finding a loved one to hold on to. Rich and Marge looked around, seeing more and more people gather as the music began to swell. Rich’s grip on his empty cup grew loose as his palms became sweaty. He looked at Marge, who was still glancing around the room curiously. Will and Ronnie were already in the center, the girl laughing as the taller boy said something assumingly funny. 

Rich felt his heartbeat speed up, the concept of dancing with Marge Truman putting the poor boy into near cardiac arrest. So much for talking his way to calmness. He’s dealt with scarier things, he concluded. 

They were both there in the moment, and he wouldn’t pass this up. Rich parted from Marge for a short while, discarding his empty cup and returning with that lopsided smile she adored. He offered a hand to her, to which Marge took without question. Sparks flew in their hearts when fingers intertwined effortlessly. 

“Care to dance, Capitana?” he asked. 

“Oh, uhm.. Rich, I’d love to, but I don’t know.. how,” Marge muttered. 

“Not to worry! It’s simple, just follow my lead.” 

Marge sighed, letting Rich pull her into the center of the living room. She felt her face go red when Ronnie winked at her knowingly, arms snug around Will’s shoulders. Marge’s own arms snaked gently around Rich’s neck, his hands finding her waist in response. 

Slowly, they swayed side to side, trying to find a comfortable way to proceed in this electrifying situation. The smooth sound of Etta James’s: At Last filled the living room pleasantly, increasing the lively warmth of the atmosphere. Rich stared up at Marge, getting lost in the way her blue eyes mixed in with the gold and silver decor. She chuckled softly. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she said absentmindedly. 

“I wish I could,” Rich automatically replied. 

Though, he knew he didn’t have to. This moment, no matter how ripe with age it became, would be engraved into Rich’s mind forever. Who needed cameras to capture a memory when he could spend forever with her right now? 

That response triggered a faraway look in Marge, causing her to stumble slightly over his feet. Rich responded by taking a hand off her waist to place over her hand on his shoulder. He let his thumb trace carefully over the girl’s knuckles, hoping the feeling would bring her back to the present. It didn’t take much to assume where her mind had drifted off to. 

“Marge—Hey, look at me,” he spoke calmly, flashing a small smile. Marge returned the expression quickly, going back to swaying to the music. 

“Sorry about that,” she murmured. Rich shook his head.

“You don’t have to apologize, just focus on me.” 

Marge exhaled, letting her shoulders loosen from the tension that held her like padlocks. Every time they were together, she found that she didn’t need to try to relax when she was with Rich. He had a certain way with words. Whenever Marge was upset, or feeling any certain way she hoped wouldn't last long, Rich would be there to tell her what she needed to hear. 

She wondered if he dabbled in any form of writing. Perhaps poetry? As they moved to the music, Rich took the hand that rested on Marge’s to twirl her slowly, pulling her back into their initial position. Her breath caught suddenly, the sound of surprise quickly replaced with giddy laughter. They swayed some more, Marge still laughing as she regained her balance. 

“Warn me next time!” She gasped, her hold on Rich tightening.

“A pirate must be kept on her toes!” Rich stated. 

“Okay, well, a pirate also needs to be kept on her toes,” Marge emphasized, cheeks flushed. 

“There’s no shame in getting a pegleg.”

“At thirteen? Absolutely not.” 

The more the song rang out, the more Marge felt herself get used to the easy swaying Rich led them with. He was right, dancing really could be simple. Whether that’s because Marge knew she was dancing with Rich Santos, or if they were genuinely good was up to her to decide. She let the thought be what it was, it didn’t have to be defined. They needed to be with one another, staying in the moment. 

When Rich tried to change their direction from side to side to back and forth, he was greeted with Marge’s shoe accidentally stepping on his. And every time she’d frantically apologize, Rich shook his head despite the pain, telling her not to worry. Safe to say they stuck to side to side after that. 

You smiled, you smiled. 

Oh, and then the spell was cast.

And here we are in Heaven 

For you are mine at last. 

When the two of them had their fill from the music, faces lightly sweaty, and beats per minute turning into beats per second, Marge excused herself to freshen up. She knew this place like the back of her hand. 

As kids, before Morris Bainbridge’s death, Marge would always come around to Lilly’s house. Upstairs in her bedroom, they’d spend the entire day giggling and drawing messily done pictures of each other. Though she knew they weren’t very good, Marge wondered if Lilly still kept her drawings. 

