cliché || reddie ✔️

nine

~~~

School passed by too slow for a Friday. Announcements droned on longer than needed and the bell seemed a minute off, but when it finally rang, Richie tore out of his Geometry class and to Beverly.

He saw Eddie talking with Stanley at the latter's locker as he packed his things away. He was tempted to go over and say hello, but when Bowers and his goons started down the hallway, Richie's heart sank and instead headed to his original destination.

Beverly wasn't gifted a car for her 16th like Richie was and rode with him to her aunts house. Beverly's aunt was gone at work until 5:30, so the two had the next 2 hours alone to do whatever.

"No, Richie! We played your music last time," Beverly says as she swats Richie's hand away from her phone.

"But Lana Del Rey? Seriously?" He asks and sits back in the white rolling chair.

Beverly nods and waits for her radio to sync up with her phone. "Yes, Lana Del Rey. You're just going to have to deal with it."

Richie's eyes roll and he spins to face the desk. It's piled with a lamp, pen and pencil holders, and school work that Beverly usually does once she gets home. But those are all pushed to the edges and a bag of cotton balls and a few glass bottles of nail polish sit in the middle.

"Where's the black?" Richie asks, a finger pushing back a pink bottle.

"I used the rest last time. My aunt hasn't gotten me more yet," Beverly's voice responds from far behind him.

One of her favorite songs erupts from the radio. It's quickly quieted down and deep chimes fill Beverly's room. She hums the first lyric before softly singing, "Sneaking out, looking for a taste of real life.."

"You don't sneak out," Richie says with a smile.

"I can." Beverly pulls up a second chair next to the desk. It's not a rolling one so the legs stutter against the carpet as Beverly forces it from it's corner. "But there's no place to sneak out to. You're always coming over here."

Richie shrugs and plasters a hand to the desk. "My house is boring as hell, man. At least you have shit to do here."

Beverly hums shortly in response and separates the polishes from each other. "Which one?" She asks as she drops her hand to the floor, picking up a bottle of nail polish remover. Richie scans each one, debating between the deep purple or light blue. His mind flashes to Eddie's green and red nails and he wonders if Beverly can paint just as perfectly.

"I'll do the purple," Richie responds. As she shakes the bottle up, Richie leans his head back and lets his eyes trail over Beverly's room. He's been in this room more times than he can count, yet the clutter that lines the walls never stay the same for more than a week.

Beverly's singing makes Richie roll his head back to the desk. "You should be on The Voice," he says and Beverly pushes out a laugh. "I should, though. I bet I'll beat all the other contestants."

"Is that even how that show works?" Richie asks and Beverly looks up at him. "I'm not sure. America's Got Talent works like that." Richie watches as Beverly finally takes the brush to his nail.