Work Text:
SOPHOMORE YEAR
Richie was good with his hands; you could tell because they moved fast, quick, agile, always in motion, just like the blond boy’s brain, so… intelligent. Virgil thought they were the most arresting when they were putting the finishing touches on some new machination of Richie’s.
Virgil was equally as good with his hands, but Richie thought they were most striking when the white-blue sparks played overaroundthrough them, taking his breath away with the sheer eloquence of it all.
Their attention had never really been focused that way, on such a…strange idea, but in their sophomore year of high school, a situation pushed them to closer positions than they’d ever been before, even though they both were trying to ignore the pull of the other.
Sophomore year brought sixteenth birthdays and more confidence and more control and friend slippage and the Bang. Richie and Virgil were seeing less of each other than they had been; the blond was in the engineering and the computer club and the robotics club, and happened to be an officer for each of them, while Virgil was learning how to get his mack on and hang out with ladies, chronically dating at least three girls before the first quarter was over. The two tried to hang out all they could, but they were limited to the other’s schedule.
Virgil kind of fell in with the wrong crowd, hanging around people he almost trusted like Richie but didn’t love like Richie, and he couldn’t really remember how it had happened but he was arguing with Richie and banging out of his house, on his bike down to the docks, meeting the gang leader Ebon for some whack job that he had told Richie he’d do with his consent or not because unlike him they actually wanted to spend time with him.
The job went wrong, horribly, terribly wrong in ways they couldn’t imagine; something went off, was triggered, and Virgil was knocked off his bike and blown backwards into a pile of lumber. When he opened his eyes, everyone else was still knocked out and his Walkman was fried. He picked himself up with a slight groan and reached down to tug off his headset, just as quick pulling his hand back as a sharp flash of pain went through his fingers.
With a grimace at the odd smell in the air, Virgil sighed and, ignoring the pain, pulled his headphones from around his head and yanked the entire set off. There was this thick, cloying deep purple haze in the air that painted the clear night murky and made seeing nearly impossible; still, Virgil managed to find his bike well enough and found he wasn’t too sore to ride. It was clear he had to get out of the area before someone came and looked for answers, especially since he didn’t have any right now.
Virgil hoisted himself up on his bike (and really, that odd flash of pain again when he touched the metal frame of his bike?), prepared to ride home and collapse in bed, when he heard a weak, whispered cough that he managed to hear only because his body instinctively listened for the specific sound.
“V? Virg?”
“Rich?!”
Virgil was off his bike and over in a flash; his friend was lying on some broken wood, appearing to have broken it when he fell. His head was bloody and his shirt ripped, but nothing seemed badly broken or injured. V ran one of his hands through the light blonde hair, surprised at the stark contrast between the usual healthy red Richie sported with the pained look the boy had now. Richie was so pale…
“You okay, Rich?”
Honey brown eyes met his with a weak nod and small, pained chuckle.
“I’m okay, I think…nothing’s broken but, everything hurts.”
Virgil nodded and moved to grasp his friend tighter in a hug, trying to hold back a strange burning sensation in his throat.
“Why were you out here?”
Richie’s hands grasped the back of Virgil’s orange shirt, tightening his hold on the other boy.
“I...I was worried, V. So I followed you.”
“Rich…"
Virgil shook away tears that were forming and helped Richie up instead, walking him over to his bike. The blonde collapsed heavily onto the frame once they walked over, gripping the seat and handlebar tightly before letting out a shuddering, sobbing breath that twisted into a grim chuckle at the end.
“Well, that hurt a little more than I thought it would.”
Virgil winced a little in sympathy before venturing, “Do you think you can get on for the ride back?”
Richie had his head lowered and didn’t say a word, managing only a nod before swing a leg over quickly and steadfastly staring straight ahead as tears rolled down his cheeks. The blonde kept his stare straight ahead and so was surprised when he had an armful of his best friend hugging him tightly with his head buried into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, man, this is my fault, all my fault—“
Richie laid his head on Virgil’s shoulder and hugged him back loosely, his voice a whisper.
“It’s okay. I missed you.”
His locked friend gave a sort of choking gasp at that and pulled away, looking into Richie’s eyes.
“I missed you too.”
Richie gave a sort of half nod in confirmation that yes, they were cool, because underneath the admittance of I missed you was the longer, deeper you hurt me and I hurt you too, are we both okay now? Virgil smiled a little despite the pain and turned around, sitting on the bike seat and placing a foot on the pedals.
