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It's become an unhealthy habit by now, you knew that. Standing in front of your mirror, you watched as your fingers gently traced the faint scar on your cheek. Your eyes noting the difference in skin color between it and your natural tone. The pads of your fingers sliding across the slight dip on your skin. Henry fucking Bowers. He was failing at everything in life but somehow he managed to get a leg up on you. Whether you liked to admit it or not, the scar actually bothered you more than it should. Being no more than two inches, you couldn't really see it if you weren't looking but the thing about you was, you were always looking. Every chance you got to look at your reflection, you were looking at your scar. You didn't know what was so bewitching about it but it always managed to capture your attention. Fed up with your behavior, you tore your hand away from your face and balled up your fists against the desk. You decided to close your eyes. If you couldn't see it, it couldn't bother you. You hated how fixated you were on something cosmetic. It didn't make you who you were, you tried to convince yourself. It didn't matter, you thought. It was only as strong as you made it to be, you reminded yourself. These words were not your own, they were Bill's. Ever since that day, you were welcomed into the loser's club, making the closest friends you've ever had. Opening your eyes against you blankly stared back at your reflection, your eyes involuntarily going to the scar. "I'm better than you." You firmly whispered to yourself, almost to solidify your thoughts and feelings. "Hey Scarface!" Jumping up from the sudden shout, you threw a hand over your heart to calm it down. "We're gonna be late! You can doll yourself up for our night together later!" "Richard!" "Sorry, Mrs. Y/L/N..." You rolled your eyes at Richie's antics, his nickname didn't faze you too much. Had it been anyone else, it would have gotten to you but because it was coming from Derry's own trashmouth, it didn't hold too much power over you. Besides it was Richie, he was like a brother you never wanted but appreciated having around. "I'm coming, Four Eyes!" You snatched your bag off the floor and pulled one of Bill's flannels over your shoulders before trotting downstairs. "I think you should get your eyes checked though, Richie." He tilted from head a little to the side with a confused expression on his face. "Why?" "Because you seemed to be having trouble seeing that I'm out of your league." You smirked, gently pushing him to the side by the shoulder to open the front door. "Now come on, we don't want to be late right?" "Yeah? You think so? Well my wang-" Richie seemed to forget who's home he was currently standing in and was soon caught by the ear by your mother. "Richard Tozier! Do not make me get the soap again!" She threatened, giving him a stern look as she hoisted him up by the tip of his ear. Wincing from the pain, Richie clamped his arms to his side with his hands clenched into fists as he rose on his tippy toes, following your mother's pull. "Sorry, Mrs. Y/L/N...won't happen again." He muttered out, his eyes glaring at you. "Of course it won't, Richard." Your mother rolled here eyes at his promise, knowing fully well it would but nonetheless she released him. "Now run along. Y/N honey, be careful okay?" She said as she patted Richie's head and pushed him towards the door. "Have fun kids!" You waited for Richie next to his bike with the smuggest look on your face. "Ready to go, Richie?" He glared at you and promised. "I'll get you back, Y/N." Before the two of you began the journey over to Bill's.
