Archive of Our Own

Marge knocked on her mother's doorframe of her bedroom. It was fairly early in the February morning, and truthfully, the winter had a knack for making Marge feel more alone than she was. Nowadays, it backed her into a mental corner, trapping her with something that sat dull and heavy in her chest. The cold evoked thoughts of rowed teeth aimed for Marge's head, strings of drool dripping hungrily from a predator's mouth, and a glimpse into a far future Marge didn't know was real or not. She hoped it wasn't, she prayed it wouldn't be.

The winter months never used to treat her this way, not in the way Marge remembered. Sure, the sharp wind would gnash at her face and make her cheeks red and her nose pink. Only simple discomforts, things that could be fixed with a warm bath and a cozy blanket. The easy things before the terrors occurred. In present days, the winter held her roughly in frozen claws, like a cage she hadn't found the key to yet.

It wasn't often she invited guests over, the only exception being Lilly. But even then, Marge would be the one over at her house most times, not vice versa. Her parents weren't ones to permit such a thing, Marge never knew why. A rarity, it unfortunately was. The weather wouldn't be getting much warmer for a while, and Marge needed a way out of her head. Surprisingly, her mother was in a rather upbeat mood, and she thought it best to strike while the iron was hot. As hot as it could be in this bitter season.

That's how it was most of the time, a game of either or. Will mom be in a good enough mood to let her daughter experience a slice of life? Or will it be chores, lectures, and helping prepare dinner once her father returned home from his shift? That was the thing about striking the iron in the Truman household, it always seemed to cool too fast.

"Mom?" Marge began, peeking her head into the room. Her mother was folding laundry, humming a tune she recognized as Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka. A classic.

"What did you need, Margaret?" Her mother replied, not looking up from her rather boring task. It had get done at some point, clothes didn't fold themselves.

"I was wondering if…" Marge trailed off, the words feeling oddly heavy on her tongue. The anticipation of rejection felt imminent, like a present Marge knew she never wanted yet kept anyway. Her mother looked up, placing one of Marge's dresses on one she folded previously. Her eyes were expectant, that only made the pressure worse.

"I'm not getting any younger, dear."

"Can my friends stay over tomorrow night?" Marge blurted, ripping off the bandage before she found herself backpedaling. She wondered if the iron had cooled yet, if her moment had ultimately passed.

Mrs. Truman clicked her tongue in thought, letting her hands rest over the bin of untidy clothing. Marge hated when her mother made her wait like this, it was nothing short of torturous. It was that same exact game of either or she didn't know how to reign victorious at. It wasn't as fun as Monopoly, she thought. This was a lot less entertaining.

"Who did you have in mind?" Mrs. Truman asked, a serious expression on her face. She looked as though she were at a press conference, or an intense business meeting. One would never have guessed she was deciding to let her daughter have a sleepover. Marge stepped inside her mother's bedroom more, letting the feeling of carpeted flooring be her anchor.

"Just Lilly, Will, Ronnie, and Rich—"

"The Santos boy? You've never had him over before."

"Well mom, he is my friend so—"

"I don't appreciate your tone, Missy."

Cue the inevitable sigh. Marge took a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes to regain herself. Always on eggshells, that's how it felt. Granted, Mrs. Truman was much more tame this winter morning, much to Marge's relief. Though, that did little to ease the sticky feeling that formed in her chest when she knew things were getting prickly. Nonetheless, Marge tried again anyway, like she always did.

"..Sorry—And yes, I'd like to invite Rich as well."

"Hm."

"What's the 'hm', for?"

Marge's mother sighed softly, resuming her task of folding laundry. One article of clothing after another, each second of silence stretched like a year in Marge's mind. She clasped her hands behind her back, wringing her fingers as she watched her mother's brow crease in thought.

"The door stays open."

"MOM!" Marge yelped, face flushing instantly.

"Don't 'mom!' me! My daughter's in love with a boy, and it's my job as a parent to make sure she's not getting up to any funny business. Believe me, Margaret, when you get married and have kids someday, you'll be thinking the same thing."

Sweet Paul Bunyan, let the floor swallow her whole. The world could crumble before Marge's eyes and she'd let it take her. At least then she wouldn't need to deal with whatever the hell this was. She grimaced at what her mother had said. Kids. Marge dragged a hand down her face, wishing the traitorous warmth of it would fade as fast as this conversation. She knew better than to count on it.

"..The five of us wanted to get together sometime soon, we talked about it at New Year's," Marge explained. Mrs. Truman hummed, a sound that said her daughter hadn't thought this through. And yeah, maybe Marge hadn't gotten too far. However, in the grand scheme of things, this wasn't all that hard to figure out. It wasn't a quantum equation, though her mother approached it that way. The kids come over, have fun, then pick up's at eight in the morning. Easy. Though, only if Mrs. Truman would be willing bend a smidgen.

"Your father's working the night shift, so he won't be home until really late, got it? What're you kids gonna do? Play games? Will I have to cook dinner?" She asked, Marge piled each question in her mind like stacking book after book in her arms. Not even fifteen minutes in and she's been scolded, embarrassed, and now mentally bombarded. Just put the iron away at this point. Marge thought a moment to sort the questions in her head, trying to answer quickly enough to her mother's satisfaction.

"Uhm—Okay, so no dad. Understood. Yes, definitely games. And—No, mom. We can order a pizza or something."

"Does everyone like pizza?"

Who in their right mind doesn't like pizza!?

"Mom, believe me. People like pizza, okay?"

Mrs. Truman finished folding the last of the laundry, nudging a stack of Marge's clothes toward her. The initial silence was right where her mother had left it. Back to contemplating. Back to teeter-tottering on the line of "Will she? Won't she?". Mrs. Truman placed another stack of clothes on the one before, Marge looked at it tiredly. Her mother crossed her arms, opening her mouth to speak. Marge hated how her body tensed, as if preparing for battle.

"Did you study for school at all? You told me you had that science assignment—"

"Finished it last night. And the english essay due this week. I've literally finished everything mom," Marge cut in.

Her mother sighed, pinching her brow. Contemplate, contemplate, any more of that and this conversation could be a philosophy discussion. Marge wrung her hands absentmindedly, eager for an answer. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, she could try in the spring time, when seasonal depression was at an all time high—

"Call your friends, clean your room, and let me know when they're leaving the next morning."

Holy shit? Marge thought.

Blue eyes lit up, half shocked, half disbelieving. She should ask things more often, just look at the results! No, Marge thought. She couldn't ask for more, then she'd end up with nothing. She nodded in understanding, containing her excitement out of fear of it being stripped away for a reason she never knew existed. Though through her best efforts, some joyous squeaks made it past her lips. As stated before, this was a rarity.

"Thanks mom!" Marge chorused, smiling brightly as she relished in the moment. She struck that stubborn iron, and forged an unexpected end product. Before she got the chance to run out of her mother's bedroom, Mrs. Truman called out to her, socked feet skidded to a halt.

"Don't forget to take your clothes!" She warned, eyes emphasizing the pile that rested on the bed. Marge took them without complaint, feeling as though she could tackle any chore her mother threw her way. With such a sweet prize the following day, she wouldn't even mind deep cleaning the house. With a singular salute before leaving, Marge grinned joyously, inevitably failing to contain the excitement she felt.

Once plans were fleshed out, pizza was still being pondered, and bedrooms were cleaned to the highest degree, Marge only had one last phone call to make. Ronnie said she could go, Lilly had no plans, and Will needed an excuse to get out of running errands with his mother the next morning. Marge punched in the number, then held the phone up to her ear as she listened to it ring. A woman's voice was heard on the other side, warm and bright. Marge just knew this lady gave the most incredible hugs.

"Hola hola?"

Marge felt her cheeks go hot, she twirled the phone cord around her index finger, clearing her throat. She had no clue where the nerves spiked from.

"Is this the Santos residence?"

Too formal. Too Formal!

"It is! And.. Who is this?"

"Oh! Uh, this is Marge Truman, I was wondering if Rich—"

"Dios mío, Marge!? Rich speaks so much about you, let me get him on the phone! One moment!"

Marge nearly ripped the cord from her house phone, not expecting to be thrown into speaking with Rich immediately. A separate exchanged would've sufficed. Perhaps a simple, "Hey! Is your son free tomorrow? Yes? Wonderful, see you at six." would have worked lovely. The two of them haven't gotten together since New Year's Eve, which already carried so much Marge caught herself daydreaming about far too often. The school days were filled with locker-notes, hand-holding, and playful teasing from Ronnie, Will, and Lilly. Marge didn't care about the murmurs from other students, she didn't have the time to when her days were full of bliss.

