pairing: reddie
5,558 words
rating: General
chapters: 7/7
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The Losers all stumbled out of the movie theatre, all laughing and giddy from the movie they’d just come out of— A Summer rerun of Pet Semetary. Despite it’s grab-your-seat-buddy’s-hand horror (even though it wasn’t the best made movie), they all knew how to make fun of any situation, giggling commentary to one another and causing playful havoc in the back of the theatre.
They stumbled out in the warm hug of muggy dusk Derry air (get it…derrière..?), and shoved at one another, laughing loudly without care into the dark blue sky.
“Last one to the club house has to sweep next!” Beverly yelled and bolted off into the direction of wherever the hell the clubhouse was from here, six silhouettes of friends chasing right after her.
“That’s so not fair!” Richie called down the road as they all booked it, weaving between street lamps and cracks in the sidewalk, eventually running through the forest that hid the clubhouse away. Nobody wants to sweep the dusty forest clubhouse floor, okay?
They all tumbled unceremoniously down the ladder and stood doubled over, catching the air they left back at the Aladdin.
“I don’t know who was- hff- who was last, but it definetly wah-wasn’t me,” Beverly stood, chest heaving.
“Keel over and d- god- and die, Marsh,” Richie huffed, staggering over to her and smiling brightly.
“We could- could all just work together and clean, it would take like five minutes,” Stan reasoned, taking his respective seat in one of the beanbags.
“He’s got a point,” Mike says, taking his rightful seat on the swing, Richie loved him to bits.
“Oh god, suddenly i’m sick and also out of town and dying on cleaning day,” Richie just barely ducked from the smack to the arm Eddie sent his way, laughing all the way.
“Shut up, Richie. You can help sweep for three seconds,” Beverly shoved his arm, playful.
“Miss Marsh! After our wonderful date, you betray me like this? I cannot believe it,” He threw a hand over his heart in feigned betrayal.
“Oh hush, we had a splendid time, what a romantic movie it was, Pet Semetary.”
“Oh, how right you are, my love,” Richie gave her a quick peck to the cheek, “A divine date, if you will. Just you and me,” He swooned.
“Alright luh-lovebirds, sit down and h-h-help me put uh-up a couple of posters,” Bill said.
“Coming, Sir Billiam the Third,” Richie hopped over, making noise of the wooden pillars and flooring, tugging anxious strings at poor Ben’s heart.
Fall was setting in, quickly making due of the small town of Derry. Leaves fell from trees, leaving them near-bare while others burned bright reds and oranges to any passer-biers.
The clubhouse held one, alone, Richie Tozier. He sat in the hammock, re-reading one of the comics Stan had brought out a while back from his dad’s crate (One of the releases of RoboCop. Huh.) He sat tucked comfortably wrapped in his own jacket, the inside just a little bit of a fluffy material compared to the outside. His shoes were thrown off under the hammock, legs tucked beneath his body as he leaned back, one arm occasionally reaching down to swing him in the hammock.
He was out alone today because sometimes his head just got too full, even for himself to handle. His head was so full of everything that it felt empty yet overwhelming, it didn’t cooperate with his motor mouth, and he couldn’t speak at all suddenly. It didn’t happen too often, but it usually happened when Richie was on his own, able to just brush it under a rug with no questions asking why he couldn’t seem to talk no matter how hard he tried.
It was one of those times, so Richie motioned vaguely to his mom on the way out, mouthing words like ‘clubhouse’ and ‘friends’. She gave him a kind and understanding hug, shooing him off. He was sure she’d let him off on his own, and she knew that sometimes he’d get like this, but he just felt a little embarrassed. To take some time to let his brain re-calibrate to the rest of his motor skills.
He flipped the next page, humming a made-up tune just so quiet that he could barely even hear it in the echo of his own head.
A creak of the floor (roof?) boards stole his attention, turning towards the laddered entrance where Ben was making his way down.
He took one look at Richie and smiled, Richie smiling back sweetly, albite nervously.
“Hey Rich, I didn’t know you were down here today. It’s cold though, are you sure you’re okay with just you’re jacket and jeans?” Richie forgets sometimes that as Ben got more comfortable around the Losers, he’s working his way up through smaller huddles of them, and talking more. Richie’s learned that Ben actually enjoys talking, although he’s still soft spoken. It’s hard to explain.
