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Boys Don't Cry  |  The Cure

After a second of drinking some more and sulking in tonight's slight bad luck, Richie decided to try and find Eddie. He pushed at the door to the kitchen, quickly scanning over the room and looking for anyone with a jean jacket.

When he didn't find anything, he stopped a random guy in his tracks, "Yo dude, uh, have you seen a kid in a jean jacket? About yay high" Richie extended his hand to his shoulder. The dude shrugged and walked away. Bitch, Richie thought, slightly pissed.

He asked a few more people, until finally someone gave him something useful.

"Oh yeah I've seen that little dude," they said, and Richie sighed in relief. "He asked me where the bathrooms were, and I just told him they were upstairs" he nodded, and Richie thanked him. Wow, this is the most sober Richie has ever acted while high and drunk at the same time in his life.

To be clear for you all, Richie was truly in his worst state of mind at the moment, and his only goal for now is to find Eddie before he does something insane.

Richie quickly jogged up the stairs, tripping every other step and trying to ignore the couples making out around him, and he finally made it to the top. His head whipped around wildly in search of a door that may even vaguely look like a bathroom, and when he did, he swung it open only to be met with two people under the sheets. He slapped his hands over his eyes and quickly shut the door, apologizing at the same time. Oh god, this better not get any harder.

He found another door and prayed to god that it would be the bathroom, because if not, he still had a whole other hall to go through, and his poor eyes don't need to see anything like that again.

He peeked it open this time, and rather than some rando couple doing it, he found Eddie, sitting on the lid of the toilet with a rag in his hands, rubbing on the large stain of his shirt with effort that made Richie almost feel bad.

"What the hell 're you doing on the toilet lid, Eds" Richie slurred, leaning his tall frame on the edge of the sink closest to the door. Richie was well aware that any other time where Eddie wouldn't be intoxicated, he'd choose any other place than the toilet lid to sit on. He could practically hear Eddies sober voice rambling about how unsanitary it is.

This bathroom was fairly big, though, and Eddie could easily go and sit somewhere else like the tub or something, but instead, he grunts a small "You're right" and heads for the side of the sink opposite of where Richie stands.

He hikes himself up onto the counter of the sink, and sits.

Richie furrows his eyebrows with a smile and laughs. His giggles must have worn off. After all that dancing and laughing at the same time, it drains a guy.

He could feel the vodka beginning to take effect as well, and simply watched as Eddie struggled to get out an impossible stain from his shirt.

After a moment of silence, Eddie stopped and let out a loud sigh. "Richie, you dumb fuck, help me out with this since you're the one who did it anyway" he says, holding out the rag for Richie to take. He looked practically half dead as he dangled the rag in his face, but Richie probably did too as he nodded and took it.

Before his dumbass, drunk ass, high ass brain could process where he was going, he'd already moved toward Eddie and settled himself between the gap that was left between Eddies dangling legs.

He paused in his movements, petrified for if Eddie would notice and get uncomfortable with anything. But Eddie seemed to pretty much not even notice as he reached over the sink to grab at another rag from where they hung.

Eddie grasped the hem of his own shirt and began scrubbing at the large stain on it. Richie took hold of the collar of his jean jacket, which still hugged Eddies body, and he began scrubbing at the orange stain on it with as much effort as he could while intoxicated to the brink of probably passing out soon.

Richie tried hard not to pull at his collar too much, because being this fucking stoned meant seeing things as they weren't, and Eddie seemed much too close to him already. Really, very rad of you, universe, to place not only normal Richie, but dead beat high Richie in this fucking situation. Way to go.

Eddie shifted on the sink casually, sliding closer to the edge of the counter and accidentally closer toward Richie. He continued scrubbing his shirt idly, sighing quietly.

After a few awkward minutes, Richie finally managed to get off the stain on the collar, and searched for another to begin working on. But then, Richie began losing balance again and tried seeking something to ground him quickly. He thought he might've caught on to the counter, but instead he felt soft warm skin under his fingertips, and blinked confusedly. His hand had landed right on Eddies leg. The skin just above his knee.

