Chapter 6: part 1

"Get the fuck out of here faggot!"

Bowers words still ring in his ears, his hands still tremble the same way, and he can still see all the boys in the arcade slowly move back and away from Richie as he left. Like he was dirty. Like he might touch them. Like it might be contagious.

His feet couldn't carry him any faster, back to that stupid statue in the middle of the park. But he's done this before, he knows if he stops there Pennywise will attack him, torment him.

At the time though, he didn't even know who Pennywise was. Or if he was even real.

He goes to Eddie's house like he always did, climbing up the side of his house, using the tiling of the wood to boost him up. He tapped at the window and like always, Eddie opened it, not questioning what it was this time. It was all too familiar.

All Richie wanted was to play a extra round with the cute boy who obviously was interested in him as well. But if he had known it was fucking Henry's cousin he would have left way earlier.

He hobbled in, watching the other boy, while wiping the sweat off his glasses, onto the bottom of his shirt.

Eddie seemed to be putting away the last semblances of the school year under his bed, old notebooks he wanted to keep, and other school supplies.

Summer had just begun, and it was pretty great. Besides that little mishap in the arcade. Richie didn't want to have to think about all the kids who will now think Richie was a fairy once he started high school in 3 months.

Eddie moves to sit on the bed, it was small, twin size, perfectly made and clean. He scooted over, letting Richie sit next to him.

And Richie gladly did so, watching the way the corner of Eddie's lips twitched when Richie put his hands on his sides, tickling him just slightly. Just to hear that tiny little giggle.

God listening to Eddie laugh was something out of this world.

They didn't speak. Just looked at each other.

And something strange built up in Richie's chest, something so warm and fuzzy yet at the same time hard, and heavy. Threatening to bubble up his throat and expose him.

It happened everytime he was alone with Eddie. He'd get violent butterflies in his stomach. Except they were larger, more menacing, ravens and crows, trashing around his insides, stuck in a tar pit. The more they struggled the more they got stuck.

"Ed's" his voice surprised both Eddie and himself, not exspecting it to come out. Eddie looks at him, bright eyes gracing themselves onto Richie. He gulped.

"I love you."

It came out, long and foreboding. It made his skin crawl, and his body want to implode on itself. This was true fear.

And Eddie looked at him, expression unchanging. "Rich..." he began, voice seeming hoarse, broken.

Richie hated the way it sounded.

"I mean it Eddie. I love you. As in I'm in love with you." It took every ounce of courage for Richie to get those words out, he wasn't good at this, Eddie was the brave one.

Eddie shook his head, frown contorting his face. "No, no. You don't."

"Yes. Yes I do! I have always sort of known. I have always felt it dee—"

"Beep Beep" Eddie howled, causing Richie to jump. It was almost inhuman, a annoying screeching noise that made him flinch.

"What?"

"BEEP BEEP"

"I didn't even say anything—"

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP—
BEEep beep beep

Beep.

Oh.

Richie shot up out of his bed, punching the alarm clock as hard as he could. Albeit more then truly necessary. Why the fuck did a alarm go off on a Sunday?

He groaned, feeling the light of morning leaving a burning sensation in the back of his eyes. He fell back into his bed, shoving a pillow into his face, feeling the need to scream.

Everything was just so frustrating.

"Ow fuck." He hissed, his knuckles beginning to throb from the pain. "Fucking dumbass" he castigated himself, tugging at his hair.

Then there is a knock at his door, and he freezes.

Did Beverley actually send someone to collect him? Did he really have to talk about his feelings so early in the morning?

He didn't even have the time to tell anyone to come in, when his door opened, it creaked at the hinges, and his mother stepped in slowly.

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything?" She questioned, keeping her hand on the door knob.

"No Ma, it's all good. What is it?" He peered, looking from under his pillow, to see her shuffle awkwardly. A forced smile on her lips.

"I made breakfast for you honey." She coo'd, Richie's eyebrows shot up, probably blending into his hairline in shock. It's been years since she has made food.

There was a pause, one that he didn't really realize was there as his brain tried to comprehend everything after just waking up. It was made apparent when she cleared her throat, getting his attention again.

