summer camp

Eighteen

- tw for some weird unconsenting semi-sexual touching (you can skip this chapter)

 It wasn't long before Richie got used to hanging out with Henry's friends. The Bowers gang, the people his friends were always so afraid of. The people that used to beat him up. It was insane, but it wasn't all that bad.

Richie soon learned that Belch and Victor were actually nice to him. He wasn't sure if it was only because Henry told him to, or if they respected him. Patrick was pretty bad. But Victor and Belch basically did whatever Henry told them to do. They didn't bother Richie too much.

Belch, in Richie's eyes, seemed like a pretty simple guy. He was really into guns, which wasn't entirely disturbing- there are worse things to be into. Richie and Belch didn't talk much at all, but never got in each other's way. Most of Richie's time was spent talking to Henry, anyway.

Victor was quiet, but whenever Henry was gone Richie found himself talking to Victor. He was actually really smart, and Richie often wondered how he even wound up being friends with Henry in the first place. But then again, how did Richie? Victor was probably the only sane member of their group, not including Richie himself. Richie could admit that Henry had some unresolved trauma, even if he did have a huge crush on him.

There were other ones that came around, too. Moose Saddler was one of the recurring members, but he wasn't around a lot. There was a boy named Peter Gordon at one point, too, but when he never showed up again, Richie figured the other guys didn't like him. He was surprised he was still around, but he had Henry to thank for that. The last member, and by far the worst, was Patrick.

Richie took measures to stay away from Patrick as much as possible. He hated the fact that Henry even chose to talk to this guy, let alone hang out with them every day.

It was the day after the Losers came to his house. Richie and Henry had woken up, left, and spent two hours after dark walking around town and smoking. Derry's curfew had been lifted, but even if it hadn't, that wouldn't stop them. At one point, Richie had been off guard, probably staring admirably at Henry or lost in his thoughts when Patrick came up from behind and started touching him. Rubbing him, his stomach, his arms, and hell, Patrick had gotten to Richie's thighs before Henry whipped around and saw what was happening.

"Don't fucking touch him," Henry threatened. Richie remembered seeing Henry practically yank Patrick off of him and push him to the ground. When Patrick got up, and the other guys stopped walking to watch what was happening, Patrick said, "Oh, he's yours then? Picked a cutie."

Richie was so terrified and so disgusted that he had to cling to Henry's arm for the rest of the night. It wasn't his proudest moment, but he didn't have a lot of those to begin with.

"Gettin' late. I'm gonna drink," Belch said, standing up from his seat on Henry's back porch to take a few beer cans from Butch Bowers' stash.

"Damn, you got the right idea!" Patrick stood up too, and Richie cringed as he watched Patrick move across the porch. Henry looked at him from the doorstep and motioned for Richie to sit next to him.

Richie sat down, not daring to pass up an opportunity to be closer to Henry. A voice in his head told him that it wasn't good. Henry had something to tell him, and it was bad. It was about what he did that day, or...

Henry had never mentioned it since it happened. Richie wondered why he never talked about it, but he still had hope. If Henry was disgusted by it, Richie wouldn't be around, would he?

"You're not drinking," Henry said plainly.

Richie looked up from the wooden planks of Henry's back porch and furrowed his eyebrows. Henry was telling him he couldn't drink? Why? "And why not?"

"You're too young." He smiled, and Richie wasn't sure if this was just a teasing smile, or an innocent one. Henry wasn't making any moves to start drinking, either, and Richie knew why. Henry was going to watch him.

But why did he care? Richie looked Henry up and down and raised his eyebrows. "You don't look twenty-one to me, either." He couldn't hold back a grin.

"You see me drinking? No. Plus, I don't want to have to look after you if you do something stupid or get alcohol poisioning."

"You have to look after me anyway," Richie muttered, annoyed that Henry felt like he needed to take care of him. It was stupid.

Henry grinned wider and threw his arm around Richie's shoulders. "You're right."

Sulkingly, Richie leaned back on Henry's arm and the door behind him. But Richie realized one good thing came out of this. He knew Henry cared about him, even if he was looking for ways around admitting it. He also knew he could now kiss Henry and get away with it.

It wasn't like Henry would ever bring it up.