-taps on mic- is this thing on?

yo, it’s been a hot fuckin’ minute, huh? sorry for going mia--my muse ebbs and flows and it ebbed for a while, but the bitch is back!

sort of.

i’m gonna be slow. it’s inevitable. it’s just how i be. if anybody’s still around who wants to write, could ya give this post a like?? we can continue where we left off, we can start anew--whatever works for you (look at that siiiiick fuckin’ rhyme)!

glad to be back.

also, i hope everybody’s stayin’ safe, what with the virus and all. i am sending you all well wishes and lots of love!

        Remy breathed out a chuckle. Not the smartest tool in the box, huh. Remy raised a hand to wipe his face. He sniffled, turning his eyes towards the street, the vague direction of where they came from. “I’m the guy who wrapped up th’ attack. I’m th’ sparkle n’ magenta y’saw in there.”

        That’s one way to come out as a superhero, huh. Not that Remy was much of a hero.

        Inhaling, exhaling, Remy begun to relax now. It was strange - he almost felt like his good old self from ten years ago. From his mid-twenties, still carefree, still somewhat hopeful. Which was what he’d asked of Richie, huh? Don’t give me hope. And yet, here it was. Here it fucking was. He gave the other another once-over. Chewed on his bottom lip and if there was a hint of a smile, there, then, well - it would be the first in a long fucking while.

    “I work for SHIELD,” which, rule number one, you’re never supposed to tell anyone that. “Which is… Well. It’s superhero business. That’s about it.” Probably not a good idea to mention how he was the guy to normally volunteer for suicide missions, huh. Not that this had been one, though. Anyway - that would come later. “I owe ‘em a debt. I did some real bad things, people got killed, n’ I don’ really… Got anywhere else t’ go. I’m on, like… Four different medications just for th’ mental shit. And, uh - I’m a mutant n’, yanno, a guy. In case y’ didn’t notice.”

        Now there was a definite smile there. Sarcastic, crooked, more mischief than joy. But it was there. A hand reached out and one might’ve thought it was for a shake, but, well - this was a weird position to be shaking hands. Maybe it was to hold. Hell, Remy didn’t know, either - he just knew he was reaching out.

    “Remy. I’m Remy.” A pause followed as he exhaled a long, deep breath. “Is it, like… Weird t’ tell ya you’re handsome? ‘Cause, uh. Yeah.”

As Remy started explaining, things clicked into place. Holy fuck...

“...You’re a fuckin’ superhero?! What the shit?!” His soulmate was a superhero? God, he felt bad for him, because, “Yo, I’m sorry, man, but my job is a whole lot less badass.” Yeah, Richie liked his career—hell, he loved it; it was what he’d wanted to do since he was a little brat with big glasses and an even bigger mouth, since he was a bullied kid who found it easier to laugh at shit and make others laugh than to cry about stuff that just wasn’t gonna change (nah, he’d go home and do that alone...still did). Some things never changed. But a fucking SUPERHERO?! “I don’t have the balls for that kinda shit and I’m definitely too old and outta shape for it, but that is so fucking cool.”

But, from the way that he talking, it seemed to Richie that...maybe it wasn’t all that his comic books had made it out to be. Performing sure as shit wasn’t what he’d thought it would be. It was lonely, demanding, and unappreciative. In a world where actual fucking superheroes were real...he assumed the work could only be compared to public service...and public service fuckin’ sucked.

When that hand was extended, he found himself reaching for it with little hesitation, only pausing for a beat right before he slipped his fingers between the man’s.

There was a flicker of electricity (or something like that—a ‘spark’, as the cliché goes) when their hands met, seemingly fitting perfectly together, as if a missing piece had finally been returned to the right spot. It did just feel so...right. His jaw went slack, lips parted as he stared down at their interlocking hands in awe. And that same expression lingered, became even more noticeable, at the compliment, his eyes wide when he looked up at him.

        Probably not a good idea to mention that Logan definitely could see everything, huh. The guy probably reveled in the knowledge that Richie was fucking terrified of him. It would’ve annoyed Remy if it didn’t amuse him so goddamn much. The Logan he knew was a big softie, it was always so weird to him that no-one else saw through the grumbling and the glares. Either way - they weren’t here to discuss his parental figure, huh.

