Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all starts because Richie Tozier is his own goddamn worst enemy.

“We should play truth or dare,” he declares, earning himself a roomful of eye rolls and groans from the other Losers as the group of seventeen year olds lounge around in Bill’s living room one Friday night. Richie is entirely undeterred, sitting up a little straighter in the armchair to grin at each one of them in turn, knocking Eddie slightly in the motion from where he sits on the floor leaning against Richie’s shins. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

“It’s never fun when you’re involved,” Ben mutters, head ducked to hide the light blush on his cheeks that’s likely been brought on by the memory of the last time they played. “They wouldn’t let me back into the library for weeks after you made me streak through there in my underwear.”

“Quit being so dramatic, Benjamin,” Richie replies, waving a hand dismissively through the air. “It was like two days.”

“No, h-he’s right, it was t-t-two weeks,” Bill confirms, smiling sympathetically at Ben. “You just w-wouldn’t know since you n-never set foot in there.”

“I do so go to the library!”

Stan snorts. “Oh, yeah? When was the last time you went?”

“Just last week! Eds made me go with him to work on our history project.”

“I begged you not to come with me,” Eddie bemoans, tipping his head back against Richie’s knee so he can scowl at him. “I would’ve gotten so much more done if you weren’t there being your usual annoying self. Besides, I didn’t even want to pair up with you on that thing in the first place. I wanted Mike.”

“You were my first choice, too, Eddie,” Mike says, smiling at him. “I was already on my way to your desk when Richie put you over his shoulder and told Ms Johnson you two were working together.”

“She wouldn’t let me switch,” Eddie grouses. “Said I was the only person in the whole class willing to work with him. If you call being carried out of the room kicking and yelling willing.”

“We’re getting off topic here,” Richie proclaims, ignoring the popcorn that Eddie throws at the side of his head. “We’re playing truth or dare. Big Bill’s parents aren’t home for hours, so it can get as wild as we want it to. Marsh, my gorgeous girl. You’re in, right?”

She rolls her eyes at him, fond smile playing at the corners of her pursed lips as she considers it for a moment. Ben glances at her nervously from his place beside her on the couch, knowing that if she’s in, he’s definitely in, and the rest of the Losers will probably follow suit easily enough.

“Okay, yeah. I’m in,” she agrees, catching the kiss Richie blows at her and holding it to her heart with a grin. “But you’re picking first, Trashmouth.”

“Happily! I obviously choose dare. Lay it on me, bitches.”

Richie follows his words by picking Eddie up by the arms and moving him to sit next to Richie on the armchair. Eddie complains the whole way, and the chair is definitely not big enough to seat two, what with their intertwining legs and the way Eddie is half sitting on Richie’s thighs, but he doesn’t move away when Richie releases his arms. Instead, he lifts one and curls it around Richie’s shoulders, settling back more comfortably even as he frowns severely.

“I dare you to fuck off,” Eddie mumbles, undermining his own words as he cards his fingers through the curls at Richie’s neck. “Then maybe the rest of us will get some fucking peace.”

“I second that,” Stan announces, beaming when Richie flips him the bird.

“We’re not ch-choosing that,” Bill vetoes, eyes going wide after a second, a metaphorical light bulb burning to life above his head. “Richie, I d-dare you to drink the fat l-leftover in my fridge.”

Eddie gags loudly, his whole body rolling with it, while the others are a mixture of disgusted groans and delighted cackles.

“That’s so fucking gross,” Bev says, grinning and leaning over to give Bill a high five. “I’m impressed, Denbrough.”

“Thanks!” Bill replies proudly.

“No problem, Big Bill,” Richie decides easily, and Eddie gags again, even harder this time. “But one of youse is gonna have to bring to me. I’ve got a very cute boy in my lap currently that I’m not looking to upheave.”

“I’ll be heaving myself up the second you’ve taken one fucking sip of that.”