Up the stairs and down the hall, she entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. She removed her glasses, turning on the faucet as she rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan. Now, it was time for the part Marge hated the most. With delicate fingers, she carefully removed her eyepatch, the leather vaguely coated with sweat. She looked down at it, caressing a thumb over the material before cleaning it with a hand towel. 

Marge sighed, begrudgingly looking in the mirror. Her injuries had healed spectacularly since the incident, she didn’t have to keep the newly formed scars bandaged anymore. Of that, she was relieved. The wounds were still prominent on her eyelids, noticeable to anyone she talked to. The swollenness had gone down a significant amount, leaving the overall pain of the injury near seldom. However, at times they still ached, a constant recall of that day at school. 

She never openly discussed what had really happened that day, the only person who witnessed and knew being Lilly. The rest of the group knew that Marge had been targeted, though she never willingly confessed the details.

Gently, Marge traced her finger over the healed gashes, grimacing as she did so. She cupped running water in her hands, splashing it on her face. The cool sensation calmed her, allowing Marge to take a breath she felt she couldn’t in front of the many pairs of eyes outside.

At the Standpipe, when she was startled by Rich’s presence, she remembered what he had told her when insisting on dressing her wounds. It was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. That day, those words eased something that stayed restless in Marge for ages. When Rich looked at her, it wasn’t with disgust or appalling gasps. 

He was fascinated, and that was something Marge expected the least. How could he look at her with so much love when she couldn’t do the same for herself? It perplexed her, but knowing Rich cared so deeply for Marge made the scars on her eye ache a little less. 

A sudden jerk of the doorknob frightened her, Marge scrambling to put her eyepatch on as if it were a shield. In a way, it was. She only lowered it when she locked eyes with a familiar dark-haired girl, wide blue eyes staring at her with surprise. 

“Jeez, Lills! Do you ever knock?” Marge exclaimed, putting a hand to her heart. Lilly quickly shut the door behind her, sputtering a stream of frenzied apologies. 

“Marge! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know anybody was in here!” she blurted, face vaguely red from embarrassment. Marge could say the same for herself. She let her grip on her eyepatch loosen, shutting off the water. 

She dried off her face with the same hand towel, leaning against the sink. Lilly glanced in the mirror, fixing her bangs and brushing off her party dress. She looked to Marge’s eyepatch still held in the girl’s grasp like a vice, her brows furrowed. 

“I wouldn’t have judged you, Marge. You’re my best friend,” Lilly spoke, not knowing how much comfort the gesture would provide. 

“Please, don’t take it personally. I thought you were a stranger,” Marge sighed. 

“No, it’s okay. I don’t blame you. How have you been since..” 

She tried to give Lilly some grace, they were all put through hell one way or another, afterall. Marge didn’t want to be reminded of that horrid day at school, but it appeared her mind gave her no choice. She held her eyepatch tighter, eyes closing as a vain attempt to ward off the thoughts. Lilly placed a hand over hers, a quiet tell that told Marge she didn’t have to share if she wasn’t comfortable. Marge spoke anyway.

“I still feel it.. Sometimes,” she confessed quietly, fingers hovering just above her eyelid. 

Lilly didn’t have to press her to understand what she meant. When she had burst into the wood shop room, rushing over to stop Marge from inflicting any more damage to herself, Marge thought that was it for her. The blood stains had already finished off her outfit of that day, she was expecting the hellish experience to do the same in regard to her life. The pain was unlike anything Marge had ever felt before. 

When it first hit her, it was sudden and sharp. Almost like a knife driven directly into her eye sockets. Then it grew worse, less sudden and more bold. A feeling that was searing and full of agony. She’d never forget that feeling, or her unrecognizable reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

She’d never forget the pure fear. 

When her parents had visited her at the hospital, her mother lectured her about having to replace the glasses Marge claimed were responsible for her injuries. She had told her mother she didn't mean it, that it was all an accident. But accidents shouldn’t be a financial burden, her mother replied. 

Marge only knew when to stop talking when her breathing grew shallow, and her chest felt uncomfortably tight. How tears welled up in her eyes, and her eyepatch shook in her clutched hands. Lilly circled her arms around her, holding her snugly. Marge reciprocated, unable to stop the tears she never asked for. 

“You’re safe, breathe Marge,” Lilly spoke, rubbing the girl’s back as Marge desperately fought for air. The murmurs of voices and distant music behind closed doors were a lullaby she didn’t know she needed. Marge paid attention to Lilly’s hold around her, letting the physical feeling ground her as tears spilled freely. Once her heart slowed down and her breathing regulated, Marge pulled away. 