That December night, much like in Rich's mind, would be engraved in Marge's until she was ready to be called home. It was perfect in way that was utterly not. For the two of them, it was just what they needed. Low lights, high spirits, and a countdown that made the world make sense once it finished. She would never forget the look on Rich's face, how his eyes were lazy with puppy love, a dorky smile that was almost too adorable for Marge to bare. The phone was still pressed against her ear, hearing indistinguishable Spanish on the other side, then footsteps, then—

"Marge! How's the sea treating you this fine winter morning?"

She laughed heartily, finding it so funny that all it took was a specific voice to get her grinning ear to ear.

"All's well over here, Sir Rich. However, it would be much better with your company tomorrow evening."

It took half a second for Marge to realize what she said, and just how smooth she said it. Heat crawled up her neck, making her forget her words and stealing the breath from her lungs. She was glad she wasn't speaking to Rich in person, Marge couldn't afford the teasing. She shook her head, resting the phone on her shoulder as she composed herself.

"I-If you're free, if not it's totally cool, totally groovy, I was just wondering because—"

"I'll be there. What time?"

"Six in the afternoon, is that okay..?"

The noise sounding awfully dreamy, Rich sighed on the other end of the phone. Marge wished she could see his face. Pink-tinted cheeks be damned.

"Perfecto. Save a blanket for me, I'll see you tomorrow night."

She hung the phone back on the wall, slowly succumbing to the floor with a hand covering her mouth, face still red and butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach. Instantly, Marge sprung up, hastily moving to prepare everything she'd need for the group. She hummed to herself while she carried piles of blankets and stacks of pillows in her arms, kicking doors shut behind her, happily awaiting tomorrow's adventure. There were so many things they could do, as long as Mrs. Truman approved that is.

Outside, the streets were salted, and the sidewalks were powdered with freshly fallen snow. The sun had set an hour or so ago, leaving Rich's outside view from his bedroom window something akin to cinematic. Already in plaid pajama bottoms and a graphic T-shirt, Rich packed his remaining luggage in a backpack, a pillow and a singular stuffed animal trogon he refused to sleep without. His hair was ruffled from his father, who patted him a little too hard before he walked out the door. His mother kissed his cheek, giving him a squeeze as she hugged him.

"You be safe, okay? Call us if you need anything, te amo mucho," she told him, opening the door with a hand on his shoulder. Rich nodded, grinning softly, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder as he waved both of his parents goodbye.

Snow fell around him, Rich pedaled down the sidewalk briskly, chips of ice nipping at his ankles. Each exhale he took formed a faint cloud in front of him, he watched as it took shape then disappeared behind him like smoke. He tried to breathe through his nose from that point on, only if he could help it.

As he rode past house after house, Rich couldn't help but think of the time he walked Marge home from Will's all those weeks ago. The two of them had come far so since that night, even since April.

A soft pride bloomed in his chest, tonight would be yet another lovely time with his favorite people. Up ahead, he saw two figures, both carrying bags and talking casually between each other. As Rich slowed his pedaling, he squinted in the falling snow, speeding up once he realized who it was.

"Coming in hot, Hanlon! Hey Ronnie!" He laughed, circling beside them as both kids startled.

"Jeez—Rich, you scared us shitless!" Ronnie huffed, putting a hand to her heart. Will reached out for her, grinning at Rich warmly.

"Rich, where's your jacket? It's actively snowing," Will scolded. The small boy rolled his eyes, dropping from his bicycle to walk with the two kids.

"Yeah Rich, you're gonna catch a cold at this rate!" Ronnie spoke.

"Fun fact," Will went on,"it's actually the bacteria the air carries during this time of year, not the cold weather itself."

"You're too smart for your own good, Will. How has your brain not exploded from all the knowledge?" Rich asked, sounding genuinely curious to know the answer.

"Well, that's simply because—"

Ronnie covered Will's mouth before he got the chance to speak, adjusting the strap of her carrier bag on her shoulder. She looked at Rich and slowly shook her head, he giggled as he held the handlebars of his bicycle.

"Don't get him started. He'll never stop."

Rich nudged Will's shoulder, the taller boy sighed against Ronnie's palm.

As the three of them kept walking in the chilling cold, just a few blocks away from Marge's house, Ronnie spotted a girl walking on the opposite side of the road. Rich turned to spot who captured her attention, recognizing those bangs from anywhere. Lilly clutched the strap of a light blue dufflebag tightly in both hands, walking like she was on a high staked mission.

Even from across the street, the three of them noticed that subconscious look Lilly had when she was alone. It was a look that people had pointed out in all five of them, at school, at home, or in town. A look of preparation mixed with unease, the faraway expression of buried memories. Memories not yet diluted by time.

It was a feeling none of them could ever really name right when asked about it publicly, though it lasted a nauseatingly long time. It most occurred during the late hours, gripping them as cold as metal. Causing hearts to pound for a reason they all knew, but never wanted to think on for longer than a second.

Rich couldn't blame her, no one who went through what they did really could. He understood why the five of them clung to one another like Bazooka bubblegum. How he felt safest when he was surrounded by a bunch of outcast losers he deemed true friends. One of which being a little something more special to him. Will, Ronnie, and Rich all waved at Lilly to try and get her attention, to relieve her from her own head.

"Bainbridge! Over here!" Ronnie called, smiling ardently. That did the trick.

Lilly whipped her head around, her initial concentration dissipating at the sight of three people she counted on. She looked both ways before crossing the street, jogging over with her dufflebag hitting her side. She grinned at all three of them, bouncing back like a sponge.

Rich couldn't wait until they were all together, it had felt like such a long time since they were all in one place. He supposed it was, a few more days into February and he'd finally be a teenager. Thirteen seemed so big and yet so small to him at the same time. Jumping high in the air just to land on your feet again.

"Funny bumping into you," Rich laughed. Lilly sheepishly smiled, hoisting her bag even further up her shoulder.

"We're headed to the same place, Rich. It was bound to happen," Ronnie chuckled.

The four of them continued to walk casually down the sidewalk, heightened emotions and any lingering thoughts of distant fears quickly receded into the backs of their minds. The streetlamps reflected on the falling snow, glinting each flake like a speck of stardust brought down to Earth. Rich couldn't help but think of how beautiful Marge would've looked with them freckling her hair. They were a few blocks away from her house, maybe a couple of daydreams more until he saw her face. He seriously couldn't wait to see her.

Ronnie, Will, and Lilly all discussed what they would do when they got settled at the Truman's house, teasing one another about cheesy romance films they could all watch. Rich listened but never chimed in, letting the ebb and flow of conversation work as a buoy for his mind. Romance films wouldn't be such a bad idea for tonight, he thought. He finally had someone to share them with.

The front porch lights of Marge's house came into view, Rich left his bike somewhere no one would steal it. The four of them walked up the steps of her home, all silently grateful to be out of the snow. It wasn't a blizzard, but the weather had definitely picked up since Rich had left his house. A mild flurry, if you will.

"Go on now, knock!" Ronnie insisted, nudging Will forward.

"What? Why me?"

"Because you're the sophisticated proper one, now go!"

Will resisted Ronnie's continuous nudges, shooting Rich a look that told him to knock first. He cleared his throat, unsure why butterflies flapped lazily in his stomach, why his cheeks were warming and his palms were unpleasantly clammy. This was just a sleepover, wasn't it? Kids his age slept over at friends' houses all the time! Why was this time so different?

Maybe because of how Rich left the beginning of 1963. Or perhaps, it was due to shaky hands and timid smiles. Or the feeling of soft lips on his that kept him wanting more once he and Marge pulled away that night. Shy glances that were undoubtedly nervous yet so full of certainty of what they both wanted. That night established everything Rich had dreamed of since his first weeks at Derry High. Although, it could just be due to gripping his backpack too hard and the frigid air, definitely not the former.

"Rich, you go on ahead. I'm sure Marge would be happy to see you," Lilly spoke, a sweet expression on her face. Rich gulped, wishing he could ward away every nervous feeling in his body using sheer willpower. It wouldn't have worked if he tried.

"H-How about we all knock at the same time?" He thought up quickly, his grin lopsided and awkward.

"Still shaken up from the party, Rich? It's been two months—"

"Rons," Will lightly warned.

The group all raised their fists to the door, the act much more dramatic than it needed to be. It's a sleepover, let's be real. They all exchanged readied looks, poising their fists before knocking on it exactly three times. From within Marge's house, they heard a woman calling the girl's name, the sound of her voice piercingly strict and devoid of anything remotely close to softness. Rich understood why Marge never talked much about her life at home, he wouldn't want to be around that either.

"Coming!" A voice called on the other side of the door. An excited grin spread quickly across Rich's lips. This boy was not made for nonchalance.