It was barely even a sound, and Richie probably would have never even heard it if the music from downstairs hadn't quieted down at just the right moment, but Eddie gasped as quiet as ever.

Now alright, before this goes on, let's just get some things straight. First of all, Richie's fingers are cold as hell, they always are. So it technically isn't Eddies fault for accidentally making such a sensual noise at such a horrible moment at all. And secondly, Richie is not fit to be stuck in a bathroom with Eddie right about now, drunk as fuck and rubbing stains off of a shirt. He's a hormonal seventeen year-old for gods sake! Get him out of here! Okay, now that those things are cleared up, resume.

Eddies scrubbing slowed to a halt, and Richie's slurring thoughts stopped entirely. His foggy head only faded more with drunkenness.

Richie dropped his rag to the floor and placed his other hand on Eddies knee, just resting it there for a moment. Eddie lifted his gaze from his shirt to Richies face. His eyes were half lidded, and he smiled a little at how Richies glasses laid just slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose.

His hands rose to Richies face, and he slowly lifted both sides of the frames, adjusting them so that they could sit correctly on his face.

Just as he was about to retract his hands, Richie steadily caught one of them by the wrist and, looking as though he had no idea what he was actually doing in the moment, slowly rubbed the pad of his thumb over the inside, where Eddies veins met with his palm.

Richie maneuvered Eddied hand so that it would cup his face, and all that Richies mind could think of was how warm Eddie was in comparison. Richies other hand subconsciously moved further up Eddies leg, now resting on his clothed thigh. Eddie gasped again, but this time it was the sigh that followed in which caught Richie enticed. A sort of sound that was too loud to be a sigh, but too quiet to be anything more.

Richie drew nearer, as close as he could possibly get, as if caught in a trance, and they both leaned closer and closer until their foreheads bumped together. Richie took a large inhale, and the breath that came out was shaky and uneven. The heat radiating off of Eddies body was intoxicating. Richie couldn't help but want more.

Before Eddie could do anything else, Richie removed his hand from the one that held Eddies palm on his face, and used it to lift Eddies chin so that he was properly facing him. He knew that Eddies eyes had closed by now. Richie leaned in.

He didn't do anything more, just ghosted his lips over Eddies and delighting in the way Eddie nearly tried to catch them onto his own. If Eddie were to move any further, he'd fall off the damn counter, they both knew well enough. So for a second too long, he continued to tease until even he couldn't take it anymore.

Richie didn't kiss him. He put both his hands back on Eddies thighs and made sure he was still looking up before moving his own head so that it trailed down Eddies neck, simply breathing over the soft skin and drinking in every part of him that he could. Richies curls tickled at Eddies face, and the hand that Eddie had kept on Richies face slid further up until it tangled into his hair.

Eventually, Eddie made a noise again above him, and it compelled Richie to nip at a part of Eddies neck slowly. He huffed out a breath over his skin and tried hard not to grip Eddies thighs tighter. That must've not worked, because Eddie abruptly tugged at the strands he had of Richies hair a bit.

Richie lifted his head from Eddies neck then. "Eddie," he panted, returning his position to rest on Eddies forehead.

"This isn't right," Richie whispers onto Eddies lips, eager to take them in his own. These words were meant to be a statement, but the question kept in between it still lingered. Something was stopping him.

Eddie curled the hairs at the nape of Richies neck with his finger. "I know" was all he could say quietly, and somehow that was all Richie could bear before he abruptly leaped forward to catch Eddies lips onto his own.

Their mouths push together softly, and Richies eyes slipped shut as the sheer pleasure of finally being able to do this washed over him. It was better than he'd ever thought it to be, even with the weed blazing heavily in the back of his head.

He sighed and licked tentatively at Eddies bottom lip, relishing in the faint taste of orange juice, and Eddies mouth opens up for him. His tongue pushes carefully against Eddies, and the sting of vodka mingles between them both. It's lazy and warm, and pretty much perfect.

Eddie is the first to pull away. Richie attempted to follow his lips, only to have a hand on his chest stop him just short of reach from Eddie, where he could still feel the heat of his breath.

