The cold creeps in underneath Richie's cuffs, slithering up his arm like slimy snakes making their way towards his neck. He shivers, burrows further into his coat, and pushes the pedals faster to get his body moving. Any heat that exerting the energy creates is instantly washed away by the cold air blasting against his face as they ride downhill.
"Keep up, Hanscom!" Eddie's voice floats through the blistering air, bringing a warmth into Richie's cheeks that eats away all of the frost collecting on the tip of his nose.
Ben pedals past Richie quickly, swerving between Bev and Bill in order to catch up with Eddie near the front. Richie considers picking up the pace just so that he's not left behind or forgotten, but then Stan falls back to match his speed with Richie's. Stan's bike is a newer model of the one Richie has, but the chains still make the exact same clanking noise.
"Have you been out to Mike's farm yet?" Stan asks. Richie nearly doesn't hear him over the howling wind.
"No, this is my first time," Richie shakes his head, grinning over at the more quiet boy.
"It's nice," Stan nods, his hands on the grips of his bike so very tightly. "But... it's best when it's cold like this because Mike's grandma makes us hot chocolate. I've never tasted anything so good."
"Huh-huh-haven't you heard, S-S-Stan?" Bill turns around on his bike, the too-big wheels swerving into Beverly's path as he does so. The girl rolls her eyes and straightens out her line, but otherwise doesn't say anything to Bill's reckless driving. "Sh-sh-she puts in guh-growth hormones t-t-to make you ffffff-ff-f-fat like their c-c-cows."
"That is not true!" Eddie pipes up, a loud scoff slipping out of his mouth like a puff of fog.
"It's totally true," Ben nods affirmatively. "Mike told me himself. She wants to fatten you up, Eddie."
Bill winks at Ben, a movement that Richie does not miss. He feels a bit bad about everyone teasing Eddie, but it's hard when the boy just makes it so easy on himself. He wouldn't be as much of a target if he didn't open himself up to such vulnerable opportunity.
And when Richie sees an opportunity, he can't resist taking it.
"What would she gain from fattening me up? Your story is so stupid, Bill, seriously. Were you dropped as a baby?" Eddie scoffs again, this time a bigger puff of air exhaling into the cold November air.
"So she can eat you, Eds," Richie calls up to the front of the pack. "You think she's going to feed off of a scrawny kid like yourself? No no, she needs to fatten you up like a juicy pork."
"What!" Eddie screeches, resulting in bursts of laughter from everyone around them. The kid's genuine concern isn't that funny, but Richie laughs anyway.
When the group turns left down an old country dirt road, deja vu reaches up and swallows Richie whole. He feels as if he's drowning in it, unable to swim in this neverending ocean of memories flooding in like tsunami waves.
Hot summer afternoons, usually. Dirt flying up behind his tire wheels, scraped knees hitting the handlebars as he rides, and an overwhelming taste of green apple gummy bears that Henry would pick out to save for Richie.
He'd wake up at seven thirty in the morning and ride his bike out to the Bowers farm just outside of town, usually bringing along his BB gun or toy soldiers to line up in the long driveway and watch as Henry kicked them all down with boyish glee. They spent hours together; chasing each other around the farm, wrestling in the crop fields, making forts out of dirt, and crowding around the radio to listen to the baseball game after placing bets. Henry always won, but it's not as if Richie was losing real money. Richie would bet sticks of gum while Henry would put down his baseball cards. It seemed like a fair trade to the two, but Henry would always sneak a card or two into Richie's bookbag when he wasn't looking.
The farmhouse needed a lot of tending to, and a lot of that tending was passed down onto Henry and disguised as chores. Richie knew the truth; Mr. Bowers was just too much of a lazy prick to do it himself. He was a drunk, and he was angry, and when those two traits crossed paths, he would take it out on Henry. So, the boy spent a lot of time outside, mainly hiding from his old man's line of sight. If he was busy working, or just hidden from view, he could avoid a beating pretty easily. Richie understood this, it was an unspoken knowledge that Henry never once had to bring up, Richie just knew. And he understood. And he would come over early in the morning so that they could split the chores up and have them done by high noon.
"Richie?" Bev's voice calls out, snapping the boy from his trance.
Richie looks up, seeing her slowing her bike down to match his and Stan's speed. She looks genuinely concerned, which only plagues Richie with guilt. He doesn't mean to make her worry so much, he just... he can't help it. He can't.