        Remy’s mouth dropped open for a beat, just to close again. His expression quickly fell, as well, to almost perfectly match the sadness in Richie’s.

    “I, uh…”

        Chewing on his lower lip, Remy glanced at the door. Then, turned to turn on a radio next to his bed. He wouldn’t turn it up super high - just enough to create a lil’ disturbance, were mister super ears out there to try and listen in. Make him work for his eavesdropping a little, y’know. Again, there wasn’t much Logan didn’t know - but Remy still liked at least the thought of having the illusion of privacy. Having done this, the cajun plopped himself down on his bed. Cross-legged, exhaling out a long sigh, staring down at his hands rather than face Richie and his huge, blue fuckin’ eyes.

    “I’m—… I dunno. I’m scared,” he begun, suddenly horribly aware how hard it was going to be to explain this. “I wanted to come. I always do, but, ‘s just… Like… I’m th’ new kid. I’m th’ weird kid wit’ the weird eyes, n’—… I know y’wanted me there. Like… You. I’m weirdly confident in that,“ the little cajun breathed out a small, joyless chuckle. “But, I just… I don’ want like, Stan n’ Bill n’ Eddie t’ just say ‘yes’ t’ me taggin’ along just ‘cause y’like me. I don’ want ‘em t’ resent you for draggin’ along someone they don’ want there, either.”

        He shook his head. Chewed on his bottom lip, again. “I’unno why I’m like this, either. I guess it’s, just… I ain’t ever had anyone want me ‘round before. ‘S weird t’ try n’ convince y’self that after thirteen years on th’ planet, someone finally does. N’, like, not just someone, but like… Alotta people. I dunno why that’s, like… A cause of distress.” Cue a shrug. Finally, Remy cast his gaze back up, to look at Richie. Those devil eyes glossed over, full of sadness and shame.

    “I’m workin’ on it. I promise,” it was more a quiet plea than anything. “I wanna keep gettin’ invited. I wanna come. Wherever y’ask me t’go.”

He didn’t want to make him feel bad so, when he saw the sadness in his eyes, saw him begin to tear up, he panicked.

“Oh, shit, Remy, I’m-“ he began, but managed to shut his mouth when the boy began talking. It meant a lot that he could be this open with him—boys will be boys, and boys don’t usually talk about the hard shit...or cry when they did; especially not in a town like Derry, with bullies like Henry Bowers. But...even though Logan scared the living *shit* out of Richie...he knew that he was safe here, under this roof (fuckin’ ironic, huh?). He was safe with Remy.

So, when his own eyes became heavy with the weight of incoming tears, he didn’t try to fight them. Instead, he let them fall, because he sympathized with the kid.

“They don’t like me enough to do me that much of a favor,” he teased with a forced grin. Of course, that wasn’t true; they were all weirdos. They were all losers. But...that didn’t have to be so bad, right? “Rem, they like you, believe me. Eddie’s not good at keeping his mouth shut about shit he doesn’t like, people included. Stan...Stan doesn’t have fun with people he’s uncomfortable around. But he has lots of fun with you! Laughs at your jokes, even joins in on shootin’ the shit with us now and again, ya know? And Bill...he’s our fearless leader. You wouldn’t be hangin’ with us if he thought there was somethin’ fishy there, and I’m not talkin’ about the tuna.” This time, the smile he wore was much more authentic.

He took the opportunity to plop down on the bed, bounced a couple times as if testing its integrity (or its jumping potential) and then looked around, taking the space in.

    “Losers for life,” he called out after Richie. This was true in many a sense, of course, but… Well. It only mattered in the one. Now, if only he could somehow internalize that, huh. Manage to convince himself that he was one of them.

        This was a concern he took with him, all the way home; the walk through the woods into their odd, stranded little cabin. Someone might not call it a house as much as it appeared like a summer cottage - didn’t matter to Remy much, though. He would be happy in a tent if it was a tent he could call it a home. Except, well - maybe in the winter. Anyway - it was, indeed, a home. And after catching up with Logan, having dinner and much deliberation - well. He pussied out. He wasn’t sure why some days were harder than the others (why one day, he was so ready to face this anxiety and the next not so much) but today was one of the harder ones. And he thought that would be that - he’d make another ‘oh, Logan needed me for something’ excuse and that would be dad. Rinse and repeat.

