Chapter Text
It was 8pm on February 14th, and Eddie was sneaking out.
He rarely ever snuck out, least of all because it was stupid and dangerous, and mostly because his mother would lose her shit if she ever found out, never letting him out of the house again if it wasn't for school.
But Eddie needed to see Richie. He needed to rule him out (or at least that was what he was telling himself he was doing) for his own sake. Sure, all of the evidence pointed towards Richie being the writer, but Eddie wasn't so hasty to accept it.
He was biased, after all. There was non-zero chance he was drawing conclusions based on his own flawed observation of the evidence. He couldn't be sure, not yet anyway.
So, he was sneaking out. To see Richie, and gather information that could, potentially, rule him out.
Eddie's mother was asleep on the couch, always knocking out early with the meds she was on. Perfect.
He walked past her on silent socked feet, shoes in his hand so he didn't make noise. He opened the front door slowly, keeping his eyes on her as he stepped outside, before closing it behind him.
The second he was safely outside, he dropped his shoes and toed them on, letting out a breath of relief. The hard part was done.
Or at least, the first hard part. The second hard part would be figuring out how to 'rule Richie out' without telling him he thought he had written the letter. In fact, Eddie's goal was to not bring up the letter at all, so he could safely gather info without delving into dangerous territory.
If he was wrong, and he let Richie know his suspicions, it would almost certainly lead to a conversation Eddie wasn't ready to have.
A conversation he'd like to avoid for the rest of his life, if he had the choice.
He started off down the sidewalk, not bothering with his bike. Richie lived close, and anyway, he kind of liked walking at night. It wasn't safe, but there was something calming about it regardless, the brisk spring air a nice scent to breathe in.
It definitely beat the chemically clean scent of his house, or the sweaty prison of Derry High.
Eddie reached Richie's house far quicker than he would have liked to, but he didn't let himself waste time despite that. The sooner he ruled him out, the sooner he could put his pipe dream to rest and continue on with his life.
He crept around the side of the house, to Richie's bedroom window. His curtains were drawn, which wasn't too unusual. Eddie tapped on the window rhythmically, hopefully alerting him to his presence.
The curtains flew apart not a second later, and Richie appeared, a bright grin spreading across his face as he noticed Eddie.
Opening the window, Richie ushered him inside.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Eddie spaghetti?" He asked, as Eddie hoisted himself up onto the window, stumbling inside Richie's room with minimal difficulty. He was getting better at that every time he did it, which, despite his reservations, was becoming more often than he'd like to admit.
When it wasn't Richie climbing the tree in his backyard to sneak in through his second floor window (the far more common event), it was Eddie sneaking out to climb through Richie's first-floor window.
He knew the other losers didn't do that sort of thing, at least, not nearly as frequently as they did, but he'd long-since chalked it up to Richie being his best friend.
Best friends were allowed to be closer than normal friends without it meaning anything.
"Boredom." Eddie lied easily, "And don't call me that." He added belatedly, shooting him a half-hearted glare.
Richie laughed, shutting the window behind him, "Aw c'mon, I know you love it." He teased. Eddie ignored him, glancing around the room. It looked the exact same as it always did. Helpful.
He strode over to Richie's bed, plopping down on the edge and bringing his legs up, criss-cross. Richie walked over to his desk, opening a drawer.
"What are you doing?" Eddie questioned, a hint of skepticism in his voice.
"Curing your boredom." Richie replied vaguely, pulling something out of the drawer before shutting it. He turned around, revealing the item.
Eddie frowned.
"Absolutely not." He protested, at Richie's brandishing of Friday The Thirteenth, "It's fucking February, we're not watching a horror movie." He insisted.
Richie pouted dramatically, "But it'll cure your boredom! Who cares if it's February? It's still cold out, that's a good enough excuse! Plus I'll distract you with my british impression over all the scary parts, so you don't freak out." He offered, wriggling his eyebrows.
Eddie crossed his arms, "Or you could pick literally any other movie." He counter-offered. Richie groaned, walking over to the bed and flopping down on it, making Eddie jump.
"You're no fun!" Richie whined, stretching out and putting his hands behind his head.
"Do you want your parents to find out I'm here?" Eddie asked, "Because subjecting me to horror is the fastest way to do that." He pointed out, reaching a leg out to kick Richie in the shin.
Richie kicked back, missing entirely as Eddie tucked his leg back into the criss-cross position just in time.
"Asshole." He muttered, and Eddie laughed.
"Logical," He corrected, "Pick a different movie, or I'll just go home, and then you'll have nobody to practice your terrible british impression on." He threatened.
Richie sighed, sitting up and flinging himself into the standing position in one fluid motion. Eddie watched him as he walked to the bedroom door.
