XII

Killer Queen | Queen

Now here's the thing. Richard Tozier has made many many mistakes in his life.

Watching a rated R movie at 5 years old was definitely one of them. Along with things like falling on his ass at the middle school dance, kissing mean girls in high school, and cultivating his very own loud obnoxious motormouth since birth.

And each mistake easily led to consequences. All mistakes lead to consequences. But let's look on the not-mistakes, shall we?

Mistakes? Becoming Stan Uris' best friend in 4th grade was not one of them. Joining the theatre in middle school was not. Befriending Beverly Marsh in the 6th grade was not one of them either.

Becoming Eddie Kaspbrak's boy toy, and vice versa, was also (surprisingly) not one of them. But then again, there are always consequences to your non-mistakes too.

And that's sort of the lesson Richie learns right now as he's being roughly pushed up onto the bathroom tiles at the moment after a Friday afternoon, a cold sharp blade held up to his neck. The same neck that held Eddie's lingering kiss not long before.

And this is cliche as fuck. But if you want to know why Richie is in this exact position right now, we'd have to take a bit of a rewind. So let's bring it back a little. Just a few hours... here.

"Of course it's a fucking lie, Bev" Richie sighs in exasperation, casually shoving a soggy fry into his mouth at the lunch table.

Both Stan and Beverly roll their eyes. They'd already gone over that conversation topic... in the mornings and over lunch the past two days.

The two friends immediately believed Richie when he'd told them that the rumors about him and Eddie were total bullshit, although he wasn't even sure of that himself.

They agreed that of course they would back him up if anyone said otherwise, but nevertheless, Richie always somehow ended up bringing the topic back on the table every day since it got out. Short, 4 sentence conversations? Yes, but still. Aggravating.

Richie had managed to easily act casual about it all, no suspicion built, (which was his strong suit) but still, it annoyed the two of them to the highest extent by now.

"Richie, we get it. We got it about two days ago actually, and we don't want to keep getting it" Stan retorted, Beverly quickly nodding in agreement.

Richie laughed. "Yeah, well, never mind that. What are the deets to the party today?" he shrugged, leaning in with intrigue when Beverly made an 'ah' sound and pulled out a flyer from her backpack pocket.

"Well, I gathered all of the most interesting-looking flyers from the stupid bulletin board outside" she says, patting her backpack with a proud smile. "This one seems good enough."

Then she looks back down to the flyer in her hand.

She squinted her eyes, reading from the paper slowly. "Tommy Cleves' Christmas Bash, parents out of town all weekend, let's... party" she read in a monotone voice.

"Sounds festive," Richie joked.

"Apparently Tommy Cleves is one of the rich kids, I though that ought to be an experience" she shrugs and Richie laughs.

"So are we up for it?" Beverly says, glancing around the table with a hopeful look.

"I mean, despite the absolute disaster the last one was, this one has got to be different" Richie nods, both of them looking to Stan finally.

And yes, their last experience at a party was the opposite of great, and the consequences were still booming back at them in intense waves. But what more could go wrong?

So far, all Beverly has really gotten this week we're dirty side eyes from girls all over school, and whistling boys when she passes the halls, almost like they've gone back in time to freshman year. Bev handles it well, but Richie... does not.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself instead of indulging in other fucks, huh?" Richie had shouted at some point, to a girl who mumbled 'slut' slyly behind them in the halls.

Stan actually seemed to be all clean of rumors already, because apparently a group full of losers breaking apart and ignoring one another wasn't all too appealing to the gossip of Derry High after all. No one could honestly give two fucks about what the outcasts of the school do in their day-to-day life.

But Richie, oh man, Richie had had it the worst these past two days. It's not exactly as prominent or out-loud as Beverly's situation, but it was definitely there.

Subtle, mind numbing things like drawing dicks on his gym locker, or jokingly staying more than 5 feet away from him as if he were some sort of disease. Sickness.

And the worst part was that he had to just laugh it off with the boys like it was funny. He needed them to think it was a lie, so he had to play along, no matter how painful it was to get through. He didn't even know what it was that Eddie was going through right now.

"By the way, Rich," Beverly says in between chews of her apple. "Bowers just came back from his three day suspension."

Richie chokes on his fries. "Wh-What?!" he exclaims, his eyes growing wide.

"Yeah, I can bet money that he's on the look out for you" she nods, and Stan just shrugs with a nod as well.

"Please don't do that" Richie says before hopping up from his seat and rushing to throw out his tray. Beverly and Stan roll their eyes once again, watching as he takes his backpack and apologizes, scurrying out of the lunchroom.

Recently he's been doing that. Leaving lunch just a few minutes early, saying sorry to his friends profusely and claiming it's Theatre tutoring. Hah, as if he'd ever needed that. If anything, he'd be the one giving that out to people... oh wait.