The door creaked open, presenting Marge who wore a pale yellow nightgown with fuzzy slippers to match. Her eyepatch was held snug on her face, hair down and not clipped, she tucked a piece behind her ear that was insistent on getting in her way.

Time seemed to slow down for the boy, taking in just how marvelous she looked to him. This was the first time they had hung out since their relationship had moved to more solid ground, and to Rich—It was like staring at a dream.

"MARGE!" all four kids erupted happily, barreling into the girl's house so they could all group hug.

"Oh my gosh!—" Marge laughed, completely engulfed in four pairs of arms happy to see her. She hugged them back, basking in the feeling of genuinely being wanted. It was the warmest she'd felt since winter. She only hoped the feeling would linger once they left the next day.

"My room's down this hall, the bathroom's on the right if you guys need it," Marge spoke on their way to her bedroom, nodding to a door on the right of her, then to a room just a couple feet away.

Once she opened her door, everyone began to get settled in. Marge's room was simple, light yellow walls that made the atmosphere of her room as warm as her heart. White lace curtains drawn closed, the sound of snow pitter-pattering on her windows was a comfort in the midst of youthful chaos. A quilted bedspread that presented some board games Rich hoped he'd win at sat patiently, awaiting their attention. He needed to continue his singular win streak over Monopoly.

A desk pressed against Marge's window carried books upon books, some from school, others of Marge's general interest. However, one book caught Rich's attention, open-faced with a pencil resting on the corner. A sketchbook. He didn't know Marge liked to draw, she had never mentioned it to him. Once he finished unpacking his pillow, blankets, and his favorite stuffed animal, he took it upon himself to look around while everyone else was still getting settled in.

Marge was occupied with the rest of the group, talking about some film called Breakfast at Tiffany's while they all covered the floor with the blankets they brought. He shortly wondered if those were the romance movies Ronnie, Will, and Lilly mentioned on their way to Marge's house. Rich leaned a hand on the desk, looking over the contents of the sketchbook and the sketches Marge had done. It wasn't necessarily the fact that she had some talent in those two hands of hers, but more so what she used that talent for.

Small drawings of a boy with short dark hair and a cheeky smile displayed on both pages sent Rich's heart thudding in his chest. Some depicted a brave expression, an impossibly happy one, and a look of determination with the boy's hair blowing majestically in what Rich could only assume was wind.

They were wonderfully done, much better than he could do. Rich turned his head to see if anyone had noticed him. The rest of the kids were still laughing and yapping away, Rich sighed in relief. He spun around on his heels, joining the rest of his friends on the floor. Marge sat cross-legged beside Lilly who sat on her legs, the rest laid casually on their hands or sides.

"What's on the docket for tonight, Marge?" Ronnie asked, gazing up to the board games on Marge's bedspread.

The games her family had weren't all that captivating, Marge thought to herself when she first brought them to her room, fearing they weren't enough to treat her guests. Games like Acquire, The Game of Life, and a board game called Risk her father always loved to play. Marge never understood the appeal of world domination.

"Well, they're not the most fun, but—"

"Hold up," Rich began, craning his neck to look at the games,"Is that The Game of Life?"

"Yeah, it is! Why?" Marge questioned.

The boy leapt up from the spread of blankets, snagging the board game from Marge's bed and setting it in his lap. Immediately, he started taking out everything within the box.

"Looks like Rich decided for us," Lilly giggled.

"You guys don't get it, I love this game! Haven't played in ages, pero no me importa," he spoke, tongue out in a focused manner while he distributed all the cards from the box.

"Oh, so then beating you will be easy," Ronnie jabbed. Rich took a second to glare at her.

Marge curled her knees up to her chest, gazing at Rich while he worked, chuckling under her breath at how focused he could get once he decided on something. The way his lip jutted out when in deep concentration, hands working methodically to complete a task as soon as possible, almost as if he were in a rhythm all his own.

Marge admired many things about her knight in shining armor, though she could never pinpoint a favorite. The board was set out, colorful illustrations displayed for all to see. Will helped his best friend, setting up the spinning numbered wheel and taking out the colored car pieces.

"I think I'm getting déjà vu," Ronnie groaned, picking up the orange car. Lilly picked up the white one after her.

"Good! Prepare to lose yet again," Rich declared dramatically, a smug look on his face. Ronnie rolled her eyes, flicking her car at him.

"Are you challenging me, Santos?" She inquired. Rich merely shrugged, taking the red car between his index and thumb. He looked at it briefly, then smiled back at Ronnie.

"Perhaps. Though, perhaps not."

"Don't use your 'ye olde' wording on me."

Marge took the yellow car, Will took the blue one as Rich and Ronnie continued to shoot pompous comments at one another. Everyone was ready now, cars stationed at College or Career, it was time for The Game of Life to commence.

Just like at Will's house, the board game began peacefully. Since Rich had chosen the game, he was in charge of dealing out the correct amounts of money to each player. Will was his right hand man, handing out career, salary, and life cards.

As the game continued on, Marge slowly began to grow fond of it. Perhaps it was due to the fact she was playing with the four people she couldn't live without. In addition to the fun, It was also entertaining to watch Ronnie flip her lid over the smallest inconveniences whilst playing. Sore losers never prospered.

At one point, Rich landed on the "fall in love" space, reaching in the box to pull out a small pink peg to fit his car. Will, who sat beside Rich, nudged him slightly, a cheeky grin on his face. The small boy chuckled awkwardly, clearing his throat. It was Lilly's turn to spin the numbered wheel, performing the action delicately as if too much pressure would topple the entire board.

Will had earned himself a well paying job, a good salary to keep him from bankruptcy. He took that as a sign to regale the group about his latest readings on finances, Rich yawned theatrically. Easy conversation found its rightful place once again, flowing between the group like verbal water.

Over time, the game continued with its ups and downs, playful accusatory banter and the few profanities shouted out by Ronnie that Marge had to shush her for. Mrs. Truman wasn't a fan of vulgarity, she'd be surprised at the version Marge presented at school.

At last, it was time for her to spin the wheel, in previous turns she had already gotten married, earning collective giggling from the group, and a simper from Rich. The girl hoped she could get a house less expensive than the one she had, having the most money at the end of the line seemed to always be the goal. Board game or not.

As time passed while playing, it was really put in perspective for her.

Growing up sucks.

Adulting sucks.

Marge didn't know how her parents did this every day. Go to work, pay the bills, buy the groceries, raise the damn kids. That thought made Marge grimace yet again. She didn't want to grow up, not yet. For once, she was glad she was never told how mature she was for her age, Marge had far too much whimsy left in her for all that nonsense. The game cycled again, Ronnie finished her turn leaving it up to Marge to continue. She spun the wheel, not thinking much of it at first. She took her little yellow car, pink and blue pegs riding in the front.

Clack. Clack. Clack—

Marge had spun a number six, feeling an odd churning sensation in her stomach the closer she got to finishing her turn. She wondered if the two pegs riding in the front of her plastic game piece felt the same way. What a silly thought to have, her mother would've scolded. The three more spots she took felt slower than they needed to be, and Marge suddenly felt self-conscious about how long she took. At last, she landed on her concluding spot, removing her hand from the car to look at where she placed it.

"BABY BOY."

The words stared back at Marge like something sinister, unavoidable. It was as if the universe wanted to remind her of her inevitable future, just in case she got too comfortable in her own skin. Just in case she forgot that one conversation that kept her from sleep more nights than she wanted to believe.

Marge swallowed hard, noticing how the rest of her friends didn't pick up on her internal distress, too enraptured in the boisterousness of the game. She was relieved, though she captured a flicker concern in Lilly's gaze when she met her eyes, quickly blindsided by Ronnie's proud clapping. Marge jumped slightly.

"Congrats Marge! It's a boy!" She joked, handing the girl a small blue peg. Marge didn't like the way it sat vaguely heavy in her palm.

Despite the turmoil, Marge played along, silently chastising herself that she did. She laughed as much as she could, for as long the moment required her to. And by Maturin, she tried to make the sound convincing. Sticking the tiny blue peg on her car, she didn't say another word, letting the idle fun that moved around her speak for itself. Marge leaned on Rich's shoulder while he cheered on whoever went next, she couldn't be bothered to pay attention in that moment.

She didn't want to think anymore.

It was around half past six when Mrs. Truman announced the arrival of dinner to all five kids. The woman stuck with pizza, begrudgingly buying two pies in case someone wasn't rocking with plain cheese. The group finished their board game, stomachs on the verge of rumbling, and emotions everywhere at once.

