#it ff

You hummed quietly as you pushed against the wheels of your chair. Approaching your best friend’s driveway was the only way you could hang out with him, seeing how inaccessible his front door was. If you thought too hard about it, it didn’t give you the best feeling in the world, so you tried not to.

You saw him sitting on the floor, sketching in his notebook somewhat mindlessly. Upon hearing your quiet hum, he flipped a few pages ahead to a blank one. Looking up at you, he squinted from the sun shining in his eyes but smiled.

“H-Hi (Y/n). You’re the f-first to get here so we can wait for everyone else.” He said, standing up and moving to the couch his dad had put in the garage a few months ago. He realized how much more inclined he was to hang out there now that he was friends with you.

His parents were lovely, but he started to pick up on the sudden stiffness and overall negative feelings you had when they said certain things. About how they were sorry and glad Bill was so kind, which he was. It was one of his greatest qualities, but it was as if they only thought he was your friend because he was so kind.

“That’s alright. What were you drawing?”  You asked casually, backing your chair into the space of the wall that was just the right fit. You remembered when he moved aside a table so he could sit next to you. It was one of the moments that made you feel your heartbeat in your stomach, as he so often did.

“Oh, n-n-nothing. Just practicing shape l-language for objects.” He replied, sitting on the cushions in a way that made it easier to look at you. 

“Really? What are you trying to learn to draw?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Nothing in p-p-particular. I just think it’s a g-good skill to have.” He replies, closing his sketchbook and setting it aside. You smile and nod.

“Do you know when the other Losers plan on joining us?” You asked leaning on the arm of your chair.

“Right now.” A voice called from behind. You looked over your shoulder to the garage entrance, watching Richie, Eddie, and Stan enter. You smiled and waved, which only Stan returned. 

“What are we doing here? You never told us.” Eddie says, sitting on the far end of the couch. You were never sure why, but he always seemed much more tense. You could come up with a few reasons, but they weren’t good ones, and you hoped those weren’t the case.

“J-J-Just a movie night. I made popcorn and st-ocked the drinks.” Bill replied. You begin to self-propel toward the fridge in the far left corner of the room. You looked inside, seeing mostly cokes and water. You opted for the latter.

“Plus, if we run out, we can hop on (Y/n)’s wheelchair. They’re basically a bike.” Richie says with a snicker, placing both his feet on the back of your chair and causing you to become unsteady. You yelp in surprise, immediately swatting him off. You turn your chair to face him, a look of panic on your face.

“What the fuck Richie?” You shout. He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” He asks, lacking a single modicum of self-awareness. You’re so flustered and upset that you find it difficult to articulate your feelings. Bill stands up from the couch, stepping between Richie and yourself.

“Y-You can’t say shit like that Richie!” Bill exclaims, his ears turning red from anger as they always did.

“Why are you guys freaking out?” He asks, raising his arms in exasperation.

“C-Comparing (Y/n) to a bike? You don’t get why that’s f-f-f-fu-fucked up!?” He shouts, finding it harder to speak due to his anger.

“No? It was a good thing. Bikes are cool and they’d be helping us to the store.” He replied. 

“It’s fine Bill. Don’t worry about it…” You mumble, trying to maneuver around him.

“N-no (Y/n) I am w-worried about it,” Bill says, turning to look at you. There was a look in his eyes that made you feel warm and safe. 

“They said don’t worry about it so I think-“

“Fuck off Richie!” Bill yells as he whips his head around to stare at him, not a stutter in his voice. Richie backs away with his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever dude.” He mumbles, sitting next to Eddie on the couch.

You were thankful Bill was so quick to defend you, but the confrontation still made you uneasy and guilty. You wheeled your chair out of the garage and onto the driveway, stopping when you heard Bill coming after you.

“Where are you g-going? Are you ok-kay?” He asks, walking by your side. You sigh and stop wheeling yourself forward. You say nothing at first trying to figure out how to put your thoughts into words. Bill walks in front of you, so he can see you while you talk, a simple gesture but something so thoughtful.

“You’re the only one who treats me… Well, normal… Richie always has something to say, Eddie avoids me like he’s going to catch something and I just… I hate it.” You mutter, folding your hands in your lap. Bill sighs as he crosses his arms.

“I w-wish there was more I could do. I t-t-tell Richie all the time to quit his shit but he-“

“It’s not you Bill. You do more than enough. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I have in my corner.” You say, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiles, his eyes holding that same shine that made you feel so warm and safe.

“Y-You know, that’s exactly how I feel.” He replies. You tilt your head in confusion. Bill rubs his neck bashfully before shrugging. 

“You’re the only one who ever t-tells them to stop making fun of my s-st-stutter. Sometimes it feels like y-you’re the only one in my c-corner.” He replies. You smile, a warm glow rushing to your cheeks.