"I'm fine," he shakes his head, eyes focusing hard on the ground so that more memories aren't unearthed by their surroundings. "Just thinking."
"About?" Stan prods at him curiously.
"Huh-huh-haven't you heard? T-T-To-Tozier's got a secret guh-girlfriend," Bill snickers.
"Is that who you were writing letters to on the bus today?" Ben chimes in, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at his friends behind him.
Richie's face flushes up, his eyes darting up to meet with Eddie. The tan boy doesn't turn around, doesn't look back, but Richie doesn't miss the way that his shoulders bunch up as he shrinks down onto his impossibly big bike. This must be a sign, Richie is sure of it. But... a sign for what?
"Crap, watch out, guys. Asshole alert," Bev curses, speeding up to ride alongside the right of Ben protectively. Richie notices the way that they all speed up, and he subconsciously follows suit without even glancing at what Beverly is referring to.
He wishes he didn't, however. The deja vu from riding along the familiar path was bad enough, but seeing the dirt driveway leading up to the Bowers residence is ten times worse. He feels as if he's a kid again, coming over early in the morning to help Henry with his chores. The nostalgia tricks his senses into tasting those green apple gummy bears, but he knows better. Things aren't the same anymore.
During Richie's lost gaze, Henry stands up from where he is in the yard and sees who is riding their bikes down this far away from town. He's met with a group of people he's learned to hate, along with the very bane of his existence. Henry's eyes fixate on Eddie Kaspbrak, the small boy leading the whole wolf pack, and his stomach hardens at the sight of him. Eddie is... Eddie is conventionally attractive, Henry knows he can't compete. He's not mad about that, though, he is no jealous type. What's actually bothering him is the fact that he can recognize Eddie's beauty in the first place.
Henry and Richie seem to make eye contact at the exact same time. The two remain staring at one another, Richie's bike gliding right on by the driveway he used to play cops and robbers in. The green apple taste gets stronger, but there's... there's something else there. Something fainter.
The juicy fruit that hits the tip of his tongue is a reminder of the way Henry felt pressed up against him. His first kiss, his only kiss, New Year's, midnight. Henry grabbed the front of his shirt, and Richie flinched. He assumed he was going to get punched. Then... juicy fruit, juicy fruit, juicy fruit.
Richie looks away, his hand wiping at the corners of his mouth as if he can still feel the wetness of Henry's nervous lips. Richie doesn't look back at Henry, just pedals faster with his head down, but that doesn't stop Henry from staring enviously.
Before the kids are completely out of sight, they all hear a distant shout followed by the sound of an axe slicing through wood.
Henry's voice calls out "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" and Richie has to pretend as if it doesn't bother him.
When they finally arrive at the Hanlon residence, they all wait by the road as Bill slips under the fence to unlock the gate from the inside. They say they all take turns, and that Mike dug that hole especially for them, but Stan leans over and informs Richie that Bill usually does it because he's the group leader.
They meet Mike out in one of the barns, the boy's shirt soaked with sweat in the same way that the droplets glisten on his skin. Richie knows he must be doing extensive labor, there's no reason for him to sweat like that in the middle of November.
"How was the field trip, you guys? Was it fun? I've always wanted to go to the aquarium," Mike smiles at them. He heaves, lifting his shirt up And wiping the sweat from his face. Richie takes notice of the abs bursting beneath his skin and how the muscles move with each moment. Jealousy courses throughout him.
"It was so cool," Eddie gleams, "There were, like, a million-"
"You weren't even paying attention, Eddie!" Stan interjects. "Too busy listening to Richie's mind control music."
"It's rock 'n' roll, baby," Richie smiles, leaning on Stan's shoulder and moving in to be dangerously close to the boy's face. He expects Stan to give some smart one-liner that will shoot Richie down into his place, but Stan just stiffens and stares back at Richie with wide eyes, a warm flush tinting his cheeks. Richie backs away, confused, the smile dropping from his face. Stan looks... embarrassed?
"I'm more of a blues and jazz kinda guy," Eddie shrugs nonchalantly. A blatant lie, but it still makes everyone giggle.
"What do you know about blues?" Mike laughs.
"I know enough," Eddie nods his head as if he's confirming an order. He stands stiffly against Bill, using the taller one as a support beam. Bill doesn't mind, just watches everyone with those perpetually glossy crystal eyes. Richie thinks that Bill would die for these kids if he had to.