        Except, well - not today. Turns out the knock on the door hadn’t been for Logan after all and, ah, fuck. He’d probably never looked as much like a deer in headlights as he did at that precise moment, standing in the doorway to his room.

        Not that there was much sense in it (what with Logan’s super hearing and smell) but he closed the door after them, anyway. To create some illusion of privacy at the very least. It’s not like there was much Logan didn’t know by now, anyway - Hell, he knew more than Richie. Which was kind of messed up, huh - isn’t that supposed to be the other way around with teenagers? Keeping secrets from ya old man, not your friends?

    “Hey, uh… Sorry about…” he made general gestures with his hand, finding it hard to actually finish that sentence - or look Richie in the eye, for that matter. “You, uh. Y’guys have fun?”

Once off school grounds, the fuckery began. But it wasn’t the typical, first day of summer shit. Oh no, this was fuckin’ Derry. Kids were going missing! And Bill’s brother was one of them—how could they be expected to not investigate?

Honestly, Richie was all for it. He looked up to Bill a lot. He also liked being a source of distress for Stan and Eddie (he wasn’t a bully, he wad just obnoxious—there’s a difference). He was acting out, as per usual, looking for attention. Showing off. But his receptive, appreciative audience wasn’t there. And he never showed.

At first, he tried to stay positive, he really did! But, the lower the sun got, the less hopeful he became. By the end of the day, Richie was totally, completely bummed. Sure, part of it was undoubtedly due to how depressing and scary their exploration had been, but he had really wanted Remy to be there and he hadn’t been. That wasn’t how he was gonna start his first day of summer—their first day of summer together.

Richard ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was one stubborn son of a bitch.

After returning home, he cleaned up, ate dinner, and acted like he was just gonna hang in his room for the rest of the evening. He turned some music on, even grabbed some comic books, opening one up in case anybody came in, making it look like he had been mid-read but had gotten up to piss or something. And then, he climbed out the window, and off he went.

He’d walked Remy home a few times and had gotten familiar with how to get there. It wasn’t a long walk, although it’d be kinda scary making the trek back at night, but he’d do what he had to (but if his parents found out he’d been wandering around alone at night, they’d murder him and then blame it on the shit that was happening to the missing kids)—there wasn’t time to worry about that now, though; all he cared about was getting to see his friend...and getting past Logan.

Shit. The dude would definitely murder him, probably in cold blood, too. He could snap Richie in half with his bare hands and would do it if he breathed wrong. He was more scared of him than anyone or anything in this godforsaken town.

Fortunately, somehow, he managed to get through and, when he was standing outside Remy’s door, face-to-face with the kid, he was wide-eyed and drained of color.

“I think I just pissed my pants,” he said, voice quiet. He was surprised he hadn’t puked. “I feel like he can see everything, Rem.” He glanced over his right shoulder, then the left, before quickly slipping into his room, comforted by the closing of the door.

It wasn’t like Richie’d forgotten Logan—the dude was fuckin’ unforgettable, and that wasn’t meant as a compliment; he just had a general disposition for making stupidass decisions.

He was terrified. It was late and he, a degenerate, was coming over to talk to a cop’s son, for all intensive purposes. And now, having knocked timidly on the door of the cabin, he was contemplating making a fucking run for it. It’s not like Remy knew he was coming—he could just play it off like nothing even happened.

As the door opened, his balls recoiled, climbing up inside him and bringing a whole new meaning to the word ‘pussy’. He’d never been this close to him before and now, looking at this tank of a man, he was convinced he was gonna piss. Or puke. Or both.

“Uh...hey.” He cleared his throat, reached up to grab his frames and lift them back up his nose. “I mean, um, h-hello, Mr. Logan, sir. I, uh...is...is Remy home?” He swallowed thickly, gaze having fallen to the ground. Avoid eye contact. That’ll make things less scary. He’s just a dude. A big, muscly, scary dude. But a dude nonetheless. Just don’t say anything stupid. Well...anything else stupid.

