Chapter Text
A little over a decade later, Eddie has almost forgotten the tattoo altogether. Or rather, he’s almost forgotten it’s something other people can notice about him. Richie nearly pulling him off his feet to get a closer look is a stark reminder.
“Eddie Spaghetti has ink?!” he’d exclaimed a second before grabbing Eddie’s leg. After the initial yank and Eddie yelping his name as he grabbed Richie’s shoulder to keep from toppling headfirst into the pool, his hands are gentle, thumbs brushing over the tattoo like it might still sting. Eddie does not feel warm from the touch; it’s just the relentless California sun. “You have a tattoo and it’s a cowboy boot . Oh my god, I forgot about your cowboy phase.”
“I’m pretty sure you forgot everything about me,” Eddie says.
Richie squints up at him, because he’s somehow come this far in life without getting prescription sunglasses, and pouts as he finally lets Eddie go so he can sit on the edge of the pool next to him. “Fucking clown magic. I can’t believe it stopped me from witnessing you getting a tattoo. When’d you get it?”
“Two days after I moved out of my mom’s house for good,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow when Richie bursts out laughing.
“Of course you went all-in,” he says. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Before Eddie can do more than smile, Richie starts poking at him and pulling at his shirt, squinting even harder. “Do you have any others? What are you hiding under here, huh? Show me, show me, show me!”
Eddie grapples for Richie’s hands to stop him from devolving into just tickling, finally pinning them against his chest with one arm. “I only have one,” he says around a laugh. “I’m not showing you anything.”
Richie pulls his hands away to cup them around his mouth. “ Boo ! Boring!”
“How many tattoos do you have?” Eddie asks.
“None,” Richie says, unfazed. “Because I am a sane person who doesn’t want to get stabbed by needles a million times.”
“It’s not like you feel every single jab,” Eddie says.
“Eddie, baby, do you see me as the kind of guy who can sit through even the tiniest amount of pain?”
“Yes,” Eddie says.
Richie blows a raspberry at him. Eddie makes a show of wiping spit off his face.
“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I will not be getting any tattoos. The blood oath scars are enough for me.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, “I wasn’t gonna make you.”
Less than a year later, Eddie gets his second tattoo. Richie goes with him for moral support and then winds up in the chair himself, squeezing Eddie’s hand so tight his fingers go numb.
The rest of the Losers make fun of their matching R+E in the same breath they complain about being left out.
“I literally share scars with all of you!” Richie exclaims. “I’m not going through this fucking itchy phase for anyone else, and you can’t make me!”
(Another year later, Richie gets a 7 with all the rest of them, holding Ben and Bev’s hands this time, and swears, on God, this is the last one. But if Eddie wanted to get more, Richie would not object. Eddie just laughs and gives Bill a piece of gum so he won’t pass out from the endorphin rush.)