“We can be in each other’s corner.” You reply, giddily grabbing his hand. It takes you a second to realize what you’ve done before pulling back.

“S-Sorry I was just-”

“No! It’s okay!” He grabs your hand again, this time intertwining your fingers. “I l-like being in each other's corner.” 

“Pinky promise?” You ask, holding out your pinky. He chuckles and locks his pinky around yours.

“P-Pinky promise.” He replies.

“Now let’s go watch the m-movie. If Richie says anything else I’ll j-just kick him out.”

“Since when are you Mr. tough guy?” You ask with a giggle.

He wasn’t impatient, Stan just waited - looking up at the stars and trying to recall as many constellations as he could, wondering what it would be like to see the Earth from that distance. He could hear the familiar sounds of laughter and talking begin to float in from the distance, he climbed onto his bike so he could join the army of his friends without making them stop.

Bill was leading, shouting something to Mike who was to his right, who was laughing and looking at Eddie, who was scowling at both of them and pedalling with such force that Stan was afraid he might go over the handlebars. His eyes caught Richie’s who waved furiously at him, before wobbling and almost knocking over Ben, who had Beverly sitting on his handlebars.

Richie fixed his glasses before shouting something at Ben, who went bright red - it made Bev give Richie the finger. Stan didn’t really want to know what Richie had said, but it was more than likely a dig about Ben’s crush on Beverly. Stan kicked his bike stand up before slowly pedalling to join the mass of bikes which were throwing greetings to him as they passed by.

Stan joined at the end, keeping his distance from Richie who appeared to think he was playing bumper cars, trying to swerve into people. He swerved into Bill and Bill pushed him away, causing Richie to cycle face-first into a tree. Everyone laughed at him while he rubbed his nose and gave Bill the finger. Stan laughed a bit harder than he probably should have, Richie gave him the finger too. Richie jumped back on his bike and rode beside Stan, pulling faces at him every chance he could.

They slowed down as they turned into the almost hidden entrance to the quarry, going slowly to avoid crashing into trees or hedges, they were basically walking through a forest after all. the dirt was skitting up onto Eddie’s brand new jeans- which he proceeded to complain about for what seemed like hours.

“Eddie, I’m nuh-not carrying you again,” Bill announced, making Eddie’s face go red as he sped up and stomped down the hill.

They all reminisced over Bill carrying Eddie through the quarry. It was last year, when Eddie broke his arm and he was in a bulky cast. His shoes were slipping on the ice and after almost falling about six times, Bill had rolled his eyes and lifted Eddie over his shoulder. Eddie garbled out a string of swears and begged to be put down, Bill ignored his requests and held his legs to stop him kicking.  When Bill had put Eddie down at their previously favourite spot beside the river, Eddie’s face was beetroot red and he was repeatedly telling Richie to fuck off every time Richie opened his mouth.

They walked their bikes to their usual clearing and let them drop to the ground. Stan kicked his stand up and stood his bike up, because he wasn’t a monster.  This clearing had become their new usual spot, it was overlooking the river and was so densely packed with trees and wild bushes, that it was almost impossible to see into it from the outside. Bev had stumbled across it one day while taking a stroll with Ben, it had been since christened, ‘The Marsh’, which Ben had suggested, since Beverly was the one who found it. The only visible opening was between two aging oak trees, which led to a cliff which looked over a particularly deep part of the river. The ‘cliff’ was maybe only ten feet tall, but it was tall enough to dive off in the summer. Every summer Bill would carve away at the dirt to try to make a ladder to climb back up and every summer it wouldn’t work and whoever took the chance with Bill’s landscaping skills would fall back into the water.

Bill began discussing with Mike whether they should light the fire pit, Mike had said it was cold, so yeah - but it would be difficult to find dry enough wood in this weather. Mike unfolded the picnic blanket he always brought from the basket in his bike and laid it beside the soon to be blazing fire pit.

Stan and Eddie made a beeline for the blanket and sat down, neither wanting to sit on the dirty ground. Bev and Richie were standing by the oak trees, lighting up a pair of cigarettes and arguing about something or other. Probably movies, Richie had been on a Die Hard craze, and Beverly always argued that it wasn’t a Christmas movie. Richie always argued back, ‘ Yes it is! It’s set at Christmas, therefore it’s a Christmas movie, Bev!’

Stan didn’t think it was a Christmas movie, but he’d never seen it so he refused to get involved, no matter how many times Beverly asked him to back her up.