"Oh. Okay. Thank you Ma, I'll be down right away." He tried to sound casual, but he really didn't know how to speak to her. He felt like he had to be unnaturally formal, like talking to someone you just met for the first time.

She leaves his room, closing the door behind her, and he can't help but smile a little. Well at least she is trying. Even though it won't last very long, it was still nice, for the time being.

Getting out of bed is a feat in an of itself, but he manages, walking across the hall to piss first, he can't help but spot himself on the mirror, almost recoiling at the sight.

The bags under his eyes weren't getting much better. His lips were pale and cracked, and his fucking hair was to the point of no return. The back of it was matted, like a raged dog, it was oily, and so tangled he would probably have to shave his head again. He hated the way he looked with short hair. And just when he got it to a decent length.

He didn't bother trying to shower or clean up, just hurried downstairs to see if what his mother said was really true.

He first noticed the presence of his father, sitting at the dinner table that they rarely ever use, and that his father, never used, it was a foreign sight.

He was hesitant but pleasantly surprised, when his mother brought out actual food. It wasn't quite the homemade breakfast that Bill's mother would make, it was freezer sausages, and pre-made pancakes. All she really did was warm it up. But it was still nice. And she did, make eggs. So that was something.

He sat down, across from his dad, as she sat next to Richie.

The second thing he noticed was the orange juice placed in front of him, in a clean glass non the less. They have never had anything other then alcohol in their fridge, it was crazy to imagine someone went out and purposely bought anything else.

Richie's father seemed to crack a grin at him when he noticed Richie staring at the juice. "I didn't know what you'd like, but I hope that's okay?"

Richie jerked slightly, but not enough for it to be noticeable. He nodded his head, smiling back at his dad. "Yeah, no it's great, I like orange juice." He didn't, he preferred apple, but there was no point in saying it.

His father seemed pleased with that, taking a sip of his beer. Richie looked over, seeing his mother, similarly with beer by her side. Never too early to drink in the Tozier house apparently. He noticed the makeup covering her black eye was splotchy, and not blended well. But no one spoke of it. No one ever did.

Richie looked down at his plate. Everyone had the equal amount of food, and he smiled, a real sincere one. It felt like they were a family. Moments like these were always so surreal.

He ate his sausages first, laughing softly to himself as he made very dirty jokes about the implications.

He ate both pieces quickly, realizing again how hungry he really was. That seemed to happen more often then not, he was getting too good at ignoring his body's needs.

He was about finished with his food, before his mother plopped a extra sausage on his plate. He turned to her, seeing she had sacrificed one of her own.

He made a questioning look at her, and she shrugged. "I've noticed you haven't been eating that often. Thought you might need it more then me. You've been looking thin." Turns out she actually does pay attention.

"Thank you." He honestly means it. Next thing he knows half of another sausage is placed not as gingerly on his plate.

"Sorry, I'm still hungry." His father laughed, shoving the other half of the sausage into his mouth. Richie just beamed up at him. "No, that's more then enough. Thanks."

It was nice. It was. Even kind of wholesome.

But deep down he knew they are just trying to make up for what happened that night. Trying to say they were sorry, trying to win him back. He doesn't let it take away from his good mood however.

After finishing everything, Richie cleans the dishes, as his parents settle into the living room.

Once he was done, he made his way to the couch, surprising his parents as he sat down with them.

He was testing the waters. So far, they are still.

His father lights a cigarette, blowing out the smoke towards the cracked window next to the tv.

Richie didn't really pay attention to what was on the screen though. Just soaking in the moment, basking in the feeling just a little longer.

There are a peace that settles among the three of them. He felt like maybe everything would be alright for once.

Then his father speaks. "So. What did you tell the Denbrough's." His voice was monotone, unmoving, his eyes never leaving the tv.

The water rippled.

"I didn't say anything." Richie answers, trying his best to defuse whatever might happen.

"Oh really?" His father challenges, finally turning to look at Richie. He can feel his mother stiffen on the other side of the couch.

"Then tell me why Mrs. Denbrough was so adamant about letting you stay with her until school starts?"

"What?" Richie's face scrunched up in confusion, "I didn't know about that?"

His father took a long drag, never breaking his eye contact with Richie, the cig burning to half its length. "Right. Like I'm supposed to believe that."