Lilly’s expression was nothing short of concern, her hands loosely on her friend’s as a silent tell that she was there for her. Someone rapped on the door, asking how much longer the two of them would be. Marge wiped her eyes with her sleeve, breathing deep through her nose and out through her mouth. She repeated the process a couple of times for safe measure. She wouldn’t let this ruin tonight, it’d have to be pried out of her hands. 

“Are you okay to go back out? My room’s empty if you—” Lilly started, Marge shook her head, putting her eyepatch back on. 

“I’m good. Thanks, Lills.” 

Marge opened the bathroom door, seeing Ronnie leaning against the wall with a cup in her hands. Lilly stepped out beside her, flashing a small smile before heading back downstairs. 

“Took you guys long enough, I was starting to think one of you fell in the toilet,” Ronnie teased. 

Marge tried her best to make her laughter sound convincing, she didn’t want to be rude. Before Ronnie went inside, she patted Marge’s shoulder. “Rich’s out back where the fire crackers were being lit, last time I checked,” she told her. Marge nodded in thanks, Ronnie nudged her supportively. 

She wouldn’t let this ruin her night. 

With his knees up to his chest, Rich took a sip from his second cup of cola. Another cup sat beside him, untouched. In his other hand, he held his drumsticks, tapping them idly against his knee. 

The cold of the night enveloped Rich’s skin like a frozen embrace. He watched as a few people lit fire crackers in the yard, the dazzling hues shining in his pupils. A man stood off the side and watched, pulling out a lighter to light a cigar. Rich wasn’t a fan of the smell of smoke.

“Room for one more?” Marge asked, sitting gingerly beside him. She brought her bag with her, holding it under her arm.

“Always,” replied Rich, scooting over to give her room. He handed Marge the refreshment he saved for her. 

“I got you a cup, in case you were thirsty,” he added. 

“How’d you know I liked cola?” She questioned, taking a drink.

“Lucky guess,” Rich shrugged. 

More firecrackers lit, illuminating the sky with various colors. They watched as they shot up, whistling in the black night before exploding dramatically. It was a scene Marge found herself wanting to witness for a lifetime. Rich set his drink down beside him, letting his hand prop him up. 

Marge spared a glance, wondering if she should take the chance or not. He looked lost in thought, eyes full of rumination as she caught the way they reflected the bursting hues. She could see the way his brows creased slightly, his bottom teeth gnawing idly on his lip. Screw it, she thought. Marge took his hand softly in hers, squeezing gently. Rich turned his head, shyly smiling at the gesture. 

“Where’d you go?” she asked. 

“Just thinking.” 

“Oof, don’t do that too much.” 

“Why is everybody saying that?” 

The two of them laughed, Marge taking another sip of cola. Rich cleared his throat, tapping a beat on his thigh with his drumsticks. 

“Since last week, I’ve been thinking of you.” 

Marge’s stomach flipped, she swallowed thickly, letting him continue. 

“I kept thinking of what we talked about, and I want to make sure you’re doing okay.” 

She turned her head, though Rich had already been looking at her. His eyes were filled with restrained uncertainty, his lips quirked in a worried frown. That night in front of Marge’s house, when every aching thought had been confessed, tears streaming down her face, the nights ahead became quieter. As if something in her soul, alongside Marge’s mind, had gone to rest. 

Sure, the nightmares still existed, and at times she could vaguely feel a heat on the back of her neck that wasn’t her own. However, every time those fears and feelings began to creep into Marge’s mind like intruders, she’d always think back to what Rich had told her. And with each time she did, the intruders never stayed for long. She squeezed Rich’s hand reassuringly, opening her mouth to speak. 

“I took your advice to heart. One day at a time,” Marge smiled, continuing on, “We can’t change what happened, but I’m glad things turned out the way they did.”

“I’m really glad to hear that, Marge,” Rich replied, a toothy grin on his face.

That seemed to ease the twister in his mind, his face physically relaxing under her words. Rich sighed heavily, a relieved chuckle escaping his lips. Another fire cracker exploded. 

“We survived, now we get to live, right?” he asked. Marge nodded, scooting closer. 

“Yeah, we do.” 

She noticed the drumsticks in Rich’s hand, watching them tap rhythmically on his leg. She smiled to herself, he always carried a beat wherever he went. 

“You brought your drumsticks with you?” she asked. 