He thinks he sees Bill and Mike creeping off out of the Marsh over the hedge that Richie had accidentally cycled into a few weeks ago, which had ended up being the easiest point of entry and exit. Probably to get wood for the fire, Mike was brilliant at all the outdoors stuff, Stan was too, since he was in the boy scouts - but that didn’t mean he liked it, so he always sat back while Bill followed Mike’s instructions.

Even with his jumper on, it was pretty cold. He probably should’ve brought a scarf like Eddie had. But then again, Eddie was bundled up, looking like he was going off on an Antarctic expedition. Stan can hardly fault Eddie, considering he was sitting tying his shoelace with ease while Stan’s teeth were almost clattering from the cold. He gave a quick glance over to Richie, who was wearing shorts and a long sleeved-shirt with a dog eating an apple on it. He doubted Richie even sensed the cold at all.

Ben was showing Eddie his mixtapes, Eddie was carefully scanning each and every song title and commenting on them. Stan was vaguely paying attention too, but this wasn’t really his style of music so he didn’t have much of an opinion on the songs Ben had picked for Beverly’s mixtape but he nodded and told Ben they looked great anyway. Eddie was interrupted from talking to Ben about Duran Duran by Richie shouting for him.

“Hey, Eddie, get over here I have something really cool to show you!”

“Richie, I swear to God if you show me your belly button lint again I will end you.”

Richie scoffed, “No, I swear! Come here quick, before it’s gone.”

“If it’s a bug I’m not coming over.”

“No, it’s my boner, Eddie, come give it a tickle!”

Eddie sighed a swear under his breath and got up, moving around Bill and Mike who had just re-entered the Marsh with hands full of almost-dry moss and sticks. Mike moved with Bill to set up the fire, Beverly offering them her lighter. Stan watched as Mike’s expert hands crafted a bed of moss, building the sticks on top of it, like a Native American teepee sitting on a hill.

“Richie, what the fuck, get off!” Eddie screeched, causing everyone’s heads to snap to the scene of Richie trying to push Eddie into the river, while Eddie was clawing at Richie’s arms and grabbing onto his shirt to stop himself falling.

“Richie, s-stop, it’s c-cold out.” Bill had scolded, but his face looked anything but scolding. He was stifling a laugh and tried to hide his face from Eddie, who was looking around in panic, eyes pleading for help.

Richie laughs around his cigarette as he managed to release himself from Eddie’s grip and Eddie let out an animalistic yell before plummeting into the water. Bill sighed as he tenderly tried to inch his way down into the river to give Eddie a hand up.

“Richie, he’s guh-guh-gonna kill you.”

“You can only hope, young one.” Richie’s eyes fell on Stan, who was sitting on his own as Ben and Mike went to get more sticks for the fire, which now was needed to be burning bright and hot to stop Eddie getting hypothermia. Richie marched over, flicking his half-smoked cigarette off to the side before lying beside Stan, so close that his only slightly knotted hair had splayed out on his neatly ironed black slacks.

“Did you see that?”

Stan looked down to Richie, who was looking up at him, waiting for an answer. “You throwing Eddie into a freezing cold river? Yes, Richie, I saw. We all saw and we all agree that you’re a dick.”

“Hey! That’s not true, right Bev?”

Bev shook her head, “It was kind of a dick move.”

“Well, Bill thought it was funny. He’s the kind of friend I need in my life, someone who will encourage me, not berate me for my personality. I can’t help it if I’m a dick! It’s who I am, and you, as my friends, should accept that.”

Stan rolled his eyes as he softly gave Richie a slap to the head. “I don’t think we need to accept bullying someone the size of an eight-year-old as part of a personality quirk.”

Richie scoffed, “He was asking for it.”

“By doing what? Sitting quietly and minding his own business?”

“Exactly!”

Stan scoffed in response, his eyes caught a soaking wet Eddie being lead through the bushes back into the Marsh by Bill, Mike and Ben. He looked as if he was being walked to his deathbed by three reapers, his lips were almost blue and he was shaking profusely. Stan ushered himself away from the fire, making a space for Eddie, who sat beside him with a plop. Eddie was soaking the blanket, not that anyone really took notice. Water dripped off his eyelashes and fell down his face, he shook his hair with his hands to dry to dislodge as much water as he could.

“Richie you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Awww, Eddie don’t be so grumpy. You know you love me.”

“No. Fuck off, I’m mad at you. I’m gonna catch hypothermia and die and it will be all your fault.”

“You know, sitting in wet clothes is gonna make you sicker.” Eddie’s face paled, “You should probably strip.”

“Richie leave him alone, you’re freaking him out! Look at his face, he looks like he’s about to faint.” Beverly began petting over Eddie, trying to reassure him that he wasn’t going to get sick.