To everybody's surprise, Lilly was the victor over all the rest, giving the girl something proud to hold on to all night. Ronnie and Will were the first to shuffle out the door, eager to get the flavorful slices of bread, cheese, and tomato sauce while they were still hot. Lilly stayed to clean up the contents of the game, Rich was next to follow, halting in the doorway when he realized Marge was not behind him.

"What's the hold up, capitana?" He asked with a quirk of his brow.

Marge flashed an easy smile, hands fidgeting with each other.

"I'll be right there, save me a slice," she replied.

The boy looked to the floor, to the repackaged game, then back to Marge. Rich wasn't convinced, but he let it slide just until she came to him. He always kept his door open. With a single nod, Rich left the bedroom, calling after Ronnie and Will to not hog all the pizza.

Lilly let out a content sigh, proudly looking over the neatness of her work. As she was about to go along with the others, Marge stopped her.

"Lills, wait—" she started, reaching out to grab her hand. Lilly turned her head, any sign of lighthearted joy quickly replaced by concern. This couldn't be good.

"I need to talk to you."

"What's up, Marge?"

The girl closed her eyes to gather herself, sorting everything in her head as best she could before opening her mouth.

"Remember what I told you at the Standpipe? About…"

Marge couldn't even bring herself to say it again. Lilly's expression darkened, eyebrows creased with trepidation. She remained quiet, prompting Marge to continue.

"I don't think It was just messing with me. I think—"

"Marge, we killed It. Whatever he meant when he told you about the future, it doesn't have anything to do with us. Not anymore, okay?" Lilly tried to refute, knowing every word she said leaked some truth between her teeth. She didn't even believe the words she spoke, gas lighting herself was the only way she knew how to not fall apart.

Every excuse stemmed from fear, both of them were well aware of that. The looming possibly that what the five of them had fought and nearly died to vanquish may come back in due time, was like a menacing clock awaiting the last second until returning. And as the months continued to go by, that would seem to be the case. The puzzle pieces of what that clown had grumbled and jabbered on about to Marge would proceed to fall slowly around her.

It would fill in the gaps of what she wanted to be so desperately wrong about. Marge didn't want to accept it, no more than her best friend. And if she didn't know any better, no more than the rest of the group. If what Pennywise had told Marge was true, when he unraveled a sheet of paper presenting a boy who looked like her and Rich combined, with thick rimmed glasses and dark wavy hair, it twisted the knife already lodged in her soul since that day. And it would take twenty-seven years to rip it out.

Marge was taken aback, blue eyes holding a storm as she took in her friend's words like a sickly beverage she was forced to drink. Lilly had told her a similar reasoning at the Standpipe, the same song and dance. An unsure answer both of them took as fact that day. That's all they could hold on to, a part of Marge wanted that to be the only thing. As she took a moment to consider Lilly's words, she doubled down on her worries, not yet done with the point she tried to make.

"It does, though! " Marge retorted, Lilly pursed her lips anxiously.

Her hand went slack in Marge's, pulling away to fold her arms. Marge sighed, crossing her own over her stomach, eyes flicking to Rich's stuffed animal. It laid lopsided, a singular audience member watching everything unfold.

"Every time I look at him.. I remember that stupid poster."

Lilly's brows shot up.

"..Poster?"

Marge met her friend's eyes, wide with rumination she wished she couldn't see. The dark haired girl stepped closer, putting a soft hand to Marge's shoulder.

"He had Rich's smile, Lilly.." She muttered painfully, the weight of impending fate feeling heavier than before.

Silence fell over the both of them, snuffing out any opportunity of comfort even the color of Marge's walls couldn't provide. Lilly followed her friend's eyes to the stuffed trogon that rested on Rich's pillow, she sighed, unsure of how to continue. Marge's eyes felt hot with tears, burning even more behind her eyepatch. The elastic band pulled snug around her ear, Marge removed it slowly, holding the leather in both hands.

"They're probably waiting for us," Lilly finally spoke. A singular tear slid down Marge's cheek, her lip wavering as she responded.

"I need a minute, tell them not to worry if they ask."

"Marge I—"

"Just go, Lill. Please."

Marge did her best to keep any hints of frustration from her voice, helplessness embraced her numbly. Lilly took one last look at her friend, lips drawn in a line of unsurety while she begrudgingly left the room. The ticks of that menacing clock sounded closer now, and Marge knew it would only be a matter of time until she was forty with Hell at her doorstep again. It sat restlessly in her soul, the cold fact that this was simply out of her hands. It was out of all of their hands, and placed into the future hands of seven others.

Rich stared at his plate, small bites of his pizza were the only thing he could ingest before worry crept into his mind. Marge's dining room sustained casual conversation between the three of them, apart from Lilly who came in late. He noticed how when she entered the dining room, her eyebrows were drawn together. As if in a state of barely hidden anxiety she tried to uphold with a crooked smile, holding her plate rigidly. Once she joined them at the table, she pushed those feelings far away trying to submerge herself in those easygoing waters again. That only confused Rich more. What had happened while the rest of them were away? What had he missed that warranted these emotions?

He chalked it up to the secluded conversation being none of his business, doing his best to rely on that notion and that notion alone. It didn't last long, however, when Marge entered the dining room with her plate, sitting beside Rich with a sigh only he caught. She came in like she was concealing something she wanted so badly to say, but didn't want to ruin what already was. This was a sleepover with friends, a pleasant evening away from worries and cares. She wouldn't throw that all away because of a silly fear she didn't even know to be true or not.

"What took you so long?" Ronnie asked, taking a drink of juice. Marge's eyes shot up from her plate, as if she remembered she was visible to those around her. Rich tried to take another bite of his pizza.

"S-Sorry, I just had to freshen up."

That seemed to sell well enough. The five of them continued to eat and talk through dinner, discussing what they would do next after they finished. Rich commented here and there, bouncing off ridiculous theories Will countered immediately when talking about the book's he'd been reading. Lilly didn't say much, giggling lightheartedly at stories Ronnie told about stuff Rich drowned out. He kept in conversation, though his heart wasn't in it.

Marge ate less than him, swirling a cup of what Rich assumed was soda absentmindedly as she stared blankly ahead. Rich knew that look all too well, he'd seen it a thousand times. When they ate dinner at the Hanlon's many moons ago, outside in falling snow and tense silence, and when the five of them could finally breathe once It had been conquered, once and for all. As far as he knew, that is. Rich could tell a million miles away Marge was thinking loudly, an entire cyclone in that mind of hers.

While still nodding along and playfully jabbing at Will, he scooted his chair closer to hers. Marge rested her head in her hand, taking a thoughtless sip of her beverage. Beneath the table, Rich softly nudged her leg with his, keeping it there until he knew she was looking at him out of the corner of his eye. His pizza had long since been forgotten, dusting stray crumbs of the crust off of his hand with the help of his pajama pants. His mother would've bopped him over the head if she knew he had done that.

Silently, Rich opened his palm to her, still chatting it up with Will. Ronnie and Lilly had moved to a conversation all their own, Marge remained quiet, glancing at the boy's hand. Rich waited patiently, allowing her to take her time. She stopped swirling her cup, setting it on the dining table with a light clunk. A sheepish smile tugged at Rich's lips when he felt the warmth of Marge's palm collide with his, her fingers sliding in between his perfectly. He enclosed his grip, using his thumb to tenderly caress her skin.

He made sure to keep the conversation flowing, still hanging on to Will's every word. Although, he couldn't help but spare a glance in Marge's direction, the girl's face reddening and her gaze averted with a hand covering her mouth. Rich felt the rising heat beneath his cheeks, Will's knowledgeable insight a separate thing for him to visit in the midst of pink cheeks and intertwined fingers. Marge squeezed his hand one time underneath the table, and as he'd done plenty of times before, Rich squeezed back.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps made their way downstairs, growing louder as they trudged closer to the dining room. For a split second, Rich thought he'd been transported from his lover's house to a military training ground. Like, come on, how can someone sound so assertive just by their feet alone? He didn't know why his body tensed as that familiar piercing voice rang through the house again, he looked to Marge, who sat rim-rod straight in her chair.

"How's everyone liking the pizza? Was it good?" Mrs. Truman asked, a wide smile on her face. A flat out fake one. Marge dropped Rich's hand to fold them in her lap. Everyone nodded, more out of obligation than honesty. Rich felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, forcing a toothy grin back at the woman. Mrs. Truman had her hair over one shoulder, a robe covering over her nightgown. To Rich, she appeared tired, like she was struggling to hold herself together as is, even if she was fine in the moment. Now he knew where Marge got it from.

