"a poet is a nightingale, who sits in the darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds."
— percy bysshe shelley

"get back here!"

the year was 1989, henry bowers and richie tozier were running through the darkened streets of derry, hearts pounding erratically and breaths leaving their lips in short, hot pants. richie's lungs ached, but he pushed himself faster to keep up with henry's long strides. the bowers boy had richie's hand grasped firmly in his own, fingers locked together as he pulled him down the abandoned small-town streets and away from the blaring siren of the police officers currently in pursuit of the pair.

one, two, three..

henry's head kept glancing side to side, looking for somewhere to hide while richie eyed the officers that were gaining on them from behind. "hen.." his voice was quiet, but he knew henry heard him. henry always listened to him. "i know, rich." he was out of breath, but he still managed to pull the younger boy into a shadowed alleyway.

four, five, six..

richie was sweating, breath heaving but he bit his lip until he drew blood to keep in the hollowed gasps leaving his lips. henry had him cornered up against the cold brick wall behind his back, so close he could smell the cigarette smell that clung to him. the sirens blared closer and the pounding of richie's erratic heartbeat kicked into overdrive. he laid his head on henry's chest, ear down so he could listen to the soothing drum in his ribs and pretend that they weren't there. henry huffed in surprise, but didn't move the boy's head, looking down at him as if he'd strung the stars. richie knew henry wouldn't let him do this in front of his other friends, henry wasn't henry with them.

seven, eight, nine..

slowly, the echo of the police siren began to fade away. richie hadn't even noticed the cruiser had passed where the pair was hidden in the shadows of the alleyway. he didn't move his head until the echoes became whispers and the whispers became silence. henry did not move a muscle the entire time.

ten.

richie slowly lifted his head and ignored the crick that had taken up residence in his neck. henry's eyes immediately fell to his lips and his eyebrows drew together in concern. he brought his fingers down to brush across richie's lips, but his touch wasn't gentle and it made richie wince. "we're okay." henry's voice was gruff, but his touch against richie's skin made him feel as if he wasn't quite so alone.

"we are not doing that again. no way, you crazy fuck." henry has dragged richie to the train tracks, covered in weeds and broken bottles, all for the simple american pleasure of tarnishing the sides of train cars. honestly, richie wasn't very interested in much more illegal activity other than snatching cigarettes from the gas station. even then, he switched that duty off every week with beverly anyway.

henry let out a small huff of laughter, pushing richie back off of him a few feet away. "i didn't see you complaining when you were scaling down the side of your house, tozier." richie tensed. of course he didn't complain, anywhere away from that house was better than being in it. henry must have noticed, because his eyes softened and his lips parted to say something but; no, no, no. richie didn't want his pity, not his, not henry's.

"henry," he licked his lips, tasting the bitter taste of iron, "what about..?" he didn't need to say anything else. they probably work with them. my dad will find out. he'll kill me. your's will kill you. i'm scared, hen. the silence wrapped around the boys, eyes locked on one another and for a moment richie felt his heart skip a beat. yet, henry broke the contact, furrowing his brows and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"whatever, tozier. i'll deal with it. i always do." he turned and moved toward the shadowed entrance of the alleyway. now, richie's heart clenched in an all new way, henry was leaving. henry was leaving him. behind richie's eyes flashed the rough caress of henry's hands against his face, the callous feel of their lips against one another's. the summer-soaked memory of henry's switchblade carving out their initials into the kissing bridge; and richie knew he couldn't let him go.

one, two..

"henry!" he called, stumbling after him on awkwardly long legs felt miles ahead of the rest of his body. "henry," he called again, falling in step beside the older boy and grabbing onto his arm, "i'm sorry. i know it's scary and-" he was cut off, thrown back by the force of the shove that henry supplies upon his shoulders. richie stumbled back, unable to catch himself before tripping and falling back onto his hands, the choppy gravel digging into the flesh of his palms. richie winced.

three, four..