“Actually, Richie’s kind of right.” Stan piped up, Beverly shot him a glare, as if he was lying. “You should probably get into some dry clothes, the wet ones will just make you colder.” Eddie nodded, knowing Stan wouldn’t lie, taking off his scarf, which had appeared to double in weight by the sound it made when he dropped it onto a rock beside him. Beverly helped him unbutton his giant coat, his fingers were shaking too much to even try to do it himself.

It wasn’t long before he had began to pull off his t-shirt, which was hidden under four other layers of clothing. Bill had shrugged off his flannel shirt from underneath his jacket and gave it to Bev, who helped Eddie button it up. Mike donated his denim jacket, and much to Eddie’s mortification, Bev had slipped off the leggings she was wearing under her skirt and let Eddie wrangle his wet legs into the skin-hugging fabric.

Richie had donated his glasses, since he was already wearing the bare minimum. Eddie smacked his glasses out of his hands and no one helped Richie look for them. It took him five minutes and they were covered in mud.

After about ten minutes of everyone fussing over Eddie, colour began to flow back into his cheeks and he stopped shivering. It wasn’t long before he was back to the world of the living. Bill was still fretting over him, acting like a mother hen.

“Richie, did you b-b-bring cocoa or tea or a-anything in your thermo today?” Bill asked while Richie was rubbing the dirt off his glasses with the apple on his shirt. Stan winced at the sight of a giant smudge of mud spread on his previously clean shirt.

“Nah, we had nothing in the house today, sorry kid.”

“Wait, so you didn’t bring anything?!” Eddie complained, glaring at Richie.

“You always bring the fuh-fuh-food on a Sunday, Ruh-Richie.”

Richie raised his hands defensively after sliding his mostly clean glasses onto his face, “All I had in the fridge was butter and raw onions, so if you all want to go back to mine and raid the luxuries of the Tozier refrigerator, then be my guest.”

Bill sighed, exchanging a look of disappointment with Eddie before digging into his pocket and procuring a crumpled $5 bill. “Here, go and buh-buy something, h-hot if you can. Bring Stuh-Stan.”

Stan nodded as he glanced at his watch, “It’s late, I should probably get going now anyway.”

Bill shrugged, with a small grin playing on his face. “It’s late, who know what kuh-kuh-kind of trouble Richie cuh-could get into? You should go with h-him to the store at least.”

Stan’s face deadpanned. “So I’m babysitting Richie? Because I don’t do that enough at work?”

Richie jumped up and took the crumpled note from Bill’s hand and began pulling at Stan’s arm, “C’mon, Dad told us to go, Stan, get off your ass.”

Stan gave Bill a look that could kill, before getting up and giving Richie a small shove towards their bikes. Bill just smiled back at Stan, “Th-thanks guys! See you at school, Stan.”

Stan waved his hands in farewell to his friends, some he would see tomorrow morning in school, some he wouldn’t see until tomorrow evening, at the same location.

Stan walked his bike out of the dense trees and back onto the suburban roads of Derry town, Richie talking excitedly in his ear about what he was going to buy.

“You’re not going to get a pineapple upside-down cake at eight o’clock on a Sunday night, Richie. Everywhere is closed.”

Richie frowned as he pedalled down the main street, “So we’re gonna have to go to the twenty-four hour?” He scrunched his face up. “That place sucks though, the owner is such a creep - did you know he made a pass on Beverly last week?”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, right - we were cutting class - don’t give me that look it was only Bio - anyway, we were cutting class and we went to buy some smokes -”

Richie began retelling the tale, right up until their bikes skidded to a halt outside said creepy-man’s store, Richie hopped off to walk in, looking back when he realized Stan hadn’t shifted.

“I’m not going in.”

“He’s not gonna make a pass on you. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Stan shook his head. “Not happening.”

Richie rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically as he marched into the store. He came out barely two minutes later with a paper bag full of sugary snacks, probably. Richie tossed the bag into the basket in the front of Stan’s bike and lifted his own bike from the pavement.

Stan was just about to cycle off before Richie’s voice made him halt. “Shit, I still have your Yogi Bear at my house. I just looked at the empty space on the back of your head and realised I forgot to bring it to you before temple or whatever you call it.”

“You’re not even trying to get it right, are you?” “Nope. We’ll go get it on the way there.”

Stan shrugged, “Okay,  as long as it doesn’t take you an hour to find it, Mom’s pretty annoyed at me for not coming home last night.”

Richie stuck his tongue out and began pedalling down the orange-lit roads. Trees seemed to fly past as they pedalled down to Richie’s house, which wasn’t that much of a diversion - it was maybe an extra five minutes onto their journey.

It wasn’t long until Stan was stood inside Richie’s bedroom while Richie looked through the drawer in his bedside locker.

