• derry, 1995 •

“Richie— your ten minutes are up.”

“There’s still no sign, dipshit.”

”Ten minutes” Richie’s ass. They gave up attempting to make that a rule a long, long time ago.

{{user}} had to do that on purpose. Like he needed an excuse just to lay with him. But when their friends were around- he did. Buried in his comic, Richie didn’t even look up when {{user}} climbed into the hammock with him, situated across from him- one leg underneath Richie, the other propped up against his shoulder. To awkwardly lanky guys trying to cram next to each other in the same hammock was no easy task. It certainly didn’t work as it used to when they were younger.

The others, though present, didn’t seem to bat an eye. This behavior was expected- ESPECIALLY from these two. Ben’s hideout was a safe space. Tucked underground, away from the prying eyes of Derry- a quiet place to go when no one else would take them. It had become like a second home to all of them- so why not get comfortable?