“I told Will it was in case people wanted a show before the big Ball Drop. But, I don’t really have an audience,” Rich replied, ceasing the tapping on his leg. 

“That’s not true,” Marge denied, she couldn’t help but laugh. As she unclasped their hands momentarily to fold them in her lap, she gave Rich her full attention. 

“Sir Rich, I’ll be your audience. Show me what you’ve got.” 

Like a human firework, Rich lit up instantly, brightly smiling. He looked around, noticing he had nothing to perform on. With a hurried drink of his beverage, he told Marge to stay put while he went inside to get a few things. 

She chuckled, claiming she had nowhere to be. Not that she would’ve moved if she did, tonight Marge wasn’t planning on going anywhere without her brave knight. After a few minutes, Rich came back with several pots and pans, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“Okay! Sorry to keep you waiting, m’lady,” he grinned, organizing the kitchen supplies into a makeshift drum set. 

“Rich, don’t tell me you—“

“Shh, Don’t tell Mrs. Bainbridge. I’ll have these back before she notices,” Rich whispered, Marge shook her head in amusement. 

With his drumsticks poised in his hands, Rich started off with a light rhythm, just something off the top of his head. The dull clinking and clanking of metal against wood were the only sounds Marge wanted to hear at that moment. 

She held her head in her hands, staring at Rich with nothing short of admiration. The way his eyes and brows were contorted in concentration, his tongue sticking out ever so slightly while he kept the tempo the entire time. 

Small fireworks still went off, making the overall performance something even more intimate. The warmth of Mrs. Bainbridge’s back porch lights casted on Rich's siholuette, making his hair appear golden brown, eyes shining like stars Marge refused to look away from. 

He tried his best to make the percussion sound good, it was only metal and wood for crying out loud. Once in a while, he’d glance up, catching Marge with her eyes on him still, not once deterring from his performance. 

He chuckled nervously, not knowing what else to do besides that. With a final flourish of a few more taps on the cooking tools, he finished by flinging one of the drumsticks in the air, hastily moving to catch it in the same hand. Rich stood up, dipping into a graceful bow. Marge clapped excitedly, smiling like she’d seen one of the greatest musical enactments of all time. He felt his face go red, grinning under the praise.

“What a wonderful performance! Bravo!” she whooped. Rich rubbed the back of his neck shyly, grinning ear to ear. 

“Thank you! Thank you! I’ll be here all night,” he jokingly announced, sitting back down. 

“How long have you played?” 

“Since I was little. But I don’t think my skill has ever really excelled as much as it has at Derry High.” 

Marge nodded in understanding, arms folded over her torso.

“I wish I could play an instrument.” 

“Which one would you play if you had the chance?” 

She thought to herself, staring at the night sky, nose and cheeks pink from the cold. And other reasons.

“Maybe piano, or the violin. String instruments have always interested me.” 

“If you ever choose to, I know you’ll be great.” 

“You’re just saying that because you’re biased.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Marge smiled, the two of them still watching as explosions were set off into bursts of brightly colored puffs. She let herself relax for a moment, pushing away any thoughts of the past. Anything involving broken glasses and table saws. Thoughts of interdimensional shapeshifting entities. Or anything having to do with muffled coughs, smoke, and flames. As each explosive soared into the night sky, those were the only flames she found herself enjoying, Marge thought. 

After a while, she noticed Rich shivering ever so slightly, his hands tapping on his forearms. She knew he’d deny any claims of being cold, it was December and Rich was bad at lying. Beside Marge, she opened her bag, pulling out a familiar plaid jacket. She held it out to him without a word, startling the boy like she had suddenly handed him a live mouse. 

“Holy—I was wondering where this went!”

“That night in the snow, I forgot to give it back. You left before I could.” 

Rich touched the red fabric, holding it close to him like he’d been reunited with a long lost relative. It smelled like Marge’s house, and well—Like Marge. It was a scent that held notes of parchment and something floral he could only assume was the faint smell of her room. While in the process of putting it on, he hesitated, slipping it off of himself. Marge furrowed her brows in confusion.

“What’s the matter? Did it shrink? Damnit, I told my mom to wait until I could give it to you.. But she just had to throw in the wash because—”

“No! No, it’s not that..”

“Then, what is it?”

“What’re you gonna wear? It’s freezing out here, Marge.” 

“I have my cardigan, remember?” 