Richie pouts, wrapping his arm around Eddie’s waist and burying his face into his neck. He notes that Mike has left the room, most likely to retrieve Richie’s delightful beverage, just before all he can see is the line of Eddie’s jaw.

“You know there’s no chance I’m letting you go, Spaghetti Head,” Richie states, knowing full well that Eddie won’t actually try to move, either. “You’re too warm.”

“Okay, you two,” Bev interrupts loudly. “Time to pause the flirting so Richie can regret his decision to make us play this game.”

“I regret nothing,” Richie says.

“We’re not flirting,” Eddie protests.

“Sure you aren’t,” Mike doubts, proffering the glass of odd coloured kind-of liquid in front of Richie’s face. “Time to drink up, Tozier.”

Richie takes it from his hand, swirling it under his nose and pretending to sniff.

“Bone ape the tit!”

The lumps are probably the worst part. He powers through until it’s empty, anyway.

“Well, that was fucking horrifying to watch,” Ben decides, eyes wide as Richie finishes his last gulp and smacks his lips, smiling at all the Losers as he hands the glass back over to a laughing Mike. “What did it taste like?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Richie replies, eyes deftly searching the room to see if anyone’s got any water lying around, except he’s not deft about it in the slightest, because Stan throws him his bottle after a second. “Would go well with a nice Beef Wellington I’d say, old chap.”

“I’m m-mildly impressed,” Bill admits, saluting Richie with two fingers against his forehead. “I didn’t th-think you’d a-actually do it.”

“When has Richie ever backed down from anything?” Eddie counters, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Remember that time he literally fucking flashed my mom because Stan dared him to?”

“Eds, my love, you know I do that every night without needing to be dared, right?”

“Fuck off, Trashmouth. You’re still not allowed into the house because of that.”

“True. If only she knew that I climb through your bedroom window nearly every night anyway.”

“Every night?” Stan questions, one eyebrow quirked. “Like, actually every night? Do you sleep there?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Richie admits, not noticing the blush creeping across Eddie’s cheeks. “Why?”

Stan gives them a weird look. “No reason.”

Richie opens his mouth to ask the same question again, confused by Stan’s expression and tone, but is cut off by Eddie talking too loudly next to him.

“So!” Eddie shouts. “Who’s next?”

“You are,” Bev replies, grinning cheekily at him. “We’re going clockwise.”

Eddie frowns. “That’s counter-clockwise.”

“Whatever. You’re next. Pick.”

“Please be dare, please be dare, please be dare,” Richie wishes, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Eddie. “Ouch, Eds! You know I just want you choose that so I can dare you to gimme a smooch.”

“I’m definitely fucking picking truth then,” Eddie huffs, squirming a little to try and get further away from Richie. It’s a useless endeavour, really, for two reasons: this armchair hasn’t gotten any bigger in the past ten seconds so he’s not really got much room to move into, and Richie’s arm is still curled around his middle and isn’t letting go anytime soon. “Please nothing too mortifying.”

“When was the first time you tickled your pickle?” Richie asks, then quickly, “Wait, no! When was the last time you tickled your pickle? Was it today? Will you give me all the gory details?”

“Richie!” Bill scolds. “Q-quit it.”

“I’ve got one,” Ben offers, smiling at Eddie with condolences. “When was your first kiss?”

Richie winces instantly. Ben’s a nice kid, Richie knows, who absolutely only asked that question because he thinks it’s an easy one. It’s a simple question with a simple answer, and Ben probably thinks that all the other Losers already know when Eddie’s first kiss was so it won’t be embarrassing for him at all.

Problem is – Richie knows Eddie’s never had his first kiss. Kind of hard to have your first kiss when you’re the only openly gay kid at Derry High. It’s not his fault.

“Tell Ben to quit it, Big Bill,” Richie demands, scowling at Ben who looks entirely perplexed by the intensity of Richie’s glare. “Eddie’s never kissed anyone.”

“Yes I fucking have,” Eddie snaps.

Richie gapes. Bill, Stan, and Bev do, too.