The searing kiss left on him felt like a burn to his lips, a beautiful sin. Richies heart thumped sorely, like his heart was on fucking fire, and Eddie smiled.

Richie rubbed circles into Eddies thighs as they parted from the kiss. "Holy shit" he chuckled, and Eddie laughed at that. The small hand on Richies chest that held him in place traveled up to just the base of his neck, the thumb lightly running over his Adam's apple. Richie shuddered.

"You know," Richie breathed out, finally looking directly into Eddies soft brown eyes. "You drive me fuckin crazy sometimes" he laughs, and Eddie rolls his eyes before beginning to lean in again. Richie smiles stupidly at its simplicity. At how suddenly easy it is to put his own lips on his. Needless to say that he'd been thinking about this for a while.

Just as Eddies lips brushed his a second time, a loud shout erupted from downstairs, and both boys drunkenly halt, their attention shifting to the bathroom door.

Then the music stopped, more shouting. Richie was about this close to ignoring it all and going back to Eddie, but then he recognized one of the voices. Oh shit. Stan.

Eddie seemed to realize this at the exact same time, because just as Richie turned to alert him, he was already hopping off the counter and heading for the door. Richie tripped over his own shoelaces trying to follow him.

They exited the bathroom and sped to the railing by the stairs. Below them, the living room was silent as Stan stood in the center, same solo cup as before in his hand as he was yelling something slightly slurred to someone else. Bill.

"Fuck you!" he shouted, his cup waving around toward Bill accusingly. "And to think I actually liked you for a little" he murmured angrily, loud enough for him and everyone to hear.

Stan, when drunk, is not like everyone else. He doesn't exactly stumble around and laugh at the world. When Stan gets drunk, he gets morbid, and irritable, and angry in general. Richie and Beverly usually try to steer Stan away from the drinks during parties, but they rarely have to do so since he's always hated drinking anyways. But Mike didn't know, as he approached a suddenly drunk, angry Stan, that he shouldn't let him keep drinking, or that he should probably shut his mouth about things that make Stan even more angry. Although, that would have been excellent information to have received at the start of the party, wouldn't it now?

Bill rolled his eyes, "You're just drunk, Stan, do you even know what you're saying?". Richie and Eddie had already rushed down the stairs and pushed their way through and to the battleground. Mike stood by Bill's corner, looking absolutely petrified.

"You're drunk too, you condescending asshole. And y' definitely wouldn't be about to pass the fuck out right now if you would have just listened to me" he said. "If you'd ever just fucking listen to me".

"Well what the hell do you ever have to say other than insults and just being a bitch all around, huh?" Bill retorted angrily. He'd also taken one too many shots, courtesy of himself and his horrible ping-pong aim.

Stan looked slightly taken aback, but still unafraid to keep on pushing. "Oh I'm the bitch?! Ha! You get drunk once and suddenly you're the angel of us all". Ben soon resurfaced into view from the crowd, helping Beverly out on his shoulder. They approached the conflict with worry.

"Gather 'round everyone! Bill Denbrough, the perfect little white boy from the suburbs, coming to you soon to steal your friends away" Stan announced, a deadly glare returning to Bill. People whispered from the sidelines.

Bill halted, confusion overtaking his expression.

Richie took the leap of faith and decided to leave Eddies side and cross to Stan. When he got close enough, he gave him a loving pat on the shoulder. "Hey, you've had a lot to drink, just calm down, Stan" he whispered to him softly, trying to mask the way his worlds would slur together a bit.

"No- fuck off, Richie" Stan whispered back with significantly less anger, shrugging the hand off of his shoulder and looking back to Bill.

"What the hell 're you talking about?" Bill shook his head, brows furrowed as he took a drunken, weary step back.

"You think I wouldn't notice the way you'd just ignore me, and the Losers almost completely, and shift all your attention to Beverly? Rub yourself up to her a tolerable amount so you wouldn't seem like a total asshole to your other friends" Stan said with a grimace, his rage returning momentarily.

