how we were ✰ 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 ¹

four

"behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic."
   — oscar wilde

warning: chapter contains slurs related to weight
if you would have told richie he'd be standing in the middle of a drug store looking for a romantic gift for beverly marsh with ben hanscom, he would have laughed.

yet here he stood, buried beneath two layers in the heat of fall, searching the isles for something that spoke to true to beverly. ben had asked him about the ensemble that adorned richie's skinny body, but the tozier just shrugged it off and wrote it off as "this morning was just a bad morning." the basis of which wasn't entirely a lie. it hadn't been the best start to the day richie had ever had.

against his usual schedule, wentworth tozier was awake and sitting on the couch when richie had woken up for school. a cigarette was pinched in between his thumb and pointer finger and there was a wrinkle between his brow that had his son coming to halt.

mr. tozier didn't turn his his head to acknowledge the boy that stood like a statue in the entry way of the living room, but he did let out a small tsk and exhale the stench of a camel cigarette. richie hated the smell of camels, they made the burns on his back ache. "richard," he greeted, voice gravely and eyes sunken in due to his lack of sleep, "come here."

richie didn't want to move, he felt petrified, but his feet betrayed him and moved toward the man out of their own accord. he felt like the smoke was choking him, but richie couldn't even find it in himself to cry out in fear, for the eyes looking into his own were empty, and richie knew no one would come for him.

"care to enlighten me," his father began, hand spread across the back of the couch and one of his legs casually resting on his knee, "as to why there was five bucks missing from my wallet when i got home this morning." richie's blood turned cold. he needed that money—his dad barely bought food as it was, but he'd been working overtime at the station and richie was just so hungry.

but he knew his reasons—his excuses—wouldn't matter. he'd stolen from his father and wentworth tozier was a firm believer in putting out the persona of being an outstanding citizen. so when richie felt the familiar grip of rough, calloused hands surround his wrist, he bit the inside of his mouth until it bled and took his beating like a bitch.

so now, in order to hide the new bruises and burns from the prying eyes of derry, richie had adorned a long sleeved shirt under a t-shirt. the shirt covered moved of the noticeable marks, but the way it brushed against them when richie walked—or even breathed, had him wincing and sucking in small breaths through his teeth.

ben was leading the charge through the isles of the drug store, picking up various objects and looking at them with a great amount of concentration before shaking his head and putting them back on the shelf. oh, pretty woman was humming softly in richie's ears as he followed behind ben, richie figured it would get him in the mood to spend what seemed like hours shopping for a pretty woman.

eventually, ben stopped at the end of the last isle, turning to face richie with a dejected look on his face and richie was quick to slip the headphones off of his ears. almost immediately he missed the music.

"i can't think of anything," ben groaned leaning against one of the shelves and squeezing his eyes shut, "i can't even think of one thing that would show her that i really liked her." richie felt bad for the kid, he really looked like the realization was taking a toll on him. from the limited knowledge richie held about ben hanscom, he had quite the bleeding heart, so his reaction really didn't surprise richie.

"hey," richie spoke, voice cracking with disuse as he stuck his tongue out to run along his dry lips, "i'm sure we can find something—" his eyes scanned the counter, desperate for something to get ben out of his rut. richie's eyes fell upon a rack of postcards by them at the back of the store and he quickly moved over to snatch one. the picture on the back was of a the derry standpipe, a rickety old water tower that he was sure bev would find charming and 'rustic.' "—here, write her something on this. she'll love it. bev's a sucker for homemade gifts."