Richie's leg began bouncing, itching to get him up and off the couch, away from his father.

"I-"

"Did you tell them what I did?" He leaned in closer to Richie. "Did you guilt them into letting you stay?"

"No. I didn't."

His father made a 'tut' sound with his teeth, but seemed to leave it at that, turning back to look at the tv. Richie kept his eyes glued to his father, watching him absently smoke and prop his feet up on the coffee table. He tried to relax again, turning to watch the gameshow, what ever gameshow it was. Mindless entertainment for a busy brain.

He thought over everything. The breakfast, the good natured jokes. He let out a shaky sigh, looking over at his mom who was curled up next to the armrest, eyes glued to the tv, not daring to make her presence known, lest some type of bomb go off.

Oh but she didn't need to do anything. The fuse was already lit.

It was almost instantaneous, but also slow. The burning feeling on the inside of his arm. His head moved down, trying his best not to wince.

His father was putting out his cigarette, using Richie's arm as a appropriate method of doing so. Richie didn't even flinch however. He was used to it, though, not on the sensitive flesh of his inner arm, just right below the elbow joint.

He watched as the flames went out, leaving his skin red and irritated. It matched all the similar scars on his legs. Though this time his father wasn't being carful anymore. He probably didn't care to hide the blister garnishing his son's skin.

It was his own form of punishment. Other kids would get grounded, maybe get their games taken away for the weekend.

Richie would be burned.

The feeling, was more intense, felt like his flesh was boiling. His arm, he just realized, was far more receptive then his outer thighs.

Even when his father pulled away, the burn still screamed, pulsing painfully, leaving it tender and inflamed.

He looked over at his mother, keeping the small tears in, determined to keep a straight face. She was watching, had seen it all, but turned a blind eye.

The water became a wave.

All of it, the nice warm feeling in his gut, it didn't last long. There they were, back to the way it's always been. How it would always end up.

Wordlessly, Richie got up, neither of his parents protesting, as he made his way upstairs to the bathroom.

There was already a mark, red like crimson and raised into a bump, some of the skin having been seered, leaving it slightly bloody.

He reaches for the cabinet, finding some rubbing alcohol, and cleaning the wound.

He hissed at the feeling, biting his lip to keep himself from cursing out.

He was able to cover it in some Neosporin they had behind his mother's pills, and looked around for some bandaging. Of course they didn't have any.

He moved to sit on the side of the bathtub, focusing on breathing. He didn't know why he found it so hard to do. He just stared at the new scar, wondering if it was just the start of a new matching set he'd be force to don.

He shut it eyes, clenching his fists tight, forcing his tears not to leak.

Then there was a knock at the door that startled him. He worried that it would be his mother, but the knock was so gentle, he knew it wasn't.

"Come in" he spoke, voice hoarse.

The door opened after a moment, behind it a smiling face, that slowly turned not too cheery when he saw Richie.

It was Ben, peering into the restroom, eyes scanning over him. Beverley must have sent him.

Richie sighed, getting up slowly. "Hey Haystack, how you been?"

Ben didn't answer, just moved out of the way, wrapping his hand around Richie's, and pulling him down the stairs.

They leave without saying goodbye. But it wasn't like he really ever did that to begin with. And it wasn't like they cared to know where he went, every time he did.

"You good Ben?" Richie questioned once they were outside the house, and Ben just pulled him into a hug.

Richie stiffened in his arms, becoming more and more confused by his behavior. "Hey, Haystack what's wrong?"

"I should be the one asking you that." Ben deadpans, squeezing Richie, and he hesitates. He feels all the tension in his body build up. Ben rubs his back in soothing circles, and he gives in, hugging him back. The tension melting out of all his pores.

They didn't even need to exchange words, as tiny tears fell over the edge of his eyes. "Shhhh" Ben whispered, patting Richie's back, and his body almost went limp. He had really needed a hug.

It took a while for them to pull away, but when they did Richie was already feeling so much better.

"Thank you."

Ben just smiled, patting his shoulder, before looking down at the very apparent mark left on his arm. His eyes grew concerned, quickly looking up at Richie, looking for a answer.

He just shook his head in response. He didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Ben looked like he was about to argue, but stopped himself, just nodding and giving Richie the time he needed.

