They say everything in your life happens for a reason. You could not think of a good enough reason for the scene currently unfolding in front of you to be happening.
At the moment, your boyfriend, Richie Tozier, was getting the shit beat out of him.
Looking back, this whole thing started in a pretty goddamn stupid way, too. I mean, that's usually how things start with Richie as it is. In pretty goddamn stupid ways.
"Hey, Rich, what would you do if I just poured the rest of this milkshake on your head?" you asked, stirring the contents of your half-drunk vanilla milkshake with the thick red straw. You and Richie were walking home from your regular Friday night date at the diner.
"I don't know, probably eat it when it dripped close enough to my mouth," Richie said, shrugging, and you fake gagged.
"That's so fucking gross, oh my god. I'm only not going to do it because I don't wanna see that," you retorted, and Richie laughed.
"You're so fucking weird," he said, shaking his head as his hand found yours. You intertwined your fingers with his, swinging your hands a little bit.
"Ooh, that means just about nothing coming from you," you said, voice laced with amusement. Both of you had permanent grins on your faces, the way it usually was when you were around each other. You drank the rest of your milkshake quickly, and threw the empty cup into someone's trash can, which had been brought out to the street, so the garbage men would pick it up.
All of a sudden, a sharp whistle cut through the air, halting your happy conversation. You turned around, confused, to see a group of older boys clearly checking out your ass. You had seen them in the high school every once in a while, they might have been seniors.
"Nice ass!" one of them yelled, and you rolled your eyes, throwing up the finger lazily and turning around to continue walking. It wasn't like this was anything new; it was a well known fact that Derry didn't have the most savory characters.
You tried walking away, but Richie, who was still holding your hand, had his feet firmly planted in the same spot. You turned around to tell him to hurry up, but saw he was looking at those guys still. You huffed, already knowing that he was probably planning something idiotic.
"Richie, come on, let it go," you said. You tried to tug him along with you, but ever since high school started, Richie had gained some muscle on his lanky frame, and you weren't strong enough to get him along.
"You heard what they said, right?" he asked, finally turning to look at you. You could see the potent anger in his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, even you were afraid.
"Yes, I heard them. Don't worry about it, it happens all the time-" you started, trying to pull him away once again, but he cut you off.
"What? What do you mean it happens all the time? What the fuck,"Richie asked, fuming.
"Girls get catcalled all the time in Derry! I'm no exception, it's fine," you said, still tugging on his arm. You knew where this was going. Richie had a knack for getting himself into fights, and subsequently getting the everloving crap beaten out of him. To be quite honest, you were really not in the mood to give Richie amateur stitches today.
"No! It's not fine! They can't just talk about you like that! You're my fucking girlfriend," Richie yelled, and before you could get another word in, he was stomping his way over to the group of boys who were at least three years older than him and had a good foot and half and fifty pounds on him. You groaned, conflicted on whether you should stay where you were, a safe distance away, or attempt to make Richie walk away again.
Too late. Richie was already talking smack to the older guys, so there was no way he was getting out of it now. You couldn't hear his voice, but from his body language, he was saying a lot of things that he couldn't take back. Looks like you're staying in the safe zone until this is over.
The first person to throw a punch was, surprisingly, not Richie. The meanest looking one out of the guys hit Richie in the face, causing him to stumble, but not fall. In a heartbeat, Richie was rearing back his fist, and had hit the guy in the nose. Deciding enough was enough, you started to walk over to the group of idiots, but you were too late to stop it. All three of the guys were beating on Richie.
"HEY! Get the fuck off him, you assholes," you spat, pushing your way through the testosterone-ridden fight club. They all stopped hitting once you put yourself between them and Richie.
"Next time I hear you catcall anyone, not just me, I'm gonna come over here and beat the shit out of you. You're lucky I don't do it right now for beating up my boyfriend. Now run along," you said, tone dripping with hate. The guys looked at each other for a moment, before walking off.
"Now, what are we not doing again?" you asked Richie, as you dabbed disinfectant on his split knuckles. The two of you were in your bathroom now, Richie sitting on your sink as you patched him up for what seemed to be the millionth time.
"I'm not gonna pick fights with everyone I meet," Richie grumbled, as you finished wrapping his knuckles. He had a black eye and some other miscellaneous bruises, but he'd live.
"Good. If you don't stop, you're gonna get yourself killed," you warned, standing up so you were eye level with Richie. You cradled his non-bruised cheek in your hand, giving him a gentle kiss, "but thanks for sticking up for me."
"Anytime, princess. Anytime," Richie said, grinning as he hopped down from the sink. If you were gonna kiss him like that every time you patched him up, it was so worth it.