First impressions were important to him, Rich's father made that clear the moment he expressed an interest in Marge. Mr. Santos had a trick or two when it came to wooing the ladies. Rich sat through long talks about how to give a proper handshake, how to straighten up when in front of the girl's parents, stuff Rich knew how to do but never understood the importance of until now. This was his time to shine.

Despite the energy in the room screaming at Rich to keep his ass glued to the chair, he refused. This was a perfect opportunity to show Mrs. Truman who her daughter fell in love with. And by the great turtle, he'd make it count. Rich leapt up, maybe a tad too fast. He went with the flow anyway, making sure to not blow this moment. Marge's head whipped around, eyes wide, a silent plea to not do anything stupid. Anything so very Rich.

The rest of the table held similar expressions, Ronnie closed her eyes as if to brace herself, Lilly clenched her clasped hands tighter, Will sighed in disappointment. Mrs. Truman stared at the boy, her expression perplexed, whatever sentence she had locked and loaded was quickly disregarded at the face of a twelve year-old. She fixed on him like an eagle to a mouse.

"Ricardo Santos, ma'am. But, you can call me Rich," he declared, hand slightly shaky as it outstretched toward Marge's mother. He tried to ignore the tremor in his voice, feigning confidence in the face of one of the most intimidating woman he's ever met.

"It's nice to.. meet you," the woman replied skeptically, hesitantly taking Rich's hand by the tips of his fingers, shaking them up and down.

Welp. So much for first impressions.

The boy cleared his throat nervously, returning to his seat with his head low and cheeks burning. He scooted his chair in too close, clasped hands in his lap too eagerly, staring at the table as he let the wave of what he prayed wasn't a failed introduction wash away. He caught Marge glancing at him for short moment, the hint of an amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. He stared back at the table, hearing the piping sound of Mrs. Truman clearing her throat, the woman's gaze fix on Marge.

"Now! I doubt Margaret here told you all about the rules, so let me handle that."

Oh brother.

All five kids remained silent as Mrs. Truman spouted rule after rule, Rich looked to Marge who exhaled a tired sigh through her nose. She kept her posture straight throughout the entire retelling, the woman firing off rules Rich didn't even knew existed. Coming from a latino household, there were many things his parents put into place that he understood.

Some rules were mildly bothersome in his opinion, he's a kid after all. Though, if he didn't know the girl sitting beside him tonight, Rich would've thought she was living in federal prison. Whether it was better or worse than Juniper Hill was up for debate. Marge didn't know how her parents functioned as adults, but Rich didn't understand how Marge functioned as their daughter.

"..And also, no one stays up past ten, understand? Everyone's free to use the bathroom…" Mrs. Truman explained continuously. As the five of them listened, Rich saw how Marge mouthed along with her mother, having known every single word she ingrained in the girl's head before their arrival.

Across the table, he saw Will fighting for his life not to yawn. Lilly sat as straight as Marge, if not straighter, a polite smile on her face as she bobbed her head to everything her mother said. Ronnie leaned back in her chair, arms folded and chin up. Rich was in the process of leaning his elbows on the table, stopping himself once Marge shot a look of warning his way.

"And finally, absolutely no one goes outside. There's enough nonsense going on in this town with missing kids and burning buildings. I don't need any of your parents banging on my door because one of you thought you were brave."

Rich's brows creased involuntarily, feeling something deep twist inside him. He knew Mrs. Truman didn't mean to sound harsh, at least he hoped not. But he couldn't help but feel mildly offended. Because one of you thought you were brave. Oh please, if only she knew what the five of them dealt with.

He looked to Marge, who had her eyes to the plate in front of her. With yet another exhausting round of head nods, Mrs. Truman finally left the dining room, telling them all to leave their plates in the kitchen sink once they were finished. Safe to say they were after all that.

Shoulders sagged, backs slumped, and everyone released a breath they hadn't known they'd been holding. Lilly clicked her tongue, already having known how Marge's mother could be when guests resided in her home. Guests that weren't her own, that is. Will shook his head, folding his arms disbelievingly before speaking.

"And I thought my parents were strict."

"Marge, were sneaking you out tomorrow morning, no questions asked," Ronnie remarked, laughing at the absurdity.

"I'm real sorry about her, you guys. Mom can be…"

A lot. Mrs. Truman could be a Hell of a lot.

Rich shook his head, taking Marge's hand as he looked at her sympathetically.

"You don't have to apologize, Marge. We understand," he reassured.

She tried to focus on his words, though she couldn't help but chuckle at the pizza sauce on the corner of his mouth. She pointed to herself, indicating that Rich had a minor inconvenience on his hands. He raised a brow, puzzled at first. Realization dawned on him shortly after, quickly licking around his mouth in a quick attempt to clean his face.

"You shook Mrs. Truman's hand with pizza sauce on your face, Rich," Lilly chuckled, earning a groan from the small boy. His face was flushed, he most likely just screwed up his first impression with his future mother-in-law. He turned to Marge, who shrugged with a chuckle.

"I think she was caught off guard by the handshake, I guess," she spoke.

"If you could even call that a handshake, that was the saddest thing I've ever seen!" Ronnie guffawed.

"Better luck next time, Rich," Will laughed.

Plates were cleaned up, or well—Stacked on top of one another to be taken care of in the early morning. All five kiddos returned back to Marge's bedroom, Rich never taking his eyes off the girl as they walked up her staircase and down the hall.

To be solidified in love, was something still so so surreal to him. All it took was a clown to bring the two of them together, oh—and a hate crime. We can never forget about the hate crime. It had felt like just yesterday Rich was seeing her walk down the hall, a half-eaten empanada in his hand, and a dreamy smile on his face.

Now look at them both, still learning to live and heal despite it all. Rich wondered what their future had in store for them as the years went by.

He couldn't wait to see where they ended up.

What an adventure it would be.

On the floor, a civil game of Truth or Dare took place. As civil as it could be, at least. Four were arranged in a loose circle, Lilly laid atop Marge's bed. She had just finished her round, moving on to the next victim.

"So, Rich. Truth or dare?" Will asked politely.

"Hmm.. Let's switch it up this time. Truth."

Will was seconds away from opening his mouth before Ronnie interrupted, his face lightly shoved away by the girl's hand.

"Say Rich, who's your crush?" She asked him, a mischievous smile plastered on her face.

Rich stared at them puzzled, he thought it was painfully obvious by now. He intertwined Marge's hand with his, lifting it up to show the group.

"..I thought you guys knew already?"

Marge blushed furiously. A wave of "awes" chorused in the room, she hid her face with the only hand not intertwined with another. Though equally flustered, Rich beamed under the collective coos, raising their conjoined hands higher in the air. It was a trophy of accomplishment for all to see. Rich wanted the world to know he had won over his fair maiden.

It was getting later in the evening, stomachs were content, and minds were calm. For the most part, anyway. They remembered what Mrs. Truman warned them so adamantly about. The rules sunk into each brain like dissolving Alka Seltzer, all five understood. Do not stay up past ten. And for the sake of ole' Pete, just don't go outside. Though, they were tossed aside by Marge.

She had other plans tonight.

So, once teeth were brushed, blankets wrapped around shoulders, and a movie played in the background, conditions for sleeping had never been better. And with friends? It was all the more lovely. Time ticked by, Rich rested flat on his back, eyes to the ceiling. He had his stuffed trogon tucked in the crook of his neck, hands under his head.

Breakfast at Tiffany's played mindlessly in the background, Ronnie and Will exchanging quiet words with one another. The incoherent blends of dialogue and music were the main thing keeping his brain awake in that moment. Though, Rich knew it would be soon until he eventually succumbed to the tiredness of the evening.

His limbs were askew heavily on the soft spread of blankets, full of happy exhaust and needed relaxation. Marge's ceiling was bare for the most part, all except for a single dream catcher over her bed. Rich never believed in those doohickeys, but since last April, he felt he might give them a try. During the night time, nothing else worked to quell the nightmares. Time could only do so much to mitigate the memories. No matter how long Rich waited, they'd always find a way back to him.

He turned his head slowly, Marge slept on her side facing him. She gave Lilly her bed, the girl refusing at first until Marge insisted. She felt safest when by the boy who saved her life, and Lilly had the worst body aches when she slept on the floor. It was a win-win for all. With a heavier blanket draped over her, Marge slept contently.

Rich would've never thought anything bad had ever happened to her, not on the surface. Her face was relaxed, hands tucked into her side or under her cheek. His gaze softened the moment he saw her, the scene felt so intimate in a way that was completely ineffable to him. The luminescent glow of the television that just barely painted Marge's face, blocked by Rich, shown on her like a living specter.

Like La Milagrosa.

