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6. Richie's POV

Eddie sits on my filthy toilet as I bandage his cuts, carefully cleaning them with rubbing alcohol. There's a pretty deep cut on his face that I wait till the very end to clean, not wanting to hurt him at all. I reach for his face where the cut is and barely touch it with my fingertips. He gasps and claps his hand onto mine. I didnt realize my face was so close until it was. He let's go and blushes, but I wished he would hold on a little longer.

"I have to clean it up, eds," I whisper. He nods and puts his hands in his lap.

"Why are you so nice to me," he asks. I stare into his hazel brown eyes, losing myself for a second.

"You're one of those people, eds."

"What do you mean?"

"One of those people that you can't help but be nice to," I reply. I take a cotton ball soaked with alcohol and touch it to his face. He winces, and I pull it away.

"You okay?"

"It's fine." I apply it again and this time he doesnt react. Thankfully.

The blood is wiped clean and I take a Bandaid and apply it to his cut. My fingers linger for a second. Eddie starts to get up, and I get out of the way.

"Sit," he demands. I shake my head.

"I'm fine," I mumble. He gives me a glare, so I obey. He looks so intensely focused on what he's doing, I can't help but smirk a little.

After a while, my cuts are cleaned and wrapped in Bandaids. I run to the kitchen and fill a ziplock with ice. I run back upstairs to see him sitting on my bed, looking through my notepad. The notepad I use to sketch. I have so many deeply personal drawings in that book, him reading it is like he's reading everything about me. I nervously snatch it from his hands.

"I'm sorry, Chee, I didn't mean to intrude-"

"It's alright, Eds," I say. I set the notepad down onto my desk and sit by him.

"That picture," he whispers.

"Uhm, which one?"

"The one with the eye."

"Oh?"

"It's amazing," he sighs. "Perfect."

I blush and his fingers touch my face so I can face him.

"I don't know what happened with you and the Losers, or if that's even the reason at all, but you are worth living," he says. The familiar sense of tears spring into my eyes, but I blink rapidly to dissolve them. Another familiar feeling.

"Thanks, Eds," I mumble. "Thanks for helping me out in that fight." He stares into my ugly eyes and I stare into his beautiful eyes.

He breaks the silence by saying, "Yeah. Of course."

He looks at my exposed scars from when he took my jacket off in the bathroom. I instinctly wrap my arms around my thin body so he can't see me.

He can still see how fucking skinny you are, idiot, I think.

"I have to go, Chee. Are your parents coming home soon?" I think of my mom, probably worried sick of me, slaving away in her fucking joke of a job. My father, who's probably either in a bar or at some woman's house fucking her.

"Yeah," I lie. "Soon." He gets up and heads to the door.

"See ya." I wave pathetically and he leaves the door.

I don't start crying until the front door closed.

You let this kid into your life, Richard. What are you going to do?

I grab my notepad and some pencils. I flip the pages to get to a blank canvas, remembering the beauty of this kid. I draw an outline of his face, draw the amazing details of it all, using the charcoal for shading, drawing little freckles over his nose. I pay close attention to his eyes. His doe eyes that are beautiful no matter what mood he's in. I draw his semi curly hair and how it flips to the right near his forehead.

You have to face the Losers again.

Hours pass and I finish the drawing. It looks like him, but nobody could capture his beauty perfectly. I rip the page out of the notepad and shove it between my dresser and wall.

You're going to have to face them. It's better sooner than later when you develop strong feelings for him.

I leave the door and rummage through the garage for my old bike. Thankfully, the tires aren't flat, and I take the familiar trek towards Big Bill's house.

I check my watch that reads 2:59. He's coming home soon. And if they still follow the same schedule, they all will be here.

○

After a couple of minutes, I see their bikes hauling to the house.

This is a bad idea.

They are right in front of the house when they finally notice me perched by the front door.

"Rich," Beverly says. Normally, she would run up and hug me so tightly I couldn't breathe. But she just stands there. "What happened to you?" I stopped eating right after our separation. They have never seen me so ugly and skinny, covered in scars everywhere. On top of that, I also have the cuts and bruises from the fight.

It's at this moment I realized I forgot my jacket, and my scars are exposed. So visible.

"R-r-r-richie," Bill starts.

"I didnt come to apologize or beg to be back," I start. "I know you just heard today about my... incident. That I'm not doing well. At all. But I came to let you know that if you hurt that kid Eddie like you hurt me, we're gonna have some serious fucking problems. He doesn't deserve it like I did." I grab my bike and start walking off.

"Richie," Bev calls out. I stop and turn around. They all stare at me so foreignly.

"What," I hiss, realizing I was really not ready to face them again.

They say nothing. I get on the bike and ride home, imprinting their faces for one last memory of them.

The picture at the top is the drawing that Eddie mentioned, if you didnt catch that

Omg, if you're reading this tell me if it's good I honestly dont know anymore

I literally fucking hate the last chapter, but I guess I'm too late now... please keep reading I'm begging

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