He could talk about a topic for hours if you’d let him. He loved Ben and his new comfortable side.
Richie nodded, humming minutely.
“Yeah? Well, I brought two blankets, so i’ll let you have one anyways. Miss Maggie would be real upset with me if I let you freeze to death,” Richie snickered and let Ben come over to lay his spare blanket over him, making sure not to cover his head.
Richie smiled as warmly as he could up at Ben, trying to signal how appreciative he was of him. How much he loved Ben so dearly. He tugged on his sleeve and spoke oh so quietly. “C’mere.”
It wasn’t much, but it didn’t feel so bad to talk for just a little bit.
Ben bent down, curious eyes and all, “Yah, Rich?”
Richie planted a small peck to Ben’s forehead, because if he couldn’t say how he loved Ben so, than he’d show it. Show don’t tell, right? Something like that.
Richie beamed at him, all bright eyes, crooked teeth, dry lips, and bandaids across his nose and cheeks.
A small blush crawled it’s way across Ben’s chubby, pale face. Across the bridge of his nose, and all the way to the tips of his ears. He smiled so bright, Richie might think he was going to go blind.
“Love you too, ‘Chee. Stay warm, okay?” Ben pecked a quick kiss to Richie’s forehead in return and receded to his own corner of the clubhouse. An old, small, thrown out Laz-E-Boy that the Losers cleaned up and tucked in the corner. He pulled the blanket over himself and flipped open a book he was working on reading through—Richie couldn’t read the title from here.
He turned back to face his comic and smiled, enjoying the silent and present company of a friend.
It was October now. October 31st, The Friday afternoon of Halloween, and there was a school dance taking place at Derry High (home of the beavers—lame, right? Actually beavers were kind of cool, credit where credit’s due).
Richie had showered after school (a miracle! Given he was terrible at remembering to shower), brushed his teeth (also a miracle, given the circumstances). He’d even put on his finest of halloween costumes— a werewolf. Because if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, and by god was Richie going to try and conquer his fear of werewolves by becoming one for a night. Funny how that works, right?
He’d maimed his hair, sticking it all over with hair gel, put on a pair of washed out and torn up jeans, old, mud-caked converse, put in some cheap plastic fangs, and worn his dad’s old letterman jacket over an old gray t-shirt (with permission to tear the jacket and muck it up a bit, give it some character). Bonus, since it read ’Tozier’ on the back in bold, red letters.
To top it all off, he splattered his face, clothes, and sneakers in fake blood. He looked pretty good, if he did say so himself. Objectively speaking.
“Rich! Bill’s here!” Maggie called up the stairs, “Hurry! You’ll be late!”
“Coming!” Richie frantically looked around, grabbing a pair of his old, busted glasses. It was the same prescription, just broken when he’d taken a rough tumble off the quarry edge one time, so they worked jsut fine, if not for the medical taped arms and bridge.
He gave himself a quick once over in the mirror, and ran for his life down the soft, carpeted stairs.
“Oh!” His mother gasped and smiled as he ran by, and for the door.
“Hiya, Big Bill!” Richie all but slammed into the door frame, hopped on adrenaline.
“H-hi. Nice costume. Scarily real, muh-minus the f-fangs,” Bill pointed out. He was a scarecrow, and he’d actually done a pretty cool job.
“Hold your horses, Tony Rivers,” His mom called from the kitchen, hurrying out with her chunky Polaroid, strap over her head and around her neck. “You two look so cute, I can’t not take a picture.”
Richie groaned and shuffled his way beside Bill, throwing an arm around him (holding up the finger just to poke fun), and beamed at his mom. Bill stood laughing beside him, throwing his own arm over his shoulder and giving the finger to match.
“You two and you’re stupidly crude humour,” Maggie laughed and snapped a picture, quickly shooing them off. “I’ll show you the picture when you get back tomorrow, now go! You still have to make it back to Stan’s for trick-or-treating!”
Richie knelt on a knee and gave a quick kiss to Bill’s hand, “Shall we, your highness?” He giggled.