Richie smirked into the bruising kiss as he crowds Eddie onto the shelf of janitor's supplies, relishing in the way Eddie opens his mouth up for him like clockwork.

So they've been doing this a lot more. Stealing kisses in between classes, after lunch. Whenever they can. Dismissing suspicion right away, no matter what that means for them.

Shit, I'd be lying if I said they weren't doing a damn good job at hiding it. Staying apart in the public eye. No slip ups whatsoever so far. (Despite it barely being day 4)

And so they get to do this.

Eddie parts from the kiss to pepper little ones onto Richie, trailing them down to his neck and leaving wet, hot-mouthed kisses to the pale skin.

Richie tries to bite down the groan bubbling in the back of his throat. God, who taught this kid how to do this?!

"Eddie" Richie whispers, though it comes out sort of choppy with the way he's hitching his breath at the feeling of lips on his Adam's apple.

When Eddie doesn't respond, busy, Richie tries to get his attention. "Ed-Eds!" He says, struggling to pull Eddie off of him, partly because he doesn't want to himself, and partly because Eddie is like a fucking leech on his damn neck.

"Spaghetti!" Richie finally says, exasperated, and that's when Eddie lifts his head at last with an angry frown.

"I've told you not to fucking call me that, asshole" Eddie says, Richie rolls his eyes.

"You're going to be late for 6th," he says, trying to compose himself quickly and act more nonchalant. "Now- run along and I'll see you later" Richie says, raising an eyebrow as Eddie sighs, sticks his tongue out at him like a child, before skipping out of the room.

They don't really talk about the kissing outside of the kissing, or at all for that matter. It was a perfectly mutual, silent understanding that they both wanted this. That it felt good and that's all they were really chasing after with one another. And what more was there to say?

"Just... just do what feels good" Richie had remarked one awkward afternoon on Wednesday, when they met in the auditorium before school.

"Isn't it gay though?" Eddie had asked timidly, fiddling with his fingers and biting his bottom lip.

"Girls have lips too, Eds. It's like, the same thing" Richie said, and that was pretty much all Eddie needed to nod firmly and keep going with it.

I mean, they could barely even interact in public, too risky for either of them, and in private all they really had time to do was suck face, and small talk at most.

Of course, Richie still missed the casual arguments and conversations they'd have around the Losers lunch table, or sitting by one another in Theatre. But that was all gone now. And Richie seemed content in telling himself the make out sessions made up for it all. Because it partly did.

He dragged himself through the rest of the day, fighting through the teasing of his classmates and reminding them that the stupid rumors weren't true again. And when the clock struck, and the bell rung for 8th period, Richie thanked the Gods and rushed out of the classroom.

He kept his head in the game and hung on to the nagging reminder that Bowers could be anywhere. So as the school quickly filtered out and emptied, he worked to tread carefully through the echoing halls and check behind his back every now and then. It's the last day of school till next semester, till a new year, he ought to leave on a good note at least.

He avoided every classroom and hallway that Bowers could be in, sneaking around like a spy or a ninja, and eventually found his way to a safe exit.

He wondered if Eddie had to go through anything like this too, had any bullies of his own, or if Bowers would find him soon and have his way with him.

But then again, Richie knew all too well that Bowers enjoyed torturing him the most, because no matter how many insults and jokes Richie could spit back, there was always a glint of fear in his eyes that strung a wire of thrill through the asshole's body. Like some kind of fucking sadist.

Just as Richie sighed in relief, pushing open the back door of the school to leave, he felt a sharp tug backward on his backpack, along with a wicked chuckle behind him.

Richie staggered backwards in a panic, the door slamming closed in front of him like a missed window of freedom, and the hand continued pulling him away.

"Nice try, Tozier, but I missed you all week! Couldn't wait to get my hands on you..." the familiar voice said, and Richie could practically hear the devilish smirk on his lips.

"That's kinda gay" Richie blurts, earning another almost painful tug on his backpack as he's getting shoved into the boys bathroom.

And so we're back to here. Where Richie is getting himself terrorized all on his own accord over something that definitely did not aka did happen.

"Who'da thought I was right all along about your filthy fucking secret" Henry smiles, pressing into Richie's space, watching as he softly drags the silver blade over Richie's skin, not cutting just yet.

He has Richie held up to the wall, on the very toes of the poor boy's converse, with Henry's forearm secured heavily over his chest and shoulders entirely. A pocketknife held just over his neck, forcing Richie to keep his chin up and level with Henry's face.

"Your dirty little fucking secret" he repeats in gritted teeth, emphasizing with the heavy addition of pressure to Richie's throat with the knife.

