Chapter Text
It’s a long time before Eddie is composed enough to pick himself up off the welcome mat and head inside. He doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed since he stumbled out here, since Richie left, since he woke up in his bed this morning--no, wait, yesterday --ugh, fuck. Eddie scrubs at his eyes, completely out of it. Slowly he turns around, newspaper still clutched in his hand, and heads inside.
Eddie crawls back into bed, curling into his blankets for what feels like hours, mind racing. Assuming today is...is yesterday, somehow, and fuck if this isn’t the weirdest possible thing Eddie’s ever lived through. If today is yesterday, then...what? Is he...stuck? Did he dream up yesterday, or…? But it definitely wasn’t a dream. It can’t have been. The memories...they’re much to vivid, even the peripheral ones--none of the hazy, disconnected images of an actual dream.
He can remember the smells of the fairground, fried food and the sticky-sweet smell of cotton candy and caramel apples clogging the air, mixing with the woody scent of Stan’s cologne. The sounds of kids squealing with laughter, yells that float down from the rides and the heavy, comforting warmth of the sun on his skin. Eddie rarely remembers his dreams. There’s absolutely no way yesterday was imagined. But he’s not quite sure what other solution makes sense.
So...what? Is he stuck forever in these last twenty-four hours? Or is today a one-time, blink-and-ya-miss-it type deal? Eddie wishes desperately he could pick up the phone and ring Mike or Ben, but he doesn’t even know where to begin his line of questioning, considering he can barely make heads or tails of the situation himself. And, plus--he’s undoubtedly already got Richie on his radar. The last thing he needs is for Mike and Ben to think there’s something wrong with him, too. Because while he’s normally one-hundred percent down to whine at his friends and play up the dramatics, this situation is far too surreal for Eddie to pass off as even remotely on the spectrum of normalcy. With his luck they’ll cart him off to Juniper Hill by the time dinner rolls around.
He (very briefly) considers going to his mom. Eddie suddenly feels all of seven years old, wishing desperately that he could run into his mom’s arms and feel safer simply because she’s holding him. Back when he wasn’t aware of exactly how controlling his mother is, she was a great source of comfort for Eddie, especially when she’d gather him in her arms and stroke his hair. They’re obviously not as close as before, considering the shit storm that is him and Sonia’s relationship, but Eddie thinks she’s better now than when he was thirteen. He feels bad for thinking it, but a secret part of Eddie misses what his mother used to be for him--unwavering support and comfort. He knows now that she’s flawed--all parents are--and that a lot of her earlier manipulation caused him to grow up more anxious and insecure than he probably should be. But she’s his mother. She’s not all bad. And a part of Eddie can’t help but love and miss her.
Even with her improvements, Sonia’s still a total bitch to his friends. She’s close-minded and clearly has a lot of growing to do, but still. The effort’s there, and Eddie can appreciate it. That’s gotta count for something, right? At least she isn’t forcing him to sit through soaps with her and giving him an eight o’clock curfew.
In the end, he vetoes the idea of running to his mom like some kind of baby. The rest of the Losers are out, too. Eddie can’t imagine any of them taking him seriously or being even remotely helpful, sans Ben and Mike. Bev is a solid maybe--depending on her mood. The thought of going to Richie makes Eddie feel sick with nerves. He’s been comforted by Richie before--various panic attacks scattered throughout their friendship and a few mental breakdowns in the middle of the night always lead to excessive touching from Richie. He’ll sling an arm around his shoulders, rub his arms with his broad palm, work out the tension in his neck with deft fingers. Richie running his hands over Eddie’s body is, without a doubt, the absolute last thing Eddie needs right now. He’s already confused enough without his other personal issues making an appearance to the forefront of his mind and he needs a clear head to get through the fair. Looks like he’s on his own for whatever-the-fuck is going on. Great.
Eddie burrows deeper into the blankets. There’s not really a point to lying here, running his mind in circles. Objectively, there’s no clear answer for whatever today’s going to be--or has been-- sheesh, he really can’t keep his fucking tenses straight. The point is, there’s no logical explanation, and Eddie doubts the library holds any sort of answer, so he supposes the best course of action is to just...go with it. Which is not something Eddie does often, if ever. He’s not Beverly or Richie, who take life as it comes to them with, for the most part, easy grace, oh no . Eddie’s a worrier. And an overthinker. And at times, a neurotic planner. If his problem was a bit more common he’d definitely call up Stan for a cathartic worry-off, but he’s gonna have to make do on his own today. So this...this is going to be an exhausting day, at least mentally. But what other choice is there?
Easier said than done. He feels a wave of nausea hit and within ten seconds he’s bent over the toilet and heaving until nothing more is able to come up, throat burning. To rid himself of the disgusting, acidic smell that lingers after vomiting, Eddie hops into the shower. He doesn’t even twist the blue knob, standing under the scalding water until his entire body is read and the mirror is completely opaque from steam. The shower helps clear his head a bit. He’s still slightly on the verge of a panic attack but he’s made peace with today--at least for now. Eddie changes into the clothes for today, back on the hanger he set out two nights ago. Richie’s Van Halen shirt again, because it isn’t technically dirty, and it would be too much of a hassle to try and find another shirt right now, late as he is to get to Bill’s. Obviously. And if the lingering scent of cigarette smoke calms him down and offers a thin veil of comfort, that’s for Eddie to treasure privately. His friends are none the wiser, anyway.
“Eddie?” calls his mother, and Eddie pads down the stairs and into the hallway, peeking into the kitchen where she sits at their small table and stirs sugar into her coffee. She turns and smiles at him. “Hi, darling. Have you decided to stay home today with me instead of spending time in that awful field?”
Her words seem to jump start his body on auto-pilot, even if his mind is barely functioning through the lingering fog. “No, Ma, I’m going. I just wanted to sleep in a little today. What time is it?”
She wrinkles her nose. “A little past nine, dear. Are you sure? You know, I read a newspaper article recently, and did you know that those rides rarely…”
Eddie tunes her out in favor of pouring himself a nice, big, steaming cup of coffee. In a weird, ultimately fucked-up sort of way, her words ease his mind. If, by some miracle, Richie did pay off The Derry Times and got everyone else to play along, there’s no way in hell he could’ve convinced Eddie’s mom to join in on the hilarity. Sonia Kaspbrack would never partake in any sort of nonsense pitched by Richie, especially one as anxiety-inducing and mentally strenuous as this. It’s rare that she and Richie can even hold civil eye-contact--never mind the repercussions of such a deceitful, potentially harmful prank.