“You’re so duh-dramatic,” Bill cackled and shoved Richie so he fell on his ass in the dirt front yard of his own house.
“Boys!” Maggie called from the overhang.
“Going!” They hopped on their bikes and quickly made their way off, laughing and making jokes the whole ride to the school.
Late November brought even more cold, and a bit of free time for the Hanlons. Farming season had passed, so the only work that had to be done was keeping all of the animals and indoor plants intact, as well as keeping the fields clear of weeds and prepping them for the next season.
Mike had invited all the Losers over for dinner, at request of his mother. She’d made a damn-good roasted chicken, straight from the farm, a killer apple pie, and potato wedges. Miss Hanlon made more than enough for all of the Losers, LeRoy, and themselves, so they were all helping in the kitchen to pack away leftovers to bring home (Miss Hanlon had insisted).
“Mikey, w-we can’t thank you enough for in-inviting us for d-duh-dinner. Thank you suh-so much Miss and Mister Hanlon,” Bill stuttered.
“Anytime. Y’all are a sweet bunch. Never change,” Jessica ruffled his hair and handed him a plastic, tin foil capped bowl of potato wedges.
“We sure won’t, Miss. Thank you for letting us take home some of your cooking! My mom’ll love some of this pie. Watch out though, I may come back to your doorstep with a basket and a red cape, sent to get some more,” Richie rattled off as he tucked a container of a couple slices of left-over pie under his arm.
“Richard, you sure are a catch,” Bill (Mister Bill Hanlon, not the lost-his-brother-to-a-killer-clown-from-outer-space, Bill) howled, patting him heavy on the shoulder.
“Thank you, sir,” Richie ducked his head, reeling himself back a bit, remembering that he had to be polite in front of adults and others.
“Sorry that I can’t take anything home with me, Miss Hanlon,” Eddie frowned where he helped Beverly wrap some pieces of chicken in fin foil, “My mom gets all weird about…everything.”
“It’s alright, sweetie,” She took his pale hands in her own, contrastingly dark ones. “I appreciate the thought. Plus, there’s just more for others. I’m sorry that you can’t take any home, I would’ve loved for you to have some more pie. You could use it,” She smiled, rubbing her thumbs lovingly over his knuckles.
Eddie looked up at her and smiled, shyly, “That’s alright. I’ll just steal some of Richie’s.”
“Hey!”
“That works for me if it works for you,” She patted his cheek gently before turning to help Stan wrangle some more wedges and potatoes into a tupperware.
“Rude. My mom will be so upset with you Eddie if you eat all the pie before she gets any,” Richie huffed, weaving around people in the kitchen while he snagged a tin foil wrapped piece of chicken or two.
“Oh, you’re mom loves me, Richie. Im her favourite child!” Eddie called over his shoulder, where he kicked his shin for taking the chicken.
“Da-Dang,” Richie stuttered, “You’re right.”
They all made quick work of taking almost all leftovers, leaving some for the Hanlons themselves, of course, and fared to say goodbyes all around.
“Thank you again, Miss and Mister Hanlon,” Ben said, Stan nodding along.
“Oh it’s no trouble,” Jessica smiled, her eyes crinkling kindly at the corners, “I’ll have to invite y’all over again soon! You’re so sweet to me, all of you,” She cooed.
“Please do, you’re cooking is amazing,” Beverly nodded, making sure of herself, “We’d all be honoured.”
They all nodded and hummed in agreement.
They parted their ways after one last round of goodbyes, all hopping on bikes and holding precariously onto tupperware containers or letting them rattle in bike baskets.
Right before Richie hopped to the seat of his bike, he called Mike over to him: “Mycicle! C’mere, would ya?”
Mike hurried over and gave Richie a once over, making sure nothing was wrong. “Yeah, Rich? What’s up?”
Richie held Mike’s face gingerly between his cold, frost bitten fingers, and planted a kiss on each cheek, one and two. “Thank you!” Richie smiled so bright that his face hurt.
“Oh, you know it’s nothing, ‘Chee,” Mike laughed, a deeper colour crowding his face.
