mike wheeler/richie tozier 🔓🗝

Adoption.

Richie sat on his bed, tears streaming freely down his face as he stared at the wall in front of him. It hurt to cry, physically.

He was in pain. A lot. His father had gotten overly angry at him, starting to get aggressive and losing his shit, ending in Richie getting beat.

Richie sighed to himself, closed his eyes, and picked up his phone. He dialed in Beverly's number.

"Hi Rich!" said a kind, energetic voice on the other line.

"Hi," Richie's hoarse voice spoke.

Her face dropped slowly. "Are you okay?" she asked, and he kept his eyes closed.

"No," said Richie, "do you think we could go on a smoke break?"

She smiled genially. "Yeah, okay, where do you wanna meet?"

He sighed, finally opening his eyes and looking at his bedroom door. Tears still came out of his eyes, but he truly did need someone to talk to, he needed to be around someone.

"I don't care, I just wanna leave."

Beverly's eyebrow rose in confusion, and she stopped what she was doing. "Leave?" He fell silent, not wanting to say another word. "Where are you? Are you okay there?"

Richie smiled yet cringed at the concern in her voice. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine here. Just um.. lonely?" he tried his best to find an excuse.

"Oh," she said simply. "Okay, uh, meet me at Urfer park in ten."

He smiled and furrowed his eyebrows. "Thank you so much, Bev."

"Of course, see you then!"

"Cya."

The phone went silent after a sound which symbolized her hanging up, and he rubbed his tired eyes.

Richie stood, setting off to the bathroom to fix himself up and cover evidence of him being beat. He would tell her the scratches on his face were just him being clumsy on the way to the park.

He pulled a jacket on, sported jeans and put a pair of shoes on and set out his window.

Exiting through his window was nothing new to him. He was skilled at quiet yet surely slipping away, and making sure he couldn't be seen or heard. His window was usually what he left his house from.

Beverly spotted a boy with curly hair and large glasses as she walked to the park, changing her direction and walking to him.

"Hey Richie," she said, and he glanced at her with a smile.

"Hi, Bev," he replied in a mopey manner. She furrowed her eyebrows and sloped her arm around his shoulders, hugging him from the side as they walked.

Richie smiled and put his head on her shoulder, and they walked at a slow pace like this.

A police car came around the corner, and Richie brought his head up. They stopped at the two, and Beverly and Richie stopped as well.

The car window was rolled down, and the police in the driver's seat removed his glasses from his face. "Hello, sir and ma'am," the man greeted, and Beverly let go of Richie.

"Hi, officer," Beverly spoke for the two of them. "Need something?"

The cop looked over at Richie, glancing at him up and down with a suspicious look on his face. Richie took notice of this.

"What?" the boy asked, and the officer's eyes met his.

"What's with the jacket?" This question made Beverly's head turn to him, looking at the jacket and then his eyes, showing she wondered the same thing.