runtowardsomething | (no subject)

It isn't a birthday party.

Beverly has been adamant about that. She's never actually had one before, more inclined to let the occasion pass as little fanfare as possible, and she doesn't intend to change that now. Still, she can't turn eighteen and not do something. It's a big milestone. A huge one, really, and fucking terrifying at that. There's so much she's still clueless about, so much it feels like she's running out of time to make up her mind about.

Tonight, though, she doesn't want to think about that. She just wants to enjoy not being a kid — a little girl — anymore.

Having settled on a good destination for the night — a bar near her house, the sort of relaxed place that lets anyone in and only requires ID from anyone ordering drinks, so those under eighteen can still freely get in and those of age, herself now included, can reap the benefits that come with that — she texts some friends, inviting them to come meet her if they want. For her part, she finds a reasonably sized table to claim, then heads over to the bar. There's something painfully refreshing about not having to aim for a bartender who looks like he won't bother to card her if she looks at him just right. It's even better when she presents her ID as asked, and the bartender, seeing that it's her eighteenth birthday, tells her the drink is on the house.

It's not much of a sign, exactly, and wouldn't be even if she were to believe in such things, ultimately pretty meaningless. Still, there's a tiny little sprout of something that might be optimism inside her. Maybe, just maybe, it will be an okay year.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He wanted to interject something about how the sales lady had pointed him towards it, or how he'd kept the receipt if she needed it, but there really wasn't any reason for them to act like they weren't as close as they were. The sales lady had helped him, but he'd known just what he'd wanted to get. Bev wore layered jewelry, nothing too fancy or gawdy, and he knew the aquamarine was her birthstone because he'd looked it up.

Even if it wasn't her style, he'd tried, and for Bev, he knew that would be enough.

"Okay, cool," he said in a rush, leaning over to hug her again. In that moment, he felt like they were thirteen again, skinny arms draped around each other's shoulders in the tall grass of the barrens.

Beverly returns the hug easily, instinctively, when Eddie leans into her again, feeling all warm and pleased. Loved, really, she supposes. That isn't new anymore, but it's new enough to still find striking, especially at a time like this, an occasion she once had no reason to believe she would celebrate. Insistent as she might have been that this isn't a birthday party, she still surrounded by friends, by family, not the shitty one she was born into but the one she chose for herself and that chose her in turn. The necklaces really are lovely, but that alone means the world.

"Give me a hand with them?" she asks, brushing her short ponytail to the side as best she can. She could fasten them herself without any real trouble, but it feels right to get his assistance.

"What? Oh, yeah. Sure," he said, jumping to his feet and moving around behind her. He fumbled with the clasp, muttering about how it was stupid they made them so tiny, but he managed to get them fastened without tugging her hair too much.

Before stepping away, he slipped his arms around her neck, giving her another quick hug from behind.

"Happy Birthday, Bev."

Beverly bites back a laugh at Eddie's comment about the clasp being tiny, since he's not exactly wrong. She's just used to it enough that she doesn't think much about it anymore. He seems to manage without any real trouble, though, and she grins when the necklaces settle against her chest, lifting up the little pendants to look at them again for a moment before letting them drop.

"Thanks," she says, huffing out a breath. "Eighteen. I can barely fucking believe it."

"Yeah, I know. I wasn't sure we'd make it."

It was a joke, but deep down, they both knew it wasn't. There were things about their future he couldn't know, but still suspected. Bill knew those things, had hinted at them once or twice, and he was pretty sure Bev knew them, too. Somehow.

It was probably just paranoia, but she'd get this look on her face sometimes and...

It didn't matter. He couldn't ask, for her sake as much as his own. Whether they all died before they were forty, he'd just have to wait and see.

There is, perhaps, just a bit too much truth in that statement, but now isn't the time to think too much about it. Beverly is determined to make today as good as possible, appreciating the fact that they did make it, not dwelling on ominous, uncertain futures. Later, she can get back to worrying about the things she's seen and what any of it might mean. For now, they're here, and they're as safe as they can be in a place like this, and any dreams might be just that.

"Me neither," she says with a crooked, knowing smile, huffing out a laugh. He'll know she means it, she thinks, despite the mostly joking statement that follows. "I mean, shit, we've had how many close calls now?"