    “Nobody’s cool wit’ bein’ alone.”

        A statement that didn’t really ring entirely true - well, at least in the sense they were speaking. Lots of people were. But, Hell - maybe these two just weren’t that kind of people. That would’ve been a comforting thought if Remy hadn’t already sold his soul to the devil for some resemblance of safety.

        He made no real protest to the other sitting down, though - he should’ve. But he didn’t. He was just so tired. Of being himself, of fighting this, of constantly fighting this uphill battle of being alive. “What d’you think I do for a livin’?” Remy replied, then. The back of his head hitting the wall behind them, as well. His body had begun to relax, now - his voice was losing it’s hoarseness, returning to a regular, quiet, low tone. “I just packed up a terrorist attack. Y’were there. Why d’y’think that is?” Because if his line of work wasn’t enough to convince the other to walk away… Well, strap in, because there’s definitely more.

        With a deep, deep exhale, his head lulled to the other side. He glanced towards Richie - for the first time really looked at him. This was his soulmate. Someone he could love. Fuck. His expression fell but a bit - eyes glossing over again as the cajun gently shook his head. “Where the Hell were you ten years ago?” He breathed out a mirthless chuckle. “I coulda been someone t’you then. Someone good. I ain’t so sure now.”

“How the fuck should I know, man?” he retorted. His already ADHD brain was overstimulated by all of this, so even though the guy was pointing out the obvious, his reaction was still: male model? stripper? escort? Superhero was the last thing on his mind. But it could’ve made sense, too—all superheroes are hot. Fortunately, however, he managed to keep his trap shut, having learned that the mention of looks was a big ol’ no bueno. But...

Shit. Now he was making the guy cry. This just kept getting better.

He needed a drink. A big drink. Hell, they probably both could.

With a sigh and a grimace, he pulled his feet in, sitting crisscrossed now, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees, back hunched. He shrugged. “What’s good anyway? Part of this shit is, like...seein’ the ugly side of your person, right..? I mean, I’ve got a drinking problem and masturbate way too much.” Oh, and I had to kill a guy and fight a space clown and I’m a forty-year-old virgin. But they could talk about that later. “You’re right, nobody likes bein’ alone. Shit sucks. But...I guess I’d rather be with somebody who’s destined to tough out the nitty gritty than do it by myself, ya know? There’s not a whole lot that you can throw at me that’s gonna scare me away, believe me.” He snorted, shook his head.

        Remy gave a few nods in response, a hum. Honestly, sometimes, he still felt a little like he was barging in on something whenever he hung out with these guys. It was just… They’d been a tight group of four for a long time, right? They had so much history and stories of things like… Like summer camp, all-nighters playing games and finding lizards in the backyard. Not only did Remy not have that, that connection spanning over years, but, Hell, he couldn’t even relate to that. He’d had the furthest thing from a normal childhood, after all - even stranger than your average mutant kid. Probably why he didn’t exactly talk about it a lot, huh - probably why he was the quiet kid.

        Because he liked them - he liked these losers, for all that they were. For however loud, neurotic, shy, fed up, frustrated, angry, sad or insecure they all were, Remy loved them all for it. He was horrified of fucking this up. Of scaring away the first people he could call ‘friends’ in his entire little life.

        So, more than a few times when they’d asked him out, he’d said he’d come over after dinner… Just to bail later. Sometimes because Logan wanted him home for something, sure - but more often than that, because he was scared. Scared he’d let something slip or, even worse - that he’d been asked to tag along in the first place because it was a courtesy invite. Richie wanted him around, sure, he believed that. And Bill, Stan and Eddie… They probably liked him fine. But did they want this weird kid with weird eyes living in the weird house with a weird man around them as much as he was?

        He, uh. He just wasn’t convinced.

        Remy, again, gave a few nods though. Remembered to put on a little smile. “Yeah, uh, after dinner, for sure. I’ll catch up,” He replied. Swung that empty bag over his shoulder, glanced towards Bowers and his gang again, watching them drive away. Thankfully.