The irony isn’t lost on Eddie--medications, and all that. But this, objectively, is different, and her words are a pathetic comfort that at the very least Eddie isn’t going completely bat-shit.
He sips, long and slow, and the fog settles. In his house, there’s always a pot of coffee ready for consumption--none of the probiotic bullshit Stan’s always swearing by or the array of tea boxes lining Ben’s cabinets. And Richie only drinks caffeine if it’s soda or pumped with chocolate. The miracle of dark-roast is unfortunately lost on Eddie’s friends, but that’s probably because his aunts have been force-feeding him the hot stuff since he was a kid. There’s three of them, scattered between Derry and Brookline, Massachusetts where they all grew up. New England isn’t that big so Eddie sees the three of them and their families maybe more than strictly necessary. Eddie’s mom didn’t exactly discourage this habit when he was younger which is probably why he’s starting to develop a relationship with coffee that toes the line of borderline addiction.
It’s definitely not the best trait he could have picked up from the Kirkland side of his family, especially when paired with his mother’s habits of stocking up on shit like potato chips, Chunky Monkey, and T.V. dinners. Not that Eddie’s complaining. Sometimes, he eats at Stan’s house and holy fuck that family loves raw tomatoes.
“It’s salad,” Stan had hissed at him when he asked, “ God , Eddie, when was the last time you consumed something that wasn’t processed?” Joke’s on Stan. He doesn’t get to come home and sit on the couch to catch Wheel of Fortune while stuffing his face with pudding pops.
“-ddie. Eddie-bear? Edward!” Eddie starts, looking to his mother with wide eyes. She mirrors his expression. “Sweetie, are you alright? I’ve been calling and you hardly moved.”
“I’m fine,” Eddie assures her, but regardless, she gets herself up from the table and reaches towards him, clucking her tongue.
“Eddie, let me take your temperature,” she insists, hauling him towards her by the arm and pressing a hand against his forehead. “You know I don’t want you outside if you’re feeling under the weather.”
“Mama, please,” Eddie says, leaning back. “I am fine, just tired. I was, uh, up late last night doing my homework.” She stares at him a moment longer, before releasing him.
“Alright,” she says warily. “But if anything happens, and I mean anything, you come straight home, alright? Have William drive you back.”
“Yes, Mama,” Eddie sighs. “May I be excused? I don’t want to be late.”
He kisses his mother on the cheek gently before lacing up his sneakers and heading down to Bill’s house. It’s a bit of a walk and Eddie frets the entire time--what is he supposed to do when he sees Richie? Should he play it off, haha, gotcha Rich, Eddie Spaghetti Gets Off A Good One, or ignore it completely? Eddie has no idea how Richie’s going to react the moment he walks through Bill’s front door, so he prepares a mental list of possible responses to throw at his friend.
If Richie calls him out in front of everyone, Eddie’s going to deny, deny, deny. And then he’ll resort to violence if Richie doesn’t take the hint to back off.
If Richie makes a joke to his face Eddie’ll just insult him right back--he’s always at the ready, quips rolling off his tongue in quick succession if he’s in the right state of mind.
If he tries to imply that Eddie should go home, or needs to rest, or any other action that vaguely indicates that Eddie is anything but one-hundred percent ready to go, Eddie decides he’ll just ignore Richie entirely.
All of these situations are the norm for their interactions, and Eddie’s sure that no matter what Richie says if he plays it off well enough no one else will catch on that anything’s wrong.
He’s reached Bill’s front door. Oh, shit. Eddie’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and plows on. The Denbrough’s front door is unlocked for the Losers to filter in through the morning and as Eddie toes off his shoes in the foyer, Georgie barrels into him. Eddie lets out an oof, reaching out a hand to steady the kid.
“Eddie!” Georgie exclaims. “You scared me!”
“Same, Georgie,” Eddie says, smiling down at him. “Where ya off to?”
Georgie grins at him, hopping from foot to foot excitedly. “Mom said I can play with Timmy today so I gotta go get ready!” Eddie nods, remembering yesterday’s events. It’s jarring to think that while he was freaking out this morning everyone else seemed to be carrying on in the same way they always would.
“Alright, I’ll let you go,” Eddie says, stepping out of Georgie’s way. “Have fun,” he calls after him, but Georgie’s already racing up the stairs. Eddie snorts to himself. Georgie has always been hyperactive, even as a toddler, racing after them on his tiny, chubby legs. God, he was cute back then. Eddie doesn’t think he appreciated it enough when they were younger, but when you’re nine and sneaking into movies or wasting time at the arcade the last thing you want is Big Bill’s baby brother toddling along too. But he can’t deny he had fun dressing Georgie up for whatever pretend-games they played back then or pushing him around on Bill’s skateboard until Bill’s parents (or Bill himself) yelled at them to be careful. Eddie thinks if his mom wasn’t crazy and his dad was still alive he’d like a little sibling.
“Is that my little Eddie Spaghetti I hear?” says a voice from behind him, and Eddie turns to see Richie smiling at him, leaning on the doorway.
“Hey, Richie,” Eddie says, twisting his fingers. Richie must notice, because his smile drops and his face takes on a more serious expression. He crosses over to where Eddie is standing, looking at him intently.
“Everyone else is at the table, but I said I’d bring you over,” he says quietly, and the low pitch of his voice in Eddie’s ear, his hand delicately grasping Eddie’s elbow...it’s really something else. Eddie shivers. “Are you okay? I didn’t want to bring it up in front of them, but if you wanna play hooky and, I dunno, bum around at the arcade or some shit, I’m down.”
Eddie looks up at Richie, eyes wide. Richie loves the fair. He loves it. It is, by far, one of his favorite spring traditions. “Really?” he asks, surprised. “But, Rich…” he trails off, unsure what to say. He didn’t really prepare for this on the walk over. This isn’t idle banter, or Richie-brand bull. This is Richie, leaning into his space with his face open and soft. Eddie doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to act with Richie standing there, his big eyes crinkled in concern, the pad of his thumb swiping over Eddie’s elbow. He stares up into his face, at a loss.
Richie grins. “Don’t give me that look. There’s always next year. Or, like, tomorrow.” They both sort of giggle at each other, and Eddie feels much better. Can breathe better, too, because Richie removes his hand, rocking backward on his heels.
“Thanks, Richie,” he says genuinely, smiling. “I...that’s really nice of you. But it’s okay. I just...had weird dreams,” he says, unsure. “And it was just really disorienting this morning. I can’t explain it,” he adds, when Richie gives him a look like he doesn’t buy the total bullshit Eddie’s feeding him. Which, fair. “But, I swear, I’m good now. So, yeah. Uh…” he trails off, awkward. Now that they’ve gotten past the confusion of this morning, the air is slightly awkward. He and Richie are close, sure, but feelings are hard during the day. The rules of friendship are always a little blurred under the security of the night sky, or a bottle of stolen liquor.