"don't say you're sorry, you're not sorry," henry spit out, rounding on richie and towering over him with a venomous glint in his eyes, "i'm not scared, richie. i'm not. i'm not scared." his voice trembled and he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than the bleeding boy beneath him, but he still glared down at him with as much malice as he could muster. "you're the one that's scared." his words were shaky, but he licked his lips and spun on his heel, trudging haphazardly down the dark streets of derry.

five..

richie's blood pounded in his ears and he felt a stinging warmth flood his palms as he kept them pressed into the gravel. he kept his eyes locked on henry's retreating form until all that could be seen was the faint shadow of the bowers boy slipping past the few and far between streetlights. he licked his lips again, the taste of iron subdued this time and all richie could muster was a soft, "i'm always scared," in response to the silence.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

richie wandered the empty streets aimlessly, blood dripping down his fingertips from the wounds to his palms, but he didn't seem to even feel the sting. the sun was slowly peaking up from the horizon, signaling the nearing end of the children of derry's summer vacation. they only had a week left. a week of richie's father being too preoccupied with the free, troublesome kids to notice that he was rarely ever at home. once school started, it would all get worse. his father, along with henry's, would have more free-time to notice how their sons seemed to slip away. richie's father would ruin everything.

richie's feet aches and the coldness clinging to the morning air bit at his already flushed cheeks. the town had not quite awoken, shutters were still shut tight and lights not turned on. the image held resemblance to that of a ghost town. though, richie supposed that derry was almost like a ghost town, one that had harbored only torment.

the familiar roll of tires down the uneven gravel road had richie's shoulders tensing and breath catching in his throat. he turned his head, eyes flashing toward the car that was rolling up slowly on him from behind. the car was a police cruiser, and the man behind the wheel was richie tozier's father.

richie's hands shook, but he curled his fingers up into fists in a vain attempt to prevent the trembling from spreading to his entire body. he wished he could have ran, slipped away with the wind where no one would ever find him. or maybe a shining light would descend from the clouds and save richie from all of the hurt the world had to offer him. but richie wasn't swept away with the wind or drawn in by light, instead, he took one shaky step after another to the passenger side of his father's cruiser.

the most terrifying aspect of wentworth tozier was not the way he yelled, or the way he left bruises, and most definitely not the void that shown in his eyes as he did such things. it was the words. the little wisps that slipped past his grimaced lips when talking to his only son. that was what richie found most crushing, most devastating.

when richie first entered the cruiser, nothing was said. mr. tozier simply pulled off the side of the road and drove toward wherever the streets took him. richie didn't even know if they would end up at the tozier residence. however, he did eventually acknowledge richie, and as much as richie built himself up to hear the words of distaste, within seconds all of his walls came crashing down.

"imagine my disgust," his father began, tone clipped and calm, but richie tensed anyway, "when i received a call about you—" he didn't say my son, "—and bowers' boy desecrating a train car at four in the morning." richie said nothing, but he held his bleeding hands tightly in his lap. "i would have thought that you weren't stupid enough to embarrass me like that, boy." richie dug his nails into the already wounded flesh, wincing. "yet, you continue to surprise me. thank god your mother didn't have to live to see what a fucking disappointment her son had become."

richie tuned out a lot of his father's words after that. he only caught a few the rest of the ride.

"ungrateful." one..

"worthless." two..

"piece of shit." three..

richie kept counting, over and over again, one to ten, one to ten. the trembling had caught up with the rest of his body by now, but it seemed that his father had caught on that richie had not been listening very closely, because the boy was drawn out of this thoughts by rough, calloused hands gripping his chin in a painful grasp.

the car had stopped, but richie hadn't even noticed. he didn't recognize where they were, somewhere surrounded by trees, as far as he could tell. the grip against his chin hurt, but he didn't dare flinch or rip away, it would only make it worse. "you good for nothing ungrateful boy," his father hissed, spit hitting his cheeks like tiny pinpricks, "you can't even fucking listen, can you? i provide you with food, shelter, the clothes on your back and you can't even give me the simple curtesy of listening to me when i talk to you?" the hand left his chin to instead crash across richie's cheek with a resounding slap filling the tenseness of the car. fuck, it hurt, his father still wore his wedding ring, and it dug deep into richie's skin. his father was never careful about leaving marks, he knew richie would lie about them anyway.

"it should have been you, you hear me? you should be buried in the fucking ground and not her."

richie's cheek throbbed the whole way to their house, but he couldn't tell if the warmth moving down his cheek was blood or the tears welling in his eyes.