Rich frowned, going silent to think to himself. He didn’t want to leave Marge with nothing, it was in his nature to provide for others, even if it meant disregarding himself. He wouldn’t let her grow cold on New Year’s Eve, not a chance. Rich slowly inched the jacket towards her, as if nudging it little by little would do anything to convince Marge to take it back. She put a hand up, pushing it back just as slow. 

“No, Rich. Put it on.” 

“But what if you freeze to death?”

“Says the one who’s shivering. Now, put the jacket on.” 

“Wait!—Hear me out, what if I…”

Marge sat still as Rich draped the article of clothing around both of them, giving one another no choice but to be closer in order to stay completely covered. He was right, it was far too cold to be without some sort of heavier layer on. And Marge knew that, she merely didn’t mind when it came to Rich. Hell, the boy might as well be a human heater with how many times he’s made Marge’s face warm with his presence. 

She looked at him with a deadpanned expression, in disbelief that even though he was shivering, Rich still found a way to put her first. His chivalrous behavior would never cease to make Marge wonder what she did to deserve someone as kind-hearted as he. She put a hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth of her flushed skin. Her stomach knotted nervously, knowing it wasn’t because of the jacket. 

“Can’t let my fair maiden brave this harsh winter alone, now can I?” 

Marge’s stomach flipped again.  

“..Your fair maiden?”

Rich remained very still, only putting a fist to his mouth to cough uselessly. It felt as though every ounce of air had been sapped from his lungs in one fell swoop. He didn’t even want to know what Marge’s expression looked like. He didn’t even mean to call her his, it had just slipped out. Rich felt his heart hammer against his ribs, feeling as though he might pass out right then and there from unadulterated embarrassment. He glanced anyway, a firework setting off between locked eyes.

“I–I didn’t mean— You’re not mine, I meant it like—”

“Rich, it’s okay. I can be yours.” 

Rich swallowed heavily, his mouth in dire need of water. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him of all people. Marge had looked away, lips pressed in a thin line. This really was harder than it looked in the movies. Rich tried to speak again. 

“De verdad?” 

“Come again?”

“Right, uh—really?” 

Marge laughed softly, the sound like music to Rich’s ears. She fidgeted with her thumbs, turning her head to ask him something. Rich fiddled with the end of his jacket zipper, the only thing keeping him from blasting off into space.  

“..If it’s okay with you, could you be mine in return?” 

No firework set off on New Year’s Eve could ever amount to the emotional whirlwind Rich experienced in that moment. He was a deer in headlights, so to speak. Everything they went through, maybe it wasn’t for nothing. This was what Rich meant when he said they could get to live. 

To experience moments like these. To be moments like these. Maybe it wasn’t only about surviving hell and coming out victorious on the other side. Perhaps it was also the smaller, more quiet times. Like poems written in the bottom of shoes, discussing knights and pirates at school during lunch, or rebandaging the coolest wound you’ve ever seen. Rich breathed in deeply through his nose, fearing if he performed the action too loud he’d somehow break the moment. Slowly, he nodded.

“Until my final breath.”

As moments passed, Marge looked to the boy beside her, drumsticks now resting at his side, his cup of cola nearly empty again. So, naturally, she took the liberty of gently laying her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to get comfortable in the way they fit perfectly together. For a moment, Marge expected Rich to scoot away, she didn’t know why. Self-doubt was an odd thing. 

Her breathing hitched when she felt the weight of his head slowly begin to rest on hers. Marge closed her eyes, trying her best to ignore the way her heart felt like a jackhammer in her chest. When she gazed up, Rich was staring ahead, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. 

Timidly, Marge exposed her palm to him, it was easier to show she wanted to hold his hand than to ask. Rich hovered his hand above hers, tapping his fingers against her fingertips playfully.

“Good Lord—Take my hand,” Marge mumbled, Rich didn’t need any more convincing. 

“Take my whole life too?” he referenced, grinning like he’d made the greatest joke known to man. Marge sighed, letting Rich intertwine their hands together like they’d done many times before. 

“I knew you liked Elvis!”

“What!? How’d you know?”

“No clue, just a lucky guess,” Marge shrugged.

Neither of them finished the lyrics, though they both knew which part came next. 

The last of the explosives were lit, Marge and Rich watching in awe as each one sparkled in the cold December night. Marge took a deep breath, shutting her eyes as she let herself fall into every aspect of the moment they both shared. Suddenly, the backdoor swung open revealing Ronnie, Will, and Lilly. 