Bill's face softened. His shoulders slowly slumped and his eyes grew, as though he were finally realizing something. He did a bit of a double take, glancing to Mike, then Richie, then Eddie, and Beverly, and Ben, before returning back to Stan, who evidently was too spurred to realize that Bill had had his revelation.

"I'm sick of it, Bill" Stan snapped, huffing. "'Ohh don't worry, I wont try to fuck your best friend next time' well fuck you, Bill! There won't be a fucking next time, because I'm done with you."

"Stan I-" Bill tried.

"No, I don't even want to hear it" Stan cut him off, shaking his head.

He sounded a bit as though he were finally done talking, but then he turned back to Bill abruptly, last minute.

"You know, I don't know what it is about you that makes you think that it's okay to treat people this way" the sentence seemed a tad grammatically incorrect, but everyone stayed silent nonetheless.

"Is it because of your poor little on and off stutter, or maybe your dead brother, I'm not sure, but you seem to get away with everything without a dent".

Bill visibly flinched.The room was dead quiet, for a moment, aside from peoples gasps. Eddie covered his jaw-dropped mouth with his hand, Richies floating brain short circuited, and Mike finally gathered the courage to run in and between them to break it up.

"Alright, just stop it guys, please" Mike says from the center, holding his hands up and facing Stan.

"Stan, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Richie whispered, but Stan didn't respond.

"Are you ki-kidding?" Bill laughed, and Richie could've sworn he looked like he were about to break. His stutter broke over for a second. "So you're just gonna pull the duh-dead brother card and win?" Bill nodded questioningly, stepping closer and standing his ground.

"As if you're perfect, Stanley Uris, as f-fucking if!" Bill was laughing now, but his eyes brimmed with tears. Mike continued to try and talk them out of it all, but Bill just shouted over him.

"I could probably list about a hundred things wrong with you too, Stanny," he says, and Stan just stood there with his slightly worried expression.

Although frankly he shouldn't be. Sure, Stan and Bill have had their fair share of secrets kept between each other and such, but nothing that would tip Stan over the edge if it were to come out or anything. Bill knows a lot about Stan, but not that much more than anyone else in this room. He really shouldn't be worried.

" I mean what is it that you want from me, huh? You're obsessed! You got a crush on me or something? Is that it?"

Oh... did not see that coming.

Stan withdrew from his standing place as a few people gasped around them. He looked around the room, distraught, at all the shocked faces, and looked back to Bill. He made a bitter face to him. "Fuck you" he said, shaking his head furiously, eyes burning, before turning away and speeding out of the room. Richie followed after him, and when they reached the hall leading to the front door, luckily it was empty.

Stan stopped, turning to Richie. "Can- uh, can we please leave now?" he whispered, voice cracking as he wiped at the loose tear that fell. Trying his hardest to compose himself for as long as possible.

Just as Richie nodded quickly, Beverly came into view, emerging from the crowd just down the hall and jogging her way to her friends. The recent sequence of events seemed to sober her up well enough, and she approached them with worry in her eyes.

"Stan, are you okay? I-"

"Yes, I'm fine I just- um" Stan stumbled over his words, his head hanging low as he hugged his own arms.

"We were just about ready to leave" Richie finished for him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and starting to turn to the door.

"Oh, great! Tonight has been really shitty anyways" she shrugged, reaching for her sweater from the coat rack. Richie furrowed his eyebrows.

"You sure you don't want to stay a while longer? It's not really that late" Richie offered. As much as Bev's company could really help, he couldn't stop himself from asking out of consideration.

Beverly just rolled her eyes and herded the two boys out of the house, closing the door behind her. "I'm leaving because I want to, and I'd rather be with you guys. Ben is probably sick of me already too. We should go".

The three of them ended up ditching their bikes and deciding they could probably just get them tomorrow morning. None of them were in the correct state of mind to ride a bike right now, and instead they strolled down the roads, arms linked like the three weirdos that they are, on their way to Stan's house.

They slowly sobered themselves up by chatting about random things as they walked, ignoring the topic of the party entirely, and by the time they'd arrived, they were freezing their asses off and running inside. Tired and cold and over it.