Richie must feel the same way he does, because he sort of hunches into himself, shooting Eddie an embarrassed smile. “If you wanna...uh, there’s like, a ton of waffles left…”
“Thank fuck,” Eddie says, and pushes past Richie to the kitchen. “I’m starving.”
Richie laughs, awkwardness forgotten as he follows him into the kitchen, poking him in the side. “Gettin’ a lil chubby there, eh, Eds?”
“I’ll have you know I’m the absolute model of health.”
“Oh, please,” Stan scoffs, turning to face him as he wanders to his place next to Ben. “Eddie, you couldn’t even identify the smell of spinach when my mom was making Kugel.”
Eddie shrugs, laughing with everyone else. He’s glad he decided to suck it up and go to the fair. It’s like forty pounds of stress have instantly been lifted from his shoulders when he talks with his friends. He scooches his chair closer to the table and digs in.
Despite Eddie’s freak out he’s able to once more enjoy the spread Mrs. Denbrough has laid out for them. Bill seriously doesn’t know how lucky he is , he thinks idly as he downs his eggs with a gulp of juice. Eddie can’t even begin to imagine his own mother getting up early to do anything like this for any of his friends, save for maybe Ben, who, to her, is the epitome of what a good, upstanding young man in today’s America should be. Stan’s Jewish and Mike’s black ( “Not that it matters!” he can hear his mother defend-- alright, Ma) and Bill’s dragged him home with enough bruises and scratches to warrant her distrust. Richie and Bev are...Richie and Bev. Even if they’ve got the biggest hearts in all of Derry all Eddie’s mom sees is trash. Which is ironic considering the sheer size of Richie’s house and the fact that Bev lives in the same slummy part of Derry Eddie does.
Eddie zones back into the conversation, feeling eyes on his face. He turns and makes eye contact with Richie, who’s leaning on his elbow on the counter and worrying his bottom lip. When Eddie looks at him Richie rights himself a bit and flashes back a grin, turning and striking up a conversation with Mike. Eddie can’t tell from his spot across the table but he’s pretty sure the tips of Richie’s ears are tinged pink. He feels his own face burn and focuses back to breakfast.
--
Thoughts of insanity aside, Eddie finds reliving the day offers a lot of opportunities for people-watching his friends. Right now they’re in the car on the way to the fair and Eddie notices that Bill’s constantly drumming his fingers on the wheel. Like, constantly. And Stan, the softie, was actually smiling at them all earlier when Ben was telling jokes. Mike doesn’t know any of the lyrics to any of the songs on the radio or whatever cassette’s playing, but he mouths the words that he picks up anyways. And Ben and Bev are always having these silent, almost creepy conversations with only their eyes. Or they’re just looking at each other a lot. Eddie doesn’t really know. It’s cute, but also slightly unsettling. He’s surprised he didn’t know these things beforehand, but he supposes his attention is usually taken up by Richie, considering he already knows most of Richie’s tells and quirks. The implications of that statement aren’t lost on him, thanks.
He’s come to a sort of...realization. Eddie thinks he spent a worrying amount of time last night being eaten away by guilt about his actions towards Richie. And he definitely has spent way too much time thinking about all the stupid little glances he and Richie exchanged over breakfast, the look in Richie’s eyes when he offered to bunk the fair and hang out, the touches Richie is insistent on initiating...
“Realization” might not be the right word. Acceptance, his mind argues. The word you’re looking for is acceptance. And maybe the voice is right. Because after this whole fiasco Eddie thinks it’s pretty obvious to everyone, including himself, that he’s...well. Y’know.
No one can know. No one does know. Except maybe Bill--but he wouldn’t divulge that information, would he? Would he? Eddie glances at him in the driver's seat. Be you friend or foe, Denbrough?
He’d like to think he’s good at keeping secrets and keeping himself in check but he knows deep (like, really deep) down that’s not true. Whatever bullshit the others think they’ve deduced, Eddie hopes they just keep it to themselves from now on. He’s sick and tired of those stupid knowing glances--okay, fine, maybe they sort of pushed him in the right direction and maybe the cumulation of yesterday’s events with everyone’s actions these past few semesters was the push he needed to examine himself, but. Still. Let a guy discover his stupid, supremely pathetic crush on Trashmouth --of all people!--on his own, alright?
A crush. A crush on Richie. Eddie’s so fucking dumb.
Richie’s dumber, though. It’s all his fault, with his stupid jokes and his lame voices and the way he has literally zero concept of “ personal space, Richie!! ” Always manhandling him and hugging him and complimenting him with that goofy smile and those dark eyes and that floppy hair and his hands, oh my God , his hands. Warm and broad when they rest against Eddie’s back, his chest firm when he pulls Eddie into him and Eddie’s just the perfect height for Richie to rest his chin on his head.
He’s so, so fucked.
Eddie spends most of the car ride silently taking Richie’s weight this time instead of retaliating, preemptively fending off Richie and Bev’s mini-war. He’s waiting until it’s clear he’s not going to react so Richie will take the hint and move off him. But Richie doesn’t move off him. He simply adjusts and shifts back into his seat, but he leaves their arms and legs pressed gently together. It’s absolute torture. Like, it actually burns. On one hand, it's kind of nice. Electric, almost. Tingly. But at the same time it kind of makes Eddie feel like he’s going to combust. Or throw up. Or panic. Probably all three. He doesn’t dare move, though--like it’s some sort of weird, self-inflicted punishment for his stupid dopey brain for falling for Richie.
(Or maybe he just likes it).
--
“Well, what do you guys want to do first?” Ben says once more when they’re standing around at the beginning of the fairgrounds, complete with the hand-clap. It makes Eddie smile. Stan, Mike, and Bev argue about the House of Mirrors and, like clockwork, Richie announces that he’s taking Eddie away to the midway games, arm slung over his shoulders.
“Alright,” Eddie agrees easily, interested to see what Richie will say.
Richie grins at him. “Haystack, Big Bill, you joining?”
“Sure!” Ben says, and they turn to Bill, but before he can respond, Eddie talks.
“I don’t think he wants to come,” he says, starting to smirk. “I heard Olivia Jennings was gonna swing by later, right, Bill?”
Bill gapes at him, and Mike snorts out a laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth. “H-h-how’d you knuh-know, Eddie?” That really sets Mike and Richie off. Bev smacks Bill on the arm, but she’s grinning too.