His friends were too good to him.
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This time Richie was in Ben's house. He felt like he was being tossed around like a hot potato, between everyone in the group. Taking his shoes off before walking on the carpets, he followed the other boy into his bedroom. Ben had mentioned, that the rest of the losers would come by at 3. It was currently only 10 am. So they had 5 whole hours. He didn't know what to do with all that time, but apparently Ben did.

Richie looked at all the posters on his walls, New Kids On The Block scattered around. Ben was less ashamed of his admiration for the band, once he had gotten the support he needed from everyone else.

"So why did you pick me up early?" Richie asked, moving to look at the legos on his desk.

"I don't know. I just. I was worried about you. Wanted to check in on you. I had a hunch."

Richie turned to look at Ben, who was picking up a few towels.

"Well?"

"My hunch was right." He sighs, moving to grab Richie's hand, Richie allowed it, not having enough energy to fight it.

They walk to his bathroom, much larger and cleaner then Richie's. Not to mention, so much nicer. The bathtub was separate from the shower, and the counter had two sinks on both sides, with a large mirror above it.

Ben set the towels on the counter, moving over to put a stopper on the bath drain, and began running the water, feeling it, and waiting for it to get warm, before moving to pour soap in it.

Richie just kind of stared, not really knowing or understanding what was happening. He decided to voice his concern, "what- are you doing?"

Ben turned to him, and exhaled, staring at his face. "We are going to fix your hair." He says, sounding determined. Richie groaned. "I don't want to shave it off though?" His protest heightenly apparent by the squeak in his voice.

"We aren't going to cut your hair Rich." Ben shook his head, moving to rest a supportive hand on Richie's shoulder. "I'm going to de-tangle it."

"What are you crazy? That shit is so matted, it feels like a fucking brick back there. You'll end up ripping all the hair out of my scalp before you can get it untangled."

Richie wasn't going to do this again, he had tried before, when his hair had gotten that bad, it was so painful, and annoying, pulling at the hair just for it to get even more knotted together. The brush would just get stuck, and his scalp would be stinging by the time he would make any progress. He had just chopped off his hair after that.

Ben gives him apologetic eyes, squeezing his shoulders. "Trust me." He basically begs. Richie only agreed, because Ben had those puppy dog eyes you could never say no to.
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So there he was, naked in the bathtub, the bubbles covering his lower half, while Ben, wearing swim trucks and a t-shirt that was currently getting soaked, sat at the edge of the tub, legs on either side of Richie's torso. The bottom of his claves submerged.

Richie's back was facing Ben, and it had been maybe 15 minutes of silence, as Ben's hands, covered in conditioner and soap, slowly unraveled his hair.

Richie wondered if Ben was even doing anything back there, because he barely even felt a tug, Ben was being so carful, and incredibly gentle, that it made Richie feel all fuzzy inside.

"So. How long have you. Been feeling this way?" Ben finally breaks the silence, reaching over to cup some water in his hand, running it through Richie's hair, grabbing the conditioner and squirting more into his fingers.

"What way?" Richie tried to figure out. How long has he felt tired? How long he felt stupid? How long he felt gay?

"Depressed." Ben clarified, tone all knowing.

Someone who was fine wouldn't have let their hair get this bad.

Richie sat there for a moment, not saying anything. Ben didn't seem to push it though, still delicately moving his fingers through his curls.

He didn't pull, not even once, while he did it.

"I don't know. Since as far as I can remember. Since the first time mom and dad fought."

Ben hummed in response, in a understanding kind of way.

So Richie continued, "it's just, sometimes it's bearable, sometimes it gets worse and worse."

"Has it been getting worse?" Ben's voice is as soft and delicate as his hands in his hair.

"Yeah."

And then they fell silent again. Richie idly playing with the bubbles, splashing the water as it got colder and colder. It must have been a hour, and his hair still wasn't close to done.

And when Ben gets up out of the tub, Richie thinks quickly it's because he has given up, and they really are just going to buzz off his hair.

He reaches for the plug, draining most of it, before pouring in more bubble bath, and refilling the rest of tub with much hotter water.

Richie watches, and when Ben moves to sit behind Richie again, he settles into his spot again.

