IT characters x reader

One of the lads // poly

You walk in tandem between Belch and Victor with a lunch tray in hand. Henry had to attend lunch time tutoring and you thought he'd enjoy some food delivered to him. Even if it was against the rules, you were sure Mrs. Baker would let it slide; if not out of the kindness of her shriveled old heart then at least because she knew Henry would be a nightmare to deal with next period if he goes without a meal.

"Come on guys stop." You laugh, doing your best to keep the chocolate chip muffin away from Belch's grasp while simultaneously keeping Victor's sticky fingers from stealing any more fries, a feat easier said than done when even Victor dwarfed you. "If you keep it up Henry won't have anything to eat."
"Relax." Victor smiles, boldly grabbing two fries: one to shove in his mouth and the other against your cheek. "Hank won't mind."

Belch chimes in agreement while helping himself to Victor's second fry. "You worry too much."
"Excuse me for caring about my boyfriend's health."
"We're your boyfriends too." Victor says.
"Yeah, don'tcha care about our healths?" Belch asks pulling out all the stops with a pouty bottom lip.
You could only roll your eyes and bump your hips against each of them. "Of course I do. But you both already had lunch and Hen—"
The crack of a metal tray against flesh than floor echoes through the lunch hall, turning everyone's attention to the slight right of where you stood. A freshman only a foot taller than you drops to his knees in a futile attempt to catch the tray that had been smacked out of his hands by Belch, who now was laughing himself into a fit alongside Victor as they continued out the lunchroom.
You don't bother calling them out. That's not how your relationship worked.

Instead you grip your tray a little tighter and turn heel to the freshman. "Hey, sorry about that. They're being jerks." You bend down to his level, offering half a smile. "You can have my lunch."
"Leave me alone." He glares and swats his hand at you.

You recoil slightly. "Uh, ok. Sorry I was just trying to be nice."
"That's a fucking joke. Don't act like you care."
"But I do."
"No you don't!" He snaps, baring his teeth. "If you did you wouldn't be hanging around those assholes. You can't pretend to be a nice person if your only friends are the biggest bullies in the damn town."
Your stomach drops. Oh.
–

Henry gives one final tug to the noose around a boulder peeking up from the soil at the Criss' farm. "Fucking hell." He walks around the perimeter of the rock, trying to nudge it with his foot.
"It's in there good."

"That's what she said." Victor muses.
The boys snort a laugh then return to the situation at hand oblivious to the anxiety that has been gradually bubbling lowly in the pit of your stomach.
Am I— not a nice person?

You kick your feet a little, careful not to add to the scuffs on pair of boots you bought used last year. They're ugly really, not even Beverly Marsh – with all her beauty and charm, could salvage any style from them. But Henry once said you looked nice in them, and apparently that was all it took for you to court you into an impulse buy.
"Am I a nice person?"

The conversation dies and all eyes fall on you.
You repeat the question. "Do you guys think I'm nice?"
Belch is the first to answer, "Of course you are," trying to be cheery. "You're the sweetest person we know."
Victor nods. "That's why we're dating you."
Patrick huffs a little, taking a seat next to you on the hay bale. "It's one reason." His eyes graze across your low-cut shirt, "I can think of two better reasons." and hand snaking around your shoulders with baleful ambition to justtttt touch your—
It never comes to that. Instead, you look up to find Henry has Patrick's hand in a vise grip, his blue eyes chilly with contempt. "Not now, Hockstetter." Patrick eases up, dropping his arm to your waist while Henry takes the seat on your right. "Why d'ja care if you're nice? Being nice ain't never done me any favors."
"I dunno... I like to think I'm nice. It makes me different."
"From who?" Belch asks.
"Who else do ya think, ijit." Henry snaps. "From us. She wants to take the moral high road to look down on us."