Eddie smiles. Today can be kind of fun...except for the impending reality that he may be attending this fair every day for the rest of the foreseeable future. That shuts him up quickly, and Eddie edges out from under Richie’s hold. Richie shoots him a curious little glance, wiping his eyes.
“What’s up, Eds?”
“Just didn’t want your trash germs getting on me this early in the day,” Eddie says.
“Ah,” Richie nods, and shoots him a grin. “Later, then, yeah?”
“That is so not what I meant!”
It’s too easy to default back into his normal, snarky self. He and Richie bicker good-naturedly all the way to the beginning of the midway games, Ben a meager buffer from where he walks between them.
“No offense, you guys,” he grumbles good-naturedly, “but do you two ever have a day off?”
“I’m always on that grind,” Richie says. Then, after a beat--”grinding up on my boy Eds, Benny, you know how it is--”
“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie snaps. Ben shakes his head but he’s smiling because he’s a sap who eats up any interaction that even vaguely indicative of flirting.
Richie saunters away in front of them, head tipped back. “You know you want it, Eds,” he sings, and Eddie takes the opportunity to plant his foot square on Richie’s back and send him stumbling into the dust with a squawk, limbs flailing.
Ben happens to chose that exact moment to take a deep gulp of water, and his ensuing laughter causes it to spray out of his nose, out of his mouth, and directly onto Eddie’s shirt.
--
He comes to an odd sort of conclusion, when they’re finishing up at the balloon darts, that perhaps this day is some sort of a do-over . Eddie realizes this when Richie starts yammering on about the ring toss. Yesterday (as much as it pains Eddie to admit) Richie had been nothing but nice to him--waking him up, complimenting him throughout the day, and even giving him a gift. Like...like he’s Eddie’s…
Like he’s Eddie’s best friend, which makes sense, because that’s what he is, so. Eddie’s not dumb enough to live in a world where he’s under the foolish impression that Richie actually likes him back. Jesus. His thoughts are just all jumbled up because he’s stuck in some fucking time loop.
The point is, they ended the day on, like...really bad terms. Eddie rarely fights with his friends and always feels a bit sick to his stomach when he does--especially when it’s Richie. Because, yeah, Eddie puts up with a lot of Richie’s shit--but that means Richie’s gotta put up with all of Eddie’s shit too. And Eddie knows for a fact that he can be a lot sometimes. No use in pretending he’s not at least a little bit high maintenance.
So yeah, anyways--maybe there’s some deity up there looking out for him or something. Or...like, the karmic energy of the universe aligned with the planets or some shit. Eddie doesn’t give a rat’s ass about astrology or astronomy or whatever-the-fuckology Bev’s always going on about but he does know that he was given a second chance. Maybe yesterday Richie had something--a pitch for a new Voice, college plans, joke formats--he needed to discuss with Eddie. Or he could have been going through some personal shit and needed someone to lend an ear. Or maybe Richie actually has Eddie all figured out, which suck some major ass, but Eddie knows Richie’s a good enough guy that he wouldn’t give him too hard a time. Whatever Richie wants to say, he’s got a chance at saying it now because Eddie’s not gonna mess up this time. He’s going on that damn ferris wheel later. Eddie’s gonna suck it up and take whatever Richie has to say. And then he’s going to go home, go to bed, and wake up on a Sunday morning--not Saturday.
By the time he’s worked out the problem in his head and decided his course of action, Richie’s pointing out the little dog high on the shelf. Eddie can’t help it. He smiles.
“That dog is so cute,” he says, nudging Richie. He decides to have a little fun. “I’m gonna try and win one, too.”
“Uh,” Richie stammers, and Eddie’s eyebrows rise at the pink dusting across his nose. It’s cute and more than a little goofy, especially considering the way it contrasts against his freckles. “I--actually, this was supposed to be for you, I dunno, I thought you’d like it…” he trails off, looking wide-eyed like he didn’t quite mean to admit that out loud.
Eddie’s enjoying this. So fucking what? He’s had a rough day and deserves to have some fun. And it’s so, so rare to catch Richie out, so satisfying to beat him at his own game. “For me?” Eddie asks, pitching his voice just a smidge higher, his eyes a bit bigger. Next to them, Ben is about as red as Richie is, eyes swiveling between the two of them. “Why?”
Richie sort of scowls. “I just said I thought you’d like it, didn’t I? You dig all this cutesy stuff, I dunno, I already got the water gun…”
Eddie bristles. “I do not ‘dig all this cutesy stuff,’” he huffs. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Okay okay okay fine, so I made that part up,” Richie defends, both palms in the air. “Look, I don’t know, I just thought it would be cute to give you, okay? Je-sus .”
Fuck, Eddie’s in too deep. He wishes he could backtrack because Richie’s face is bright, bright red and Eddie can’t help but flush in return. What was he thinking?? Flirting? With Richie? First of all, Ben is right there, and...and...this isn’t the time for these sorts of conclusions. They’re in public, for Christ’s sake.
“Do you want it, or not?” Richie says, and he shakes the dog in Eddie’s face with feigned nonchalance, like he doesn’t care. Like he didn’t just try extremely hard to win Eddie a prize at the fair because he thought it would be a sweet gesture.
Eddie takes it from him. “Yes. I want it. Thank you,” he adds, because Richie looks vaguely uncomfortable.
“No problem,” Richie says, and shakes his head. “You always make such a big fucking deal out of everything…”
Eddie sort of grunts in response because--yeah, he kind of does. Richie looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, scuffing his toe in the dirt before spinning on his heel and shuffling off.
“Let’s go meet up with the others,” he calls over his shoulder, waving Eddie and Ben over. “Enough of these bullshit midway games.”
Eddie sighs and starts off after him, feeling awkward, but Ben grabs his arm.
“Eddie,” Ben says, eyes wide.
Eddie hides his face in the dog. “Ben, don’t say it.”
“But--”
“I know,” Eddie sighs, and peeks over at his friend. “Believe me, I’m as shocked as you.”
Ben lets go of his arm then, and--Eddie truly doesn’t know what other word to use--squeals excitedly. “You know what this means, right? Eddie, come on, you have to admit that was so cute!”
“It was,” Eddie admits after a moment, grudging. “I--yeah. Can we just...like...move on for now?”
“Of course!” Ben says, but he’s smiling really big. Eddie sighs internally. No doubt the first thing Ben’s going to do is run to Bev and then he’ll have her breathing down his neck about this new development. Ah, fuck me.
