The End Of Us || losers club ✔️

twenty two

twenty two - all that's changed

"Tomorrow at eight a.m., can you do that?"

"Yes sir," Richie replies. The words fall right from his lips. It's become second-hand nature: those words. "I'll be here."

And just like Stanley, he's excused. Free to go. He stands from the metal chairs and is lead back down the hallway. Stanley is talking to Wentworth, his orange jumpsuit gone from his body. He's wearing normal people clothes. Beige khaki pants and a loose collard shirt. Just as he wore at sixteen.

His entrance is noticed, much to his dismay. He wishes he could just lean up against the wall and sink into it. He blended in so well at the Correctional Center, it's going to be a hard shift with eyes always on him.

"Richie," Wentworth says. There's no coldness in his voice or harshness in his tone, just a simple call for his son. It makes Richie peer up at him curiously. Then Maggie's light smile and warm hugs flash through his mind, and the curiosity is gone. Wentworth closes the large gap of space between them and captures Richie in a tight hug. "Oh my," he whispers. "I never thought I'd see your face again."

Richie gains acceptance so easily. It's so quickly given to him that he stares at Stanley from over his dad's shoulder with a horribly confused look. Unsure of what to do, or what to say, Richie simply hugs back.

With a sudden intake of breath, Wentworth pulls away and holds Richie at an arms length. "Wow," he sputters out, his eyes carefully picking apart every feature Richie has to offer. He then laughs softly and pokes at the frames of Richie's glasses. "Got to get you some new ones, huh?"

"I guess," Richie replies.

"Oh!" Went says and takes a sidestep, gently pulling Richie along as he walks towards the chairs in the waiting area. A Target sack sits on one of them, colored fabric easily showing through. "I brought some of your old clothes. Same with Stan over there. I hope they still fit."

Richie takes the sack from him and peers in. At the sight of his stupid button down Hawaiian shirts, he can't help but crack a smile. Stanley joins him, pulling at the edge of the sack to get a good look.

"I can't believe you wore those," he says, a hint of an amused smile on his lips.

"Says you," Richie shoots back, looking up at him. "You shop right out of a grandpa's closet."

Stanley softly snorts with laughter, his head shaking back and forth. "Go change, Richie," he tells him and lets go of the bag. Richie's eyes go from Stanley to his dad, his smile faltering, then turns towards the bathrooms.

He enters the quiet space, the fluorescent lights bright and making his eyes throb with pain. Just as the orange jumpsuit hurts his eyes. He locks the door behind him and is quick to discard himself of the clothing.

He balls the jumpsuit up and holds it, staring down at the painfully bright orange. His heart patters hard in his chest and he has to take small steps around to strength his weak knees.

It's over, he tries telling himself, it's all done

Yet, the fast pace of his pattering heart doesn't cease, and neither does the coursing anxiety throughout his body. His fingers dig into the fabric. All he's done and all he's experienced lays in the fibers of the jumpsuit. A constant, silent scream of a reminder.

In and out. Just breathe, in.. and out.

He throws the jumpsuit down to the ground, desperately wanting it away from himself. He changes into his old clothes, soft and feeling.. right against his skin. He takes in a deep breath, pulls down on the hem of his shirt, and lifts his eyes to the mirror.

There he is. Himself. Richie Tozier. Dressed in jeans that stop right above his ankles, a simple shirt, and a tacky Hawaiian button down. He feels more thirteen than sixteen again. If he stares at the clothes that are a bit too small for him, feels the soft fabric between his fingertips, tries to rid that fucking orange color from his mind... he thinks he could feel at home again. Feel at home in clothes chosen by him, in a house with endless freedom to do as he pleases, in the palms of his best friend. Simply, at home.

He shoves the jumpsuit into the sack and leaves the bathroom. He notices the white bus is gone from the parking lot and feels a sense of pure relief. It's a bit easier to breathe now with pressure lifted from his shoulders. An officer takes the plastic sack from him, telling him he's free to go.

Richie simply nods, even though it's hard to process it.

He's free to go. To leave. To step out and go somewhere without chains dangling from his wrists and sliding with every step between his feet. He thought this would be an exciting moment, one that he would be all laughs and smiles about.. so why, fucking why is he so scared? He's sick of it.

"Richie," his dad calls out to him.

Richie's eyes snap over. His dad has the door propped open, one hand out and offering to Richie. Stanley stands near the waiting chairs, looking outside with the same uneasy look Richie feels.

Richie walks up to him, looking at the boy he's stuck to for the past three years. Three fucking years. Stanley's eyes slide to his, deep and swirling with... well, Richie isn't sure what. It's fear and anxiety and anticipation all in one. Stanley is lost, oh so lost, and truthfully so is Richie. There's so much they have to learn, so much healing they have to go through, so much they have lost that they need to get back. So much. It scares Richie because all of it lays right out those doors.

Richie grasps for Stanley's hand, the same hand that helped Richie through it all. Now, it's going to help Richie through this, and vise versa.

He looks out to the doors, his waiting dad, the outside world.. he looks at it all. Sooner or later he needs to go. The world isn't going to wait for him.

Come on, Richie. Go. Go into the world. It's waiting for you, but not for long. Get to it and catch up. Go.

One breath in, one grip of Stanley's hand,

And he enters the world once more.

/

remember when i said i was going to publish the whole book in one day? same here