Chapter Text
Richie can admit that getting after school detention in the first week back is not his best work. He had wanted this year to be a fresh start, one in which he actually applied himself in class and got good grades, but after being set five different pieces of homework on the first day back Richie had decided that those hopes and dreams were amature.
He should be working on upping his prank game. The teachers at the Derry public high school have been allowed to live without fear for too long, and it’s Richie’s responsibility to make sure they’re always on their toes.
Well, that had been the plan. It didn’t go as well as he’d expected, given that he’s been caught emptying soil into the gym coach’s desk draw, but Richie definitely doesn’t regret it, even if it means he has to spend the next few hours in a boring classroom with a bunch of other teenage delinquents.
He’s been here before plenty of times so he knows the drill. Go in, sit down, pretend you’re doing work until the teacher gets so bored that they either fall asleep or leave, and then doodle cartoon dicks onto the desk until it’s time to go home. Richie doesn’t need to be told twice.
It takes him a little off guard, then, when he walks into the room to see an empty desk where the supervisor should be and Patrick Hockstetter reclining on a chair near the back of the room. His legs are crossed and his feet are resting on his table; when he sees Richie a slow, scary smile spreads across his face. Richie tries not to gag.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he walks in warily, trying not to show his discomfort. The Bowers’ gang have been after Richie ever since he can remember, but allowing Patrick to intimidate him the first time they see each other won’t bode well for the rest of the year.
“Have a nice summer?” Hockstetter asks innocently, fingers drumming a rhythm against the tabletop. Richie takes a seat in front of the teachers’ desk on the opposite end of the classroom, as far away from Hockstetter as he can get, but turns around in his chair so he doesn’t have his back to him.
“Peachy, thanks.” His rucksack falls to the floor with a heavy thunk. The school is silent, all the students gone home, all the teachers either hiding in their offices or trying to sneak out early. “And yourself?”
It makes Richie want to laugh, this line of conversation, but he knows it’s just how Patrick plays. Richie can play like this as well if it’ll buy him time: he’s not opposed to making smalltalk with the resident bully. It beats getting his teeth kicked in by the guy.
Patrick doesn’t reply, but then Richie wasn’t too bothered about getting an answer in the first place. Instead, the tip of his tongue darts out and traces his bottom lip, fingers stilling against the desk suddenly. The only sound in the room is the tick, tick of the clock on the wall and Richie’s uneven heartbeat until Patrick talks again.
“She’s not coming, you know.” Richie grits his teeth and doesn’t reply. He’s uncomfortable with his body twisted round like a contortionist but having Hockstetter behind him, not being able to see what he’s doing… that doesn’t sit well with Richie.
“What?” He asks, rolling his eyes for show. Patrick just smiles, creepy and intense.
“It’s the bitch chemistry teacher.” Patrick tells him and Richie winces. He already knows which one Patrick is talking about, because there’s only one chemistry teacher vengeful enough to actually warrant Patrick’s vehement dislike. “She left for coffee twenty minutes ago and hasn’t come back. You’re late.”
“If you wanted to get me alone, Patrick, you should have just said.” Richie says smarmily, although dread is beginning to claw its way up his throat. Would it be better for him to make a run for it now? Fuck detention, there’s no way Patrick Hockstetter is going to sit in silence with him for two hours without trying to pull anything shady.
Richie chances a quick look out the window, taking his eyes off Patrick, who clearly doesn’t feel any need to do the same. He’s been watching Richie since he first stepped into the room and his gaze on Richie’s skin feels like crawling ants.
It’s raining outside, heavily. The scorching summer that had seemed to stretch on endlessly during their vacation has well and truly come to an end, and with it has brought a looming thunderstorm. Richie doesn’t feel like walking home in that. If he waits until five then he can probably catch a lift home with Bill’s dad: he always drives past the school on his way home from work.
If he runs, Patrick will probably chase him.
“So what did you do?” Patrick asks, surprising Richie by changing the subject to something innocent. Richie watches as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, lighting up right there in the classroom even though smoking anywhere on school grounds is strictly forbidden. He’s glad Eddie isn’t there, because this would invoke an asthma attack for sure.
“Tried to turn Coach’s desk into a flower bed.” Richie says proudly, because whilst Richie’s pranks are probably a little - a lot - tame for Patrick’s taste, he’ll surely still appreciate the sentiment. Sure enough, Patrick snorts and shakes his head.
“Pussy move,” he says, but he’s still grinning maniacally so Richie doesn’t let the criticism destroy him.
“What would you have done then, asshole.” For a second Richie thinks Patrick is going to get angry, going to object to Richie’s tone of voice or choice of words, but instead he tilts his head and starts to scratch the wooden desk, an action that is both intimidating and crazy annoying.