"Why has it been getting worse lately." He slowly prods, both into Richie's hair, and into Richie's feelings.

He couldn't help it, Ben made him feel so safe, and taken care of. Richie allowed the words to spill out. "My parents have always been a issue. But I've never had to deal with them, while at the same time. My feelings for. You know."

"Boys?" Ben offers, moving to softly massage his hands into Richie's scalp.

"Not just boys." He presses on, swaying his legs back and forth in the water. "But. More particularly. Eddie."

Ben just lets out a airy "ha!" at that.

"Guess I lost that bet."

Richie slapped Ben's leg, getting another laugh from the boy before they settle down.

"Is it hard. You know. Feeling that? What's the worse part."

Everything.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe it's partially that it's weird, having feelings for your best friend. I don't want to ruin our friendship. I don't want to scare him away. Maybe it's because a part of me is still ashamed of being gay." Richie finally pours out, letting his mouth go on autopilot for him. Knowing he would over think everything if he didn't.

"But I think, really what it is. Is that I'm scared for him to know. Not just know I like guys, which is still a fear. Because what if he doesn't want to cuddle me anymore, or get near me, or hug—"

Ben interrupts him, by tapping his shoulders with his soapy hands. "Did that information make Stan, or Bill, or Mike. Or even me stop wanting to be near you? From what I heard both Stan and Bill let you sleep with them in their beds. And Mike even got you porn-"

"It's not porn. No one is naked in it."

"Still. I mean look at us. I'm literally bathing you."

Ben did have a point. Not a single one of them treated him any differently then before. So why did he think Eddie would.

"So what is it then. What are you scared of him knowing?"

"That I love him." That was the first time Richie actually admitted it out loud. In the real world. Not just in his thoughts, or in his dreams. It was real. And his first time saying it to anyone. Not even Stan, Bill or Beverley knew that information to the fullest. They just think he has a crush.

Ben stayed silent for that, not making any jokes, or comments. Letting it be quiet, allowing Richie to collect himself first.

"Why?" Ben knew the answer, but he also knew Richie needed to be able to talk it out, to finally pop open that bottle.

"Because what if he doesn't like me back? Statistically he is most likely straight."

"Wouldn't have pinned you as someone into statistics."

"I'm not. But. Uggh" he groaned, burying his face into his hands. "It's just. It breaks my heart. Every time I see him. I feel like I'm being broken into a million peices, but at the same time I crave it. I so desperately want to be near him, and see him, and hold him. It's so intense I can't breathe!" Richie slumped back, turning to look at Ben.

"I just want him to be happy. But it would hurt so fucking bad to watch him be happy with someone else."

Ben, this time, pulls his hands away, not moving. Richie can see his eyes, they are soft, and sympathetic, but oh so sad.

He looks pained, like he might cry, and as his gaze meets Richie's, he just nods his head. "Yeah. I understand the feeling." He chokes out. And Richie instantly connects the dots.

Ben understands the feeling more then anyone else.

Slowly, Richie turns back around, letting Ben get back to work, to keep their minds off of everything. The truth of the situation was far too much for both of them to deal with at the moment.

Richie lets 10 more minutes pass before speaking.

"This must be boring for you." He comments, relaxing into the now warm water, but making sure to keep his arm away from it, not wanting to feel the stinging sensation.

"No not really. I'm occupied with something. It must be much more boring for you, just sitting there." Ben says, finally finishing one half of the hair, making a satisfying sigh as he was finally able to run his hand through the hair there.

"Not at all ol' chap" Richie says, booming in a British accent. He had carefully placed bubbles over his face, covering his chin and upper lip, shaping them into a beard and mustache. He turns to Ben, grinning up at him. "I quite like becoming a soup. You shall call me, SOUP BOY, the boy of the soup! What are the soup ingredients you ask?" Richie strokes the bubble beard. "Well the main ingredients, are boys of course!"

"But there is only one boy in the tub." Ben laughs, moving to grab some bubbles and make a handle bar mustache.

Richie takes the opportunity. "Not for long!"

He pulls Ben in, causing the water the splash and slosh around, some of it getting on the floor. But neither of them care, both laughing loudly, while Ben pushes Richie, and he pushes back. They wrestle for a moment, just giddy and smiling, before Ben moves back to his spot.