Richie’s room was actually clean. Like, not just tidy, but clean. His mirror had even been polished. Stan stood in awe as he inspected the floor, that he could see! All of Richie’s comics had been neatly stacked on his desk, and his trashcan had been emptied and his closet, oh his closet was closed. It wasn’t spilling out clothes, you could actually close the door. Richie noticed Stan looking around the room in awe.

“Yeah, Eddie offered to clean it.”

“Offered?” Stan was doubtful.

“In exchange for a blowjob. You’d be surprised what people would do for one from me, you know.” “No, I don’t know.”

“Do you want to find out, then?” Richie winked at Stan, fluttering his eyelashes from behind his glasses.

“Have you found it yet?” Stan sighed.

Richie nodded and threw the round hat at Stan, who caught it in one hand. “Yeah, I was gonna use it as a frisbee, but I thought It would work better as a jerk-off sock.”

“Shut the fuck up. Does your Mom have hairpins? Dad already thinks I’ve lost this, so if I came home without it again he’d probably lecture me on the importance of keeping track of my belongings.”  

“Oh, Mom loved the cake, by the way. She ate nearly half of it on her own today.” Richie smiled, “She went to the liquor store and only brought home one case of beer, so it must’ve been out of this world.” Richie ruffled Stan’s hair in thanks, and Stan batted his hand away out of habit, but he was smiling.

“Hairpins?”

Richie nodded enthusiastically, “I will fetch them for you, my dearest master. Do not strain yourself! I will rub your feet for you too.” Richie bounced off out of the room and into what Stan assumed, was his mother’s room. Stan sat on the bed and waited for Richie to return, softly tracing the edge of his yarmulke as he looked around the room. He had spent quite a lot of time in Richie’s room this weekend, it was starting to feel familiar, like he was meant to be here. Stan felt comfortable in Richie’s room, even comfortable talking to Richie himself. The conversation didn’t feel forced tonight, it was light, topics flowed easily and swiftly through their words and Stan felt pretty happy listening to Richie’s stories tonight.

Richie came parading through the door, carrying a palm-sized silver tin, which rattled when he walked. “What did you think of that voice? It’s a new one I’m trying out, so be kind.”

Stan took the tray off Richie in a nod of thanks and opened it to a dozen or so bobby pins. “It’s definitely not your best, but it has potential, especially for Bill.”

“Yeah, for when Bill’s being super bossy,” Richie started attempting to imitate Bill, “D-do that Richie, do this. Don’t puh-pull my pants down again! Puh-please stop being so hot, you’re muh-making me develop a fuh-fever.”

Stan snorted as he placed a triad of pins into his mouth, as he set upon beginning to pin the yarmulke into this hair. “That wasn’t very good.” He commented out of the side of his mouth.

Richie didn’t respond, he was too busy staring at the bobby pins which were delicately placed between Stan’s lips. He was probably grossed out that Stan had put them in his mouth, but it wasn’t technically in his mouth, Stan was just holding them with his lips.

Stan sat in concentration as he attempted to open the pins enough to slide it into his hair, but it was near impossible. It kept slipping out of his thumb just as he was about to clip it in, he let out a sound of frustration, which made Richie jump.

“Jesus Christ, chill out. Here, I’ll put it in there’s no need to turn into the Terminator.”

Richie took the bobby pins out of Stan’s mouth a little forcefully, accidentally brushing his hand against his lips. He stood up and told Stan to spin around on the bed, so his back was facing Richie.

Richie pinned Stan’s yarmulke into his curls, only stabbing him in the scalp once or twice. Stan couldn’t see how it looked, but it felt like it was in the right place, so he didn’t comment. Besides, he’d be taking it off in less than an hour when he would be going to bed, so it didn’t really matter if it was perfect. Stan could feel the yarmulke pinned securely on the back of his head, yet he could still feel Richie’s fingers going through his curls and fiddling with certain strands of hair. Perhaps he was fixing Stan’s hair. So Stan stayed put for another few minutes, while Richie played with Stan’s hair in an almost trance-like fashion before they both agreed it was time to move out.

Out of the corner of Stan’s eye when he was leaving the house, following Richie, he noticed his half-eaten cake on the kitchen counter. He smiled to himself and left the house, the cold wind biting his face as he walked towards his bike. “I’ll walk you home.”

Stan looked at him quizzically. “Why?”

Richie looked offended, “Because I’m a gentleman, Stan.”

Stan had no real reason to retort, it was Richie’s own time he was wasting, so he murmured a soft ‘Okay’ and began cycling home.

They were laughing at a story Richie was telling about Bill falling flat on his face in Gym the other week, blood pouring out of his nose as he swore at the ground. Stan was glad Richie didn’t try to swerve into him because he doubted that he would be able to steer away in time to avoid a collision.