Richie struggles to breathe properly, trying hard to act cool, though he's writhing under the life-threatening gaze of Henry Bowers.

"Why," Richie says in between heavy pants, looking up at Bowers boldly. "You want a taste?" he grins at the way Henry's face twists up in disgust.

"All you had to do was ask nicely" he says, before a sharp, lightning speed slap to the face jerks his head to the side, his glasses just barely holding on to his face for dear life. Richie can feel a cut taking form on his cheekbone, and he glares frustratedly at the smear of blood on Henry's fingers.

"No need to play smart-ass with me, Trashmouth. Fags like you should see this coming your way after all" he spat, his grip tightening again on the pocketknife.

Richie swallows down the piercing hurt of his words, and tries hard not to show it.

Instead, he leans further in with intimidation. "Fuck you" is all Richie says in response, the faint spit of his words making Henry flinch unexpectedly.

Henry just laughs sadistically, "Oh you'd like that, now wouldn't you."

Richie huffs, a dark raven curl flying up and out of his face as he's stunned into silence. Fuck no, but Henry smirks in triumph. Successfully out-trashed the trashmouth?

"Hmm, what should I do with you now?" Henry says, obviously a rhetorical question with the way he hums it so delightedly.

Richie rolls his eyes, "Look, whatever it is, just get it over with already, will you?" he says, straining and fighting against the hold on him Henry had, though it didn't do much to help. "I've got places to be."

Henry laughs again. "Really, you. Have places to be?" he repeats in amusement, and Richie kicks at the floor impatiently, cursing under his breath through gritted teeth.

"Where's your little boyfriend, the twink, anyway?" Henry queries, and that's what gets Richie on the spot.

His kicking becomes erratic, and Henry just grins wider, pinning him to the wall harder, watching him groan in pain for his upper body. His toes barely reach the floor anymore.

"Just- keep him the fuck out of this, Bowers" Richie says, wiggling violently with his attempt at getting out of his grip, the wavy curls wildly whipping left and right.

"The rumors are fake and you fucking know it" he adds, but Henry doesn't relent.

"Maybe when I find him later I'll ask about you," he says, pretending to ponder deeply.

"Then, of course, give him the proper beating he deserves" Henry smirks.

"Fucking bastard" Richie mumbles angrily, before dipping down to bite hard on the flesh of Bowers' forearm that held him down.

Henry hisses in pain, retracting his hand as Richie finally falls back to his feet unsteadily. "Don't you lay a fucking finger on Eddie" Richie warns angrily, heaving out breaths and staggering around dizzily.

Henry is blocking the exit to the bathroom, groaning and holding up his bitten arm protectively. Richie tries hard to assess the situation, even with his arms and shoulders aching and his mind a fuzz of disorientation.

"You shouldn't have done that" Henry growls, and suddenly he's hurling forward for a punch.

Richie quickly dodges the hit, and decides to make a run for it while he still can. His converse skid loudly on the tiles as he ducks under Henry's arm and heads for the door.

But Henry's reflexes are faster, and just as Richie gets a hand on the door, he's being pulled back by the hood of his sweater harshly, nearly choking him in the process of being dragged back.

And immediately he gets a punch to the gut, knocking him down to the ground.

So that's how Richie spent half of his afternoon. Lying on the bathroom floor repeatedly getting called offensive names, and getting the shit kicked out of him because of the choices he made. And maybe it would have gone differently if he hadn't followed Eddie that night at the party, or if he had ignored the note from Eddie the other day, been smarter about all his fucking actions for once.

But if he did that, he might've not gotten to where he is now, with Eddie, and because of that he feels confident in believing he doesn't regret a second of anything.

Fucking idiot, amirite?

——

"What do you mean run? Of course I fucking ran, Stanley" Richie hollers into the phone, holding a pack of frozen peas to his side carefully as he rolls his eyes.

Henry had luckily stayed clear of aiming at Richie's face this afternoon, aside from the obvious cut from before, so only a band aid was really needed for that. But everything else? God, he was (mildly) aching from every damn part of his body.

"Well what else am I supposed to say?" Stan responds, and Richie can hear the way he laughs breathily in between words. "We warned you, man."

Richie scoffs, but let's the topic drop. "Anyways, could you put Bev on call for me? My hands are full" he says, struggling to keep the cold pouch on his bruises while he tries to adjust his glasses and hold the phone.

"Yeah sure, hold on, putting you on the three way" Stan says, before there's some rustling on the other end of the phone and it goes dead for a moment.

Richie bites his lip impatiently, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Then, the static of the line is back, and the voices of his two friends come to life on the other ends.

"Heya Rich! I heard you got your dick kicked in by Bowers, that true?" Beverly says first, and Stan laughs. Richie groans into the phone, exaggerating only in his voice, a smile tugged onto his lips.