“You have?” Bill asks, expression so openly hurt as he stares at Eddie. “Why d-didn’t you t-t-tell me? I b-biked straight over to your h-house when I had my f-first kiss to t-tell you.”

Eddie wriggles, playing with the fraying hems of his shorts, the ones that he’s had since he was thirteen. Richie is frozen still in shock, or else he’d be lacing his fingers through Eddie’s to pause his nervous fidgeting.

“It didn’t come up,” Eddie mumbles. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a fucking big deal!” Richie exclaims, coming back to himself. “Who? Where? When? Who?”

“Ben only asked when,” Eddie hedges. “So I’m only answering that one.”

“You so gotta tell us who, Eddie,” Bev requests. “Ben changes his question, don’t ya, Ben?”

Eddie huffs. “Those aren’t the rules and you fucking know it, Beverly.”

“You don’t have to tell us who, Eddie,” Mike says kindly. “Or when. We can skip you. It’s fine.”

“It is not fine!” Richie declares, almost yelling. “Who? Who was it? There’s no-one else at school that’s even gay. Was it an older guy? Eds, holy shit, did some older guy manipulate you into kissing him? Tell me who the fuck it is, I’ll kick his ass, I swear to fucking G–“

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie mutters tiredly, standing up from the chair to take a seat on the floor next to Bill instead, not leaning up against Richie’s legs like he was before. “It wasn’t an older guy. He’s our age. And to answer Ben’s question so we can move the fuck on – it was like a month ago.”

“A month ago was the end of December,” Richie says, mostly to himself as he tries to work things out from such minimal clues. “Who else did you see over winter break besides us?”

“I’m not answering any more questions,” Eddie refuses sharply, then softer, “Bill, please stop looking at me like that. I’ll tell you later. I promise.”

“I’m sitting in on that fucking conversation,” Richie demands.

“No, you fucking aren’t,” Eddie grits out. “I’m only telling Bill so he’ll stop looking at me like a kicked puppy.”

“I can’t believe that look still works on you,” Stan muses.

“I’ve honed it over y-years of practise.”

“You’ll have to teach me your ways, Billiam,” Bev solicits, and Richie catches her sending a small, supportive smile to Eddie before she continues. “Mike, you angel of a man. You’re up.”

The game continues but Richie doesn’t focus on a second of it. All he notices is that Eddie doesn’t look at him again even once for the rest of the night, doesn’t even offer a farewell to Richie as he gets up to leave, the last one to vacate the Denbrough residence save for Eddie who’s sleeping over. Richie doesn’t get a wink of sleep all night, too caught up in thinking about who the hell has kissed Eddie and why the fuck Eddie has kept it from them all.

A name comes to him around three in the morning and he resolves to investigate it with all his might first thing Monday.

-----

Monday morning rolls around after a weekend of Eddie – and Bill, for that matter – ignoring all of his texts and calls. He gets to school fifteen minutes late and goes straight to meet Bev for their routine first period smoke behind the bleachers. She’s already there when he arrives, heavily layered to stave off the cold as best possible, with a cigarette in her left hand.

“Marsh,” he greets, fumbling in his pocket to pull out his own smokes. “You’re a vision this morning, as always.”

“Wish I could say the same, Trashmouth,” she retorts, peering at him with more concern than her words convey. “You look like shit. Rough weekend?”

He knows what she’s really asking – parent troubles is the question unspoken, but still crystal clear.

“No worse than usual,” he says around his cigarette, covering the tip with a cupped hand so he can try to light it. “Just been having some late nights. Thinking, and all that.”

“Sounds dangerous,” she teases, laughing when he jerks backwards like he’s been shot. “What’ve you been thinking about?”

With his cigarette finally lit and his hands fucking freezing from the biting cold of the wind, he inhales deeply and follows it with an exhale. He tries – and fails – to blow smoke rings for a few seconds before he answers her.