They talked and laughed together underneath the orange glow of the mostly functioning streetlights, hair being thrown backwards by the cool wind. Stan could feel the wind penetrate the small holes in between each stitch of his jumper. It felt refreshing.

Stan pulled up at his house five minutes later, and gave Richie the bag of food from his basket, wondering how he was going to cycle back to the Marsh one-handed. He parked his Bike by the letterbox and made his way to the front door, the porch light had made Stan almost glow through Richie’s glasses and just as Stan had begun to turn the door handle, Richie had yelled out, without really meaning to.

“Stan!”

Stan blinked, head shooting back to Richie. “What?”

Richie looked like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing and eyes wide. Stan wondered why he would shout if he had nothing to say. But he did, Richie in fact, had a lot to say, he just wasn’t sure how to put them into words, so he did the best that he could.

“You’re my best friend.” Richie scrunched his eyes up as soon as he said it. That was the best that he could do.

Stan blinked. Feeling doubt ripple in his stomach. “No, I thought Bill was your best friend.” “Well, he is but… you’re my best-best friend. Like if I had to rank all of you, which I do every time someone crosses me - just to let you know, for the next time you don’t laugh at my jokes -  you’d be number one. Bill would be number two, Beverly was number three, but after that dirty look earlier, she’s being demoted to number four so… congrats to Mike, I guess.”

Stan let his hand fall off the front door and he stood on his porch, looking at Richie. “What led you to that… conclusion?”

Richie’s face fell, he tried to hide it but Stan noticed it, “I mean, it’s cool if I’m not in your top three, that’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

Stan brushed a stray curl out of his eyes, “No, I just mean, why?”

Richie tilted his head in confusion, “Why?”

“Yeah.”

Richie leaned back on his bike and took a deep breath and let a long whistle out, “Well, if you want me to list everything you’ve ever done or said that bumped you up that list I can. But it would take like fuckin’ twenty years and it’s a school night so…”

Stan nodded, a lump was in his throat and he couldn’t quite make it go away.

“But uh… I guess it’s just as simple as you’re a pretty cool guy. Well not cool. Definitely not cool. But, you’re a good friend and I like you. I like you being my friend. Because we’re friends.”

Stan couldn’t help the smile that snuck up onto his face, and he couldn’t quite help the bubbling feeling in his stomach. “Yeah, I think you’re my best friend too.”

Richie coughed and hid a small smile. “Good.”

They stayed like that for a few moments longer, Stan almost feeling dizzy and Richie awkwardly scuffing his shoes against the pavement, swatting at mosquitos every time the tried to invade his personal space.

Stan couldn’t quite feel the cold as harsh as he could earlier and he began wishing he didn’t have to come home. He has a best friend, which is a pretty new development in his life, which is probably why his stomach feels so strange. It felt the same way it had when he had his first kiss with Lucy Braxton, which Stan supposed meant he was really happy to have proper best friend.

“Well um…” Richie had started, holding the paper bag tight on his lap, he must’ve really wanted to keep that food safe, Stan didn’t think he needed to hold it that tight. “The sexual tension here is too much.... so, if you want a booty call you know where I’ll be.”

Richie waved with one hand, as he fumbled his way down the street, swaying dangerously and almost knocking over the neighbour’s trash cans. Stan waved back, before quickly moving through the house and up to his perfectly kept bedroom.

When he got into bed, all he could think about was Richie.

You hummed quietly as you pushed against the wheels of your chair. Approaching your best friend’s driveway was the only way you could hang out with him, seeing how inaccessible his front door was. If you thought too hard about it, it didn’t give you the best feeling in the world, so you tried not to.

You saw him sitting on the floor, sketching in his notebook somewhat mindlessly. Upon hearing your quiet hum, he flipped a few pages ahead to a blank one. Looking up at you, he squinted from the sun shining in his eyes but smiled.

“H-Hi (Y/n). You’re the f-first to get here so we can wait for everyone else.” He said, standing up and moving to the couch his dad had put in the garage a few months ago. He realized how much more inclined he was to hang out there now that he was friends with you.

His parents were lovely, but he started to pick up on the sudden stiffness and overall negative feelings you had when they said certain things. About how they were sorry and glad Bill was so kind, which he was. It was one of his greatest qualities, but it was as if they only thought he was your friend because he was so kind.

“That’s alright. What were you drawing?”  You asked casually, backing your chair into the space of the wall that was just the right fit. You remembered when he moved aside a table so he could sit next to you. It was one of the moments that made you feel your heartbeat in your stomach, as he so often did.

“Oh, n-n-nothing. Just practicing shape l-language for objects.” He replied, sitting on the cushions in a way that made it easier to look at you. 