Eddie decides to tone down his out-of-character moments because it seemed to have really thrown Richie for a loop. He spends the better half of the next hour keeping a vague distance from Eddie, shooting him little confused looks every now and again, but after a while Eddie supposes he gets over it because he’s back to suffering from on-brand Trashmouth Teasing by the time Stan makes it back on wobbly knees from the Wall of Death with Bill and Mike and beelines for the trashcan to throw up.
“Staniel the Maniel!” Richie cheers, and drags Eddie way too close to Stan for either of their liking. “Excellent form today.”
“Get fucked, Tozier,” Stan says, wiping his mouth with the tissue Eddie hands him. “Thanks.”
“Why do you do that stupid ride every year?” Eddie asks. “You always blow chunks.”
Stan sort of groans, and looks at the sky. “I thought today was my year,” he explains, and shakes a weak fist at the clouds. “Fuck Bill and Mike. Like I can help it. Did you know there’s almost four G’s of G-force on those things?”
“No,” Eddie says, mainly because he isn’t quite sure what G-force is.
“Nuh-uh,” Richie says. “That’s a total pile of shit, Stanny, there’s no way.”
“Uh, yuh-huh , Rich,” Stan argues, and takes a massive swig of water. “I read about it.”
“When the fuck were you reading about amusement park rides?”
“I actually enjoy bettering myself and learning outside of a classroom, Richie, unlike some people--”
“Hah, right, because the mating habits of wild turkeys is totally something we should all be studying up on…”
Eddie leaves the two of them to wander back to the others, because sometimes when Richie and Stan get started it's next to impossible to get them to shut up. Their arguments always delve into some weird nerd-off where they hurl facts at each other to try and prove who’s “smarter”--which is really obnoxious, in Eddie’s opinion. Stan and Richie are like, the smartest people he knows.
Eddie chooses to stand with Bill and Mike because Ben and Bev are giving him looks from where they are slouched against a wall, scheming like some knock-off Boris and Natasha.
Okay, he’s being a little dramatic, but he just figured out this stupid crush this morning! He’s not ready to admit it to others out loud--he could barely admit it to himself in his own brain . Eddie went to Bill and Mike because even though Mike always knows everything and Bill is notoriously oblivious, they’re both tactful enough to leave him alone (for the most part). And to be honest, Eddie needs a little space to think. It takes a lot out of a person to realize they’re in like with someone like Richie Tozier.
--
“Hey, Eds,” Richie drawls in his ear, warm against his neck. It’s approaching twilight, purple beginning to bleed across the sky, and the fair is winding down. Both Richie’s arms are slung over Eddie’s shoulders, clasped at his chest and chin digging into him. Eddie turns his head the few scant degrees left between him and Richie’s face, meeting his eyes. He knows what’s coming.
“Yeah?”
Richie leans back a bit, grinning, and the orange glow of the evening doesn’t hide the way his face turns pink at their proximity. “Go on the ferris wheel with me.”
Eddie can’t help but warm at the words, even though he’s heard them before. It’s honestly just like the movies, except Eddie’s sure that Richie’s taking him up only to let him down gently.
Well...he was sure, yesterday. But as shitty as the repeat is for his mental health, it offered a lot of free time for Eddie to watch Richie, because he wasn’t overthinking every single one of his decisions and words. And Richie…
Eddie honestly can’t tell the difference between Richie flirting because he’s fucking around and Richie flirting because...he wants to. And although Eddie has solidly denied any semblance of a relationship between him and Richie in the past, all the signs seem to point to the conclusion that maybe Richie thinks about Eddie the same way Eddie thinks about Richie. All that stupid, gooey shit like in the shows his mom watches--shit like holding hands and hugging and other lame crap that Eddie feels like a total dork blushing over.
But then Eddie remembers Richie kissing Bill’s face and hugging Beverly and swinging Stan around, despite Stan’s protests, and it’s back to square one.
He supposes there’s really no way to know for sure, but Eddie is positive of one thing: he can’t make the same mistake as yesterday unless he wants to be stuck in today forever. So he draws on whatever smidgen of bravery he’s got stored away and sucks in a breath.
Richie’s still looking at him expectantly, and Eddie lets himself smile, air whooshing out in a single exhale. “Sure, Richie.”
Richie looks vaguely surprised, as if he expected Eddie to fight, which is fair. Richie clearly knows him well.
They head off to wait in line, waving off the others. Stan claps Richie on the back, grinning, and Eddie remembers that clearly Stan’s in on whatever’s about to happen. If something’s about to happen. Eddie’s going crazy with all his internal, half-formed theories. Most likely Richie just wants to ride the ferris wheel because he...wants to ride the ferris wheel. Eddie suddenly feels stupid for his original actions. But he still makes sure to give Stan a long, searching look which Stan surprisingly returns until Richie drags him away.
It’s no surprise that Richie babbles the entire time. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say Richie was nervous. Get a grip, he reasons. You’re projecting because your stuck on this stupid ride and all pressed up against Richie. But he can’t deny it gets annoying after they’ve started the rise upward and Richie’s still running his mouth on some show he and Bill binged last week.
“Richie,” Eddie sighs. Richie stops talking and watches Eddie fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “Why did you bring me up here?”
“What, Eds?” Richie chokes out a laugh, “can’t I have a moment with my boy?” Eddie frowns slightly. Richie’s tense. He can see it in the lines of his shoulders, in the grip he has on the wall of their cart turning his knuckles white.
“Yeah,” Eddie allows. “But, like. I dunno…” he trails off, suddenly nervous. Richie’s entire being radiates awkward. Fucking hell...they’re halfway to the top at this point and Eddie’s spoken about ten words. This, Eddie thinks to himself, this is definitely hell. “Whatever you’re about to do, can you just get it over with?”
“What makes you think I need to do anything?”
Eddie thumps his head against the seat. Richie’s right, he thinks. I only knows how much of a big deal this is because of yesterday’s fight. “I don’t know, because we already spent the entire day together? Why do you need,” Eddie takes a breath, “another ‘moment with your boy’”?
“Right you are as always, Eds,” Richie deflects, and turns to gaze out over the fairground.
They sit in silence for about another fifteen seconds.
“Richie,” Eddie snaps, annoyed. “Are you serious? Don’t tell me you dragged me on here for no fucking reason.” Seriously, if this whole fiasco was all because Richie wanted to look at the damn sunset...
Richie barks out a laugh, and it startles Eddie, but when he looks Richie’s face is the furthest thing from amused. “I--yeah,” he says, and runs fingers through his hair. “Eddie, I--um.”
Suddenly Eddie forgets his irritation, because Richie looks like he’s about to be sick. “Rich?” he tries, and tentatively places a hand on Richie’s arm. “Are you alright?”