“Our dearest Eddie Spaghetti. I think I know who he kissed.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t you dare give him grief about this, Richie. If he doesn’t want to tell us, he doesn’t want to tell us and that’s the end of it. Eddie’s life is hard enough as it is with all the homophobes in this fucking town.”

“But I want to know!” he complains, pouting at her. “I don’t want to give him a hard time about it. I just want to know. I have to know. Eddie’s never kept anything from me before. I was the first one he told he was gay, y’know.”

“No, you weren’t. Bill was.”

“Of course Bill was, that’s why he doesn’t count. I was the first of everyone else.” He takes another puff from his smoke, tapping it with his index finger to get rid of the excess ash. “Look, I just want to make sure that whoever this guy is, he won’t hurt Eds. You’re right – his life is hard enough as it fucking is. I don’t want some closeted douchebag stringing him along and breaking his heart.”

“He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want us knowing anything,” she reminds him, biting her lip after she’s pulled her cigarette away from her mouth, but Richie can hear the doubt creeping into her tone. “But… but I guess you’re right. We don’t want him getting hurt.”

“Exactly!” he agrees heartily. “We won’t even tell Eds that we know. We’ll just casually keep an eye on the guy.”

“Nothing about you is casual, Trashmouth. And this whole plan is hinged on the notion that you have figured out correctly who this guy even is.”

“I’m pretty certain I’m right,” he declares, and his stomach feels uncomfortably tight for a reason he doesn’t understand, so he ignores it and takes another inhale instead. “You know that guy in his math class? The one that tutored him last semester when I got myself two months’ worth of lunchtime detentions so I couldn’t anymore?”

She scrunches her nose up, thinking for a second, before she figures it out.

“Jamie Lewis?” she asks. Richie nods, once again ignoring the way his stomach feels even weirder now. “Oh, I – I guess that actually makes sense. He’s cute, too. Go Eddie.”

“He’s not that cute,” he disagrees. “He’s a total nerd. And those glasses. Yikes.”

She levels him with a look. “D’ya wanna be the kettle or the pot, Rich?”

“Whatever, Marsh. He’s not cuter than me. And he’s definitely not cuter than Eds.”

She ignores his words, but gives him pointed look. Similarly to the feeling in his stomach, he doesn’t understand it.

“What’s the plan, then? How do we find out whether he’s good enough? Subtly, may I add.”

“Invite him to sit with us at lunch, obviously. We can assess him together.”

She considers it for a moment, nodding her head in agreement after a second or two.

“Yeah, okay. That should work. I’ve got next period with him, actually.” She drops her cigarette to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of her boot, picking her bag up from the icy damp floor and shouldering it. “I’ll invite him, yeah?”

“Use your most feminine charms to lure him in,” Richie suggests, then pauses. “Wait, actually, I guess that’s probably not the best technique for this, is it?”

“Just leave it to me,” she promises, already beginning to walk away towards the school building as she calls over her shoulder. “See you at lunch, Trashmouth.”

Richie finishes his cigarette and makes his way in shortly after her. He spots Jamie Lewis in the hallway as he’s on his way to second period, and he finds himself glaring at the guy on instinct. He puts it down to his concern that Eddie is going to get his heart broken by this guy and goes to annoy the life out of Stan in their next class.

-----

When Richie walks into the cafeteria, the Losers’ usual table is currently only occupied by Bill.

“Top of the morning to ya, William,” Richie announces in what he believes to be a fantastic Irish accent. He drops his ass onto the seat across from Bill and pulls out the only lunch he was able to scavenge from his nearly empty cupboards – a Reese’s cup and a pretty stale bread roll. “Wanna trade lunches?”

Bill looks up at Richie and scowls at him harshly, making Richie blink a couple of times in confusion.

“I’m not t-t-talking to you,” Bill declares, but he still slides half of his sandwich over to Richie’s side.

“What? Why?” Richie asks, brow furrowed at Bill, not that he can see it as he’s returned his glare to the lunch table instead. “Is this why you ignored my texts all weekend?”

