Window Boy || reddie

2

Warnings: homophobic slur (not used as an insult)

Richie returned to the same spot the next day. It didn't take long before the window boy came out to talk to him again, and Richie was just as nervous as the first time.

"You decided to give me your name yet?" Richie spoke first as the boy stood in front of him, in the same upright, arms-behind-the-back posture he'd held yesterday. A smile tugged at the boy's lips.

"Why should I have? You haven't done anything to earn it." The window boy spoke, keeping his face straight. Richie huffed in annoyance.

"Are you busy?" Richie asked.

The boy thought about it for a bit. He seemed to think every decision over, weighing the options cautiously. He was tempted to tell Richie he was busy, to play hard-to-get even more, but he decided to take the opportunity Richie was offering while he could.

"I'm not busy. Why?" The boy answered, watching with his Bambi eyes as Richie stood up in front of him, a little too close.

"Come with me." Richie instructed, his dark eyes hooded ever-so-slightly as he turned to the side, beginning to walk down the street.

The window boy moved to keep up with him, his hands still clasped behind his back as he walked. Richie took shorter steps than usual, passively noticing their height difference.

The window boy actively noticed their height difference, and he loved it. He could see the muscles in Richie's arms, built up by the long days of hard work. Richie walked with confidence and swagger, so nonchalant, a contrast to the boy's anxious little gait. The window boy was always a sucker for tall, strong, handsome, confident men. He wondered if it had always been his type, or if Richie had made it his type.

"May I ask where you're taking me?" The window boy spoke as Richie wound through the streets.

"You may not." Richie replied, and a jolt of excitement shot down the boy's spine at the firm tone in his voice.

He smiled contently, trusting Richie. Sure, he was nervous. But he doubted that Richie would murder him, and honestly, he wouldn't mind being choked to death by those strong arms too much.

The pair finally arrived at their destination, a small, dirty alleyway, and for a second the window boy considered the possibility that Richie actually was trying to kill him. But then Richie knocked on a small door embedded in the brick wall, looking over at the window boy and smiling at him as someone opened the door.

"Ah, Tozier! My man!" The door was flung wide open, almost hitting the window boy in the face, and he blinked, flinching back at the sudden motion. A tall, curly-haired man stood there. He looked to be roughly Richie's age, with brown eyes and golden locks, and he was grinning from ear to ear. "Come on in."

"Hey, Stan." Richie said, reaching over and grabbing the window boy's arm, pulling him to his side. The boy looked up nervously as Stan's eyes flickered down to him, and Stan raised his eyes at Richie.

"You brought someone?" Stan asked, and Richie nodded. He turned to address the window boy. "What's your name?"

The boy hesitated, eyes narrowing as he glanced at Richie. Richie laughed.

"He's not going to tell you. He doesn't want to tell me until I 'earn it.'" Richie explained.

"Ah." Stan nodded, smiling. "Well, come in, mysterious boy. Welcome to The Losers Club."

Richie cringed, moving his hand to Eddie's back and ushering him inside. "You don't have to say the name every time, Stan."

The Losers Club was... a club. A secret gay club. It was bathed in dim, orange light, and there were men everywhere. Draped over couches and chairs, chatting at the bar, standing by the small television set. Richie thought he could hear sinful noises coming from the bathrooms, and people were making out all around them.