All three of them looked frantic, their expressions immediately shifting when they saw Rich and Marge curled up together. Lilly looked fondly at the scene, Ronnie shaking her head as if she expected this from the start. Marge and Rich repelled like oil and water, the plaid jacket falling limp to the ground. Both kids looked up, faces red and hearts pounding like they had ridden a thrilling rollercoaster.  

“There you guys are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you. C’mon, the ball’s dropping soon!” Will declared, arms folded. 

“Yeah lovebirds, about time we pulled y’all apart,” Ronnie smirked.

“Ronnie!” Lilly and Will shouted in unison.

“They are, though!” she retorted, going back inside after them. 

Marge dusted off her dress, adjusting her glasses as she stood up with her bag. It felt as if her entire body had been compromised, now forcefully locked under the knowledge of having three of her friends discover her and Rich cuddling under the moonlight. Neither of them gauged a timeframe for how long they’d been outside, there had been bigger priorities to address. 

Rich messily stuffed his drumsticks in his side pocket, finishing off his drink with shaking hands. After throwing his jacket on, he opened the door for her, both of them returning inside without another word.

In the living room, the murmurs of excited chattering filled the entire space. People held glasses of champagne and wine, wearing celebratory hats and blowing noisemakers. The record player still spun in the corner of the room, the volume having been turned down significantly since Marge and Rich had returned. He wondered if they could dance again, crushed toes be damned.

The sound of the television could be heard well over all the ruckus, a news reporter giving the last messages before the big event. Rich found Marge’s hand thoughtlessly, leading them both to get a better look at the chunky screen. 

There it was, propped up in Time’s Square, the New Year’s Eve ball. Despite the monochrome palette, it dazzled far beyond how Marge remembered it. Even with her hand in his, she could feel the eagerness radiating off the boy beside her, eyes staring at the television with so much fervor he could've been a star. She looked behind her, seeing Lilly, Will, and Ronnie talk quietly amongst themselves. The television crackled some more. 

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for! It’s time to welcome the New Year, 1963!” 

It was time, the crowd starting the countdown off quietly, glasses of alcohol readied until the last moment. Marge felt Rich’s hand loosen slightly in hers, garnering the girl’s attention. He was staring up at her, a silent war echoing in his mind. She looked at him, puzzled.

8!...

7!...

“Marge Truman,” he began, struggling to meet her eyes. Rich took her other hand in his, swallowing nervously. 

6!...

“Tonight was unlike anything I’ve experienced in my whole life. Who knew learning how to dance de mís padres would pay off so well?”    

Marge could only listen with furrowed brows, hearing the boy’s words yet not fully understanding what he was getting at. She focused on the feeling of his thumbs softly caressing the back of her hands, noticing the way they trembled. 

“Rich, I don’t understand—” 

5!...

“You are the most incredible girl I’ve ever met. I don't even know how you somehow feel the same—” 

She shook her head, refusing to fight off the sheepish grin on her lips. Marge glanced at the television, the crowd still counting, others waiting with baited breath. People gathered with their significant others, it appeared a lot of them had the same idea in mind. Held hands, longing looks, and words meant only for their ears. 

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, it finally clicked in Marge’s head. She knew what was happening. Rich still babbled on, getting carried away in the moment, lost in a tangle of nerves and thoughtful vows. Now Marge’s heart was really beating, knowing where Rich was going with his ranting sent butterflies flapping wildly in her stomach. 

4!...

“So, I guess what I’m really trying to ask is—”

3!…

“May I kiss you?” They blurted at the same time. 

Rich nearly jumped out of his skin, not expecting Marge to steal the words right out of his mouth. He spared a glance around the room, seeing how many couples were mere inches away from each other. Even Ronnie and Will were sharing pleasantries wrapped in the sweetest and most scariest emotion known to man: love. 

It lit something in Rich, something bright and beyond measure. His head whipped back to Marge, her eyes shining in that same warm lowlight. Maybe it’d be a good idea to compliment Mrs. Bainbridge on her choice of ambience, he thought. 

2!…

Marge nodded, too much at a loss for words to form coherent sentences. Rich swallowed thickly, debating how to go about this. This was new territory, a line neither of them had ever crossed before. And as scary as it was, it was equally exhilarating.

Rich lifted a hand to carefully cup Marge's cheek, as if trying to preserve the very essence of her face. Heat rose in his body, feeling the warmth of her skin. He had seen kisses performed way too many times in his life. In movies, between his mother and father in the kitchen, or at the park when he'd ride his bike with Will. It was an art, something that didn't necessarily come naturally, but felt natural once it happened. 