But for all that they had just made heartwarming, completely unmanly half declarations of love to each other, Richie was uncertain where to place his hands and so ended up flailing a little before Virgil reached behind him and firmly tugged him forward with one arm, wrapping it tightly around his waist.
“Richie, stop freaking out and get ready to go, already.”
With a grateful nod against the orange-covered back of his friend, Richie leaned closer and wrapped the other arm around his friend and thanked God that Mr. Hawkins had modified Virgil’s bike long ago to fit two on the bike seat once he found out the pair were riding together and wouldn’t stop for anything. (Richie had never had his own bike, and when Mr. Hawkins had told Virgil to stop he had been confronted with a very indignant ten year old telling him, didn’t you tell me to learn how to share Daddy?)
Virgil smiled a little, happy for reasons he wasn’t quite willing to touch on, and slid his hand from Richie’s forearm down to his wrist and past his hand, catching on the other boy’s pale hand, unwilling to break contact but ready with the excuse of making sure Richie was holding on tight if it was awkward, or something. He straight out laughed when Richie grabbed at his hand with his own and linked their fingers together; if this was weird or abnormal, they could sort it out later, blame it on stress. But right now, they both needed the presence and solidity of the other, and so the pair of them didn’t discuss, they just instinctively did. So what if they engaged in one small isolated incident of hand holding when no one could see them? This was how one repaired a broken friendship. It wasn't for anyone else but the two of them to judge.
The ride home was excruciating.
Bumps on the road and potholes were the duo’s enemies; every bump or pothole hit earned a faint groan from Richie and a hand squeeze from Virgil. After a while Richie pressed in as close as he could to minimize the space between them so he had more of a buffering force for each hit because that made perfect, complete sense, and he completely did not rest his chin in the hollow of Virgil’s neck for the comfort it brought or let out a small sigh at Virgil helping him come closer by pulling on his hand. Virgil in turn never let go of Richie’s hand once, his thumb rubbing over the other boy’s index finger as the blonde moved closer and tried not to let on how much he hurt.
Halfway through the ride Richie found he could bear it if he focused on Virgil’s hands; they were larger than his own with (he had to be honest, here) beautifully shaped fingers that tapered at the end and clean, blunt nails. They were also warm and the same color brown as V’s eyes and the perfect size to rest in his own, but he tried not to dwell on that too much, nor did he acknowledge how the friction of V’s thumb against his index finger made him wish for things he hadn’t wished for since the beginning of freshman year. Instead he passed off some of his low key moans as pained noises and determinedly did not think about how the rest of himself was pressed against Virgil and if maybe Virg was feeling the same way too. He only allowed himself to really notice his friend’s arms and shoulders, and then found himself asking a question incredulously before he thought about it.
“V, have you been working out?”
His inquiry startled a laugh from Virgil, who he could tell was smiling even if his back was turned.
“Yeah, I haven’t had much to do lately, so I’ve been hitting the Center’s gym with my dad.”
Richie couldn’t help a snort of laughter at this comment.
“With your dad? V, have you seen your dad? I don’t think he could run a mile without stopping halfway through to sit down.”
Another laugh that Richie had so missed hearing and a playful nudge that did not so playful things to his thoughts.
“Richie, I know he doesn’t look like it, but his arms are pretty buff. How do you think he used to pick us up by our shirts and separate us when we were fighting?”
“Your dad hasn’t done that in years.”
“Of course not. I’m bigger then he is.”
“That’s for sure.”
“You callin’ me fat, Foley?”
Richie ducked his head, pressing his forehead to his friend’s back, and Virgil could tell Richie was fighting off laughter just at the thought. The sound of his suppressed snorts and snickers made Virgil pedal even faster; if Richie was alright, he could be, too.
But the bike ride was really killing him; at one point during the ride Richie pressed up close to him and hadn’t backed off since, his chin resting the hollow of Virgil’s neck and every sound he made right in Virgil’s ear. Virgil was having a hard time not hitting bumps and potholes on purpose when Richie moaned every time he did; they must have been in serious pain, but they were all up in his ear and all Virgil could think about was tugging the boy closer and maybe showing him what he had learned while they were busy being friends that ignored each other.