    “Stay loud, so I’ll find’cha,” the cajun added as a little joke. Gave a lil’ grin, Eddie rolling his eyes, giving a comment that was something akin to a ‘like he knows how to shut up’. He was right, huh. Richie had always been the opposite of a quiet kid - good thing Remy loved him for that.

Something about the boy’s response left Richie feeling doubtful. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. There was a sadness to Remy that he got, sure, being a loser and all. Being on the outside looking in was so not fun, but like...he didn’t have to be. And he wasn’t really sure how to prove it to him. His brows were pulled together, a frown tugging the corners of his lips downward.

What if he’d done something to upset the kid? He couldn’t exactly think of what it might have been—there was a whole goddamn buffet of questionable shit to pick from, it wasn’t unlikely. But Remy was prone to encouraging his shitty jokes, his partner in poor decision-making. He didn’t even wanna consider the possibility of it being his fault, but...he was. Because he liked him. He didn’t want to fuck shit up, not when a friendship like theirs was so hard to come by, at this point.

“Yeah, I will,” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft as he forced a small smile, then slung his own bag over his shoulder, a few slow steps taken along the path that the trio had forged, but he quickly turned on his heel to face the other once more. He reached up, grabbed his glasses by the frame to lift them back to the top of his nose. “Hey, Rem!” he called, “you’re one of us, whether you wanna be or not, and it’s not just me saying that. We’re all real glad you’re here.” And there was truth to his decree, talks had when the boy was absent, subtle comments made in his presence (they were a group of teenage boys—they didn’t get to talking about emotional shit too much); he just hoped Remy knew that he meant what he said.

        Only now did Remy cast his eyes back upwards. Brow furrowed still, messy hair hanging over his features, rogue strands glued to his skin if not for the tears then for the sweat. “Th’ fucks it matter what I look like?” he replied, hoarsely. Yeah, yeah, he’d always been beautiful - but how much it had helped him in life, really? How much did he have to show for how hot he was? It didn’t mean shit. Helped him in his new line of work, maybe, but in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t mean fuck all.

        As defiant as his last words had been, though, that aggression vanished in a heartbeat. At least his breaths had finally slowed down, somewhat - what seemed like a panic attack was dying down, all the sensory irritation surrounding him bringing him back into this moment. Instead of fighting to stay upwards anymore, the cajun succumbed to his spaghetti legs and collapsed onto the street. Sat down, leaned his back against the wall. Inhaled, exhaled, steadily still.

    “You almost died,” he corrected. Voice hoarse, low - less desperation, more quiet confidence. “I wasn’t even close.” Hey, if there’s anything Remy knew, it was that he’s good at what he does. At least he could say that.

        Instead of completely reject or accept the offer of an embrace, he took pause. Stared Richie in the eye as he just… Thought, he supposed. Tried and wrap his head around the insanity that was his new reality. “Y’don’t know me. Y’don’t know what I do, or what I’ve done t’ get here,” He shook his head. Sighed, long and deep, raised a hand to rake his fingers through his hair. “Y’don’t want this. Trust me. Th’ last thing y’want is… Is this.”

Fuckin’ awesome, dude. What a great first impression.

Richie’d never had much luck with holding his tongue—they didn’t call him Trashmouth for nothing. Standing there, watching the man drop to the ground as the harshness of his words sank in. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to this (again, trash mouth), but...it stung, even though there was no real reason for it to. The guy was right. He didn’t know him. How he was feeling was pretty fuckin’ stupid, but...maybe it had triggered something within him—prodded at freshly uncovered memories...or some other psychobabble bullshit. Whatever the cause, he was feeling defensive. It wasn’t often that he laid shit out on the line, but fuck it.

“You don’t have to be a fuckin’ dick about it, man. I was cool with being alone.” No, that wasn’t actually true, but he had adapted to it. It was his normal, now. And, considering all of the fucked up shit he’d been through lately, he needed a little normal. “But, like...I don’t know how this shit works! I don’t think there’s too much we can do about it. Can’t change fate, or whatever the fuck this is.” He sighed and, against his better judgment, moved to plop down next to the other, but left ample space between them.

        Remy wasn’t entirely sure what did it, but this time around… Henry backed off. Not before his last threats, though. This summer is gonna be a hurt train for you and your faggot friends.