"Alright, alright enough goofing off. I need to finish your hair."

And so he does. A much more playful and positive mood settles between them.

It takes another hour for Ben to finally finish. But he does, getting every single knot out, not hurting Richie once. And he is grateful.
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It's 1pm, as Ben bandages Richie's arm, wanting it not to get infected.

He lends Richie some clothes, while he goes and washes Richie's far more disgusting clothes, he was wearing for half a week.

There is a problem however. That is, Ben's clothes were way too big on him, made him feel like a tiny baby in a pile of rags.

Ben's t-shirt reaches Richie's knees, and his shorts keeps falling off Richie's hips. Ben had suggested they just cinch a belt around his waist, make a cute little dress. He received a middle finger, and a dirty shirt thrown at him.

At 2 pm they eat lunch, Mike being the one to bring it over. It was fresh, and so fucking good, Richie gorges himself on everything until he vomits. Then comes back for seconds.

3 pm, everyone else arrives. Bill with Beverley, having shared a bike, and Stan with Eddie. Those two always liked riding together, because they were always so particular about everything. Like two little clean freaks in a pod.

As everyone settled around the room, Beverley just laughed at the fact that Richie couldn't keep the shorts up. And decided to join him, putting on one of Ben's shirts and wearing it like a dress. Richie just knew Ben was probably blushing his head off.

Richie sat with Mike, who was combing his fingers through his, now no longer matted hair. "Nice." Mike would comment every once in a while, boosting Richie's confidence.

Though, Richie's eyes were looking across the room, at Eddie, who had his head in Stan's lap. Reading through a world record book Ben had laying around. He would cringe and make a face every time he saw something gross in the pages. It made Richie smile.

"Alright, so on Tuesday, everyone promises they can make it to the movies right?" Beverley clarifies, making sure to get a yes from everyone.

Richie says yes as well, knowing he has been putting it off for too long.

"Alright wonderful. And we are spending the night right?" She asks turning to Ben. He smiles and nods. "Yeah everyone can stay."

So they begin preparing, Stan leaving with Bill to go get extra sleeping bags, Mike going to get food, Beverley going to get clothes for her and Richie.

Ben went to go start preparing movies in the living room, setting up blankets and things.

Leaving Richie and Eddie alone.

He took a deep breathe and built up the courage.

"Hey spaghetti." Richie tried, moving to flop down next to Eddie, a shit eating grin on his face.

Eddie however didn't seemed amused, turning to not look at Richie.

Right, he wasn't talking to Richie.

"Common Ed's don't be like that. You know I'll tell you. Just when I'm ready." He tried to assure, reaching out to rest his hand on Eddie's hips, pulling him into his lap.

"Fuck you." Eddie hissed back, trying to squirm away, kicking and wiggling like a toddler, making Richie laugh.

Eddie keeps trying to pull himself up, and out of Richie's arms, but he has no leverage, and Richie has always been stronger then him. He just laughs even harder, as Eddie curses at him, it being half-hearted and also slightly amused. But he knew Eddie wouldn't admit it.

Then, suddenly he stills like a statue, it's so abrupt, it causes Richie to panic.

"Woah. Ed's you just have a stroke or something?"

Quickly Richie's arm is being pulled into Eddie's lap, his chest pressed into the smaller boys back. It was a familiar position, they used to sit like this all the time.

"What is this?" Eddie questions, seeing the gauze in the inside of Richie's arm.

Oh.

Richie didn't want to do this. But he knew keeping any more secrets from Eddie would just lead to more disaster.

He thought it over, not even realizing he was shaking, but didn't want to pussy out. "Take a look." He spoke, gentle, lips pressed into Eddie's hair, resting his chin on the back of his head.

Eddie slowly peaked, lifting the gauze before gasping. It was soft, so quiet, that if he wasn't so close to Eddie he wouldn't of heard it.

After a moment, Eddie begrudgingly pressed into Richie, knowing he needed to give him some kind of comfort, it being more important then being mad at him for the time being. He brushed his fingers in lazy patterns over the palms of Richie's hands, and they stayed like that for a while until people started getting back.

And then it was official. Another losers club sleep over, this time with every member present.

All Richie had to do, was survive.