Richie turns, looking at the hand on his arm, and suddenly Eddie has the urge to snatch it away. It burns, resting there against Richie’s skin, searing hot between them. The entire air shifts and suddenly Eddie is nervous. But all of that is nothing, nothing compared to the way Richie looks at him next, eyes locked onto his, gaze intense.
“Eddie,” Richie breathes, and Eddie’s breath catches a bit in his throat. He’s never heard Richie sound like that, never seen him look like this. “Eds, Eddie. Fuck, I don’t know where to begin.” He breaks eye contact and Eddie is thankful. He places a hand on his heart and feels his chest begin to rise at a normal pace again. Richie’s got his head bowed, and Eddie can’t tear his gaze away from his profile. He can feel it in his stomach, his throat, in the back of his mouth--there’s energy vibrating between them. Something big is about to happen.
“Eddie, man, you gotta know. I really--I can’t hold it in anymore. Shit,” he laughs, and glances back to Eddie, hair mussed and eyes a little frantic. “You--I--” he cuts off.
Eddie feels more than sees the way Richie gazes at him, his nerves tingling. “Richie,” he says, because he has an inkling of what Richie wants to say but can’t bring himself to believe it without some sort of hard proof. “What is it?”
“I like you, Eddie,” Richie says, and doesn’t break eye contact. Eddie can’t move. He stares, jaw slack, at Richie’s face, redder than the setting sky around them. “I...shit, Eddie, I seriously like you so much, you can’t even...hah. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know you’re my friend--but, shit. You have to know. I can’t keep pretending anymore. Shit.”
“I…” Eddie doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he had suspected it just now, but... wow . This is entirely different, hearing it, confirming it, having Richie look at him like that, like he’s...Eddie opens and closes his mouth, at a loss, head swimming. I like you, Eddie. Richie is looking deep into him and Eddie is startled to see that his eyes are a bit glassy. I like you, Eddie.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Richie hurries to say, when it’s obvious Eddie isn’t going to speak any more. He’s absolutely terrified, stuck in his spot, astounded. He thinks, vaguely, he might be broken. Richie is too much--his big broad hands and his big brown eyes and his smile, fuck, that smile .
But Eddie can’t move. He’s frozen in place, watching Richie watch him, emotions whirling inside him. He’s ecstatic; yet terrified. Eddie’s never been in a position like this before--he hasn’t had time to prepare, he doesn’t know what to do…
But then Richie sniffles a bit, and takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry. Eddie, I’m sorry,” voice as sincere as he’s ever heard it. “I get it. I don’t regret it but sorry...sorry to make you uncomfortable. I just...you had to know, Eds. It was killing me. And I know, I know--don’t call you Eds.”
His laugh catches in his throat a bit and for a startling second Eddie takes Richie in, eyes wide, nervous. But then the sun glints off Richie’s glasses and the metal of his braces and he laughs his weird, hiccuping laugh and Eddie isn’t scared anymore because it’s just Richie.
Eddie surges forward, thighs chafing horribly against the plastic of the seat, grabbing Richie by the elbows. Richie’s eyes are wide, planted on the two points of contact Eddie’s initiated. And maybe it's a bit forward, with the way Eddie’s tucked himself right all up against Richie’s side, but he can’t let this go on a second longer with Richie under the impression that this is a one-sided affair.
“Richie,” Eddie says, and God, it takes a monumental effort to string words together.
“What’s up?” Richie wheezes, voice high and strung-out. Eddie doesn’t know what to say, so he squeeze’s Richie’s arms, delighting (for once) in the flush that threatens to burn him and Richie’s faces.
“I…” Eddie says, and he hopes the expression on his face carries his message across. But, just in case…
“I like you, too,” and oh man, it’s worth it for the expression Richie makes. Eddie’s never seen him look so open and clear, his mouth open slightly. Eddie wants to say more, wants to tell Richie that he’s liked him for so long, he was embarrassed for so long about it, but it took tremendous effort for those four words and Eddie doubts he can handle much more.
“Oh,” Richie says dumbly, and Eddie can’t help but let out a little giggle. He removes one hand from Richie’s bicep, covering his mouth. Slowly, Richie starts to smile too, until they’re both sitting there like idiots dumbly grinning at one another in silence. Eddie can’t even look away--not that he wants to. Richie looks very dorky, with his ears all red and his toothy grin. God, Eddie likes him. It’s exhilarating to admit.
He takes a chance and slides his hands down Richie’s arms, and Richie turns his palms upward at the right moment so that they can hold hands. It’s hot, so hot, and Eddie burns as he looks at their joined hands, feeling giddy with relief. Richie is still, as still as he’s ever been in his life--Eddie almost dies right then and there when his thumb traces the back of Eddie’s hand. He looks up and Richie’s already there, smiling at him, and Eddie can’t do much but beam back, gripping his hands slightly.
Then--oh . Richie starts to lean in, Eddie swears--it's a minute, barely-there movement, but Eddie feels the pull, feels Richie’s gravity, and he can’t help but sway his head closer, tilt his head upward, tingling and burning. Richie’s face, oh, his face--eyes half lidded, and Eddie knows what's about to happen and he wants it so badly--
“Alright, off you go,” says a voice, and Eddie jumps. The bored face of the teenager working the ride brings him out of his lovesick stupor. He’s disappointed to see that him and Richie have wasted whatever meager alone time they could have had on the ride staring at each other’s eyes and holding hands like the dumbass couples at school they always make fun of. He chances a quick glance at Richie, who looks just as disappointed as he feels, but it’s gone in a flash as Richie comes to and grins at Eddie, motioning for him to get off.
They don’t speak as they walk back to the others--Eddie’s pretty sure they’re both swimming in the daze of their confessions--they’ve been silent the whole time and it’s wildly out of character, the others are bound to notice. Eddie is vaguely embarrassed but can’t bring himself to care, especially when Richie bumps him and they share a smile. Eddie can only take so much and he breaks eye contact, covering his face with his hands and grinning.
“What?” Richie says, sounding amused, and Eddie can only shake his head at him. Richie laughs.
When they reach the others Stan immediately turns to them, expression curious. Eddie sees Richie flash him a little thumbs up. Stan beams. Eddie feels dumb for his freak-out yesterday, but at least he was granted the “do-over” (or whatever the fuck he’s calling today) to fix it. He shoots Stan a wobbly smile anyways, for karmic purposes. Stan smiles back and Eddie is suddenly incredibly embarrassed, unsure how to proceed. Does everyone know? Did Richie tell everyone beforehand, or just Stan? Is Stan going to tell everyone? Is it obvious? Eddie thinks its obvious because it's been a few minutes since they joined the group at this point and he and Richie haven’t said anything. Oh, god. Oh, shit.