“I know, and that’s why it means all the more to me, that you’d have us. You’re the best, and I wanna make sure you know it.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Mike laughed, loud and genuine, but not mocking. Just sweet, loving laughter.
“ ‘Course you do. You’re as perfect as perfect gets, Mikey,” Richie nudged up the kickstand of his bike and started to pedal up the gravel driveway, trudging with all the force he could muster. “Stay gold, Ponyboy!” Richie yelled over his shoulder, huffing his way over the lip onto the street and pedalling home.
The deeper into December they went, just past Christmas time and almost New Years, the colder it got. The cold nipped and bit at Richie’s uncovered nose and cheeks as he dug the toe if his sneakers into the old rotting wood of the abandon treehouse somewhere deep in the woods that were tucked snug behind Richie’s house.
He’d deemed this place his lonely hangout spot, outside of the clubhouse. It was closer to his house and a lot better for just. Alone thoughts. Richie’s not too sure what that means, but hey. Sometimes you just gotta swing your legs over the ledge of an old treehouse made by who-knows that’s definitely breaking several safety codes when it comes to architecture. Maybe he should ask Ben to help him patch it back up.
The sky was overcast, hung with dark and looming gray clouds that brought the sure threat of some more snow.
Richie was definitely not dressed enough to be sitting out here without another body source of heat or something, but at least the thick of trees made the wind less sharp, not as harsh to bite at his nose like a cat’s sharp teeth.
He laid back against the wood floor, small patches of snow shuffled to the side, while he kept his feet swinging over the ledge.
The treehouse had seen its own little share of graffiti over the years to clueless wanderers, most probably without anything to mark the old wood with, so it felt a bit like a safe haven for Richie.
One where he didn’t have to bare witness to harsh words and rumours about him, or what would be done to him if anyone found out about the recent discovery he’s had about himself (although maybe they all already know, given the school bathroom graffiti and words about him thrown around everywhere he goes and isn’t).
The crunch of leaves alerts a jolt of adrenaline down his spine, making him sit up quickly, looking around while the blood rushes faintly to his fuzzy vision and brain.
“It’s just me, ‘Rich,” Eddie sais kindly into the slightly foggy, gray afternoon air, his breath puffing out in front of him.
“Oh. Hey Eds. Sorry,” Richie shuffled aside to give Eddie room to climb up and sit himself beside Richie.
“Hey,” He puffed, the cloudy fog of hot air disappearing quickly.
“What’s a sweet thang like ya self comin’ ‘round these here parts for, pardner,” Richie asks in a thick Cowboy accent. Capital “C”.
Eddie stifles a laugh behind his mittened hand, tucking his two thermoses between his knees. Two?
“Watcha’ got two thermoses for? D’you have an alcohol addiction or somethin’, Eds?” Richie poked and teased.
Eddie gasped in faux offence and shoved at his shoulder, “No, idiot. I brought you some hot coco. But I had to make it at your house, because you know my mom wouldn’t ever let me have hot chocolate.”
“Yah. Did my mom let you in and tell you where I was?” Eddie nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Here,” Eddie handed him the second mug, unscrewing the cap of his own and blowing gently on it.
“Still hot?“
“Mhm. I just made it.”
“Mm,” Richie smiled affectionately down at Eddie and his cute, like, five layers. Richie would not be surprised.
“Eds.”
“Hm?” He looked up at Richie.
Richie set the thermos down beside him and took Eddie’s, placing it beside before holding Eddie’s face in his icy cold hands, him squirming to get away from the ice red tips of Richie’s hands.
“Asshole!” Eddie squawked, slapping at Richie but making sort of soft thuds, instead, because of his mittens. “You’re hands are like ice! Let go!”
Richie grinned and peppered little kisses all around Eddie’s face, on his nose and cheeks and forehead and chin and all over (except his lips).
“Richie!” Eddie’s fighting devolved into muffled laughs and giggles, swatting lightly at Richie’s shoulders more for how the pecks tickled his frost bitten face.
“You’re so cute cute cute! And so nice to me! Oh how my love is so sweet, just for me! Eddie my love, won’t you marry me so I can hold you tight forever to keep me warm and sweet,” Richie howled into the echoing empty yet fullness of the forest.