In this moment, the situation felt completely and utterly right. Not because of the dimness of the room, or the fact that it was New Year's Eve. But because this was the solidification of their feelings for one another. A plaque branded on their hearts in the form of a sentimental exchange. A silent transmission between souls that said I've got you, you've got me, don't let go. Granted, Rich's hands were regretfully shaky and he thought he might've been a tad too close when he was rambling to Marge. She didn't mind—at least, he hoped she didn't. 

1!…

Marge leaned down, tilting her head sideways as Rich did the same. Her hand softly found Rich's cheek like he did hers, feeling the softness beneath her fingers. She couldn't help but wonder if he used his mother's Noxema on his face as well. She'd ask him someday. They both slowly shut their eyes, closing the distance between each other. Rich stood on the tips of his toes, fearing he may miss the mark without the extra height. 

The kiss didn't last long, just a shy touch that sent both kids over the moon. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't meant to be. Marge was fairly certain she accidentally kissed beside Rich's mouth instead of his lips. Even so, it sure felt like lightning coursing through her veins. Once they parted, Rich caressed Marge's cheek with his thumb, grinning so wide and cheeks pinker than he liked to know. The two of them broke into a fit of laughter, the adrenaline and suspense now wearing off to give them the chance to think clearly. 

Once the countdown had finished, people erupted in cheers, toasting alcohol together and spinning noisemakers that shook both of them out of their momentary daze. Marge and Rich were still holding each other's faces in gentle hands, immediately letting go once they remembered the potential eyes on them. And they were right, because Will, Ronnie, and Lilly were standing off to the side, the three of them cheering wildly in support. Ronnie shook Lilly's shoulders excitedly, whooping loudly. Will jumped up and down, hands raised above his head like he'd been waiting for this moment. 

Which truthfully, they all had.

Rich and Marge waved shyly at their friends, faces hot and hearts going ninety-nine miles per hour. The room was full of spirit and shared joy, the energy so potent that anyone who stepped inside Mrs. Bainbridge's house could never possibly leave without a pleasant story to tell. The sounds of confetti poppers exploded, more cheering erupting outside. Hats were tossed up in grand gestures, cigars were lit to calm the excitement, refills of champagne were poured to encourage it. 

Marge turned back to Rich, hands nervously clasped in front of her. He looked back at her, blue meeting brown for the very first time of 1963. He broke into more giddy laugher first, and Marge couldn't help but follow. Wordlessly, Rich opened his arms, wrapping Marge in a snug embrace. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, melting in the way she enclosed him just as taut.

"That was bold of you back there," Marge spoke.

"I had to return the favor at some point, right?" Rich blushed, shrugging casually despite the emotional tornado in his gut. 

"Seemed like a much bigger favor than what I did last time," she giggled. 

"Eh, don’t compare. It’s a brand New Year." 

Once the commotion of the festivities had died down and people started trickling out the door, Marge and Rich were bombarded with questions and exclamations from Will, Ronnie, and Lilly. The five of them all conversed intensely over the elephant in the room, Will piping in to say he and Ronnie shared a sweet exchange of their own. Ronnie hid her face in her hands, earning collective laughter from the group. 

They all stayed behind to help Lilly and her mother tidy up. Ronnie helped Lilly take down streamers and clean up party favors. Will and Rich were in charge of cleaning and drying the used champagne and wine glasses. Marge helped Mrs. Bainbridge pick up the trash a few guests were reluctant to take care of themselves, the woman later puzzling about where a couple pots and pans had vanished to. On Marge's way through the kitchen, she shot Rich a disappointed glare, no true harshness behind her expression. He smiled nervously, quickly striking up conversation with Will beside him. 

Once they had all finished, it was time to leave. Ronnie, Will, Rich, and Marge all gave Lilly a goodbye hug, shortly discussing when they could all hangout next. A carhorn honked outside, Mr. and Mrs. Hanlon waiting for Ronnie and Will to come outside. 

"Well, that's our ride. We'll catch you guys soon, alright?" Will said, he and Ronnie both waving goodbye as they walked out the door. 

The rest of them waved the two off kindly, Lilly adding that it was about time for her to go to bed. Marge looked at the clock, it was a quarter past one in the morning. Both her and Rich wished Lilly a pleasant night, the former giving her a hug and thanking Lilly for her support earlier this night. Rich opened the door for Marge, letting them both step out into the frigid December air. 

