Reddie Oneshots

-63- Pride

"Trump is destroying this country," Richie's father told his mother. "He will scare off all our trade agreements, and then the American economy will be right and well fucked," he continued. "You, me and Richie all have Canadian citizenships, remember, he was born in Canada on that road trip, so we can move there. I heard the Canadian prime minister will be discussing more trade deals, even now! Listen, we'll get adapted and we'll escape all this gun violence shit. The economy is unsafe, and so are the schools. No thank..."

Richie turned away from his bedroom door, tired of listening. The decision was made; they were moving to Canada, he could tell. Sure it would be good, what with all the gay rights acceptance and all that bullshit, but Richie would be separated from his friends. He didn't want to leave Bill... Or Mike... Or any of them. He groaned. Oh, well. What's done is done.

It all happened too quickly. Before Richie knew it, they were in their new home in Ottawa, Ontario... Canada. It smelled foreign but pleasant, and the whole city felt so different from the small-town Maine thing. He supposed at least they were only a five hour drive from home... no, not home anymore. Well, he supposed, home is where the heart is.

They were five hours from home.

And at least the winters were the same. The familiar negative-degree weather with familiar two-foot high snowbanks and powder skiing over on the hilly Quebec side. He appreciated the similarity but... but it was still so foreign.

And to be starting school in the second semester of grade nine? It was scary, to say the least. He supposed the schools would be the same as his old one: bullies and homophobes at every turn, ready to spit in your face then lie through their teeth to naive and apathetic faculty. At least they'd be familiar.

Richie had hated most things about Derry for most of his life, but as soon as he was out of it he found himself grappling for anything "familiar". He hoped he'd get used to Canada quickly, but he didn't see that happening in the near future.

Since it was winter, Richie had the perfect excuse to lock himself in his house with his phone all day every day, making no effort to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Every now and then he'd get out some... loonies and ride the (always late) bus down to the Loblaws for some instant noodles, but other than that, the harsh boreal winter went by him unannounced.

Hanukkah, Christmas, January skiing, a hailstorm.

Then it was February.

He trudged to the bus stop through the gray sludge on the side of the road and waited for ten minutes (six minutes longer than the schedule had said) for the bus to bring him to school. There was a surprising amount of other kids his age getting on, crowding the centre of the little bus and completely ignoring Richie's existence. He was thankful.

The day dragged on as such, getting a little bit lost before second period and arriving to class a good seven minutes late. No one paid him any mind as he navigated the halls with his eyes cast downwards and nobody batted an eye when he sat in the corner of the stairwell to eat his lunch.

When he bumped into a rather strong looking guy in the hall as he tried to pass through to his locker, the guy whipped around. He flinched instinctively, grabbing the frame of his glasses so they wouldn't be knocked to the ground—in case he did try it.

"Sorry dude," he said, glancing at the floor then turning back to his group just as Richie mumbled his own apology.

So Canada did live up to expectations.

The days continued to trudge on, and—burying himself in schoolwork and Netflix shows—Richie made his way through the semester. With no real friends except the people who sat at his table in art class (they didn't really hang out, but they supplied him with just enough human contact that he didn't sink into a deep depression), Richie hadn't much excitement in his life. At all. No crushes, either.