Soon enough, they were all changed into their backup pajamas that they always kept at Stan's house, and were snuggled into blankets on his bedroom floor in a circle. Beverly and Richie had been trying their best to cheer him up from the misfortune of the party, and it only mildly seemed to be working, because he was still drunk, and drunk Stan is always just sad or mad by nature. No in between.

"Of course! And you remember the massive bag of sand that almost fell on me that one time during rehearsal?" Richie laughed, holding the blanket close to his chest and chin as he spoke. Without even thinking, when they first came into the house, he'd immediately taken off the windbreaker that Bill had lent him and hung it on the rack in the front room of the house, even though it was still freezing inside. For the sake of Stan, he wanted to do his best to make things better about tonight. By forgetting the certain people involved, of course.

Beverly laughed too, and they didn't question why Stan only smiled faintly at the memory and nothing more. He'd probably continue on like this for at least the rest of the night until morning.

"I'm gonna go get another blanket, my ass is freezing off in here" Richie chimed, rising from his criss-crossed position on the carpet and heading out the door.

And then the room was silent. Just the warm type of comfortable silence that they appreciated when it came, and would only pop up every once in a while when Richie would go dry of of things to run his mouth about.

Beverly rubbed at her cold red nose, about to say something about the costumes for Romeo and Juliet, till she heard a quiet whimper. Beverly turned up to see Stan hiding his face in his blanket, his shoulders shaking slightly.

She froze for a second, because Stan- well, he's not really a crier. Sure, sometimes when he's drunk he'll end up weeping periodically over something like a dead mouse on the road, similar to a girl on her period (or at least Richie would say). But still, Stan just never really cries.

But then she simply frowned with sympathy, "Oh Stan". Crawling over to his spot on the carpet, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged as tight as she could. Stan always jokes about how much he hates being touched, and always retracts when someone offers a hug at school, but tonight he takes her arm and squeezes it appreciatively, weeping into her shoulder with his muffled cries.

When Richie returned, he stood by the doorframe a moment, confused, then easily got on his knees and moved over to them. He put an arm around Beverlys, and another around Stan, smoothing out his hair comfortingly every once in a while.

And so they stayed like that for a long while, and soon Stan's crying began to dissipate slowly, slowly, until it was only short sniffles and sighs.

"I'm sorry you guys," Stan says, wiping the last of his tears on his sleeve and looking to his friends. "I just ruined tonight so badly" he chuckled sadly.

Richie released from the hug and shook his head softly, snorting at that as he pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Are you kidding? Tonight was boring as hell. I was having a bad trip anyways" he lied straight through his teeth. He practically had to walk out of there with blue balls, but by now he could barely remember why.

It became a large blur in the back of his brain, dissolving slowly along with his drunkenness. All that was left in his memory were periodical flashes of soft lips, a sharp tongue pushing onto his, and warm skin under his fingertips, lingering onto his touch like a ghost. Forgotten like a ghost.

"Bill... he wasn't in the best state of mind," Beverly shrugged, rubbing her thumb over Stan's knuckle. "And neither were you".

Stan frowned, shook his head. "He's dead to me, that asshole" he says.

Beverly paused for a second, nodding. "Well, you know what that means". She looks up to Richie, giving him a look. Richie bites his lip, recalling the pact they made back in 6th grade. 'If they're dead to you, they're dead to me'.

"You guys don't have to do that, I-It's fine" Stan rolls his eyes with a small smile at the reminder of their young selves.

"Nope, too bad, Uris. It's been done" Richie hums, smirking fondly. "Bill Denbrough has been checked off as 'total douchebag' in my memory from now on" he shrugged, Beverly nodding in agreement. Stan could only try to hide his growing smile and wonder what he did to deserve these friends of his.

Beverly yawned suddenly, causing Stan to yawn, then Richie, and he laughed drowsily. "Yeah, I think we're all tired as fuck" Richie rubs at his eyes, and they all laugh.

"Let's take this to the bed" Beverly sighs, beginning to stand up from the floor.