“Yes,” Bill says tetchily – the guy’s never been good at silent treatment. “I was w-with Eddie.”

“I texted Eddie to hang out too. What have I done?” Richie pauses; panicked. “Is Eds mad at me as well?”

Bill scoffs. “He sh-should be,” he mutters under his breath, so quiet that Richie only just about catches it. “No, he’s n-not mad a-at you.”

“What the fuck have I done?” Richie implores, sandwich forgotten on the table as he worries about Bill being annoyed at him. He wracks his brain for anything he’s done or said wrong, but nothing any worse than usual comes to mind. “Bill, honestly, I can’t think of a single fucking thing that I could’ve done to make you mad at me. Will you just fucking tell me so you can, y’know, stop being mad at me?”

Bill’s head snaps up then, his jaw clenched and his mouth an unhappy line. Richie balks, having never seen Bill look like that before, not at anyone besides the Bowers’ gang and occasionally when Eddie talks about his mom, anyway.

“It might take a w-while for me to st-stop being mad a-at you, Richie.”

“Bill, man, c’mon, you gotta tell me –“

“Tell you what?” Eddie asks, suddenly beside them.

He drops his lunch next to Richie’s and takes the seat beside him too, unpacking his stuff and laying it all out on the table – double of everything, enough to share with Richie, which he does instantly, placing the food in front of Richie.

“Bill’s mad at me,” Richie explains, gesturing to where Bill is now staring at Eddie with an odd look on his face. “And he won’t tell me why. And he said you should be mad at me too! What the fuck have I done?”

There’s a beat of silence. Eddie grits his teeth and stares right back at Bill, a wordless conversation seeming to pass between them. Richie hears the thump of someone’s sneaker hitting something, and based on the way Bill grunts out in pain, he deduces that it was Eddie’s shoe hitting Bill’s shin.

“You didn’t do anything, Richie,” Eddie says, sounding calm despite the fury dancing in his eyes. “And Bill’s not fucking mad at you. He’s fine. Aren’t you, Bill?”

“No, I’m mad,” Bill replies, and Richie hears another thump when Eddie kicks him again. Bill huffs, glaring first at Eddie, then at Richie. He slumps his shoulders after a second; defeated. “F-fine. I’m not m-mad at you, Richie.”

Richie looks at both of them suspiciously. “Firstly, I don’t fucking believe that for a second, Big Bill. And secondly, I’m gonna need you two fuckers to let me in on whatever little secret you’ve got going on here.”

“There’s no fucking secret,” Eddie assures, but he doesn’t sound certain. He elbows Richie and tilts his head towards the waiting food on the table. Richie picks up the offered sandwich, but doesn’t stop looking at them both dubiously. “He’s not mad at you. I’m not mad at you. So let’s move the fuck on.”

“I don’t wanna move the fuck on,” Richie states, biting angrily at his sandwich in small sections. “Clearly something is going on here that I don’t understand, and it’s also clearly about me, so I’d like to fucking know, please and goddamn thank you.”

“I fucking hate you, Bill,” Eddie mutters.

Richie goes to carry on chasing answers, repeated question already on the tip of his tongue, but then the others are arriving: Stan and Mike take the seats either side of Bill, Ben the seat next to Richie. They’re all already having their own conversations, which Eddie happily sweeps himself up into, leaving Richie still in the dark as Bill glances at him every so often, still looking agitated.

He’s so caught up in being anxious over what in the hell is going on, that he totally forgets about his and Bev’s plan – right up until the moment that she and Jamie fucking Lewis appear at the table.

“Hey, guys!” she announces, grinning brightly. Jamie stands beside her, looking more than a little uncomfortable as he fidgets from foot to foot. “You know Jamie, right?”

All the Losers smile and greet him happily – all except for Richie, who just frowns up at him silently.

“Hi, Jamie,” Eddie offers, smiling genuinely at him. Richie’s frown deepens. “Are you sitting with us today?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie replies, smiling a small smile back. “Bev invited me, so.”

