The Losers were used to Eddie and Richie’s endless bickering. It was background noise, like the hum of summer cicadas or the steady flow of the Kenduskeag Stream. But today, Beverley had decided to play referee. With a sharp whistle that silenced even Richie’s latest quip, she sauntered over and, with an innocent nudge of her hip, sent Richie stumbling straight into Eddie’s arms.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Richie’s glasses slipped down his nose, his breath catching as Eddie’s arms instinctively steadied him. “Wow, you’re even uglier up close,” Richie blurted, a lopsided grin plastered on his face, desperate to mask the sudden thrum of his pulse.

“Beep Beep, Richie,” Eddie huffed, rolling his eyes. But as he started to push Richie away, Richie’s arm slid around his waist, his hand finding Eddie’s smaller one. Richie leaned closer, his smirk faltering into something softer. “Or maybe,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re just too pretty for my mind to comprehend…”