"Where are you going?" Eddie asked, as Richie put a hand to the door handle. He turned, flashing Eddie a grin.
"To see what other movies we have downstairs!" He replied, leaving the room before Eddie could respond.
Eddie rolled his eyes, feeling his shoulders relax. Jeez, he was tense. He glanced around the room again, then at the door.
He shouldn't snoop.
"…Fuck it." He whispered to himself, slinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing. He'd have to make this quick if he didn't want to get caught in the act.
Eddie walked over to Richie's desk. Surely there would be evidence here, of all places, of having written a letter. He opened the top drawer, seeing a scattering of pens, pencils, and candy wrappers. Great.
He shut that drawer, moving to one of the side ones.
The first one contained several horror movies, textbooks Eddie was certain hadn't ever been opened, and an unopened can of coca cola.
Certainly a random assortment of items to keep in a desk, but for Richie, it wasn't all that surprising.
The second drawer contained a few notebooks, probably school related, and probably also rarely ever opened for the purposes of anything school-related.
Eddie considered flipping through one to see his handwriting, but he probably didn't have time for that.
He opened the bottom drawer.
It was full of stamp sheets.
The exact same stamps that had been on the envelope.
Eddie shut the drawer quickly, feeling his heart rate pick up. Holy shit.
He didn't have time to realize the implications of what he'd just confirmed, because not a moment later, the door began to open. He stepped back from the desk, trying to make it look as though he'd just gotten up.
"—Okay, to save your poor little heart, I've decided on The Breakfast Club." Richie announced, entering the room, "I've seen it about six billion times, but it's still good." He commented.
"Sounds—" Eddie's voice cracked, "Sounds great." He corrected, clearing his throat.
Richie eyed him curiously. Could he tell?
"You alright Eds?" He asked, his tone shifting to something more genuine, less playful.
"Fine." Eddie replied briskly, "Weird day, 's all." He added, regretting it immediately. He'd been trying not to bring up the letter.
Richie nodded knowingly, his regular tone coming back as he spoke, "Ah, yes, how could I forget? Still thinking about your secret little valentine?" He teased.
Eddie meant to say no.
He meant to deny it.
Change the subject, or ask about the movie.
Say anything normal.
"I know you wrote it." He said instead, the sentence coming out blunt and a little shaky.
Richie's smile fell, and he dropped the movie he was holding. It hit the carpet with a small thud, but the room was so silent in that moment it could have been a bowling ball hitting linoleum.
Eddie prepared for the denial. For Richie to say it was a joke, or deny writing it altogether. To flip it on him, ask why he thought such a thing, call him ridiculous for even coming to that conclusion.
Richie said none of those things.
"…How did you figure it out?" He asked, his voice wavering, uncharacteristically meek.
Eddie hadn't expected him to admit it.
"…Um, the— the stamps." He responded, gesturing vaguely, "And, y'know, process of elimination." He added quietly.
"I'm sorry." Richie blurted out, much louder.
Eddie blinked. He was… apologizing?
"Wait, why?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows, "Don't— Don't be." He insisted, knowing he was digging his own grave. Richie still had time to admit it was some sort of joke, and here Eddie was, admitting something he couldn't take back.
"I…" Richie trailed off, speechless.
Eddie had never seen Richie speechless.
There was a long pause, neither one of them speaking. Eddie didn't know what to say; his mind was swimming and he felt something close to dizzy, but not quite.
Richie had written the letter.
Richie had admitted to writing the letter.
'You'll notice that the envelope this letter is in is covered in them. That's because I never want to lose you.'
"You're not gonna lose me." Eddie said suddenly, cutting into the silent tension, "The— The letter. You kept saying you were scared of— of losing me. You won't." He assured, because it was the most important thing to say.
And the easiest.
Richie seemed to relax a tiny bit, but he still looked tense, almost afraid. It was a side of him Eddie had never seen before, and it made him want to keep talking until he was back to normal.
"And—" Eddie started, about five different possible sentences fighting for dominance in his mind.
'I like you. I've liked you for a while.'
He'd already gotten this far. Richie had self-admitted to humiliating himself by writing the letter in the first place, so maybe Eddie owed him some humility of his own.
"—I like you too." He confessed, the words hanging in the air between them like a tangible object, something heavy and true that couldn't be construed as a joke if they had a hundred years to try and do it.
"You— You do?" Richie asked, in audible disbelief.
Eddie didn't trust himself to speak again, so he just nodded. He tried to hold Richie's gaze, to make it clear how serious he was, but Richie's eyes flitted away, towards the floor.
And then… Richie started crying. Quiet, subtle tears sliding down his cheeks as he began to shake, almost imperceptibly. Like he was trying to hide it, despite the fact Eddie was staring directly at him.
