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Eddie Kaspbrak isn’t afraid to admit he’s in love.
He’d say, perhaps, if his head hadn’t been so far up his own ass all through middle school, that he’s been in love with Richie Tozier since sixth grade. He’d also venture to say that everyone except Richie, Eddie, and maybe a blind, deaf nun could tell Eddie was in love. Subtlety had never been something he could grasp, so much so that it took Richie grabbing him by the collar of his dorky polo shirt and smashing their lips together for Eddie to finally, finally get that the feeling was mutual.
That was years ago, though. Eddie sometimes wishes he could go back to the night of their first kiss, when everything was new and exciting and Richie’s eyes on him would send shivers through his body. Then Eddie looks over to the Richie curled against his side, forehead tucked against the crook of his neck, and decides he likes where they’re at now.
Eddie also decides, for the hundredth time that month, that he’s in love with Richie. The words burn at his throat and tug at his tongue. He wants to say it . He wants -- no, he needs Richie to know. But he’s scared. Not scared that Richie doesn’t love him back (well, maybe a little scared that Richie doesn’t love him back), but scared of freaking Richie out. Richie was never the most susceptible to sappy, emotional love confessions. He’d never even officially asked Eddie out. He’d just started grabbing Eddie’s hand in public and casually asking whether he wanted to go see a movie or go out to eat for date night, and Eddie never protested.
But love was something that ached in Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s love for Richie demands to be felt and to be heard, and Eddie’s not sure how much longer he can bite his tongue.
Richie’s still sleeping as Eddie sifts his fingers through the dark locks that tickle his chin. “You smell,” Eddie comments under his breath. Richie needs a shower and maybe Eddie will tell him to take one instead of saying “I love you.”
“On my ass about personal hygiene even while I’m sleeping, huh, Eds?” mumbles a sleepy Richie, earning a surprised squeak out of his boyfriend. Richie shifts, nosing the spot where Eddie’s jaw and neck meet and effectively replacing the squeak with a purr. Richie smiles against Eddie’s neck and Eddie falls in love one more time. His eyes open lazily, lifting to meet Eddie’s. Eddie swoops in for a kiss, which Richie doesn’t protest against. His hands find Eddie’s hair and now his smile is against his lips. “Wow,” he says, hardly separating their lips’ connection, “What a way to start a morning.”
“It’s one in the afternoon,” Eddie corrects him, but he’s smiling. Only Richie, even while unconscious, can convince Eddie to waste a whole Saturday morning doing nothing in bed.
Richie snorts, returning to his position against Eddie’s neck, and the pair fall silent. There aren’t awkward silences between them anymore. There came a point in their relationship where comfortable silence was one of their favorite things to be in. Just existing next to each other was enough. Eddie had never had that with someone before, and he especially hadn’t expected it to be with Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite things about his relationship with Richie.
Eddie thinks Richie might’ve fallen back asleep, because when Eddie hums a noise to check if Richie’s still with him, Richie doesn’t hum back. The arm that isn’t being suffocated by Richie lying on top of it moves to snake around Richie’s waist. Eddie buries his face into Richie’s curls and places a few kisses atop his head while he’s there.
Then, Eddie thinks he ought to practice.
Eddie rests his chin atop Richie’s head, and Richie unconsciously fits himself against Eddie’s body. Even while he’s sleeping, Richie connects with Eddie in a way no one’s even gotten close to. It makes Eddie’s chest ache. “I love you,” Eddie says into the empty room rather than into Richie’s hair. It feels safer that way, to profess his love to the walls and the desk and the bookshelf. The walls, desk, and bookshelf couldn’t shove him and call him a queer and brush the proclamation off as a joke before Eddie could get a word in edgewise. “I love you,” Eddie says again as his hands curl slightly around the fabric of Richie’s shirt. “I love you so much.”
“Come again?”
Eddie’s blood turns to ice in his veins and he actively resists the urge to shove Richie off the bed. Richie hasn’t moved, and in fact feels stiff in Eddie’s arms. “I didn’t say anything,” Eddie lies.
There’s a pause.
“Oh.”
Richie doesn’t believe him and Eddie knows it, but hell if he’s going to argue with oh . He flattens a hand against the curve of Richie’s back and presses a kiss at the crown of his head. “Relax, Chee,” Eddie murmurs, and Richie does. He sighs against Eddie’s collarbone and curls his fingers into the hairs at the nape of Eddie’s neck, but Eddie can still hear him thinking. Richie heard him, he must have. Eddie feels sick as he tries to steady his breathing, which has gotten shaky without his consent.
Richie rubs his thumb on the back of Eddie’s neck and Eddie sucks in a breath, hopeful. “Hey,” Richie says cautiously, drawing his face away from Eddie’s chest but keeping his thumb in place.
Eddie looks at him and knows, and Richie knows he knows. It’s ridiculous that neither of them are just fucking saying it, now that Eddie thinks about it. He opens his mouth to just get it over with when Richie interrupts him. “I’m scared.”
Richie’s eyes, Eddie realizes, are on Eddie’s chest. Richie loves kissing and touching and intimacy and eye contact , so fuck if Eddie wasn’t immediately concerned. His hands find the sides of Richie’s face and their foreheads touch, but Richie still won’t look up. “Scared? What are you scared of, baby, why are you scared?”
But they both know what he’s scared of.
“What if-- What if I say it and then I mess up down the line and-- and then you don’t believe me anymore? Because I do, Eddie, I do-- I’m just-- just--”
“Just scared?” Eddie finishes for him.
Richie nods, resembling a kicked puppy with his scared, sad expression. Eddie aches to kiss him. He wants to kiss all those fears away, to tell him he loves him over and over again.
“Chee, you could mess up a million times and I wouldn’t go anywhere. I’m stuck with you, asshole.” That earns a wet laugh from Richie. “I wouldn’t wanna be stuck with anyone else. I’m-- I’m scared too. Let’s be scared together, okay?”
There’s a silence that lasts for a beat too long, and Eddie fears Richie’s going to leave and never come back. Then, a smile. Richie’s hand finds Eddie’s, their fingers grip each other, and Eddie’s heart bursts. “Okay.”
Eddie brings their interlocked fingers to his lips and kisses Richie’s knuckles. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he purrs, love filling his throat and feeling tangible in his words. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen to us down the line, but I know right now, I never wanna stop… Um...” The word catches in his throat, with Richie’s eyes wide and wet on him.
“...Loving me?” Richie murmurs, a shy smile at his lips.
“Loving you,” Eddie confirms. He finally succumbs to the need for kissing as he dips his head and slowly works his lips against Richie’s. Richie hums against his boyfriend’s mouth before leaning back. Their noses brush against each other. Both of their smiles are wide and smitten. Eddie decides this is his new favorite moment.
“I love you, too, Eds.”