Marge never slept in her eyepatch, though on a few accounts she has forgotten at times. With how often she wears the accessory, who could blame her? The elastic band faintly itched behind her ear in the mornings, on the occasions she didforget. The indent of the patch made her look like she took a clean fist to the eye. Her mother would always chastised her for it, saying how it could lead to reduced depth perception, yada yada yada. Who cared? Not her.

Rich had gotten to see her scars up close and personal when they were fairly fresh, still stitched up and healing. He thought of that day often, maybe too often. Though now, the only remnants of scarring left were raised lines of pale pink flesh. Thin keloid scars that painted her eyelids. Rich's heart hammered before he could help it, they looked beautiful to him.

The moment that clawed hand snagged her leg, dragging her into the dense fog, body slamming against thick ice, Marge's mind went into overdrive. Glasses gone, body freezing, with the diminishing knowledge of whether she'd live or die. That feeling had been instilled in her from the moment a table saw met bulging eyes.

It loomed over her, gloved hands braced on his knees as he rattled out a wheezing chortle. Strings of saliva dripped hungrily, piercing yellow eyes bore into Marge's like malevolent drills.

"..Oh, I've always wondered how you'd taste, Margaret Santos."

She scrambled backwards with a horrified rumble that jumped from her throat, thudding roughly against a hefty piece of drift wood. None of this made sense, not in the moment. Not right now. That damn clown was a few feet away, bumbling and drooling, going on about things Marge couldn't begin to understand. She had no time to when razor sharp teeth could be seconds away from being in his mouth then into the flesh of her face.

"Oh, but not yet…"

He rose up from his knelt position, fists balled tightly.

"Not Santos yet…"

Marge Santos? Yeah, nice try, buddy. Oldest trick in the book. The clown took a dramatically slow step forward, hunched in a way that told Marge he was anticipating sinking his teeth into her. The thought made her heart pound fearfully, feeling like her skin had come alive. Crawling.

"First comes love, then comes marriage," He drawled, emphasizing each word with a firm step forward.

With a final foot to dense ice, he growled out the last words.

"..Then comes Richie in the baby carriage!"

Bells jingled and rattled as his head shook with maniacal laughter. The sound grated on Marge's ears, he stared at her, pausing for a moment to swiftly counter himself.

"Unless… Unless he dies with you.."

Marge cried back instantly, claiming she had no idea what Pennywise was talking about. Wind whipped her hair, snow circling around the two of them like a dance made for death. Out of thin air, he revealed a rolled up paper, uncurling it with finesse.

A missing poster.

A boy.

With a smile she'd seen so many times, she could point it out in a crowd.

Glasses with a prescription that appeared so strong, it made Marge's stomach clench tight with distant familiarity. His hair was dark and short, wavy though pressed against his forehead, with a nose similar in shape to hers. Marge had never seen this boy in her entire life. So, why on Earth did she feel a vague remembrance of him? Like she had known him the whole time, yet could never pin point why.

Then he said it. Shouted it.

"Your son!"

Penetrating amber eyes grew wilder as waterfalls of drool dribbled down the clown's chin. That mortifying expression would haunt Marge for years to come. Fear struck colder than the air surrounding her at the sharp words next to pelt her like hail. Pennywise expressed a face so full of mocking desperation, Marge struggled to understand if he was being serious or not. Of course he wasn't, It never was. However, this time…

"Don't you recognize your little boy!?"

The words seemed to echo out into the world, marking the start of an indelible twenty-seven year ache in Marge's soul. She sobbed, gaping up at the sheet of paper. Remember that knife from before? It ran straight through, leaving part of her stuck. The crazy thing was, Marge sort of did recognize him. Again, she didn't remotely know how, unless—

Unless he wasn't lying?

Unless this was what fate really had in store for her?

He bumbled and babbled on again, Marge's mind too frantic to catch up. She could never manage under a situation like this, it'd be nearly impossible to. The clown mentioned something about the past being the future, the future being the past, and the present being the exact same. Good Lord, this is not a chronoception class. If it was enough to confuse him, there was no chance at human comprehension. Marge didn't even begin to try.

It shook his head again. "They can't fence me in.. Not them!"

He slowly turned to Marge, dangerously slow. The glint in his eyes were intentional, full of malice and a deep seated thirst for blood.

"..And not you."

He grinned wide, sinister and crooked. Another bout of saliva fell from his lips, spewing as he sneered.

"Beep beep, Margie."

A sharp gasp tore through Marge's throat, ripping her from her sleep. Pitch black covered every crevice of her bedroom, all except for the eerily faint glow of movie end credits. Desperately, she put a sweaty palm to her heart, the rhythmic intensity of it felt as though it would burst from her chest. The nightly cold of her room surrounded her, feeling as though she were trapped in that thick fog. Trapped in fate. However, at the same time, she felt uncomfortably warm, face and back faintly sticky with sweat. She hated nightmares.

The rest of the group was still asleep. The girl kept note of the soft snores of Will from across the room, and the delicate creaks of bed springs when Lilly would rustle slightly. Marge sighed, running a hand through her hair as she let herself be in the moment. Just like Rich said. Remember what he said, she thought. The dark had a funny way of morphing harmless shapes into the most God awful things imaginable. Especially when fear took root in the soul, the mind would follow suit. Monkey see, monkey unfortunately do.

Marge knew nothing was there with her, at least she hoped nothing was. She put her glasses on, squinting and blinking her eyes to adjust them. The warmth of Rich's body near hers was a comfort during the lingering emotions she wanted so greatly to leave her. Marge could outline the shape of him, curled up with his stuffed animal while his head was tucked snug against his pillow. Sleep was the last of Marge's options. She wouldn't risk going back to that place, alone at the clawed hands of an inexorable monster.

She wouldn't go back, she couldn't.

Before getting up to go downstairs, she planted a featherlight kiss to Rich's hair. Marge left as quietly as possible, so as to not disrupt the others while they slept. She tiptoed down the staircase, trying to ignore any tricks her mind played on her. Shadows that danced along the walls, the whistling of wind that sounded too similar to childlike screams. She turned a lamp on in the living room, sitting heavily on the couch.

Marge groaned in her hands, keeling over as she used everything in her power to stay calm. The words that damned clown threw at her like missiles repeated in her mind. Each syllable louder than the last. The harsh winter winds continued to howl outside, exacerbating the gutting emotions she already felt. Marge couldn't wait until summer.

She didn't like being cold at night.

Rich's hands got real dry during the winter, his mother had to shoo him out of their bathroom whenever she saw him using up her Noxzema. One of these days, he'd save up enough to buy his own. Safe to say his throat got dry during the winter, too. When sleepy eyes caught the warm light peeking through the partly opened door, the realization of Marge not being next to him laid uneasy on his mind. He could be overthinking it, maybe she just needed a drink of water. Just like him.

Rich patted the head of his stuffed trogon, carefully getting up to maneuver his way out. Cold feet sank into the blankets covering the bedroom floor, Rich squeezed quietly through the door, shutting it with a gentle click. As he made his way downstairs, he played a game of chance on each step. They were in dire need of repair, the amount of times they creaked were beyond the boy. Every time bare feet met wood, he was afraid the big bad wolf Marge had for a mother would spawn to huff and puff and blow him away. Right back into bed.

Downstairs, a singular lamp illuminated the living room, sitting on a coffee table by the couch. Though, Rich's eyes were much more drawn to who sat on it. Marge had her knees tucked against the arm of the couch, arms folded as she rested her head away from him. For a moment, Rich could've snuck right past her to the kitchen with the assumption she'd been asleep. But damn the floor as well the stairs. One step forward and suddenly—

Creeeaak…

Marge's head rose, cocked curiously to the side, though she stiffened once she realized who it was. Rich felt unusually awkward where he stood. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, glasses that sat crookedly on Marge's face. He still couldn't believe how beautiful she looked even at night, he could only imagine how unpresentable he came across. This wasn't a red carpet event, he'd be fine.

"Hey you," he yawned, smiling drowsily. Marge returned the expression, making room for him on the couch. He sat gingerly beside her, crisscrossed.

"'Hey' yourself… Couldn't sleep?"

"About as much as you could, so no."

"Y'know, they say when two people can't sleep it's because they're thinking of each other."

"Seems on brand for us," Rich chuckled.

He glanced at Marge's hands, the girl thoughtlessly picked at her fingers. He reached over, stilling the fidgeting. He knew her too well.

"Can't risk you getting a hook for a hand," Rich teased.

Marge chuckled under her breath, nudging him gently. He leaned back on the soft cushions, turning his head to face her.

Blue eyes were despondent, a quiet war behind them Rich silently pondered the answer to. The answer as to why sleep evaded his love as quickly as a mouse escaped a cat. Marge's eyepatch was left behind in her bedroom, the scars caught light, she blinked tiredly.