        It had the little cajun’s stomach churn. He wanted, so badly, to make this fucking asshole swallow his goddamn teeth. Maybe he’d have to resort to vigilante justice - put on a mask and fucking decimate Bowers and his gang in the dead of night, where no one could see him and link it back to him. Only thing was - Remy wasn’t like that. He wasn’t that kind of a kid, you know? He got mad when his friends were hassled, but he had trouble initiating shit unprovoked. As much as Henry and his army of pubes had it coming, Remy just… Didn’t have it in him. To surprise attack anyone.

        What a fucking loser.

        ‘Wish he’d go missing’, Remy heard Richie say, breaking him out of his thoughts. The cajun didn’t say anything - instead folded his arms, huffed in agreement. Irony was, he could arrange that. Ugh, get over it, Remy. You’re not a murderer. 

    “—Logan’s gonna expect me t’ show m’face home for dinner,” he commented; maybe to change the subject, maybe to just… Just say something. He’d been pretty much a mute since class ended after all, huh. “Where, uh - where y’all goin’? I’ll catch up when I’m off th’ hook.” The hook being, Logan sniffing and interrogating his kid thoroughly to make sure he wasn’t not only getting in trouble, but that no-one else was giving him too much trouble. It was annoying sometimes - how overprotective he was - but, well. Remy would still rather have him be overprotective than not give a shit. He sure as Hell was better than Eddie’s mom at least.

He glanced over at his friend once the posse had left and he heard his quiet huff, and reached up to lift his glasses back up his nose. He didn’t want Remy to go, but he kinda knew how Logan could be and he had a sneaking suspicion that, like most of the Losers’ parents, he didn’t like Richie too much. For once in his young life, he didn’t want to antagonize someone; the dude could do more damage than all of Bowers’ gang combined—he could snap Richie in half like a fuckin’ twig, he was convinced. And he didn’t wanna test that theory.

“We’re going to the barrens..?” he said, looking around at the others for confirmation. Little did they know, Bill had a less than enjoyable reason for going down there that day, but they’d find out soon and the pair of them (Richie and Bill) would be forced to endure the bitching—and undoubtedly get scolded along the way, for good measure (they knew that shit would just make Richie act out even more, but they never learned...or, maybe, they didn’t really want to stop him; just wanted to give him hell).

With several resounding nods, the trio started off, but Richie hung back for a minute with Remy.

 she  stood  there ,  prepared  for  him  to  yell  at  her .  hell ,  prepared  for  her  to  slam  the  door  in  her  face  because  she’d  fucking  deserve  it  for  not  even  checking  in  on  him .  how  the  fuck  had  she  let  herself  be  so  selfish ?  richie  had  lost  the  love  of  his  fucking  life  and  she’d  abandoned  him  just  after  remembering  that  he  was  the  best  goddamn  friend  she  could  have  asked  for .  and  she  had  abandoned  him  when  he  needed  someone  most .  what  the  fuck  kind  of  friend  was  she ?  she  deserved  whatever  it  was  he  threw  at  her ,  whatever  anger  he  had  towards  her .

 she  should  have  been  there  for  him .  should  have  taken  care  of  him  the  instant  eddie’s  funeral  was  over ,  should  have  insisted  on  staying  with  him  and  making  sure  he  was  alright  and  yet  she’d  run .  she’d  run  so  far  and  tried  to  forget  everything  except  her  work  and  herself .  beverly  had  buried  herself  in  her  work ,  in  sketches ,  in  meetings ,  in  calls .  she’d  let  herself  get  caught  up  in  work  to  hide  the  pain  of  losing  everything  she’d  known ,  everything  important  in  her  life .  she’d  buried  herself  to  try  to  adjust  to  being  free ,  to  feeling  as  though  she  was  mourning  torture  in  some  weird  way .  trying  to  adjust  to  all  of  the  memories  of  eddie  that  had  come  flooding  back  long  after  he  died .

 she  owed  richie  everything .  an  apology ,  a  hug ,  anything  he  wanted .  she’d  fucked  up  in  leaving ,  fucked  up  in  not  texting  or  calling  or  showing  up .  and  she  wasn’t  sure  she’d  ever  be  able  to  make  it  up  to  him ,  to  fix  the  bit  of  him  she’d  help  break .  but  she  was  damn  sure  going  to  try .