Eddie casts a glance to Ben but he doesn’t seem to be doing anything, idly chatting with Bill as they all wait for Mike to get back from the bathroom. And Bev, thank god, isn’t focused on them right now, listening to everyone’s conversations from her position of being draped over Ben’s back.
Oh, thank fuck, Eddie thinks, gazing up to where a few stars begin to shine through the sky. He’s safe. And now, he has Richie, which is an entirely new train of thought to even begin to comprehend. For the first time he feels thankful for the repeat of today. Richie reaches up and twirls the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck, shooting him a shy grin and a wink. Whatever mind-fuck it’s been so far the benefits have totally outweighed the negatives, and he’d do it all over again if it leads to happy endings like this one has been.
--
Eddie is jittery with excitement the entire ride back to Bill’s house, the novelty of Richie’s confession still bouncing around in his brain. Richie doesn’t dare pull any moves in the car, sitting ramrod straight next to him. Funny. Figures when it's appropriate Richie’s too shy to engage. They keep making eye contact and grinning and Eddie wants to run, wants to hide him and Richie away alone so they can finally talk about whatever’s going on between them. Because he feels that more than likely it’s been on the back burner for months. Maybe even years.
They all tumble out of the van when Bill finally opens the side door, swinging it back and rattling it against the frame of the car. “C’mon, ou-out you guys guh-go.”
Bev and Mike immediately race for inside, calling dibs on picking the movie for tonight.
“No, guys,” Ben whines after them. “Bev, please don’t pick anything horror this time.”
“No promises, love,” Bev calls back.
“Bev’s not picking anything because I have dibs,” Mike says, and Bev’s answer is lost to them as the two disappear inside.
Ben shakes his head, world-weary, and follows them too. Bill laughs.
“C’mon, yuh-you guys,” he says, tilting to face his house. “L-lets go b-b-before they kill each oth-other.”
Eddie doesn’t want to sit through another movie night at Bill’s, counting down the minutes until he can talk to Richie freely, suffering the knowing gazes of Stan, Bev, and Ben. He opens his mouth to tell Bill calmly that he and Richie actually won’t be joining tonight, thank you very much.
“No-thanks-I-think-I’ll-just-head-home!” he squeaks instead. Shit.
“Oh?” Stan says. “Interesting.”
“No wuh-worries, Eddie,” Bill says, probably thinking this has to do with his mom or some curfew shit and not the fact that Eddie’s lusting after one of his best friends. “Ruh-Richie, can you h-help me with sna-acks?”
“Uh, no,”Richie says, glancing at Eddie. “I think...uh...I’ll go home too…”
Bill looks surprised. “Really?” he asks, tilting his head. “You a-always sleep over after, th-though.”
Richie, for once, doesn’t seem to know what to say. Eddie feels weirdly smug. “Uh…”
Stan, blessed Stan, comes to their rescue. “Don’t look a gift horse in it’s mouth, Bill,” he says, nudging Richie in the side. “If Richie wants to leave, let him. I’d like to sit through a movie without his yammering.”
“R-right,” Bill says, amused. “Okay, then. Suh-suit yourself, Rich.”
“Oh, you know I will,” Richie winks. Eddie shakes his head.
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” Richie leers, and then immediately blooms red.
Bill sighs. “Eddie, you’ve guh-got to stop falling for Richie’s shit all the t-t-time,” he grumbles. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.”
“Yeah, Eddie.” Stan’s grin is very shark-like. “Quit falling for Richie.”
If Bill notices the way Richie and Eddie can’t seem to make eye contact with them or each other, he doesn’t comment. Richie halfheartedly shoves Stan away from him.
“Shut up…” he mumbles, rubbing his arm self-consciously. “Don’t you have like, I dunno, a robin to jack off to or some shit?”
Bill barks out a laugh and Eddie can’t stop his traitorous mouth from twitching upwards too, even though ew, Richie. “Oh, that is fucking disgusting, Trashmouth!” Stan says, wrinkling his nose. “Just--gross. I’m going inside. Coming, Bill? Leave these two dorks in the dust.”
Bill grins at them one last time. “Yeah, sure,” he calls after Stan, who’s already up the drive. “H-have a g-good night, you guys.”
“You too, Big Bill,” Richie says.
Eddie waves. “Bye.”
They watch as Bill walks up his driveway, slowly, so lethargic as he opens his door and lets himself inside, Jesus, Bill, move a little faster, dammit.
“Finally,” Richie sags in relief when the door shuts. He immediately faces Eddie, smiling. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?” Eddie says, trying for exasperated but probably landing somewhere among amused and totally charmed.
“I’ll walk ya home,” Richie says, like it’s nothing. “I know Mrs. K’s antsy for you to come home, but I’m afraid she’s antsier for me to just come in general, so.”
“Richie!” Eddie snaps, shoving him slightly. “That is literally so fucking disgusting, I swear to God! ‘Your mom’ jokes stopped being funny when we were like, eleven.” Richie just laughs at him slinging an arm around his shoulders. Eddie shoves him off again.
They walk for a bit, talking bullshit, and it’s just like nothing’s changed. The air’s still a little charged between them, and Eddie wants more. The ferris wheel left him reeling, as lame as it is to admit, so he takes a chance and reaches for Richie’s hand.
“Whoa,” Richie says, looking down at where Eddie’s grasped him. “Um.”
“What?” Eddie says, self-conscious and immediately on the defensive. “You don’t want to?” He makes to draw his hand back but Richie holds on. Eddie notes with a bit of wonder that his face is approaching crimson.
“No, I do,” he says weakly, and looks away from Eddie, fiddling with his glasses. “Jeez, can’t even factor in a damn reaction time…”
Oh. Richie’s nervous. It’s so mind-boggingly cute Eddie lets out a snicker, laughing harder at the offended look Richie shoots him.
“So,” Richie starts, when they’ve walked hand in hand for a few blocks. Eddie’s a little apprehensive, because its Derry and the nineties and they’re in public, but. The sky’s dark enough now to mask them, hiding the way their fingers interlace between them. “When did you figure out you were crushing on Big Bad Tozier, eh, Eddie Spaghetti?”
Eddie grins, bumping his shoulder. “Getting a little ahead of yourself there, Rich,” he teases. “Jury’s still out. There’s a strong theory that you brainwashed me, actually.”
“Brainwashing!” Richie cries, clasping a hand to his heart dramatically. “Eddie-bear, I would never--my charms are too irresistible.”
