A second part was requested to my Oh Boy oneshot a few parts earlier in this book by loyalmileven, so here it is!
NOTE: This isn't at all meant to imply that being gay isn't "normal", I'm just trying to convey how Richie might feel growing up in the 50s where it was less accepted/more taboo, and Richie realizing who he is and that he'll be okay and loved even if he's considered "different". And also him struggling with the heteronormativity that makes him instinctively feel like he's wrong for liking boys, just based on being surrounded by straight relationships, and him accepting his feelings and himself. :) Ok, now I hope you guys like it!
As Richie laid in bed, he closed his eyes, but not to sleep. To think. He felt like he could feel everything, from the breeze coming through his open window to every individual hair on his arm that stood up when he thought about Bill.
The dark-haired boy rolled on his side so that he was facing the window. The pale blue curtains billowed gently, and the street lamps cast a soft yellow glow into Richie's room. Something about nighttime in the suburbs, Richie thought, was both peaceful and sad at the same time. The comfort of being tucked under a well-loved quilt, the soft crackling of his radio, the sight of all his toys and books stacked neatly on their shelves, the quiet. The emptiness on the front lawns which were busy with children during the day, the eerie shadows cast by the moonlight, the lonely sound of a train whistle every now and then, the quiet. Richie loved and hated it, and he always found himself tossing and turning in bed as his mind flip-flopped between extremes.
But, now on his side and facing his small blue radio, Richie sighed; not definitively happy or sad, but somewhere in between. Heartsick. So full of love that he was ready to burst and so sick of waiting that he felt sick to his stomach. But most of all, the fear that twisted his stomach: what if Bill called him gross, or a freak, or just stupid? Sweet Bill Denbrough was no Henry Bowers, but still, this was untouched territory for anyone in the Losers Club. The word normal was on loop in Richie's mind, and the fear that maybe he wasn't, and the hope that surely it was okay not to be. The hope that he could kiss Bill like his dad kissed his mom and it wouldn't mean anything different, that he could hold Bill's hand not just when he was terrified and needed to but just because he loved him and just because he felt like showing it.
Without realizing it, Richie had started crying, and he only noticed when he felt a tear roll down the side of his face. Being the comedian of the group, there was a sort of unspoken pressure to always hold it together, to never look worried or show fear, but here in his room, he let go. Richie buried his freckled face in his pillow, trying to steady his breathing and focus on something, anything, to make him feel better.
He caught the last few lyrics of that Buddy Holly song that'd been playing for a minute or so, and he let himself relax as he hummed along.
All of my love, all of my kissin', you don't know what you've been missin', oh boy!
The world can see you were meant for me.
As Richie became lost in thought, he heard a familiar sound outside of his window. He jumped, sitting up in bed to see what was going on. A small part of him was startled, but he knew that sound too well. Playing cards on bike spokes. Bill? Now? At almost midnight?
With both joy and panic burning in his chest, Richie scrambled out of bed, practically tripping and tangling himself in the sheets. He swiped his glasses off the nightstand and quickly put them on so he could actually see, and then poked his head out the window with his hands resting on the windowsill.
"Bill?" he whispered, struggling to see shapes in the darkness and the bushes under his window.
"Y-yuh-yeah," Bill replied, seeming to come out of nowhere as he stood up from laying down his bike. He looked at the bushes and sighed, then shrugged and pushed his way through the leaves so that he was right under Richie's window, which was at just the right level for him to lean his elbows on in the space between Richie's hands.
"What the hell are you doing here, you-" Richie started to say, but was cut off.
"Sh-shut up, for wuh-once, Trashmouth," Bill pleaded, wrinkling his nose as he tried to get out what he wanted to say.
Richie widened his eyes, certain that there was no way Bill could've known he was literally just thinking about him, but also certain that he somehow must know. Unless he was here because something bad happened? Richie suddenly became worried, but he tried not to let it show, and he found the rarest kind of patience within himself to shut up and listen.
"Th-there was a suh-song, a Buddy Ha-holly one, a-and I've been ma-meaning to t-tuh-tell you tha-hat," Bill said, and Richie found his patience wearing out. It wasn't because of the stutter; no, he loved that, it made Bill so special to him. He was impatient because Bill was painfully close and his eyes were sparkling and his hands were close to his and he was so close but he couldn't kiss him.
"I know the song, Big Bill," Richie interrupted, having a hopeful feeling that he knew where this was going.
Bill stopped and just stared at Richie for a moment, then carefully reached up and took off his glasses. To both of the boys' surprise, Richie just let it happen and took his glasses back and set them down on his floor.
Richie opened his mouth, probably to say something smart, but before he could get a word out Bill stood on his toes and kissed Richie. The shorter boy's eyes widened at first, then slowly closed as he lifted his hands from the windowsill and ran them through Bill's hair. Bill reached up and put his hands on Richie's face, his thumbs on Richie's cheeks and the rest of his fingers tangled in the boy's soft, dark curls.
They kissed for what seemed like an hour, just kissing and reaching and holding through the open window, breathless but happy.
When they finally pulled apart, still holding each other's faces, Richie's usual personality came back through.
"Well, Denbrough, I wouldn't have thought you a que-" he started, but was cut off.
"Shuh-hut up, f-four-eyes," Bill said, blushing and smiling sheepishly. A lot of people would be frustrated with Richie's constant teasing and hypocrisy, but Bill understood. He understood that Richie was terrified and lost and unsure, and that sometimes making fun was all he could do to make himself feel okay, and that was a small price to pay for being with him.
Richie rested his chin in his hand and leaned on the windowsill, just smiling down at Bill. "Thanks for coming, loser," he murmured, feeling more than a little awkward showing any verbal affection.
"G-goodnight to you t-t-too, Richie," Bill said as he lifted up his bike and hopped on. The way that Bill never stuttered on his name made Richie's heart flutter, and he looked away just in case Bill could see him blushing.
As Richie picked up his glasses and put them on his nightstand, he also slid his window shut and crawled back into bed, feeling far from normal but far from worried.