Richie takes a second to take him in; suss out whether he’s good enough for Eddie. He stands at around 6’, maybe 6’1” on a good day – Richie’s still got a few inches on him at 6’3”, which makes him smile a little smugly. He’s got ashy blonde hair, short and neat, and circular tortoise shell glasses over light blue eyes. Richie thinks about Bev calling him cute, and supposes that, objectively, she’s probably right.

Eddie deserves cuter, though.

Jamie goes to take a seat at the head of the table, in between Ben and Stan, but Bev stops him by sliding into the chair before he can.

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry one bit. “I always sit next to Ben. You can sit over there, next to Eddie.”

“Oh, uh. Okay?” Jamie replies.

He walks around the table to sit next to Eddie and as he passes, Richie has a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to stick his leg out and trip the fucker up, but he manages to reign himself in before he actually does it.

The conversation continues as Jamie takes his seat, and Bev sends a subtle wink over to Richie, which Richie does not return. He’s not even sure why he’s so annoyed that Jamie is here right now – this was his idea in the first place, for fuck’s sake, and it’s going swimmingly well so far.

“Oh, Jamie, I meant to ask earlier – are we still on for tomorrow?” Eddie asks.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Richie asks, way too loud if the halting of everyone else at their table’s conversation is anything to go by. He clears his throat, feeling a little awkward as Eddie looks at him in puzzlement. “I mean, uh. I didn’t know you two hung out.”

“He’s tutoring me,” Eddie explains, brows furrowing as he continues to look at Richie. “You look like you’re in pain, Rich. Do you need to go to the nurse?”

“I’m fine,” Richie chokes out, and it’s probably a lie, but he can’t for the life of him figure out why it’s a lie. “Tutoring you in – in what? In math? But he doesn’t need to. I’ve not got detention anymore. I can do it again if you need me to, Eds.”

“I offered,” Jamie answers, and Richie flickers his eyes over to the guy simply to frown at him again. Richie was talking to Eddie, so why the fuck is this guy answering? “I don’t mind. He’s my best student.”

Eddie laughs a little, turning back to Jamie in what appears to be some kind of private joke the two have going on. Richie hates it.

“I could use some help in math, Richie,” Mike admits. “You can tutor me, if you’re free?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, Mike,” Richie says, not turning away from where Eddie and Jamie are chatting to one another, too quiet for anyone else at the table to join in on – even Richie, who’s right beside them. “So, Eds – my tutoring not good enough for you?”

Eddie pauses his conversation with Jamie by offering him a small smile, and then he turns back to Richie with a slightly irritated eye roll.

“Your tutoring was fine, Rich. But Jamie already knows where I am on the topics and he’s said he’s happy to help me. Besides, I can’t imagine it’ll be long before you land yourself in another spate of lunchtime detentions.”

He’s teasing. Richie knows he’s teasing. But it hits him hard, anyway.

“Well, fuck you,” Richie snaps, angrily standing up and ignoring the way everyone is staring at him in complete surprise – at his tone and at him walking away. “Guess I might as well go for a fucking smoke so I can land myself back in detention like the fucking delinquent I am, huh, Eds?”

Richie leaves the lunchroom and pretends he didn’t see the look of utter hurt on Eddie’s face.

-----

The only person from lunch that Richie has a class with for the rest of the day is Jamie goddamn Lewis. It’s his last period of the day, French, and Jamie sits a few desks over from him. He spends the entire class shooting worried looks at Richie, like he’s done something wrong, like he wants to apologise to Richie.

Which is ridiculous. He didn’t do anything wrong. Richie’s just mad because – because who the fuck knows, actually. Eddie makes those kinds of jokes all the time. They’ve never bothered Richie before because he knows Eddie doesn’t really mean it; doesn’t really think like that.

So why the fuck did today bother him so much? Maybe he’d be able to come up with an answer if he wasn’t resolutely ignoring that very question every time it popped into his head.