“Charms,” Eddie snorts. “Right.” It feels surreal, bantering with Richie while actually holding his hand. Every time he moves Eddie’s aware of the press of Richie’s palm against his, his knobbly knuckles knocking against his own. Almost all of attention is focused is on their point of contact, his brain half on auto-pilot.
“Well, I’ll go first then,” Richie says, and his shit-eating grin is plastered across his face. “Fifth grade, when you walked in with that new fanny pack your mom bought you, whoo boy. Eds, you really knew how to get me going back then, I gotta be honest.”
“That’s fucking gross, and a lie,” Eddie says. “You made fun of that thing for weeks.”
“Pulling pigtails,” Richie explains. “Or like, that time you had to wear a retainer at night and you showed up to the sleepover with that fucking lisp. Man,” Richie whistles, and Eddie hates himself for laughing. “I was such a goner.”
“Shut up,” Eddie says, and means the opposite.
“Maybe that time you finally got athletic shorts that reached your knees,” Richie offers, and then gazes down at him, eyes soft. “Or that time you mouthed off at Greta when she was being her usual bitchy self. And when you showed up to watch me audition for the spring musical freshman year. Only you and Bev came.”
Eddie’s eyes are wide. “Richie…” he says, blushing.
“And when Vic Criss punched me last year,” Richie says, and he draws Eddie closer towards him. “My little Eddie Spaghetti was ready with his cute little first aid kit and his cute little wrinkled nose because he was worried about me. You patched me up real good, Eds, you always have.”
Eddie nods dumbly. “I--of course, Richie, I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
“You’re a good friend,” Richie says, and he lets go of Eddie’s hand to grasp at both his elbows. “You hang out with me in your free time willingly, you know? And you listen to me when I talk, I know you do. I guess that’s what did it. You put in a lot of effort into our friendship, and I guess that’s how I…” Richie trails off, slides his hands up, up Eddie’s arms and across his shoulders, resting then along his jaw and cradling Eddie’s face.
Eddie’s entire body feels electric. Somehow, he brings himself to reach out and grab at Richie’s shirt, pulling him closer. Oh, the way Richie’s eyes darken at his action. Eddie can’t take it.
He winds his hands up into the hair at the nape of Richie’s neck, twisting. “Rich,” Eddie says, tilting upwards to meet Richie’s gaze head on.
Eddie smiles, and Richie smiles back, and then Richie’s pulling his face up, leaning in. Eddie closes his eyes at the last possible second and lets Richie hover in front of him, their lips barely brushing for a beat before reaching up and closing the distance.
Kissing Richie is…
It’s…
The way he holds Eddie, like he’s something precious--it’s so out of character for such a wild guy like Richie, it makes Eddie’s heart ache . He can feel Richie shaking slightly, when he brushes back Eddie’s hair behind his ears, and can relate. This is so new, so novel--never did Eddie ever think he’d get something like this, a moment like this, a guy like this. Richie kisses softly, sweetly, like Eddie’s something beautiful and fragile; reverent, almost, and it makes Eddie drag him closer, kiss him a bit deeper.
Eddie kisses enthusiastically, a bit sloppily, because he’s nervous but not embarrassed since he knows Richie is nervous too. It’s too much, and they’re both so stupid. They’ve known each other since they were six, what’s there to be nervous about? It’s been Richie and Eddie from the start, hasn’t it? They should have seen this coming, should have predicted it years ago, and Eddie’s so grateful they’ve finally reached this point. They’re idiots, the two of them.
Eddie breaks off, because he’s simply human, and can only take so much. He giggles into the space between them, losing it even more at the look Richie shoots him.
“What’s so funny?” Richie asks, and his lips are silvery-slick and puffy.
Eddie presses a hand to his mouth. “Nothing,” he says, warming at the way Richie rubs his thumbs over his cheek. All this kissing must have loosened up his mouth because the next words that spill out don’t even filter through his brain before they hang in the air between them. “I like you so much.”
Richie laughs, eyes crinkled up behind his glasses, teeth bright and face radiating joy. “I’ve gathered,” he says, grinning down at him. Richie’s smile can stop rain, his laughter can move mountains, and Eddie’s the biggest fucking dumbass on this entire planet to deny himself this all these months. Eddie hides his face in Richie’s chest, pressing his smile into Richie’s shirt.
“I…” Eddie says, muffled. His words get stuck in his throat. He settles for sliding his hands down to grasp Richie’s shoulders.
“Yeah,” Richie agrees, and he ducks his head in again to rest against Eddie’s forehead. It would be smooth if he wasn't blushing madly all the while. “Me, too.”
--
Tap-tap. Tap-tap taptaptap.
Eddie’s eyes fly open. He’s afraid to look--but he does. 7:27 am, his alarm clock informs him cheerily.
“God fucking dammit,” he curses, and lifts his head to glare at Richie in the window.
“Eds, my boy! Up, up, up and at ‘em, daylight breaks and waits for no man!”
“You can’t be serious,” Eddie moans to his ceiling, flopping onto his back as Richie gripes about the weather and that stupid fucking gutter. “You can’t fucking...Jesus Christ.”
“Eds?” says Richie after some time when it's clear Eddie has no intention of getting out of bed. “Dude, let me in, I’m not kidding, I’m freezing my balls off out here. Ya want that? Ya want me to walk around ball-less? They’ll like, retreat back into my body and I’ll go through some reverse puberty shit and end up with a face like yours, y’know, ‘cuz you’ve literally looked the same your whole life, pretty much, and you know the ladies won’t want that. Ha ha! My voice will probably rise too-- hey , at least we’ll sound the same! Wah,” he says, pitching his voice higher in some piss-poor imitation of what Eddie apparently sounds like to Richie’s clogged up ear canals. “You’re all disgusting and gross! I iron my socks and wipe my ass gently with lemon-infused four-ply.”
Lord, deliver me, Eddie thinks, gazing upwards with a resigned sigh of acceptance. He decides on ignoring Richie entirely, who’s now gone off on some round-robin of rude impressions. How is this the same person who was too nervous to hold hands last night; the same person that admitted he’s liked Eddie for years because of who he is as a person. Who cradled Eddie’s head in his hands delicately as he moved his lips softly against Eddie’s own, in the dim light of the streetlamp outside? God, he seriously can’t believe his fucking luck. Eddie thinks he might be too numb from emotional overdrive at this point to even give half of the shit required for the situation, considering he’s about to relive the past forty-fucking-eight hours. Again.
Richie, still outside, has resorted to whining. “C’mon, Eddie,” he pouts, drawing out the vowels in Eddie’s name. “Don’t you want to go to the fair? It only comes like, once a year!”
Eddie chucks his pillow at the window.