Young and Yearning (IT Imagines and Oneshots).

Reddie; Illness.

Richard Tozier had been in and out of various hospitals for the majority of his childhood, slowly transitioning into his teenage-hood. His condition was described as terminal - a phrase of which Richie didn't understand. He longed more than anything for his pain to be over. Whether this was through the form of a miracle, or his death - he didn't mind. When describing these feelings to his mother, she was distraught. And so, among the tumultuous amount of doctors and nurses came a psychologist, and a therapist. They barely helped however, and merely prescribed Richie to a diary, in which he would submit a daily entry - in an attempt to let some of his emotions out. Richie couldn't have seen true love if it had stared him in the face, and one day it did.

Eddie's trip to the hospital was in a whirlwind of emotion and colour. One moment he was confessing his biggest secret to his mother, and the next she was collapsed onto her knees - sobbing aggressively. Then then, through loud sirens and bright flashing lights, Eddie found himself in a hospital bed. Crisp white bed sheets were pulled tightly over his petite figure. His vision was slightly impaired, and he could barely make out who was lying in the neighbouring beds.

"Hey," A voice chuckled beside him, before stopping abruptly and muttering, "Welcome to hell."

"God?" Eddie replied back snidely as the voice let out another laugh before letting out an audible wince. As Eddie's vision reappeared, he looked from his right (to an old man who was clearly unconscious) and then to his left. A boy, tall and lanky lay in the bed - less pristine than Eddie's. A wide pair of glasses were propped against his nose, reflecting his eyes back drastically huge. His curly ravenette locks flopped over his eyes, as he pushed it away clumsily. In a word, he was pretty. Weak and fragile, but pretty nonetheless.

"Why can't you laugh?" Eddie asked softly, propping himself up onto his arm and giving his full attention the mysterious boy in the neighbouring bed to him.

"It's my condition," he said, weakly, "What're you in for?" He finished, mimicking a prisoner. Eddie chuckled, and Richie glowed.

"Just woke up here, maybe for my phobia of germs - but who would go to that extent?" Eddie said wistfully.

"Ah I see," Richie said, struggling as he stretched his hand across the beds, "I'm Richie."

Eddie looked at the hand and shook his head gently, which Richie laughed at before groaning slightly and retracting his hand.

"Eddie," He said, gesturing to himself. Richie nodded, lying slowly back into his bed and sinking into the plump pillow below is head.

"What do you mean by hell?" Eddie asked softly, after a few moments of silence.

"I've been here my whole life. Like the opposite of a miracle," Richie whispered, "If it wasn't here, it was the next one, if not there - the next. I just want this shit to be over, to be honest."

Eddies insides turned to mush inside of him in sadness and sorrow for the vulnerable boy in the neighbouring bed.

"Mh, I'm sorry," Eddie muttered.

"It's alright, 'specially when cuties like you get sick," Richie said smoothly, to which Eddie choked on his own saliva. Richie had read his sexuality like a book, and a small one at that.

"Mh," Was all that Eddie could utter, sinking into the bed below him.

"People don't compliment you much, do they Eds?"

Eddie shook his head, blushing profusely.

"Who are your friends, anyways? I might know them,"

"You've been confided to a hospital bed your whole life," Eddie snorted.