“Richie! ‘Chee! Riichhh!” Eddie clutched his stomach in laughter, doubling over, head pressed to Richie’s shoulder out of the ‘line of fire’ he’d quote later.
Richie busied himself, playing with the loose strings of Eddie’s top-later jacket and burying his face in his fluffy hair. It was kind of like his own, wavy, but not curly or straight really. He thought it was funny that they shared…hair texture? This sounds weird now.
“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Eddie wrapped his arms ‘round Richie’s middle, hugging them close. For body heat. “Is the hot coco good, at least? Your mom helped me make it. She said you liked extra marshmallows, even though I already knew that,” His voice was a bit muffled by Richie’s jacket.
“I haven’t tried it yet, but i’m sure it tastes amazing. Thank you, Spaghetti Head. Really. It means a lot,” Richie nuzzled his face more into soft brown hair.
“Mm. Of course, ‘Chee. I knew you’d be way under dressed and alone, probably out in the middle of the woods. I was right.”
“You know me so well,” Richie smiled, affectionate overflowing from his body, so much so that he hoped it flowed onto Eddie so that he could feel the love Richie felt for him, even the half of it that he couldn’t ever tell him.
Some days, there’s was a weird nauseating lump in Richie’s chest. Maybe his gut or stomach. Something. He’d get dizzy and queasy if he moved too fast, and his brain would be foggy and clouded over all day. His movements were slow and lazy. His mouth shut more hours of that day than not.
It was one of those days now, with lead heavy limbs and a paled pink face, maybe a hint of green undertone sitting heavy in his cheeks, stemming from his twisted guts.
He liked to call them wormy days. It made the uncomfortable, nauseating and rock heavy feeling in his body a little more light hearted. Made it not feel so bad, when the feeling of worms in your gut could be named something silly to keep your mind other places while you sat kicking your legs out over the edge of a dock at the foot of the quarry.
The sound of a bike pedal crunching on gravel to halt knocked the dazed out thoughts straight out his ear and into the murky water, making a small splash and plop, sinking and fleetingly gone.
“Hey Rich.”
Stan’s voice. “Hm? Hey Stan,” Richie turned to face him, smiling. It wasn’t a full smile but it was a smile nonetheless.
Stan came over and sat beside Richie on the dock, crossing his legs and their neatly tied laces. He opened his book and went straight to reading. Hummingbirds of the Caribbean. Stan had always talked about wanting to visit tropical places.
Richie tentatively rested his head on Stan’s shoulder, huffing a small, cloud of breath.
“Are you okay?” Stan asked quietly, not lifting his eyes from the pages of information. Richie teased him for it often but he’d never genuinely do it, he always found it interesting actually.
“Mhm…” He mumbled into Stan’s shoulder.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Not really. No.”
“Okay.”
So they sat there. And it was okay. If Stan said it was okay, then it was.
Richie dozed off lightly on Stan’s shoulder, eyes feeling as heavy as the rest of him had all day.
He was nudged awake after he’d fallen more asleep than he realised, Stan gently lifting his shoulder. “ ‘Chee, it’s going to rain.”
Always straight to the point, no easing it down. Richie always liked that about Stan, thought it was one of the many things that made him stick out.
“Wh…” He mumbled into Stan’s shoulder, pressing his face closer.
“It’s going to rain. We have to get up.”
Ah. So it was.
Richie nodded and lifted his head, rubbing gently at his face before standing and helping Stan up as well.
“Do you wanna come to my house and take a nap?” Stan brushed off his jeans and tucked the bird book into his bike basket.
“No. I think i’ll go home and ask my mom if we can watch a movie. Thank you though, I appreciate it,” Richie smiled.
The latter nodded and gave a small smile in return. “If you need anything, you have my home number written down in your phonebook.”
“Sure do, Staniel,” Richie picked at his nails.
“I have to head home before my mom starts to worry that I’m out too long. Bye Rich, i’ll see you soon.” And that was a promise.
Richie nodded and pecked a small kiss to Stan’s nose. An appreciation kiss, that he hoped didn’t come off as teasing, but to show the love Richie felt for Stan and how he always did just what helped Richie feel better.