“There are better ways to cause trouble, Tozier.” Patrick tells him, condescending. There’s something in his eyes then that Richie sees, something dangerous and daring, like he wants Richie to ask more. It’s both terrifying and morbidly intriguing. Richie thinks wildly that if Patrick wasn’t such an asshole bully, they’d probably be friends.
“Whatever,” Richie hunches his shoulders almost automatically, as though to protect himself from a blow he doesn’t know to expect.
“What, you don’t like that?” Patrick grins. He’s really enjoying himself now, Richie can tell. “You can’t handle that, Tozier?”
“Funny,” Richie says, always needing the last word. He’s going to get the shit beaten out of him and it’ll be entirely his own fault. “That’s what your mom said last night.”
Patrick’s smirk changes into something sharper, something more unpleasant. When he speaks, he does so in a slow drawl that brings goosebumps to Richie’s skin.
“You’re cute.” He sneers. Then, startling Richie so badly that he almost falls out of his chair, Patrick kicks his chair back and stands up. He clears six feet easily and when Richie is sitting down like this Patrick looms over him, menacing and ominous as he slinks around the edge of the room like a cat. Richie’s heart thumps against his ribcage, adrenaline readying him for a fight or flight reaction.
It’s not necessary, however, because Hockstetter passes Richie completely and instead heads for the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, levelling Richie with a stare so intense it leaves his mouth dry.
“Are you gonna sit in here all damn day? ‘Cause I sure as hell am not.”
“Hmm, sit in this warm, dry classroom or take my chances with Patrick Hockstetter.” Richie pretends to think, even though there’s no way he’s hanging about in school for no reason. “That’s a tough call.”
“Whatever, fag.” Hockstetter rolls his eyes, lips twitching upwards at the corners. Richie ignores the jab, because he has the strange feeling that Patrick didn’t mean it as anything other than an empty insult. “If you wanna waste your time here be my guest, but I have better things to do.”
With that, he turns the handle and brushes out of the door, leaving Richie alone in a boring classroom with no one around to annoy. Cursing, Richie gathers his bag and speedwalks to the door, the sound of his feet slapping against the ground echoing through the empty hallway. Because he has no survival instinct and probably a death wish as well, he catches up to Patrick just as he’s about to leave.
“Yeah,” he pants, carrying on their conversation as though it had never finished. “I’m sure your evening of torturing the neighbourhood cats is going to be riveting.”
Patrick turns to him with raised eyebrows but he looks amused more than anything. Richie feels himself flush in embarrassment at having been caught running to keep up with him.
“Don’t knock it till you try it, flamer.” Richie ignores the insult, more than happy with the fact that Patrick isn’t actively trying to kill him. It’s strange and very off putting– Richie is too afraid to let down his guard for a second unless Patrick is just biding his time, but even as they walk down the school steps together Patrick makes no moves to attack him.
Richie kind of wants to ask what the hell is going on, but that would be pushing his luck.
They’re both drenched almost instantly. The weather is foul and Richie doesn’t have a coat, so he bears the full brunt of the cold wind against his bare skin. His teeth are chattering and he’s got another half hour of walking ahead of him before he’ll be able to have a shower and warm up.
Patrick, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to feel the cold at all. He’s wearing a short sleeved t-shirt so it isn’t like he’s any warmer than Richie. He’s a psychopath, Richie decides, it’s the only explanation. Richie glances out of the corner of his eye at Patrick’s arms, skinny but with hidden strength. He could probably choke Richie with one hand if he wanted to. He probably wants to.
Ironically, he’s also heading towards a car parked on the opposite side of the road.
Richie is surprised and more than a little relieved to see that it isn’t the car the Bowers gang usually drives, and that Patrick is still in fact on his own. One is manageable, four isn’t. This car is smaller, older looking, definitely more beaten up. It’s probably a family car, Richie thinks, and bites back a snort at the thought of Patrick having a happy family. It’s too weird to contemplate.
Patrick walks off alone without saying a word - not that Richie expected a fond farewell, but it does leave him feeling perturbed, like he needs closure or something.
Whatever. He tries to shake it off. He’s had more than enough conversation with Patrick Hockstetter for one day, he should be glad that he doesn’t have to spend anymore time with him. Patrick is a ticking time bomb, and Richie doesn’t want to be around when he blows up.
He doesn’t want to have to walk home in the middle of a storm either, but he doesn’t have much choice. He makes it about halfway down the road before he becomes conscious of the car behind him. The sound of the engine had been almost completely drowned out by the rain and Patrick doesn’t have his fucking headlights on. Figures.