"Ed, you couldn't tell the difference between a tuba and violin," Beverly laughs so easily, her back against a barn door that they were all told is full of cow shit. They can certainly smell it.
They all burst into laughter, teasing Eddie and pushing him around like friends do. Not in the way Henry Bowers pushes him around, but more gently. More affectionately. Little touches that tell him they are laughing with him instead of at him.
Richie watches them; his eyes traveling from Ben's pullover sweater, to Bev's fiery hair, to Stan's still-flushed cheeks, to Bill's misty eyes, to Eddie's sunkist freckles, to Mike's dazzling teeth. He thinks he would die for them, too, if he had to. He wouldn't think twice.
Mike leads them all down to the pasture, the crisp, yellow grass beneath their feet crunching with each step the group makes. As they walk, they all discuss the camping trip planned for this weekend, but Richie admires the scenery. He's never been on a farm like this before, Henry's was much smaller. Mike's family owns more land than he's ever seen, and he can't help but admire the way that each patch is carefully groomed and cared for with precision. This farm is loved and it shows by its neat fields that lack any overgrowth.
"You guh-guh-guys w-w-wanna play t-tag?" Bill suggests once they have made a decent dent into the pasture. Richie can look back and see where the grass has laid down for their footsteps, a path that marks all of them moving together in one continuous direction. He hopes that path never ends.
"Not it," Stan touches the tip of his finger to his nose. Ben quickly follows suit.
"I'm out," Bev sits down, extending her legs and leaning back as if she's sunbathing. Richie wants to tell her it's November and that all she will get is frostbite, but she has a smile on her face, so he refuses to be the reason that it disappears.
"Yeah, me too," Richie sits down. Tag seems like too much effort, too much energy wasted, and Richie hasn't been eating the right amount of food to keep himself substantially involved in a game of chase.
He sits next to Beverly, who smiles and leans her head on Richie's shoulder, but he is more concerned with Eddie Kaspbrak sitting down and taking a seat next to them.
"Asthma," he says simply. Everyone nods, and then Mike claims he's it and starts chasing them through the pasture.
Richie is silent for a moment, just watching the way that Ben runs faster than Stan. Bill is protective of them, shouting directions to run as he tries to get Mike's attention to distract him from Ben. When Mike finally catches up to Stan, he slaps a big hand on the kid's shoulder and yells out "Tag, you're it!"
Richie jumps when he feels someone pressing into his side. When he looks down, he relaxes. Eddie is nuzzling in underneath Richie's coat, trying to stay close for warmth, his tiny fingers curling around the sleeve of Richie's jacket as he tries to move the boy's arm and take its place. Richie's muscles drip with euphoria, the boy lifting his arm so Eddie can come closer, and then wrapping his coat around the two of them. Eddie doesn't say anything, just shivers and breathes out shaky puffs of air.
"You guys are going camping in this weather?" Richie asks to crack the silence.
"So are you, Tozier," Beverly rolls over in the grass to lie on her stomach. Richie looks at all of the dead grass clinging to the back of her white shirt like brush strokes on a canvas. "Don't try to wiggle outta this. You're coming whether you like it or not."
"You're coming with us?" Eddie asks, lifting his head. With their proximity, the tip of his nose kisses the curve of Richie's jaw. Neither of the two move away.
"Yeah," Richie nods, then puts on a Voice "Eye'suh gun be sharin' a tent wit ya, Missur Kaspbrak."
"Ew, what is that?" Eddie laughs, the little giggles pushing against Richie's neck. "Is that supposed to be some southern kid?"
"Do the posh guy," Bev requests. "I like the butler the best."
"Oh, my lord Kaspbrak, do let me repeat my aforementioned inquire. I have been gifted the honor of sharing slumber headquarters with you, my dear good sir. Does this sound acceptable or shall I make arrangements to something more pleasurable that would better suit your standards, my lord?"
"Posh Richie sounds funny," Eddie laughs, leaning forward and resting his forehead right against the curve of Richie's neck. Warm. So very warm. "You're a wise guy, Richie Tozier."
"Yet you haven't given me an answer," Richie becomes himself again as easily as taking a coat off. Sometimes, he wishes he could be someone else forever. He wishes he never had to take the coat off.
"That sounds fine," Eddie replies. "No funny business in the tent."