"Kinky" Richie jokes, and Stan gives him a weak, tired slap on the arm. Without even thinking, all three of them pile onto the twin bed, fully knowing one of them would end up on the floor by morning, and fully knowing that it would likely be Richie.

They snuggle together drowsily. Beverly lies on the far left, back facing Stan, and almost immediately her soft quiet snores are heard. Stan is in the middle, his shoulder slightly squished together from his friends on either side of him, but he falls asleep easily with a smile tugged onto his lips. Richie, on the other hand, is an insane sleeper, and usually has to lie in just the right position to be comfortable. It's usually easy to do that, though, in the Uris residence. Tonight he faces Stan, glasses left on the dresser at the front of the room, with an arm draped over Stan's torso and a leg peeking out of the blankets and dangling off of the bed slightly. Stan's soft curls just barely graze his nose, and he nuzzles himself into them, half asleep, dreaming that they're someone elses.

And so they sleep, and they don't wake up for a long time. Not at 3:00 am when Beverly half-sneezes and shakes the bed, or at 5:00 am when Richie mumbles half of an entire monologue in his sleep by accident, or at 7:00 am when a loud thump is heard from beside Stan, and a quiet groan following after. Or at 9:00 am when more groaning emerges from below, then loud footsteps leaving the room, and faint retching sounds from the bathroom down the hall. They're heavy sleepers, okay?

When Richie returns, he snuggles back onto the floor and sleeps another two or three hours until he's awoken by a pillow falling onto his face from above, and another, and another.

"What?" Richie whines, muffled under all the pillows and blankets.

"It's lunchtime," Stan croaks groggily from atop the bed. Beverly had already run off to the bathroom by then as well, and Stan was finally beginning to sit up from the bed after a while of not wanting to.

"Oh my fucking god," Richie groans as he sits up from the floor, clutching his head in his hands. "Why didn't I just stick to the weed?".

Stan snorts at that, slowly standing up and slinking over to his drawer. He pulled off his shirt and instead tugged on a long sleeve white shirt and a light blue polo over it. Richie awkwardly trained his eyes anywhere but him, and just as Stan finished pulling on his khakis, Beverly returned from the bathroom, fully clothed, ready, and frankly looking like shit.

"You look like shit, Bev" Richie voiced without thinking. She threw a pillow at him.

"Yeah well so do you, idiot," she rolled her eyes with a smirk. "You literally just caught me as I was about to put on my fucking makeup, you're ugly forever, so suck on that" she flipped him off.

Richie rolled his eyes, then suddenly processed the fact that they were both dressed, and he was still in his plaid pajama bottoms.

"Where are you guys heading off to?" Richie says, feigning betrayal and huffing excessively.

"We... are going out for breakfast" Stan responds, fixing his collar in the mirror before glancing to Richie through the reflection. He then throws Richie some jeans and snaps at him to hurry up.

So, a bit of backstory for you. The three of them have had this weird tradition where they have breakfast the day after a party and share their experiences. It started in 7th grade, when they first got invited to someones birthday, and simply just intensified from the start of freshman year. Technically, you can't really call it a tradition, since they're rarely aware that it's been an ongoing thing, but still. They like to share experiences and sometimes find amusing stories while they're at it.

So Richie gets ready. Pulls on the jeans, retrieves his glasses from the dresser, and as they walk out the door, wearily puts the windbreaker onto his frame, relieved in seeing the shrug and nod from Stan in response. 'As long as you don't give it back', he winks, and they all laugh.

The three teens hike quickly back to the house that held the party, and retrieve their bikes from the lawn. The sun shone brightly today, despite the contrasting snow that lined the sidewalks. The streets of Derry seemed pretty empty this tired Saturday, and the three teens hopped onto their bikes, headed for their next destination.

Richie pedals close to his friends, laughing and joking about all of their synced headaches this afternoon, and ignores the lingering taste of orange juice on his tongue.

heeeeyyyy, so howd it go, gang? did u survive or do i need to bring over a medic? rip, anyways i hope u enjoyed lol. thanks to all the support out there, we reached 200 readsssss! not much, but still an achievement! so grateful, i love u guys!! bye! - author