Chapter Text
He was unofficially moved into the Hawkins residence later that week. And by unofficially, Richie supposed he meant his mother dropped off two suitcases packed with every stitch of clothing that still fit him and all his comic books at V’s house on a Sunday morning, when the Hawkins were at church.
She had kissed his face all over, like she used to when he was little. In his arms, she was so small-- so frail-- and he had hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go when he knew she was going back into a monster’s den.
“I’m going away for a while.”
Her words surprised him, and he drew back to look at her. Look down at her, because he was taller than her and almost a man now, and wasn’t that something?
“You’re leaving him? Mom, be--”
“Careful. Yes. Honey, I’m just... going to your aunt’s for a while. Think things through. Any man that can almost kill a baby,” here her voice trembled, pale blue eyes wavering like her voice did, “not just any baby, but our baby, well. I’ve got to think about some things.”
There had been more whispered in that goodbye, including a small, brave smile to tell that Hawkins boy she loved him and an envelope that was tightly packed for him to open with Mr. Hawkins.
When his mother left, Richie watched the fingers of wind pick at red hair and her dress until she disappeared into a taxi at the end of the driveway. The car had two more suitcases in the backseat, and Margaret Foley was a small-ish woman but she had never seemed so big and determined than sitting in that backseat.
Richie watched the back window until he couldn’t see his mother’s hair anymore, and cursed for the millionth time that he looked like a monster instead of the woman who actually loved him.
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Baddies seemed to hibernate a little more in autumn, which Richie cautiously mentioned to Virgil softly under the cover of night. It had taken a lot for both of them to keep up the crimefighting and their grades, school always getting out at the same time Ebon or Hotstreak or Talon wanted to start some shit.
And it was so hard to keep track of weeks anymore. It felt like the beginning of senior year but he and V were sitting for their SATs in September, were joking around in Spanish II by early October. The seasons melted carefully from that blistering summer to a queer sort of autumn in the best way possible, a slow winding dotted with Baby run-ins.
A cool night close to Halloween, Richie stepped off the saucer and stretched, groaning at the ache in his back. Virgil jumped off and snatched up his disc, his face stony as he strode over to the bed they had moved into the gas station.
“V, that fight was brutal, man. A guy needs a little R&R.”
First his helmet, then his backpack, then his shirt. Rich looked over to see Virgil hadn’t moved, except to set his disc on the floor and take off his mask. Head bowed, the warm orange of the streetlamp hid the rest of Virg’s face. Richie fought off a shiver.
“V? Virgil?
Virgil slowly took off his jacket and let it slide to the floor. Richie moved to sit next to him, bed creaking.
“Virgil, baby. C’mon.”
One hand found another, and only then did Virgil’s shoulders begin to lose their tension. Virgil tried to get his voice under control to speak, eyes shut and head bowed.
"Richie, man, I’ve been thinking-- you, you keep getting mail from these colleges that want you.”
He tried to continue but the words got stuck in his throat.
Richie felt his eyes widen, shifting closer on the bed, cursing the comically squeaky bedsprings.
“Yea, I’ve seen ‘em.”
Virgil's voice was soft, so soft, like he'd been crying. Hell, maybe he had been, earlier when he'd gone to grab the mail by himself that morning.
“You, uh. You gonna take them?”
Richie sagged against his boyfriend on the bed, eyelids closed against the seemingly harsh light of the streetlamp in full view. He could feel his heart pounding sluggishly, thick blood just under the surface behind his ears, in his throat, at his wrists. Richie cast about in his mind for energy to answer the question and could only sigh, pushing his nose into the crook of Virgil’s neck.
“Baby, if I'm being honest, I haven't even thought about it. That's a lot to unpack and I haven't had the time.”
The shaky breath that V exhaled seemed reluctant, like Virgil blamed himself for wanting that exact answer but also wanting the entire world for Richie, which was just course for par.
“I don't mean to push you. I just was wondering about what you were thinking, and--
Tracing the line of V’s neck with his nose, Richie murmured, “I think I don't want to think about anything but you right now. Can you handle that?”
A grin that Richie felt against his skin, Virgil’s jawline unyielding against his scalp.
“Oh, I think I could manage that, Osgood.”