pop || reddie

un

Warnings: drug use
Notes: welcome to chapter one!! I hope y'all enjoy the book :)

Richie Tozier hates balloons.

Big pockets of air ready to explode in your face. It put him on edge whenever someone blew one up; he always wanted to yell at them to stop before it popped. They rarely ever did pop, but that didn't stop how much seeing one got under his skin.

He had a good reason, too. Red balloons floated through his head every night after he went to sleep. It was a strange, recurring nightmare that he had been having every day for months. Ever since the day he had moved to Derry.

Richie was sixteen. His father had gotten a job in some rinky-dink town called Derry, Maine. It was far from his home in California, but Richie didn't have a say in the move. So he left his friends behind and headed across the country. The move had been at the beginning the summer, and now it was nearing December of 1988.

Since he had moved to Derry, Richie had found his little nook in a small group of misfits, comprised of Beverly Marsh, Stanley Uris, and Bill Denbrough. He loved all of them dearly, and they were very close to one another. They knew each other's secrets, including Richie's dreaming habits, Beverly's father, Bill's brother, and Stan's OCD.

Richie had been having the nightmare for one hundred and seventy two nights now. He had the scenes memorized. It was always the same.

Another thing about Richie's dreams, and what stuck out to him the most, was the boy in them.

Every night, Richie watched the events unfold. The dream was in a sewer. It began with water flooding through the pipes, splashing up the sides and colliding in big waves in the center. And then the boy emerged from the tunnels, spluttering and soaking wet. He would run for a while, the water licking at his heels, and then he would reach a dead end, blocked off by a grate. He would turn around and scream and shield his face, and the water would slam into him, knocking him against the grate. It would drain out, and the boy would fall to the floor, wiping his face and eyes and crying and spitting out the sewer water.

Then, he would look up to see dozens and dozens of balloons float into the narrow hallway. He would wheeze, doubled-over trying to breathe, as they filled the space. There were so many that they were pressed against the walls, squeaking with that awful plastic-y sound they possessed, taking up every nook and cranny in the sewer. The boy was bathed in a dim, red light. That was when he spoke.

"I'm going to die," The boy would say, and then the balloons started inflating more and more, bigger and bigger. They stopped for just a moment, and in that silence the boy would scream, "Richie!"

And then each and every balloon popped, and they were filled with blood that would splatter onto the boy, into his eyes and mouth and hair, coating his skin and disguising his freckles. The boy would scream and scream, but the balloons kept popping until he was absolutely drenched in sticky, wet blood, sobbing on the ground.

That was when Richie always woke up. The strangest thing was, no matter how hard he tried, Richie couldn't remember ever meeting the boy. Ever. Not even passing by him on the street, nothing. Stan had said that that was impossible, that every person we see in our dreams is from our real life, someone we know or may have even just glanced at once. Richie guessed he was right, but he really didn't think he'd seen the boy before.

The dream boy was very beautiful, in Richie's opinion. It only took so many nights before he had grown tired of the nightmare, and had taken interest in the actual kid. Richie had looked everywhere to find out who the boy was, but obviously found nothing, as he had only appearance to go by. He had described him to his friends many times, too, but they'd never seen him, either.

Beverly Marsh, a fiery, redheaded girl, knew the best places to smoke, and Richie would always sit and get high with her, having to hide his red eyes for the rest of the school day. One such day was today, yet another day where Richie had woken up from the screams and cries of his mysterious dream boy.

"We're getting a new student in English day after tomorrow." Beverly says, tucking her bright hair behind her ear as she passes Richie the joint.

"Bullshit." Richie shakes his head, inhaling the smoke. "I'm in your class, I would've known."

"Not if you were sleeping." Beverly replies, and then she laughs quietly, her head rolling back against the wall.

They're by the cafeteria, sitting in a small storage closet used by the lunch ladies. Except, the lunch ladies don't use it, and there is a small window that can be opened to let the smoke dissipate. Richie's lanky legs are pulled up to his chest, while Beverly has room to stretch hers onto the wall by Richie's body.

"Oh." Richie smiles, taking another puff. "Yeah, that sounds like me."

Beverly is still laughing, and she puts a hand on Richie's shoulder as she calms herself. Richie hands the joint back to her, chuckling a bit with her.

"Yeah, it's some kid from Pennsylvania." She says once she stops giggling, smoking some more.

"Boy or girl?" Richie asks her, fiddling with the holes in his jeans.

"Boy, I think. Maybe you two can fuck." Beverly says, giggling again. Pot always made her so giggly.

"Hmm, maybe. Depends." Richie replies thoughtfully. He feels calm, almost like he's sinking into the wall. "I think- stop laughing- I think I would if he's cute."

"Shit, we should get back to class." Beverly mutters as she checks her watch. She coughs, putting the joint out on the wall and waving the smoke away. "My eyes are so fucking dry."

"Mine, too." Richie agrees, standing up and brushing his clothes off.

Beverly sweeps the joint under a shelf with her foot, and Richie opens the door for her. The both grab their bags, and Beverly curtseys to the lanky boy beside her before walking out. The hallway is empty, and the two friends hold hands as they walk to class, giggling together. Eventually, they break off, and Richie heads to pre-calculus, while Beverly walks to chemistry.

Richie wonders what the new kid will be like as he takes a tardy and sits down. Everyone ignores the distinct smell he brings with him. Richie's seat is by a kid named Ben. He's a big guy, on the football team, and Richie knows that Beverly has the hots for him.

It annoys him that Beverly could have such a basic, stereotypical crush when that's not the kind of girl she is, but, then again, Richie kind of has the hots for everyone. It wasn't like he would fuck or date everyone in sight, but he sees beauty in each person who passes by, and if asked, he would genuinely consider fucking most people at his school. Beverly called him a perv for it, but Richie didn't mind. That was just his reputation now, he guessed.

For a while, there had been a darkness lurking underneath Derry. It had been waiting, biding its time for just the right moment, just the right fight, to take out all of its enemies at once.

Tomorrow, the last enemy would arrive. Tomorrow, the evil in Derry would rear its ugly head and make itself known.

And there was no way Richie Tozier could prepare for it.