In all the years he had known Richie, he had never seen him cry. He'd always been the one to laugh off a scraped knee, take a punch with dignity, and keep his true emotions locked tight behind the unbothered facade he was always putting on.
Acting faster than he could think, Eddie crossed the room, pulling him into a hug.
Richie jolted in surprise, but he hugged back, arms wrapping tightly around Eddie's torso as he silently cried into his shoulder.
"I—I'm so sorry." Richie mumbled into the fabric, "It's so stupid, I shouldn't have— I shouldn't have written it, and I was so dumb and reckless and you figured it out— and— and—" He stopped talking abruptly, seemingly out of words he could put together in his current state.
Eddie just held on tighter, "Stop fucking apologizing." He muttered, "It's not stupid. You're not stupid. Well, you are, but not for this." He attempted to joke.
Richie let out a stifled laugh, pulling back from the hug. Eddie got a good look at his face; tear-streaked and wide open, vulnerable in a way he knew Richie rarely ever was.
Talking seemed to be working so far, so Eddie kept doing it.
"I've— god dammit, Richie, I've had a crush on you for months." He confessed, watching the way Richie's eyes widened in surprise.
"But—" Richie started, looking bewildered, "Why'd you lie this morning?" He asked, completely out of left field.
It took Eddie's brain a second to catch up as to what exactly he'd lied about.
"I hadn't read it yet. I— figured it was from some girl, and I didn't want to open myself up to… hard questions." He explained softly.
"Oh." Richie said, "Yeah, that… that makes sense. How… um, how obvious was it?" He questioned, sounding like he was afraid of the answer.
Eddie chewed on his bottom lip, determining how much to say.
"I only had circumstantial evidence at first." He started, phrasing his words carefully, "It was obvious it was from somebody I knew, and after I ruled out Bev, it was clear it was from, y'know, a guy. I managed to rule out all of our friends except for you, which is why I… came over." He admitted.
Richie glanced around his room, "What… gave it away?" He asked lamely.
Eddie sighed, admitting, "I looked through your desk and found the stamps. Er— sorry." He breathed out, figuring he may as well just say it.
"Motherfucker." Richie replied, but he didn't sound upset. In fact, a small smile was tugging at the corners of his lips.
His response made Eddie gasp in realization, "The fucking—" He snapped his fingers, "You called me a smart ass, on the back of the letter! God, that should've been my first fucking hint that it was you, and it kind of was, I just— ignored it." He rambled, feeling like an idiot.
Richie laughed, "Why'd you ignore it?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.
Eddie felt his face heat up, "I didn't wanna get my hopes up." He mumbled out.
Richie's smiled dropped.
"I'm sorry I didn't just… tell you outright." He said, tone suddenly serious again, "I was afraid, for, well, obvious reasons. But if I'd known— y'know, I wouldn't have made this whole thing so complicated." He waved his hands around, a vague gesture encompassing 'this whole thing.'
Eddie smacked him on the arm, "Didn't I tell you to quit apologizing? Jeez, learn to listen." He snapped, then, softer, "You couldn't have known. I get why you wrote a letter."
Richie shrugged, "I guess. So, does this mean you'll be my valentine?" He prompted, smiling hesitantly, "Or did I embarrass the shit out of myself for no reason?" He asked, adjusting his glasses.
Laughing at the absurd change of tone, Eddie replied easily, "Yes, asshole."
Richie's shy smile spread into a wide grin, his cheeks dusted red. He reached a hand out, kind of playing with the sleeve of Eddie's shirt, and he'd find it annoying if he wasn't so endeared.
He'd made Richie blush.
The confidence boost he got from that fact gave Eddie the courage to do something impulsive; he stepped directly into Richie's space, standing on his tip-toes to lean up and kiss him.
Richie's hand on his sleeve dropped, and then he was pulling him in by the waist, pressing into the kiss like he'd been waiting to do it the entire conversation. His lips were firm and warm against Eddie's, sending small shocks of electricity through him, and he couldn't help but relax into it.
Eddie had mapped out plenty of different outcomes when he had made the decision to come over. Many of those outcomes were bad, but many were also completely fine. Neutral. Normal, even.
Kissing Richie was the most self-deluded outcome he could have come up with, to the point he had never even let himself truly consider it.
Richie pulled back from the kiss first, but he didn't let Eddie go, keeping him so close Eddie could still feel his breath on his face when he exhaled. It should have been gross, what with all the germs in a human mouth and all, but Eddie couldn't find it in himself to care.
If there was anyone he would sacrifice his germaphobia to kiss, it was Richie fucking Tozier.
"Happy Valentine's day, Eds." Richie said softly, smiling down at him.
Eddie didn't bother correcting him on the nickname, "Happy Valentine's day, asshole." He replied.