It’s light outside but the streets are deserted, no one wanting to be out in the horrible weather. Shit, Richie thinks, this is it. He’s going to kill me and no one will even notice. They’d hear his screams and they wouldn’t even peek past their curtains.
But Patrick doesn’t make any attempt to get out of the car. He drives slowly, matching Richie’s walking pace and dawdling against the curb. Eventually, when Richie can’t take it anymore and has to turn around and flip Patrick his middle finger, Patrick laughs and winds down the window.
“Jeez, kid, lighten up.” He smirks. “Just wanted to know if you want a lift, is all.”
“With you?” Richie scoffs, all false bravado and attitude. “I’d rather have sex with Greta Bowie. She’d probably give me less diseases.”
Richie isn’t exactly expecting Patrick to take no for an answer and just drive away, but it still worries him when all Patrick does is trace the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip again and shake his head.
“I’m trying to do something nice here, Tozier. You aren’t being very grateful. Do you want to become pedo food?”
“Nope.” Richie gives him the shit eating grin he’s so infamous for. “That’s exactly why I’m not getting in your car, idiot.”
Patrick sighs and Richie is naïve enough to think that maybe he will get the message and just drive away, maybe Richie will be lucky enough to escape unscathed tonight. Of course, nothing with Patrick Hockstetter could ever go that smoothly.
Richie only becomes aware that Hockstetter has mounted the sidewalk when he’s barely a yard away from hitting him with the bumper of the car. Richie yelps in a very unmanly fashion and jumps out of the way before the car can make contact, even though Patrick isn’t driving very fast at all and it probably wouldn’t have done much damage. It’s the thought that counts, and Hockstetter was probably thinking about Richie’s body squashed under his tires.
“What the fuck, Hockstetter?” Richie demands, arms flailing. Patrick has more thankfully swerved back into the road so Richie isn’t in any immediate danger. Probably.
“Are you actually trying to kill me?” Richie continues, living up to his reputation of not knowing when to shut his mouth. “What the hell happened to doing something nice?”
“It wasn’t getting me anywhere interesting.” Patrick replies lazily. Richie huffs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans just so they don’t hang limply at his sides. He feels nervous somehow, but dismisses the feeling straight away. Who wouldn’t feel nervous with Patrick Hockstetter so close by?
“I’m sorry me being alive is so boring for you.” He says sarcastically, watching his shoes move forward on the tarmac sidewalk. Nothing about Hockstetter is trustworthy, Richie has learned after so long of being his target.
But when Richie next looks at Patrick he meets Richie’s stare with an expression so intense that it captivates him. Richie is so mesmerised by whatever insane emotion is spilling from Patrick’s mind into his own that he stumbles and almost eats dirt.
“Don’t worry, Tozier.” Patrick tells him, voice perfectly audible even over the faint sound of thunder in the distance. “Nothing about you is boring.”
With that, he drives away, leaving Richie shivering and soaked to the bone to walk home by himself. The silence seems so loud that he almost wishes he had gotten in Patrick’s car. At least it would have landed him somewhere more interesting than on his back, staring up at his bedroom ceiling, spending another night in his house all alone.
***
Richie sees Patrick the next day in school as he’s doing his best to sneak away from his gym lesson. Sophomore gym is as fun for Richie as yanking teeth and he’s already decided before Coach yells out their schedule for the next year that he won’t be attending many of these classes.
He’s just made it over to the geography huts - he can hide behind these once everyone has been registered and no one will even notice he’s slipped away - when he becomes aware of someone’s eyes on him. The back of his neck prickles and he spins around to come face to crotch with Patrick Hockstetter, who is balanced on the edge of the wall. His legs dangle down and Richie narrowly avoids getting kicked.
“You lived, then?” Patrick smirks around the cigarette in his mouth. He blows the smoke out through his nose, which Richie actually thinks is very cool but would never say so.
“No thanks to you, psycho.” Richie has to cover his eyes with his hand to shield them from the sun. He only narrowly manages to avoid Patrick jumping on top of him as he hops down from the wall and peers around the building.
“Skipping class?” Richie notices how close they are when he inhales and gets a mouthful of second hand smoke.
“I’m sorry, I know how important education is to you.” Richie’s usual sarcastic attitude is lacking it’s bite. After last night he should be more terrified than ever of Patrick, but for some reason he can’t convince his body that it should be readying itself for an attack.
“I don’t blame you,” Patrick ignores what Richie says, taking another drag of the cigarette before putting it out against the wall and flicking it to the ground. “When I was a sophomore he used to make us run laps before any game we played. It didn’t matter what sport it was.”
“You sound nostalgic, Hockstetter.” Richie can’t resist another jibe, even though Patrick is being civil to him. “What year are you retaking this time?”