Water could wait, Rich thought.

"What's on your mind tonight, pirata?"

His lips held a smile that told Marge she could take her time around him. She could breathe around the topic. As he gave space for Marge to gather her words, her knee fell from the couch to bounce anxiously. Rich reached out to still that for her as well. She leaned on her elbows, inhaling until her lungs were full. Silence stretched between them, the rote ticking of a clock in the kitchen made Rich swallow subconsciously. Marge covered her face with her hands, removing one as she turned to Rich. His breath caught when he saw tears brimming in her eyes.

"Marge? Woah, woah, woah, it's okay. What's the matter?" Rich sputtered, taking the crying girl into his arms, letting her head rest against his chest. She held on tightly, one fist balled firm in his shirt while the other gripped desperately on his back.

"..It's coming back, Rich," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

A cold feeling shot through him, like his blood had been replaced by pure ice. He didn't want to assume any wild answers. Marge could be talking about anything, right? But that look in her eyes, the boy hadn't seen it in some time. Though he knew just what it meant.

"I-I don't understand, what are you talking about?" He asked cautiously.

Marge shook her head against his chest, as if trying to refuse reality altogether. Her breathing was uneven, tears soaking through the light fabric, a storm of panic that would form a hurricane if Rich didn't do something. Soft hands were gently laid over hers, uncurling tense fingers from his shirt. Rich's heart sank at the sight of flowing tears, eyebrows creased with hopelessness her didn't even know how to unravel. He gazed down at her, slowly pressing soft kisses to Marge's knuckles. Once her quickened breaths grew calmer, he spoke.

"Start from the beginning, I've got you."

And so, Marge did. She told him everything, down to the last detail. And Rich sat there, holding her as her voice trembled and choked back sobs. A hand he hoped wasn't too cold carded careful fingers through locks that appeared golden in lamp lighting. He let the words float around in his head, working as bubbles for him to pop and fuss over later. For now, he let them be what they were. Though, he knew they weren't just words Marge spoke out into the surprisingly comfortable night. Comfort came downstairs to the get a drink of water he never got.

Once Marge finished speaking with a shuddering sigh, Rich never stopped his care towards her. The information was heavy—No, it was fucking crushing to hear. He partially couldn't get over the fact he'd still get to be the love of the teary-eyed girl in his arms. Well past high school, and into their adult lives. He thanked his lucky stars for that. Maybe life still had exciting and admittedly scary plans for them. But that's okay, right? Whatever they faced, they'd face together. It seemed like Marge forgot that every time her brain decided to be troublesome to her.

"Dios mío," Rich breathed.

"It's bad, right?" Marge sighed.

"It's definitely… A lot to take in."

Digesting this was much more demanding. Much more demanding than pizza. Rich continued to card soft hands through even softer hair, letting those mental bubbles full of Marge's words pop. As each bubble gave way, Rich let himself breathe under what they may mean for the both of them. The future is out of their control. Yes. Pennywise will die yet again if their son is born. Double yes. Rich didn't feel fear under the weight of sentences uttered in increasing certainty and dismay. A little knot of anxiety, that's to be expected. But never fear. Maybe that's why Pennywise hated him so much.

"I wish we could all forget this shit," Marge sighed, Rich held on tighter. "Like—Remove our brains and take out the memories, y'know?"

Rich nodded, providing Marge with a sad smile. He reached over to wipe away a stray tear on the verge of falling. She pointed her gaze to him, eyes still glassed over. With a sniffle, she spoke once more.

"Can we just… pretend instead?"

Rich exhaled lightly, a fond sound he could only hope made Marge feel better. He cupped her cheek in his palm, tracing over the skin wet with tears. The amount of pain he had never known she'd been carrying made Rich's heart ache dully.

"Now, where would that get us?" he asked.

The girl merely shrugged, letting the silence of the room answer for her. The wind had died down, it didn't sound like screaming anymore.

"We'll give it time. Let's just see where we land, okay?" Rich consoled.

"I wanna land on our feet," Marge replied dejectedly.

"We will, te lo prometo."

Marge raised a confused eyebrow, Rich cleared his throat.

"I promise you, Marge Truman."

She smiled sheepishly, averting her gaze to her lap. Rich held out an inviting hand, Marge took it without question. He put his head on her shoulder, the peaceful silence that followed feeling like a well-needed break from the winter chill. Both kids sat in silence, still letting emotions and prophecies settle like mica flakes in a snow globe.

Marge's cheek rested on Rich's head, the two of them stared out into the distance. Like the receding waters of a shore, shadows on walls were just shadows. Tiny blue game pieces were just plastic, not a premonition of what both kids knew was inevitable now. And as haunting and dour as they were, nightmares were just nightmares for this late February evening.

"If this bothered you so much, why didn't you wake me up?" Rich frowned, breaking the silence.

"..I didn't wanna be a burden," Marge replied.

The boy clicked his tongue, squeezing her hand gently.

"Hey, you're only a burden to merchant ships and coastal settlements."

Marge snorted at the sudden joke, cracking the first wide smile she's had since Rich came downstairs. He laughed along with her, consciously taking note of how quiet they should be. He chuckled again, wiping an amused tear from the corner of his eye.

"You're starting to sound like Will," Marge giggled. Rich shrugged, a dopey smile on his face.

"That's not such a bad thing, he's got knowledge for days."

He considered his next words thoughtfully, thinking up a way to land this plane as smooth as possible.

"But.. You're not a burden, Marge. Not to me. Never to me, mi doncella hermosa."

Marge and Rich stood in the kitchen, moving around as quietly as possible, pouring their long awaited cups of water. The ticking of the kitchen clock pointed to a quarter past one, the night was quickly losing its youth. Through the kitchen window, a dusting of snow covered the backyard. No matter how many times Marge saw it, the sight of falling snow would always be a such a magical experience to her. She looked to Rich, who was still sipping his water. Once he caught her eye, he made a curious sound.

"Wanna teach me how to dance again?"

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, standing on tiptoes to look out of the window. Freshly fallen snow, the love of your life, and under the stars? Sign him up! Although, one tiny roadblock Rich worried about stood in their way.

"But Marge, your mom said we can't be outside at night!" Rich whispered cautiously. The girl intertwined their hands, a hint of mischief in those blue eyes he always got lost in. She peered out of the kitchen, then to the back door.

"Do you see my mom anywhere?"

Rich shook his head, Marge grinned. He couldn't help but reciprocate.

"Exactly."

She timidly kissed his cheek, telling him to hang tight while she went to get her hoodie from the family coat hanger. Rich put a palm to now warm skin, simpering while he waited for his love to return. Marge zipped her red hoodie halfway, grinning as she sauntered over to the back door. Rich had no extra layers, thugging it out in a T-shirt and pajama pants. She stopped once she turned the knob, concern etched on her face.

"Where's your coat? Didn't you bring one?"

"I was in a rush—"

Marge shot a deadpanned look at the boy, folding her arms.

"..To see you."

She tried to ignore the butterflies, she was supposed to be disappointed right now.

"Let me get you something so you don't die of hypothermia."

After a couple minutes, Marge came back with her father's navy coat. It was the only article of clothing she didn't have to risk going upstairs for. Even though she was lucky her mother slept like the dead. Rich put one arm through, and then the other, the coat hung low to the ground, clearly too big for him. But boy was it cozy.

Like everything they had to do, Marge made sure to make as little noise as possible when opening the backdoor. The backyard light was on, snow blew at their hair softly, dusting both their heads like powdered donuts. Rich took Marge's hand, getting completely tangled in the moment. She followed immediately, fits of lighthearted giggling flooding the night. The freezing of bare feet packed against fresh snow were disregarded in the jumble of snowflakes and flushed cheeks.

The two of them spun around in circles, pairs of hands holding one another tightly while laughter filled the air. Rich pulled Marge in, the comically large coat making him appear like a beaming dark mass. She hugged him tautly, breathing in his scent while they swayed around the yard in a loose manner.

"Te amo mucho," Rich breathed, Marge's heart stuttered pleasantly. His casualness intimated to Marge that he assumed she didn't know what he had said. It's a shame Rich only had enough time to peek at the sketches Marge had done of him, he would've seen the Spanish-English dictionary under the pile of books she read for school. General interests, people. General interests.

"I love you too, Rich."

He squeaked in surprised, gawking up at Marge with wide dark eyes. She awkwardly laughed at him, shrugging as casually as Rich had uttered those words to her.

"You know!?"

"Okay, so I've been reading to understand what you say to me at times, so what!? Plus, you say that phrase to me so much, the dots had to connect at some point."