 the  door  opened  and  she  couldn’t  even  try  to  fight  the  slight  grin  that  pulled  to  her  lips  at  the  sight  of  him .  she’d  missed  him  more  than  she’d  realized .  but  the  smile  fades  almost  immediately  when  she  really  takes  him  in ,  takes  in  his  disheveled  appearance ,  the  smell  of  alcohol  seeming  to  seep  from  his  pores .  she’d  truly  fucked  up .  she  owed  him  better  than  this ,  owed  him  a  real  friend .  when  had  she  gotten  so  selfish ?  when  had  she  stopped  thinking  about  the  people  she  loved ?

 “ yeah …  it’s  me … “  the  last  word  is  punctuated  by  a  squeal  as  the  glass  shatters  on  the  floor  and  she  jumps  backwards  to  avoid  the  explosion  of  booze  and  shards .  brows  pinch  and  she  looks  up  at  him ,  concern  etched  across  her  features .  “ don’t  be  sorry …  i  kinda  showed  up  unannounced .  my  fault . ”  a  swallow  and  she  tucks  her  hands  nervously  into  her  back  pocket .  “ i  hired  an  fbi  agent  to  track  you  down  because  you’re  definitely  an  impossible  man  to  follow . ”

“An FBI agent, that’s good. Maybe you need to start writing my shit.” Not that he’s done one single show since he’s been back. This was not the kind of shit he’d prepared for. For once, he can’t get up, put on a happy fuckin’ face and be funny. He’d spiraled. And he doesn’t know how he’s gonna pick himself back up, put the pieces back together (just like the goddamn whiskey bottle), and say it’s gonna be okay. He doesn’t have to believe it—when has he ever? He just needs to be able to pretend again. Maybe Bev being here is a start. She’d always had a way of making him feel better.

“I’m, uh...I’m glad you’re here. But call next time, yeah? So that I can get prettied up for ya.” A brief, unconvincing smile stretches uncomfortably across his lips—it’s been so long since he’s smiled. “You can, like...you can come in if ya want. My place is a fuckin’ *wreck* but, I mean...look at me.” He tries to chuckle, but it comes off as more of a scoff—it’s been so long since he’s laughed.

        It was Richie’s luck, really, that Remy was starting to hyperventilate before he even got out of that fucking theater. Had his mind been sound, he would’ve vanished by now without Richie having any hope of ever seeing him again. Now, however? Now, Remy was doubled over at the end of the street, trying to just… Just breathe. Lucky for any passer-bys, they’d just think he was another captive at the theater, distressed over having been pointed a gun at. The truth here, however, was so much different.

        He hadn’t even registered his apparent soulmate trying to yell after him. Hell, he didn’t even register him standing there before he was already way too close. He had to wrap this goddamn panic attack up fast.

        Fucking b r e a t h e. In, out. In, out.

        Staggering back up on his feet, just barely even holding himself up against that shitty, dirty stone wall, he raised both his hands. “Don’t—… Don’t,” Remy breathed out between deep inhales. Cheeks wet, pupils blown out of proportion, every bit of his slender body shaking. Deliberately avoiding eye contact because… Fuck, he couldn’t do this. “Y-you, y’can’t, y’don’t wanna—…” Fucking Jesus, breathe. “Y’don’t wanna be associated wit’ me.”

        Now, where did that come from? Was it because Remy knew who he was deep down, or what he did? Was it the monster inside, or the work he did for a living? He wasn’t sure; maybe both. Probably definitely both. He just knew that… That anyone who ended up with Remy fucking LeBeau was going to lead a miserable fucking life.

    “Don’t give me hope.” It was exhaled in a broken plea.         Hope is a piece of rope. Hang yourself with it.

By the time he’d reached the man, Richie was out of breath, to say the least. Unintentionally, he fell into the same position that the other had taken, albeit for different reasons. Knees bent, hands anchored to slanted thighs, head forward, he in- and exhaled through an open mouth in quick succession, but slowing as the seconds ticked on.

