The End Of Us || losers club ✔️

twenty nine

twenty nine - maybe, richie. maybe

"Will it always be this.. awkward?"

Richie inhales deeply, taking a moment to think over Stanley's question before ultimately shrugging. Stanley's curious look falls fast from his face along with his shoulders.

"Right," he says flatly, as if he wasn't all too surprised Richie didn't have an answer.

Gravel crunches under their shoes. Wentworth's car keys jingle off Richie's finger. They're going to retrieve a plate of store-bought cookies Went left in the car. As the sun lowered, so did the temperature and Richie's thin shirt isn't doing him much justice.

"Well.. Beverly seems back to her old self," Richie says with a small, half-hearted shrug. "Laughing and.. I'm not sure- being Bev!" He watches as Stanley breathes out a wistful smile.

"Yeah," he whispers, and Richie gets to thinking.

If it weren't for the circumstances, Richie could almost laugh along with her. It seems so easy to; just to tip his chin back and laugh until his eyes sting with tears and his stomach aches. Rock in blissful joy until the joke is no longer funny and his cheeks go back to resting, the distant stretch of them falling into a nostalgic memory. Seems so easy to, but of fucking course, it's not as easy. It never was.

"It's all just so... stupid," Richie spits out.

Stanley pauses in his tracks (mostly because they're by Wentworth's car) and slowly speaks, "...Beverly?"

"What? Oh- no. No, not her. This whole thing, Stan. All of us that one night, then leaving, then getting taken down one by one.. then not seeing each other for three years. The long fucking years, Stan. And- now being thrown together and expected to act the same? That day out in town was fine... maybe- Fuck! I don't know!"

Richie feels the words fall from him lips in a jumbled mess, but can't feel himself allowing himself to say it. It all just spills all out, as if a dam inside him has cracked and little spits of water have burst out.

"And- and- a-and my mom is gone," his voice wavers, "and I can feel my connection with Eds fading. Can you? Everything with you, Mike, and- and Bill are fine. Maybe the same with- same with Bevs. I- I just-"

Richie sucks in a breath and busies himself with unlocking the car door. The metal is cool to the touch, and it's probably a good thing with how hot his skin now is. There's no reflection of himself in the window, which is probably also a good thing. He doesn't even want to imagine how he must look.

Stanley doesn't say anything. And he continues to say nothing up until Richie is wrapping his arms around the saran-wrapped plate and hip-knocking the car door closed.

"Richie, it's going to be alright," Stanley starts. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it's not always going to be this awkward."

Richie can feel Stanley's stare. He wishes he would just stop. Just stop staring. Just get his fucking eyes off of Richie. These last three years has been so full of god damn states that Richie is just about to claw is own skin off.

"Back inside?" Is all Richie can muster out. He holds the plate a little bit closer, not minding the way the rim digs in under his ribs. Maybe, just maybe, he can find some comfort in holding something so close.