“Really? What are you trying to learn to draw?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Nothing in p-p-particular. I just think it’s a g-good skill to have.” He replies, closing his sketchbook and setting it aside. You smile and nod.

“Do you know when the other Losers plan on joining us?” You asked leaning on the arm of your chair.

“Right now.” A voice called from behind. You looked over your shoulder to the garage entrance, watching Richie, Eddie, and Stan enter. You smiled and waved, which only Stan returned. 

“What are we doing here? You never told us.” Eddie says, sitting on the far end of the couch. You were never sure why, but he always seemed much more tense. You could come up with a few reasons, but they weren’t good ones, and you hoped those weren’t the case.

“J-J-Just a movie night. I made popcorn and st-ocked the drinks.” Bill replied. You begin to self-propel toward the fridge in the far left corner of the room. You looked inside, seeing mostly cokes and water. You opted for the latter.

“Plus, if we run out, we can hop on (Y/n)’s wheelchair. He’s basically a bike.” Richie says with a snicker, placing both his feet on the back of your chair and causing you to become unsteady. You yelp in surprise, immediately swatting him off. You turn your chair to face him, a look of panic on your face.

“What the fuck Richie?” You shout. He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” He asks, lacking a single modicum of self-awareness. You’re so flustered and upset that you find it difficult to articulate your feelings. Bill stands up from the couch, stepping between Richie and yourself.

“Y-You can’t say shit like that Richie!” Bill exclaims, his ears turning red from anger as they always did.

“Why are you guys freaking out?” He asks, raising his arms in exasperation.

“C-Comparing (Y/n) to a bike? You don’t get why that’s f-f-f-fu-fucked up!?” He shouts, finding it harder to speak due to his anger.

“No? It was a good thing. Bikes are cool and he’d be helping us to the store.” He replied. 

“It’s fine Bill. Don’t worry about it…” You mumble, trying to maneuver around him.

“N-no (Y/n) I am w-worried about it,” Bill says, turning to look at you. There was a look in his eyes that made you feel warm and safe. 

“He said don’t worry about it so I think-“

“Fuck off Richie!” Bill yells as he whips his head around to stare at him, not a stutter in his voice. Richie backs away with his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever dude.” He mumbles, sitting next to Eddie on the couch.

You were thankful Bill was so quick to defend you, but the confrontation still made you uneasy and guilty. You wheeled your chair out of the garage and onto the driveway, stopping when you heard Bill coming after you.

“Where are you g-going? Are you ok-kay?” He asks, walking by your side. You sigh and stop wheeling yourself forward. You say nothing at first trying to figure out how to put your thoughts into words. Bill walks in front of you, so he can see you while you talk, a simple gesture but something so thoughtful.

“You’re the only one who treats me… Well, normal… Richie always has something to say, Eddie avoids me like he’s going to catch something and I just… I hate it.” You mutter, folding your hands in your lap. Bill sighs as he crosses his arms.

“I w-wish there was more I could do. I t-t-tell Richie all the time to quit his shit but he-“

“It’s not you Bill. You do more than enough. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I have in my corner.” You say, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiles, his eyes holding that same shine that made you feel so warm and safe.

“Y-You know, that’s exactly how I feel.” He replies. You tilt your head in confusion. Bill rubs his neck bashfully before shrugging. 

“You’re the only one who ever t-tells them to stop making fun of my s-st-stutter. Sometimes it feels like y-you’re the only one in my c-corner.” He replies. You smile, a warm glow rushing to your cheeks.

“We can be in each other’s corner.” You reply, giddily grabbing his hand. It takes you a second to realize what you’ve done before pulling back.

“S-Sorry I was just-”

“No! It’s okay!” He grabs your hand again, this time intertwining your fingers. “I l-like being in each other's corner.” 

“Pinky promise?” You ask, holding out your pinky. He chuckles and locks his pinky around yours.

“P-Pinky promise.” He replies.

“Now let’s go watch the m-movie. If Richie says anything else I’ll j-just kick him out.”

“Since when are you Mr. tough guy?” You ask with a giggle.

You hummed quietly as you pushed against the wheels of your chair. Approaching your best friend’s driveway was the only way you could hang out with him, seeing how inaccessible his front door was. If you thought too hard about it, it didn’t give you the best feeling in the world, so you tried not to.

You saw him sitting on the floor, sketching in his notebook somewhat mindlessly. Upon hearing your quiet hum, he flipped a few pages ahead to a blank one. Looking up at you, he squinted from the sun shining in his eyes but smiled.

“H-Hi (Y/n). You’re the f-first to get here so we can wait for everyone else.” He said, standing up and moving to the couch his dad had put in the garage a few months ago. He realized how much more inclined he was to hang out there now that he was friends with you.