Rich's eyes were still large with shock, the fact that someone in this backwater town took the time to get to the root of his person. To understand him on a deeper level, warmed his heart more than Marge would ever know. It was a gesture wrapped in so much love, he didn't know what to do with it.

He couldn't find a way to express his gratitude. Not in the moment. Actions did speak louder than words, after all. Rich cupped Marge's face lightly in both hands, the sleeves of her father's coat sliding down his forearms. His gaze was soft, a look that told her what to expect. On his tiptoes, bless his heart, Rich leaned up to capture Marge's lips with his.

Eyes fluttered shut, Marge removed her glasses so they didn't get in the way. Her arms snaked around his waist, getting lost in the feeling she hadn't felt since the thirty-first of December. Rich stumbled backwards once they broke away, mutual breaths forming clouds in the night sky. Afterwards, awkward laughter changed to something more solid, now a youthful and convivial exchange.

"I don't want this to end," Marge muttered, a delicate hand on his wrist.

"It doesn't have to." Rich kissed her again.

"Life is what we make it."

On the snowy ground, they laid facing each other, snow dotting their figures like glitter. Stargazing, talking, stealing glances at each other here and there. Time had been forgotten in the frigid outdoors, warm company was all that was sufficient.

"Now, let me ask you this," Rich started,"Would you still like me if I were a dog?"

Marge hummed theatrically, putting a thoughtful finger to her lips. She laughed before she spoke, garnering more curiosity out of the boy.

"Sooo, to love you as you are? Of course, I would. I already do."

"Hey!" Rich gasped, throwing snow at her.

She returned the favor, flakes of snow getting caught in Rich's unkempt curls. Easy laughter found its place between them once again, eyes shifting to the starry February sky. Noses were cold, hands were red and raw, melted snow soaked into hair and clothing. Rich inched his pinky to Marge's, linking them together.

"Marge?"

"Rich?"

"You draw me really well, just so you know."

He felt the grip on his pinky finger tighten imperceptibly, a short groan escaping Marge's lips. She covered her face with her forearm.

"You weren't meant to see that, I knew there was something I forgot to put away…"

"Esta bíen, capitana," Rich chuckled,"You got my good side."

Just as Marge was about to retort, she startled at the sound of car door slam. Both kids leapt up from the snow, hands returned to their rightful owners.

"Margaret? Is that you?" A man's voice called.

He was tall, wearing a heavy cassimere coat, along with a dress shirt tucked into beige slacks held up with a brown belt. His hair was dark, combed to the side. His pushed up his glasses, squinting through the falling snow. Yep, that was—

"Dad!?" Marge yelped. Rich remained silent, giving the man a polite smile and wave. Would Marge appreciate a second first impression? Maybe? Maybe not?

"You kids better get back inside, it's below freezing! And past bedtime," Mr. Truman scolded. Rich and Marge dashed back to the house, giggling despite getting caught.

Once they were back inside, Mr. Truman set his belongings on the kitchen table, he stared at both kids like he was discovering an entire different species. Their faces were flushed from the cold, and… other reasons. Regardless of the circumstances, the man found it amusing, cracking a barely concealed grin at how spent they both looked.

"Mom said you weren't coming back until really late," Marge said skeptically. Mr. Truman nodded to the clock, the time reading half past two. Time flies when with your person, I guess.

Rich's hair fell partly flat in front of his face from the melted snow, deciding silently whether to say something. He looked to Marge, who folded her arms in embarrassment. Mr. Truman looked between both children, shooting his daughter a knowing smile, and Rich a look of curiosity.

"You must be the boy I've heard so much about, Marge told me she made a new.. friend. At school," He smiled. This was Rich's chance, well—Second chance. He cleared his throat, extending a hand.

"Ricardo Santos, sir. But, everyone calls me—"

"Rich! That's the name, I knew Margie said it a few times, it completely slipped my mind. Put'er there!" Mr. Truman grinned with a click of his tongue, shaking the small boy's hand firmly.

"That's a mighty fine handshake, y'got there, Rich! Did your pops teach you that?"

"He did actually!" Rich chuckled nervously.

He remembered he had been wearing the man's coat and quickly took it off, apologizing as he gave it back to him. Mr. Truman slung it over his shoulder, chuckling at Rich's fretting.

"Don't fuss over it, I'm glad you kept my coat warm for me!" He told him.

Marge cleaned her glasses on her nightgown, they always fogged when she came inside from the cold. She stepped forward to give her father a short hug, the man squeezed once, letting her go with a tender hand on her head.

"We're gonna head back upstairs, good night dad," she spoke, a tone that said she wanted to get this meet and greet over and done with. Mr. Truman yawned, nodding before shaking his head to ward away the drowsiness.

"Of course, I won't tell your mother about this, so don't you two worry," He laughed softly, zipping his lips with his fingers. Marge reciprocated the gesture, smiling warmly at her father. She left the kitchen, Rich was quick to trail behind but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, expecting a sudden reveal of Mrs. Truman-esque behavior, but was met with a different type of seriousness. The seriousness of approval, the seriousness of a father.

"Take care of her, okay?"

A determined smile, although small, graced Rich's lips. He nodded once, opening his mouth to speak.

"Always, sir."

Rich caught up to Marge, both of them ultra-conscious of the creaking steps. One after the other, he held onto the banister.

"So," Rich started, his voice hinting to Marge he was about to say something to push her buttons. "'Margie', huh?"

"Don't start, Ricardo."

Once they reached the top of the staircase, Marge's bedroom light was already on. What the Hell? Had Big Bad Wolf Truman woken up after all? This couldn't be good. Rich stared worriedly at Marge, blue eyes held the same expression.

They both quietly approached the door, the girl taking the handle firm in her grasp as she turned it. Ronnie leaned against Marge's bed with her arms folded, Lilly and Will sat crisscrossed on the bedsheets. Three pairs of tired yet teasing eyes stared back at them, each one concealing bouts of laughter.

"Since when did you guys wake up?" Marge bewildered.

"Since we heard you two laughing like a couple of hyenas," Ronnie replied with a smirk,"How was stargazing?"

Marge's face reddened.

"And, just how long were you guys watching..?" Rich asked, embarrassed.

Will had that iconically polite smile on his face, "Awhile, you guys were in your own world. We didn't want to interrupt," he told him. Rich pursed his lips as he stared at the ground, he couldn't argue with respect.

"We knew something had to be going on down there when we noticed you two missing," Lilly put in.

Snickers were passed around, full of lighthearted teasing. Marge and Rich exchanged looks, both knowing they wouldn't be able to live this one down for a long time. With a resigning sigh, Rich shrugged carelessly, patting the floor as he yawned. He supposed time really had caught up to him in a way, because good Lord was he tired.

Marge hit the lights, shrouding everything in darkness once again, though this time, her mind refrained from playing tricks. Will clapped his hands softly, leaving Marge's bed to join them on the floor. Ronnie didn't have to be told once, Lilly hesitantly joined. She knew her back would be hurting in the morning.

"Dog pile!" Rich declared, laying flat on as many people as he could. Limbs rested lazily on everybody, a foot in Lilly's face, a hand in Ronnie's, and Will unfortunately being met with the boy's backside. Rich was shoved off, the group laughing as loud as they should during such a late hour.

Blankets found their way over bodies once again, warm and surrounded by content quiet. Marge found Rich's hand easily, the two of them lying side by side just as before. Exhaust crept into the souls of all five kids, the kind of exhaust where one doesn't even need to pretend in order to sleep. It just happened. Once the eyelids were on the verge of succumbing to inevitable rest, that's all it took. It was like closing the curtains at the end of a show, just to rinse and repeat the next day.

As Marge slept, she didn't worry about the nightmares she feared would rear their heads for a second greeting. She pushed prophecies, premonitions, and predictions aside, letting the boy beside her be a reminder of why she was able to rest easy. Whatever life had in store, it'd have to go through her first before it ever touched him. It didn't lie this time around, of that, Marge was convinced. And now, with reinforced reassurance, she didn't care whether Pennywise lied or told the truth.

She leaned in closer when Rich sleepily drape his arm across her midriff, Marge tucked her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Down to her core, in the center of her soul, she knew they'd be alright. The future couldn't be controlled by mere mortals, absolutely not. Though, maybe that was a good thing. That, in turn, meant whatever was meant for her would be. The good and the bad, both would be. She didn't need insight to know she'd still be alright in twenty-seven years. She'd still graduate, get a job, buy a house, and settle down with a family. With an oddly familiar son who shared the same dorky smile as her equally dorky husband.

For now, she let life carry her down its winding river. Planned or unplanned, no one could truly know what awaited them in future years. However, Marge did know that with company at her side, hearts all bound to one another, it made that winter cold finally feel warm.