A light pink dusted over Stan’s face, easily to be discerned by the cold. He hid a small smile behind his hand and gave Richie a peck in return. “Don’t die.”
Always so kind, Stan was. He hopped his bike and waved minutely as he began the pedal back to his house.
It really was going to rain now, maybe snow if the temperature had dipped lower than when Richie’d left the house. So he hopped his bike too and set off back home. Maybe he’d rewatch The Lost Boys with his mom, she loved that one (who didn’t?).
March 7th. Richie’s Birthday. A Saturday and everything!
He was…16 now. Yup. Born in the later half of his grade, so half the Losers were already older. The last birthday they had was Stan’s— July 13th, just 10 days after Mike’s.
Now he was sat on his kitchen counter, eating cake with the Losers and his parents, all scattered around.
There were a couple of gifts on the kitchen windowsill, the breakfast nook kind.
“You feel old, yet?” Beverly nudged him with her elbow, knocking his fork to miss his mouth.
“Nope. I still feel like the same old 15 year old,” He ate the rightful peices of cake that fell.
“Hm. Yah I get it. My birthday was just back in February, and I still don’t feel different. Next year we’ll be 17 though! That’s crazy.”
“Hm. I didn’t think of that. That’s weird, it feels weird,” Richie scowled playfully.
“Yup, sure does. What do you think everyone got you for gifts?” Bev spoke in a hush, peering over at the nook.
“Ooh, I hope it’s a dinosaur.”
“Really,” Beverly laughed, shoving at his shoulder while he tried to bite back a smile, “I bet my gift is the best. I’m a thousand percent sure, actually. My gift is so awesome and amazing that you won’t even have to open the rest of ‘em up!”
“Yah yah, sure, Marsh. Way to boost your own ego. If you’re gift is so great why don’t you tell me what it is?”
“Oh, well, I would. But I might’ve actually forgotten what it is. Too much cake.”
Richie fell into a fit of laughter, setting his plate down on the counter beside him and slapping his knee. “Oh, you would!”
“Hey!” Bev failed to conceal her own laughter, infectious as ever.
“What’re you two cackling about over here?” Went poked at Richie’s shoulder, smiling.
“Oh, nothing. I’m just trying to guess what all the gifts are like i’m shaking ‘em on Christmas morning,” He poked his dad’s shoulder back.
“Yah? What do you think my gift is?”
“Probably a bag of frozen vegetables.”
“You need it, you have next to no good stuff in your body.”
Richie lit up, over-dramatically licking his lips and patting his stomach, “Oh i’ve got plenty of good stuff in my body if you know what I m—“ Beverly shoved his face to the side, pulling his body with it.
“Beep beep, Richie! Nobody wants to hear that!” Went and Beverly laughed loud and unforgiving.
He laughed and slid off the counter, taking his now empty plate to the dishwasher. “Oh i’m being ganged up on by my own father and wife!” Richie howled like a wolf, “I’m all on my lonesome!”
“You’re so overdramatic, Richie!” Eddie called from the counter he had propped himself up on.
“Can it, Kaspbrak! You’re not even in on this conversation!” Richie slid over in his socks on the tile and ran into Eddie. To prove a point, maybe? Not too sure. The hindsight on this one wasn’t very far.
“Richie!” Eddie scowled, wrapping his arms over and around Richie’s head while he wrapped his around Eddie’s waist.
“Eds!”
“You’re so destructive! You could’ve slipped, or broken something. Or both!”
“But I didn’t,” Richie sing-songed.
“Boys! And Miss Marsh,” Maggie clapped her hands together to call all attention, “It’s time to open presents, and then get ready for a movie!”
They all hummed in mutual understanding, moving to all herd to the living room, where Richie propped himself on the carpet in front of the TV, back to it. Everyone else scattered about on couches, the floor, and into a Laz-E-Boy that was not meant for three people.
The gift opening didn’t take long, but Richie cherished every moment of it. It was weird, how the room felt like it was just overflowing with love for one another. It was a funny feeling not often felt in the presence of Richie Trashmouth Tozier, and yet.
Beverly had gotten him a box full of an assortment of candy from the drug store (best gift award).
Mike had gotten him a couple of blank tapes (something that Richie was seriously running low on).