“Jeez, Tozier.” Patrick turns to him and rolls his eyes. When he leans back against the wall and folds his arms over his chest, Richie’s eyes are again drawn to the definition in his biceps and the visible stretch of bare skin above the waistline of his jeans.
“Give it a rest, kid.” He continues, looking Richie up and down. “There’s no one around to impress. You’re wasting your time.”
Richie bristles. Patrick has somehow managed to make him feel like a little kid getting a scolding from an adult. Fuck him.
“Time spent annoying you is not time wasted, Hockstetter.” Richie tells him, dead serious.
“Do you actually want me to beat you up? Is that what you want? ‘Cause I’ll do it, Tozier, you just have to ask real nice.” Patrick speaks slowly. Richie has never really paid any attention to it before but now he can’t help but notice the relaxed way Patrick rolls his words around with his tongue before he spits them out, like he’s in no hurry, like he’s certain that the world will wait for him to have his say.
“You wouldn’t know nice if it sucked your dick, Hockstetter.” It’s not one of Richie’s finest, but Patrick’s successful attempts to humiliate Richie don’t give him a lot to work with.
“Christ,” Patrick raises his eyebrows, more amused than surprised. “Do you come with an off switch?” His arm darts out and his fingers brush over Richie’s shoulder. Richie tries to knock his hand away but Patrick grabs his fingers and twists them so suddenly that Richie can’t help but gasp.
“Fuck, ow.” Richie scowls at Patrick. “Never mess with a man’s right hand.” He says, as sincere as he can be with his own breath fogging up his glasses.
Patrick’s hand returns, only this time it’s reaching for Richie’s hair. He darts back, thinking that Patrick is about to yank his hair from his head, but forces himself to calm down when nothing like that happens.
“Spider,” is all the explanation Patrick gives as he runs his fingers through Richie’s hair, pulling back after a few seconds and revealing the small spider that’s crawling between his fingers.
Richie is still recovering from having Patrick so close to him. Richie’s face had practically been pressed into his chest and he’d smelt so strongly of cigarette smoke that it had felt like he was surrounding Richie completely, taking over all his senses. His parents are hardly ever around anymore and because he’s the most physically affectionate of all the Losers, his friends are usually trying to get away from his touch. He can’t remember the last time anyone ran their fingers through his hair like that, even as briefly as Patrick just did. It’s such a soft, comforting sensation that Richie wishes Patrick hadn’t stopped.
Patrick is at least a head and a half taller than Richie so Richie has to look up to make eye contact. Only when he does that does Patrick do anything, as though he was waiting for an audience. He raises his hand in front of Richie’s face and crushes the spider, flicking its flattened body onto the floor.
“Fucking creep,” Richie mutters for lack of a better insult. He’s feeling a little claustrophobic with Patrick so close to him; he feels hot and flushed all over, like if he were to look in a mirror his face would be red and blotchy. How the hell is Patrick Hockstetter of all people having this reaction on him?
And worse– is it obvious? He has enough problems with his repressed sexuality on its own. He still has to tell his friends, has to accept it for himself… he doesn’t need Hockstetter giving him an accidental boner and telling the entire school.
Except that’s exactly what Patrick seems to be intent on doing. He nudges Richie’s chin up with his knuckles and, in a move that’s uncharacteristically gentle, runs his thumb over Richie’s bottom lip. Instinctively, Richie goes to lick his lips and only realises his mistake when he tastes Patrick’s skin. His cheeks grow warm and his breath comes out unsteady. He can’t pull away.
“You’ve got a dirty fucking mouth, Tozier.” Patrick murmurs, distracted.
“Sorry if it offends your delicate sensibilities.” Richie manages to say, but his voice breaks in the middle so he must sound pathetic. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound turned on, because he fucking is. How messed up is that? If his friends could see him now, what would they say? Richie would be embarrassed if they laughed but that would be the best case scenario. They’d probably think he was a freak, getting hard over his bully touching him up.
“Nah,” Patrick takes his hand away from Richie’s mouth and, just as Richie let’s put a relieved sigh, slides it over his neck and down his arm to curl his hand around Richie’s waist. Richie flounders. Patrick tugging Richie’s hair or touching his face– those he can wave away as Hockstetter just trying to mess with him.
This… this feels different. This feels intimate, uncomfortable in how much Richie likes the touch.
“Just makes me want to shut you up.” He steps away so quickly that Richie is left reeling, breath coming fast and uneven, erection pressing uncomfortably against his boxers. He watches Patrick amble across the field, shoulders hunched as he lights up another cigarette, completely unafraid of being caught skipping.
All Richie can think is, ‘this isn’t going to end well.’