His parents were lovely, but he started to pick up on the sudden stiffness and overall negative feelings you had when they said certain things. About how they were sorry and glad Bill was so kind, which he was. It was one of his greatest qualities, but it was as if they only thought he was your friend because he was so kind.

“That’s alright. What were you drawing?”  You asked casually, backing your chair into the space of the wall that was just the right fit. You remembered when he moved aside a table so he could sit next to you. It was one of the moments that made you feel your heartbeat in your stomach, as he so often did.

“Oh, n-n-nothing. Just practicing shape l-language for objects.” He replied, sitting on the cushions in a way that made it easier to look at you. 

“Really? What are you trying to learn to draw?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Nothing in p-p-particular. I just think it’s a g-good skill to have.” He replies, closing his sketchbook and setting it aside. You smile and nod.

“Do you know when the other Losers plan on joining us?” You asked leaning on the arm of your chair.

“Right now.” A voice called from behind. You looked over your shoulder to the garage entrance, watching Richie, Eddie, and Stan enter. You smiled and waved, which only Stan returned. 

“What are we doing here? You never told us.” Eddie says, sitting on the far end of the couch. You were never sure why, but he always seemed much more tense. You could come up with a few reasons, but they weren’t good ones, and you hoped those weren’t the case.

“J-J-Just a movie night. I made popcorn and st-ocked the drinks.” Bill replied. You begin to self-propel toward the fridge in the far left corner of the room. You looked inside, seeing mostly cokes and water. You opted for the latter.

“Plus, if we run out, we can hop on (Y/n)’s wheelchair. She’s basically a bike.” Richie says with a snicker, placing both his feet on the back of your chair and causing you to become unsteady. You yelp in surprise, immediately swatting him off. You turn your chair to face him, a look of panic on your face.

“What the fuck Richie?” You shout. He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” He asks, lacking a single modicum of self-awareness. You’re so flustered and upset that you find it difficult to articulate your feelings. Bill stands up from the couch, stepping between Richie and yourself.

“Y-You can’t say shit like that Richie!” Bill exclaims, his ears turning red from anger as they always did.

“Why are you guys freaking out?” He asks, raising his arms in exasperation.

“C-Comparing (Y/n) to a bike? You don’t get why that’s f-f-f-fu-fucked up!?” He shouts, finding it harder to speak due to his anger.

“No? It was a good thing. Bikes are cool and she’d be helping us to the store.” He replied. 

“It’s fine Bill. Don’t worry about it…” You mumble, trying to maneuver around him.

“N-no (Y/n) I am w-worried about it,” Bill says, turning to look at you. There was a look in his eyes that made you feel warm and safe. 

“She said don’t worry about it so I think-“

“Fuck off Richie!” Bill yells as he whips his head around to stare at him, not a stutter in his voice. Richie backs away with his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever dude.” He mumbles, sitting next to Eddie on the couch.

You were thankful Bill was so quick to defend you, but the confrontation still made you uneasy and guilty. You wheeled your chair out of the garage and onto the driveway, stopping when you heard Bill coming after you.

“Where are you g-going? Are you ok-kay?” He asks, walking by your side. You sigh and stop wheeling yourself forward. You say nothing at first trying to figure out how to put your thoughts into words. Bill walks in front of you, so he can see you while you talk, a simple gesture but something so thoughtful.

“You’re the only one who treats me… Well, normal… Richie always has something to say, Eddie avoids me like he’s going to catch something and I just… I hate it.” You mutter, folding your hands in your lap. Bill sighs as he crosses his arms.

“I w-wish there was more I could do. I t-t-tell Richie all the time to quit his shit but he-“

“It’s not you Bill. You do more than enough. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I have in my corner.” You say, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiles, his eyes holding that same shine that made you feel so warm and safe.

“Y-You know, that’s exactly how I feel.” He replies. You tilt your head in confusion. Bill rubs his neck bashfully before shrugging. 

“You’re the only one who ever t-tells them to stop making fun of my s-st-stutter. Sometimes it feels like y-you’re the only one in my c-corner.” He replies. You smile, a warm glow rushing to your cheeks.

“We can be in each other’s corner.” You reply, giddily grabbing his hand. It takes you a second to realize what you’ve done before pulling back.

“S-Sorry I was just-”

“No! It’s okay!” He grabs your hand again, this time intertwining your fingers. “I l-like being in each other's corner.” 

“Pinky promise?” You ask, holding out your pinky. He chuckles and locks his pinky around yours.

“P-Pinky promise.” He replies.

“Now let’s go watch the m-movie. If Richie says anything else I’ll j-just kick him out.”

“Since when are you Mr. tough guy?” You ask with a giggle.