"What, you don't want no late night lovin'?" Richie churns out smoothly, his familiar smug grin finding its way onto his face. This is Richie's default, this is how the world sees him. Not as the emotionally distraught kid that Beverly and Eddie know, but the smooth talker who has a joke for every situation. "Now, Eds, that isn't what you were saying the other night when I was crawling through your wind-"
Bev looks up, raising an eyebrow, as Eddie simply slaps a hand over Richie's mouth. This does nothing, however, because after years of friendship, Bev and Richie can communicate with just their eyes. One look at Richie is all it takes for her to figure out that this night actually did happen just like Richie is telling it.
After a few more moments of silence, Eddie breaks it again. He says with a bit of yearning tracing his words, "Doesn't it look fun?"
Richie glances down and sees him watching the boys running through the pasture with longing in his expression. It's obvious he wants to join them, but something in his mind is holding him back from doing so.
"So go be with them," Richie nudges his shoulder into Eddie's back. "Go on, then."
"I can't," Eddie says. "My lungs don't work."
"Have you got your inhaler?" Richie asks. Eddie nods, patting his fannypack. "Refills?" Eddie nods again. Richie nudges him once more, then says "If you feel tired, you can come sit down again, and we'll take care of you. We've got all the medicine if anything happens. You can go play, Eds. Go be a kid. I'll take care of you."
Eddie blinks those big brown eyes up at Richie for a few moments before silently standing up and brushing his knees off. Eddie takes a few steps forward, looks back, and keeps walking when Richie gives him an encouraging nod. The boy picks up his speed, then slowly starts to jog, and by the time he finally reaches the other boys, he is running.
"I'm it! I'm it!" Eddie declares, earning cheers and hollers from the boys chasing one another around. Stan looks back at Richie and Beverly, then lifts his hand and gives a wave that says 'thanks'. Richie waves back.
"You're soft on him."
Richie looks over at Bev, who is still looking at him with an amused smirk. Richie shakes his head, furrows his eyebrows, and returns to watching Eddie run as fast as his little legs will let him. He's quite fast, actually. A kid with asthma wouldn't be able to run that fast.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Marsh," Richie shakes his head, and, no, really, a kid with asthma wouldn't be able to run this fast. Richie picks up Eddie's fannypack and unzips it, digging around through the various amounts of pill bottles to find the aspirator refill. "The kid wanted to go play, so I told him to go play."
"Mhm," she smirks, rolling over in the grass until she reaches Richie's side. She rests her head in his lap and looks up at him with those diamond-like eyes, twinkling devilishly. "Sure. Whatever you say, Tozier. That doesn't change the fact that you're totally soft on him."
"So what if I am?" Richie scoffs. He pulls out the packaged materials, flipping it over to read the list of ingredients.
"Is he like a brother to you?" She asks. Beverly reaches up and traces her fingers along the healing cuts on Richie's lips. He doesn't notice, just squints his eyes and reads the fine print on the label.
"This is just hydrogen and oxygen," Richie reads out. "And a drop of camphor. Probably just for taste."
Richie presses down on the trigger and releases the spray onto his tongue, careful to not let his mouth touch the piece out of respect for Eddie's fear of germs. He twists his face up and splutters, earning a quick slap from a Beverly, who got spit on.
"Tastes like battery acid, fuck," he sighs. "This is bullshit."
"It helps him," she says.
"No, it deceives him. These are placebos," he says. "Hydrogen and oxygen. It's just fucking tapwater."
Bev is quiet, the realization crossing her kind of what exactly that means. Eddie doesn't have asthma, or his mother is just trying to trick him, or the pharmacist Eddie fills prescriptions with is a cheap bastard who can't be bothered to make proper medicine. Richie doesn't quite know how the specifics of asthma work, but he does feel as if a bit of tapwater isn't going to solve all the issues Eddie has been convinced that he has.
"It feels real enough to him," Bev says. "And that's all that should matter."
Richie looks up at the kid who does not seem to be struggling at all, now running from Stan, who isn't putting in much effort to chase him anyway. Still, even then, Eddie is smiling and laughing so brightly that it warms up the chilly oncoming winter air. For a brief second, it feels like summer. And not because Richie is remembering Henry Bowers, but because Eddie brings the sunshine wherever he goes.
Bev reaches up to touch the side of Richie's cheek again, her fingers brushing against the scar that is forming where Henry's ring had cut deep. She sees a look of love that has never quite been on Richie's face before, but she doesn't even need to look to see where his eyes are staying.
"Does it feel real for you?"