Reddie Oneshots

What REALLY happened after It Chapter 2 (Pt. 2)

They go to the quarry after. The vibe is a little weird, but then, Richie supposes the vibe had been a little weird that whole summer. The vibe has been weird for the entirety of Richie's stupid life.

"You gonna swim?" asks Ben at the water's edge. Mike has Beverly on his shoulders, taking on Bill and Stan in chicken. Eddie is what could generously be called refereeing but is closer to heckling from the side. Sometimes it's unbelievable to Richie that he got called Trashmouth when Eddie Kaspbrak was running around town just constantly talking shit.

He only got away with it because he was small and cute and Richie — well, Richie did look like the kid you'd call Trashmouth, to be fair.

He shrugs. "Probably in a bit," he says. "Don't really feel like it yet."

Ben nods agreeably. He's still in his clothes, arms folded over his stomach. "So, um. You said — I get hot?"

"Hotter than you are now," Richie jokes, nudging him gently with an elbow. "Seriously dude, I don't want to overhype it, but like, I knew an evil clown was trying to kill us all and I was still mostly thinking about how many visible abs you were hiding under your shirt."

Ben's laugh a quiet, and a little distant. "Do you know ... how?" he asks, and when Richie looks at him, he can see that his cheeks are pink. "Just — my mom is always putting me on these diets, and they don't seem to work. I don't know."

Richie blinks. He doesn't think he'd ever considered that Ben might have been consciously trying at any point to lose weight. He was just ... Ben. Chubby and soft-spoken and genial, all the time. Even when he was hot he still had that vibe, like no one had told him that he wasn't still the kid bullies called Fat Boy.

"I didn't know your mom put you on diets," he says.

Ben shrugs. "She wants me to be healthy," he explains. "We do, like, weigh-in Wednesdays and stuff. She does all the diets with me out of like, solidarity or whatever. But none of it — I mean. It's not like I'm not trying."

Richie tries and fails to remember what Ben's mother looks like. Is she overweight? He can't picture her. He doesn't even know if Ben looks like her or not. "Sorry, man, I didn't have time to ask about your workout regimen," he admits. "But — I mean. You can relax. At some point, something clearly works."

"What was I eating? At the restaurant? You said we met up for Chinese, right?"

"Ben, buddy. I wasn't paying attention to what you were eating. I don't know."

Ben nods. He looks thoughtful. "Was Bev there?"

"Yeah," Richie grins. "Bev was there. She also thought you were hot. I'm telling you, man, your future is bright."

Ben nods at him, smile small but real. His arms are still crossed across his stomach. Richie feels stupid for never considering that Ben might have, like, known he was chubby. Or — not that he didn't think he knew, but he'd never given much thought to the fact that Ben had to be chubby all the time, and knew that people knew, and that everyone who saw him had an opinion about it. Richie hadn't even realized other people thought about his own physical shape at all until, like, puberty hit and he started having to shower more often because his sweat stank so bad.

"Hey, man," he says, a twist of guilt tightening in his gut. "You, uh. I mean. You look fine now, too."

Ben gives him a sardonic look. "Yeah, of course," he agrees, easy as anything, soft and cheerful as ever. Richie frowns.

"Ben," he says. "Seriously. I mean it. You're thirteen. All of us look like chodes. Seriously, I've got hair, like inside my — "

"Okay, that's probably enough information, Rich," Ben interrupts, laughing. He peels his shirt off and nudges Richie toward the water. "C'mon, let's take winner."