Instead he contented himself to hold hands with Richie, stroking the other boy’s hand carefully, wondering if Richie found it weird but unable to bring himself to stop; Richie’s hands were soft and delicate, almost, except for the strength in his fingers from building all the time. You could physically see the precision that the male had in his hands, see the muscles work over the backs of his hands. They were pale and pink and nice to hold, because Virgil would never admit to it but all those girls he had dated were in the past because none of them ever felt…right. He couldn’t count on any of them to do this for him, follow him for his safety even when being pissed at him, and…none of their hands ever fit his when he held them. Not like Richie’s.
They pulled up to Virgil’s house and got off the bike; the pair carefully and with many muted grunts of pain climbed off the bike. Taking the bike by the handlebars Virgil went to walk it up the driveway only to fall to his knees as soon as he tried to take a step, the bike clattering loudly to the pavement. Richie watched as his friend tried to get up and fell back down almost immediately. With a slight chuckle the blond reached over gingerly and painstakingly hauled the bike up, and froze for a half a second, hearing movement on the porch.
He turned around to the garage with a smile but refused to glance over to the left, instead opting to walk up the bike slowly and grin, "Hey, Mr. Hawkins."
Behind him he heard Virgil groan and then pipe up, "Hey, Pops."
Virgil felt his dad's hand on his shoulder and collapsed, his muscles shaky. He heard his dad's sharp intake of breath before he lost consciousness. Richie wheeled the bike into the open garage (easy, too easy, he was waiting for them and they were really gonna get it) and turned around to see Mr. Hawkins hoist Virgil up like he weighed nothing, carrying him in his arms like he was a five year old again, looking so concerned that it made Richie turn away from something so private.
He was surprised when Mr. Hawkins called out from the driveway and demanded to know if he was gonna come inside or just stand there outside when he should be holding the door.
Inside, Mr. Hawkins laid Virgil out on the couch gently and looked at Richie expectantly. The blonde shifted uncomfortably and sat down on the space of couch left, sprawling out tiredly, his hand making tunnels through his hair, unconsciously leaning back in such a way that his hand splayed on Virgil’s calf.
"Mr. Hawkins, I followed V tonight when he told me he had a job to do for Ebon."
At the name Mr. Hawkins' eyes narrowed.
"You mean that good for nothing boy that runs that gang?"
Richie nodded and sighed, leaning forward.
"It was something to do at the docks--"
"At this time of night?"
Richie shrugged helplessly and threw his arm over his face. Sighing, Mr. Hawkins stalked into the kitchen for ice, probably, and left Rich just sitting there with Virgil, whose muscles spasmed under his palm and then just as suddenly clenched tightly. Virgil arched back with a startled cry of pain, squirming on the couch, and Richie thought quickly or maybe not at all, grabbing his leg and pulling him half into his lap to massage the cramp out of it. Mr. Hawkins came rushing back in with his hands wet from the ice packs, his eyebrows furrowing as he saw his son clench the couch cushions tightly and his eyes squeeze shut.
“R-Rich…dammit, that hurts, can you just….”
Soothing calming hands over the muscle, Richie made soft noises of comfort, shushing Virgil and digging his own wide-tipped thumbs into the taut skin. At his friend’s command, Virgil let go of his death grip on the couch to try and relax a little, throwing one arm over his face and resting the other on his chest, trying to focus on anything but the pain of his legs cramping. He sifted through different methods of calming himself until finally he let his mind go blank and he focused only on the feel of Richie’s hands on his skin.
But the thought didn’t calm him down, it only distracted him, luring him further into his mind as he felt the touch of Richie’s fingers on his skin and imagined it everywhere. And that nearly killed him with the simple idea of it, and so Virgil struggled to close the floodgates as he finally relaxed fully and his muscles ceased to cramp.
The blonde breathed a sigh of relief and looked up to see Mr. Hawkins watching him closely, too closely with a look that made Rich shift uncomfortably and nearly snatch the ice in effort to disconnect their eyes. He laid it gently on Virg’s leg as he hung his head surreptitiously, his blonde fringe hiding his eyes from the prying gaze of the older man. There were too many questions in his gaze that needed answers that Richie didn’t want to give. Instead, he focused on Virgil, probably incriminating himself further but too tired and still a tad too worried to care.
The pair ended up falling asleep on the couch together, Virgil’s legs hooked over Richie’s thighs and Richie pillowed on his arms on top of them, still in their same clothes but too worn out to move anywhere or anything, really. Mr. Hawkins turned out the lights to the house after it was apparent that he couldn’t wake the sleeping boys. He left them asleep against each other, pondering his own thoughts as he climbed the stairs for bed.