"Let's forget about that for now, shall we?" He says, chuckling.

"How bout we consider that party again, ey?" Richie says, trying hard to sound persuasive. Richie can practically see Beverly nodding furiously, and how Stan is probably biting his lip unsurely right about now.

"I don't know about that, guys" Stan says, and Beverly boos him immediately.

"What!? You can't say that I have zero valid reasons not to go" he shoots back quickly at the disapproving noises.

Richie hears Beverly make an 'eh' noise, as if she were holding up her hand to say 'more or less'.

"Like- god, what if what's-his-name goes? Then we'll be stuck with those idiots" Stan argues. Beverly then makes an offended noise.

"Ben is not an idiot!" she chimes, and Stan groans.

"Woah woah woah, are you both suggesting that Eddie is an idiot? Because if so, I can testify to say that is very untrue-"

"Objection!" Stan hollers into the phone with little enthusiasm, and Richie can tell he's rubbing a hand over his face with exhaustion.

There's silence for a second, and Beverly breaks it first, sighs loudly.

"Who gives a fuck if they go! We shouldn't be letting them tamper with our holiday boozefests!" she exclaims with an alarmed tone. "Plus, I can already guarantee you they aren't going. They're losers! They wouldn't do it, not without us for guidance, at least" she nods, attempting to assure.

Stan hums thoughtfully, and Richie grins. It's working.

"Let the record show, might I remind you, that we are losers too, in case you've magically forgotten hours after I nearly died at the hands of our lifelong bully" Richie blurts, and Beverly snickers.

"Right, sorry sorry, let the record show" Beverly mocks.

"Alright, you have me convinced, we should go" Stan says affirmatively.

"Rich, you in the proper mindset to go?" he asks, and Richie purses his lips, caught on a warm smile.

"Did you really just ask me that?" Richie laughs jokingly. "The thing I need most in life right now is body-numbing substances and loud fucking christmas music" he announces, and both Stan and Beverly woop and holler into the phones in excitement.

Beverly giggles. "Okay but seriously, Tommy Cleves like, rich as fuck!" she says, almost confused.

"How could he just post flyers around school and not expect fucking chaos tonight?" she scoffs.

"Let's hope for anything other than chaos this time, shall we? Meet at Richie's in twenty?" Stan queries.

"Wow, thanks for asking Staniel, of course you can come over!" Richie says sarcastically, and they all laugh.

And so they do just that, meet at Richie's in twenty, and ponder the possibilities of tonight, scattered onto his living room floor as the sun sets outside.

Meanwhile, Eddie is biting at his nails anxiously, pacing back and forth on Bill's carpet as Ben reads the flyer out loud.

"Tommy Cleves' Christmas Bash, it's perfect!" he exclaims, sitting criss-crossed on Bill's bed and flicking the paper.

Bill groans from his spot on the floor, sprawled onto the carpet like a starfish. Eddie avoids stepping on him, but continues pacing nevertheless.

"Remind me again how you know for sure that they aren't going?" Bill asks, paranoid.

"I told you, there was a paper in Beverly's backpack, a flyer!" Ben nods. "It was a totally different party than this one."

Eddie halts. "You went into her backpack?!" he freaks, and Ben quickly shakes his head with a laugh.

"No no no, it was sticking out of the pocket, you see, and it literally said something else" he says confidently. Eddie eyes the paper suspiciously.

"All I'm saying is... Beverly was right before. We should be getting out of our shell some more. Do something for once" he says persuasively, tapping the paper once more.

"I know last time ended up a... ended up real bad for us all, but this could be different!" Ben says. Bill sighs loudly into the floor.

"I hate how much you're making sense" Bill says, and Eddie chuckles quietly with a nod.

"And if it ends up bad, I'm all for just cutting off the term party from our vocabulary entirely if we have to."

The three think over the possibility thoroughly, a silence filled with thoughts shooting left and right.

Eddie shrugs, "Maybe you're right. This could be better" he says hesitantly, wishing desperately for it to be true.

So they sit, pondering, and slowly, as the sun dissipates from vaughn and nighttime engulfs the small town, they get ready for said party.

Saying that going to this party is a huge mistake is... debatable, because a lot of things are yet to happen. A lot.

And who knows, maybe it will be the opposite of a mistake instead. Maybe, this party could change the course of everything all over again.

Stupid fucking high school parties. They do that to a story, don't they?

Heyyy i hope u enjoyed this chap! not my favourite :| but it's an early update for thanksgiving, so yay! i'm so grateful for you guys, it insane, we actually went from 400 reads to 500 within barely a few days!!! <333 gosh i love y'all sm! - author