When he had somewhat gathered himself enough to speak, he straightened up, really seeing the man for the first time. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. No, this couldn’t be right. This poor fucker was gonna be so disappointed with whom he’d gotten paired. But...it was no mistake, right? Couldn’t be. Because Richie already found himself desperate to reach out and touch him. To hold him, comfort him, and take care of him. But he couldn’t do that—that’d be fuckin’ weird as hell. So he’d do what he did best.

@sloppyritch

        Believe it or not, Remy was actually the quiet kid in this group. You’d think it would be Bill, with his stutter, or even Stan with how typically reserved he was in comparison to those the like of Eddie or Richie - but nah. It was Remy. Remy, Lil’ Ole’ Devil Eyes, the weirdo from the woods, the literally only one out of two mutants in this entire stuffy town. Well - as far as they knew, anyway. He’d developed a little prematurely in that department after all.

        Y’know - what with mutation usually manifesting in your teens, and Remy having been born that way? And no, that’s not just a lame slogan for a makeup line. Anyway.

        Maybe especially because he stood out like sore thumb in a crowd, he usually kept to himself. Yeah, even in his chosen group of friends. One on one, he could be quite talkative - but trying to get a word in over four kids who were arguing about whether Stan’s dick was about to get chopped off or no? Yeah, he wasn’t about to compete for the attention. Instead, his focus was on, well, basically guardian angeling the group. Not that he ever actively looked for trouble (or that he looked any sort of threatening either way, except for the eyes) but that wouldn’t stop him from giving a nasty glare at Bowers and his clan whenever they passed them by. Like said, he wasn’t typically the violent type - but he’d love to fuck up anyone who laid their hands on his chosen family. Especially Richie. But more on that later.

        Outside the school - yeah, Logan might scold him a little for ditching every little bit of school gear he had into that trash can (including the perfectly good pencils) but he’d deal with that issue once they got to it. For now, he was just glad it was summer. Also; cue an obligatory high five with Richie over some undoubtedly overly sexual and dumb joke he made. Hey, no one else would and Remy liked seeing this kid happy, alright? Anyhow.

        Right on cue, the fucking Bowers gang appeared as if out of thin air. Yanking Richie by his backbag to the ground, Remy surviving but with a shove, instantly hurrying to help his friends up. First Richie before Stan, of course. Priorities.

        Bill was picking a fight with Henry and— God, Remy hoped it wouldn’t get physical. It sucked knowing he could blow this kid’s head off, and knowing he’d just get in trouble if he did. The fuck are superpowers good for if you can’t protect your family with them?

Oh FUCK yeah! This summer was gonna be great! This would be Remy’s first summer with the Losers, which had RIchie all kinds of excited. Since the kid came...he’d felt a special connection to him. After all, it had been Richie who’d invited him in—saw the poor guy sitting alone at lunch, Henry Bowers hot on his tail, and figured he’d corrupt him before they could; or before they could beat him to a pulp—he was way too pretty for that...and yeah, seeing Remy was kinda what solidified, figuratively and literally (YOWZA!!), his preferences but nobody knew that...not even Remy.

Definitely not Remy.

There was so much he wanted to do with him—with all of them. Summer seemed like it would reach on forever (but give that shit a few weeks and it’d seem like it was leaving in the blink of an eye—pretty fucked up, how relative time is). And the constant fear of inevitable decimation by Bowers and his goons (‘death by dumbass’ would be written on his gravestone, he was sure of it) caused the passage of time to simultaneously slow down and speed up. Yeah, it was totally fucked up.

That wasn’t gonna stop Richie from enjoying his time, though! Together, the Losers could handle anything that came their way.

Starting with Henry Bowers.

The smile that had grown with Remy’s encouragement still lingered on his lips as he was dragged to the ground. As enthusiastic as he was feeling, he really didn’t want to get in a fight. This wasn’t how he wanted to start the summer. He was small, skinny, and took a large part of the bullies’ attacks. And he sure as shit didn’t want his friends to get fucked up because of him (of course, it wouldn’t be because of him solely, but it felt like he had a goddamn sign taped to his back that said ‘fuck me up, assholes!!!’).