Because I went through a funk and they sent me such sweet messages and they’re just amazing people in general and I want to thank them for being just the best girls and the best of friends a girl could ask for. I love them and I just want to say thank you guys!
Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.
Warning(s): Suicide attempt?? , depression, mental illness’, mixture of fluff and angst throughout the series, homophobic slurs
A/N: Hi!! welcome to part 1 of IDK HOW MANY but ayy!! Honestly, i’M MAKING A TAG LIST FOR THIS SERIES SO IF ANYONE WHO DOESN’T WANNA FOLLOW ME OR WANTS TO BE NOTIFIED JUST ASK!!
Richie Tozier brought the cigarette between his lips, letting the toxic smoke fill his decaying lungs and pulse throughout his insides and swirls around in each crevice of his body. He then takes away the cancer stick, after a moment blowing out the toxic waste into the thin November air.
Beverly Marsh raised an eyebrow at him, sitting across from the much taller boy on the brick wall with her own cigarette between her fingers. She watched as the smoke faded into nothing, sighing lightly as she proceeded to watch her best friend smoke away.
Chris sighs. “Well, okay.” There’s some rustling on the other end – blankets, Viktor assumes. Like Chris is resettling himself in his bed. “Listen, I gotta go…” He trails off, leaving room for Viktor to ask for more time.
But Viktor ignores the silent offer. “Sorry for keeping you up late.”
“Anytime, handsome. You know if you ever need anything–”
“–I know how to reach you,” Viktor says, his stomach suddenly feeling tight, like he’s overwhelmed with something, though he’s not sure what. He just knows he’s ready for the call to be over. “Thanks, Chris. …G’night.”
Viktor ends the call and lets himself fall backwards against the wall with a soft thud, phone pressed against his mouth. He’s… unsettled, yes, that’s the word. It’s not an emotion he feels often – living life in the moment tends to leave little room for feelings like doubt or anxiety – but he’s certainly feeling it now.
He’s right, he thinks, the feeling gnawing ruthlessly at him as he mulls the conversation ove rin his head. He’s right, what am I doing? Picking a strange Persocom off the ground and jus taking it back with him, assuming it even worked, and now that he knows it does – what? What is he honestly going to do with it? Did he honestly just think he’d grabbed such an expensive, complicated piece of technology to look after Makkachin? Who deserves the best, of course, but no one does that. Except for him, apparently.
Are you lonely, Viktor?
It’s then that he feels something soft grab his arm; Viktor jolts, coming back to himself (and isn’t that something new, spacing out like that?). He glances over and realizes that it’s only the Persocom, staring up at him with… concern?