"What'd you mean back there, if you don't mind me asking?" Rich spoke.

"I just had a moment, I got over it," Marge replied, throwing an unconvincing smile.

"And, are you okay?"

"I will be."

Rich linked his pinky finger with Marge's, looking at her with that kicked puppy expression she knew she couldn't refuse. Sighing, Marge clicked her tongue in defeat. 

"Just my scars, nothing major." 

"It's major to me. What's going on, mi hermosa docella?"

Marge pursed her lips a moment, eyes to the ground. Rich still held on, a gentle squeeze encouraging her to take her time to collect her thoughts. She explained that day at Derry High, when It had targeted her, turning a part of her that had already felt bigger than it was, into something she couldn't stand to look at without the protection of leather and elastic. 

Rich never interrupted a single time, hanging onto the girl's every word. Only when her voice began to crack did Rich say something to bring her back down to Earth, reminding her of what they talked about all those days ago. 

"I had no idea it was that bad, Marge. Well—it was Pennywise, who am I kidding.." That earned Rich a quiet laugh from Marge. Silence sat between them like a welcomed guest before he spoke again, smiling faintly as he looked at her. 

"For what it's worth, I don't think that experience ruined you one bit. If anything, it made you cooler!" 

"You really think so?"

"Think so? I know so! I not only got to spend my night with the coolest girl at Derry High, but I got to kiss her too!?" 

Marge snorted, doubling over with laughter at Rich's astonishment. She couldn't deny it, he had a knack for cheering people up. His pure-hearted delivery only added fuel to the fire, it didn't help that he was cute either, she thought.

Their pinkies were still interlinked, she squeezed once. Rich squeezed back like clockwork. The laughter died down, and the quiet came back to greet them kindly. Marge cleared her throat awkwardly, looking away towards the streets. 

"..Y-You could kiss her again, if you want."

"Perdón?"

"Rich, I still don't speak Spanish."

"..Don't worry about it." 

Under the light of the awning, the second time around was easier, much more familiar. Sparks still ignited in stomachs, warm hands found their way to soft faces, and a sense of calm enveloped them both like a blanket. Rich wished the night could last forever, he wished this didn't have to end. 

"Marge?" he began. She searched his face with an expression so gentle it made Rich want to sob. 

"Yes, Rich?"

"..I think I'm in love with you." 

Marge shook her head in amusement, cupping Rich's face to softly kiss him one last time.

"Margaret!" Mrs. Truman called from her car, window rolled down. The two kids stood hand in hand, begrudgingly parting. Marge sighed, Rich clicked his tongue sympathetically.

"I gotta jet," she spoke, a sad smile on her lips.

"Hasta luego, mi amor," Rich replied, that dopey smile on his face.

"Good night, Rich," Marge smiled warmly. 

He waved her goodbye, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Rich watched her drive away until he could no longer see the car, taking that as his cue to leave as well. As he walked to his bicycle, he kept smelling Marge's scent on his jacket, her perfume from tonight, the faint floral scent of her room. Rich hoped it wouldn't fade for a long time. He pedaled off, the bitterness of the winter air doing nothing to snuff out the flame in his heart. 

Rich breathed in long and deep, letting his lungs fill before exhaling heavily. This New year was a freedom. A rebirth, in a sense. Rich found calm in knowing this year would be different, this year would be good. He breathed deeply again, each inhale feeling like a peace he hadn't known since April. Since he discovered what Hell on Earth was like. 

Not only would this year be a reset button for the five kids, it would also be the start of something Rich spent many nights praying for since he moved to Derry, Maine. A reality he thought was too far out of his reach. A reality that now looked like a girl with blonde hair and glasses she deemed made her eyes appear too big for her liking, yet only ever brought out the color of them to Rich. 

A girl who had much more strength than she gave herself credit for, strength that showed every day. A girl whose kindess and determination for those she loved outweighed any doubt or insecurity that had the audacity to plague her. A girl who Rich would stick by until his dying days, through malicious clowns, fires, or protruding eyes. As awful as those sound.

Rich's lungs ached from the bitter air, his nose and cheeks colored red from the chilliness of the winter weather. He kept pedaling, even though his legs protested with every stride. He was a knight, and a knight from here on out he'd be. Not just for himself, not just for family, not just for friends, but for her. 

Rich picked up speed down the street, declaring loudly his love for a girl named Marge Truman. 

Fin.