fifteen // reddie

3.0

Upon seeing her father isn't home, Richie knocks on the door to Beverly's house and waits for her to answer, impatiently jittering his hand by his side, his eyes skittering around and looking at the marking on the door-post. After a few seconds, the door opens to reveal his red-headed friend, who looks both confused and concerned upon his arrival.

In his times of need, Richie had gone to Eddie a lot, but he also looked to Bev for guidance. She had a knack for giving great advice (most of the time) due to being the only female of the Losers club- she constantly had a different outlook on life that differed from the other boys, which Richie appreciated. A change of speed is always nice. She never seemed to get bothered by Richie's dramatics either, or if she did, she never said anything. Being calmed down by Beverly when he started spiraling is something he's grateful he found in the Losers club- with such an overactive imagination, it's easy for him to start conjuring up worse and worse ideas.

"Richie, why are you here?" She asks, stepping back and pulling the door with her to invite him in. He walks in and promptly realizes his shirt is still bloody and he looks exactly the same as half an hour ago when he had gotten beaten up. "You're still dirty." She points out.

"Yeah." Richie sighs. "Can I use your bathroom?"

Beverly nods, and they both know that she realized that Richie blatantly ignored her first question. She just just her chin towards the direction of the bathroom, telling him she'll be waiting in her kitchen for him. He mumbles a thank you and makes his way to the bathroom, already knowing where it is without her directions.

He slips inside, closing the door behind him with a click. He approaches the bathroom sink and stares in the mirror for the first time since he got beaten up; theres a bruise on his cheek, a dried trickle of blood with a smudge mark in the middle from Maggie's spit, and his glasses have a crack in them. He proceeds to lift his shirt, checking his stomach and chest. There's a cut that matches the line of blood across his shirt and he thanks a higher power that Henry didn't cut his nipple off, because that would suck. There's a huge bruise on his left rib cage and above his right him, along with some other small ones that he hadn't really felt. His finger traces the bruise on his ribs and he's about to press on it out of pure habit when he remembers that Eddie would feel it too, and stops himself, letting out a sigh. Then he drops his shirt so it covers his body again and turns his attention to the mirror. He turns on the sink, not bothering to wait for warm water before splashing it on his face. It doesn't work like how it does on TV and it gets all over his shirt, so he resorts to clumping up some toilet paper and rubbing it across his face to get the sticky blood off, being careful around his bruise so as not to disturb Eddie. He does the same when he lifts his shirt once again and cleans his chest, deciding to use a different wet clump this time. When he's done, he flushes the wet toilet paper wads down the toilet and exits the bathroom to meet Beverly.

Like she said she would be, she's seated in the kitchen, cross-legged on the chair, tracing a pattern on the table. When Richie walks in, she looks up and smiles at him softly, her fingers pausing their dance.

"What's up?" She asks, stretching her hand out and patting the table in front of a chair. Richie takes this cue to sit there.

"I think you know."

"I think so, too."

Richie swallows. "It's Eddie. Obviously."

Bev chuckles. "Yeah, obviously." She scoffs, rolling her eyes and leaning forward, resting her elbow on the table and placing her cheek in her hand. "Are you upset that it's him?" She asks curiously, furrowing her eyebrows. They both know Richie had- has- a crush on Eddie, which is probably why she seemed so shocked about his reaction to the whole soulmate thing.

"No!" Richie quickly responds. "No, that's not it at all. I just feel like... Well, when it was just a crush, it was just a silly kid thing, you know? It was surmountable. I'd get over it. Except, now I won't."

This causes Bev to furrow her eyebrows more, her lips parting slightly before she continues. "Why would you want to get over it?"

At this, Richie laughs a little, reaching up and pushing his glasses up his nose. "He doesn't like me back." He states, like it was written on a piece of paper in front of Beverly in all caps and highlighted bright pink. "Why would someone like him even consider someone like me? We're just friends. And that's okay, I'm not-"

"You think Eddie doesn't like you." She interrupts.

"Yes."

"Did you consider that... you're wrong?"

"He doesn't-"

"You don't get to decide Eddie's feelings for him because you're scared." Beverly scoffs, her hand coming off her cheek to flourish her statement. She scoots the chair closer into the table- therefore closer to Richie- and sticks her hands flat out on the table, pressing her palms to the wood.

"I'm not doing that!" Richie defends.

"You're scared he'll reject you, so you're telling yourself that you're not good enough so he doesn't do it first. If Eddie were a girl, I'd say it's misogynistic, but he's not, so it's more just you being a dick."

"I'm not a misogynist!"

Bev rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I know. My dad's a misogynist. Anyway," She glares at Richie, but he knows she's not actually mad at him. "Have you considered that Eddie might be happy about being your soulmate, despite the second-hand beating? Have you considered that I had to listen to both of you about your crushes on each other?"

Richie blinks at her. "That's not funny." He says quietly, fixing his glasses again. "That's really not funny."

Bev keeps her face straight, unwavering. "I'm not trying to be funny."

"I didn't consider that. It's not like it happened anyway." Richie continues, but he sounds unsure.

"You're fucking stupid."

"Yes, I am." Richie responds instinctually. "And he doesn't like me."

Suddenly, Beverly's on her feet, her hands still outstretched on the table so she's towering over Richie. "You bet your fucking ass he does. He talks about you all the time. To Stan, too. Stan said he cried one time about it to him."

Richie stares up at Bev, listening to her words yet not comprehending them. Maybe she's lying to make him feel better? He could ask Stan, and then Stan would tell him he's delusional and that Bev is lying.

And it's not like two boys should be soulmates, anyways.

The thought hits Richie with force, and he stands up too, backing away from the chair and the table quickly. "I gotta go."

Beverly smirks. "Yeah you do, loverboy." 

She probably thinks he's going to see Eddie.

He's not.

Instead, he races out of the Marsh household, speeds home, and runs into his room without a word to his parents. He quickly tears his bloody shirt off and throws it in the trash, considering it's gross and teared up. He tosses on pajamas and gets to bed, trying to fall asleep as quickly as possible so he doesn't have time to think of anything else. Laying in bed, dipping in an out of a dream-like state, Richie is quickly jolted awake from a pain in his knee. His hand flies to it to stop whatever is hitting him, but he finds nothing there.

Unbeknownst to Richie, his soulmate had accidentally slammed his knee into a desk a few streets away.

He dreams of Eddie.