Eddie bought him a handful of arcade tokens and a tape for a Beastie Boys album (he loved him so much).
Bill had bought him a comic pack for some lesser known comics, to give Richie something new to read (the thought melted Richie’s insides).
Stan had bought him two hot wheels cars (Yowza! They were sure to beat Bill’s.)
Ben had gotten a pair of old, hand me down skates from Second Hand Rose (bless his heart! Richie was going to bust his chin trying to skate if it was the last thing he did).
His mom and dad had gotten him a joint gift of a record, Meat is Murder by The Smiths. (Given he could only play it in the living room, since that’s the only place they had a record player, but he loved his parents, they were so cool).
He gave everyone hugs and ‘thank you’s while they packed away re-usable bags and threw out old wrapping paper.
“Before we pick a movie, we have another gift!” Beverly tugged Richie’s arm up from couch.
Richie tilted his head to the side dumbly. Huh?
“We have one more, small gift. To…repay kindness for everything that you do for us and how you always show us all how much you love us,” Bev smiled shyly.
“But, you shouldn’t have to give me something in return for me just telling you all how much I appreciate you?” Richie furrowed his brows.
“But we wanted to. Plus, it’s a free gift, so don’t worry about it,” Beverly smiled.
“Well…okay. What is it?”
“Kisses,” She beamed, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, “You always try and tell people you appreciate them through small kisses, platonic kisses. So. That’s the whole gift.” (Platonic might be pushing it for one, small [hah] part of the Losers, but hey).
“I didn’t even notice I did that,” Richie stared in awe, voice hushed.
“You do it a lot,” Stan smiled, just enough to not be out of character, but still show he was happy. He gave Richie a quick kiss on the nose, “You always act like my mom when we say goodbye for the day, but I still think that it’s sweet.”
“You always say thank you by giving kisses too, when you don’t think you can say it enough,” Mike beamed, holding Richie’s face gently to give him two quick kisses, one to each cheek.
Richie could feel his face warm up, probably pink in the mellow lighting of the Tozier living room. He hummed weakly in acknowledgement. He just felt so overwhelmingly full of Love, that he couldn’t say anything else even if he knew what to.
“It’s uh-always a joke, but I know yuh-you mean it h-how you do,” Bill laughed and gave Richie’s knuckles a quick peck.
“You’re all so nice to me,” Richie mumbled, throat too full of feelings to speak any louder, but maybe that was a good thing.
“We’re just showing you how nice you are to us,” Ben smiled kindly, his face rosy and red while he gave Richie a kiss on the forehead.
Fuck he loved his friends so much.
“Of course I get the grossest ones,” Eddie pouted, holding Richie face in his hands and giving him small little kisses all over. Although Richie knew he wasn’t really upset about it.
“Stop, that tickles!” Richie batted at Eddie’s shoulder.
“See! It does!” Eddie laughed and pulled away, shoving gently back.
“Of course, you can never escape your mother’s love,” Maggie came up behind him, kissing the crown of his head.
Richie’s eyes brimmed with tears, happy ones.
“But, I don’t deserve you all to treat me so nice,” His voice shook.
“Don’t say that, of course you do,” Ben reassured.
“Okay,” Richie nodded, because he couldn’t say anything else. He held his arms out weakly, hoping that they just understood.
And they always did. They crowded in for a big group hug, Maggie resting her head on her son’s, arms around everybody else.
Richie sniffed and buried his face into someone’s hair, he wasn’t totally sure who because of the fog overtaking his lenses.
“Thank you,” He warbled.
“Of course,” Mike smiled, the other five losers humming in agreement.
“Now that we’ve been sappy and lame—“
“You’re literally crying ‘cause we all have you little kisses,” Eddie said.
“No one asked you,” Richie laughed. “As I was saying. Now that i’ve bawled my eyes out to little shows of affection, what movie should we watch?”
“Anybody uh-up for the f-first GhostBusters movie?” Bill suggested.
“We could always watch The Lost Boys—“
“Miss Tozier pick, she overrules.”
“Beverly no-“
“What about The Goonies?”
“Do we have The Goonies?”
“Yup.”
“Everyone for The Goonies say ”i”.”