As soon as the bell rings to let school out, Richie is up from his seat and out into the school parking lot within seconds; his familiar red truck in all its rusted glory parked just where he left it. He rushes over to it, hoping to get away before anyone tries to fucking talk to him about what happened at lunch, but as he gets closer, he sees a figure leaning against the driver’s side door.

Eddie fucking Kaspbrak.

He considers turning around and hauling ass back into school until enough time has passed that he can be sure Eddie had just left. He decides against it for two reasons: because Eddie’s definitely already seen him, and also because Eddie would honestly wait hours upon fucking hours, the stubborn little shit.

“Eds,” Richie says, nodding his head at him. “Care to get the fuck out of the way so I can get out of this hellhole?”

Eddie frowns. He’s wearing mittens, two scarfs, and a large winter coat (one of Richie’s old ones, bigger enough on Eddie that it serves more of a warming purpose on him than it does on Richie). The red fuzz of his socks is visible in the gap between the bottom of his jeans and the start of his sneakers and there’s a woollen beanie over his ears. Despite all of this, his nose looks uncomfortably red and he’s shivering.

“I’m not moving until you talk to me, Richie.”

Richie rolls his eyes, coming to a stop a foot away from Eddie.

“Ain’t nothing to talk about,” Richie lies. “You better get moving if you wanna get your ride home with Denbrough like always – you know he leaves fast as to get home for Georgie.”

“I told Bill to go on without me,” Eddie admits, shuffling a little in place to fend off the cold. “I had an idea that you’d be like this.”

“Like what?”

“A pig-headed asshole. I knew you weren’t going to let this be easy.”

“Jeez, Eds. Some apology.”

“Yeah, see, that’s the thing,” Eddie starts, taking a step closer to Richie. Richie could take the opportunity to switch their places, hop into his truck, and not look back – but he doesn’t. “I don’t know why I’d be apologising. I mean, yeah – insinuating that you’re always in detention probably isn’t a nice thing to do. But I’m not nice to you. We’re not nice to each other. We’ve both done way worse than that. So something’s up – clearly.”

Richie chews his lip while Eddie continues to stare at him. The rest of the school files out and gets into their respective vehicles, walking around where Richie and Eddie stand at an impasse without noticing at all.

“Get in,” Richie orders, moving forwards to stand by the door of his truck. Eddie turns with him so they’re still facing each other, blinking at him, clearly at a bit of a loss. “You can’t walk home in this weather. You’ll die of fucking hypothermia or something. Get in the truck. I’ll take you home.”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer before he climbs in. He inhales and exhales deeply a few times and, sure enough, on his third one, Eddie is clambering into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him.

Richie switches the engine on and the car stereo blares to life, playing the Pixies album he’d been listening to on the way into school that morning. Eddie removes his mittens and reaches to turn on the heaters as Richie pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road that’ll take them both home. They sit in silence for the first few minutes of the journey, save for the music playing, until Eddie speaks up, sounding almost hesitant.

“I am – I am sorry. Maybe what I said earlier was too far. Or maybe I’ve been too mean too often recently and that was like, I don’t know. The last straw? So – so I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you and I feel awful that I did.”

Richie stares at the busy road ahead and sighs.

“What you said earlier didn’t upset me, Eds,” he confesses. “You were right – we’ve both said way worse to each other and laughed it off. And I know it was a joke. I know you don’t think I’m a delinquent, or whatever.”

“I don’t, Rich,” Eddie assures quickly, hand coming out to rest on Richie’s elbow, just a light touch that lasts barely a second. “I think you’re smart and you’re kind and, yeah, you get detention a lot. But that’s usually just because you’ve done something funny and none of those stick-up-their-asses teachers have a fucking sense of humour.”

Richie smirks. “You just called me funny, Eds.”

Eddie laughs. “Call it temporary insanity.”

“No take backs, Spaghetti Head. I’m holding that against you for the rest of our lives. You think I’m funny.”

 “Well, you fucking are. But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it to my goddamn grave, bitch.”

Richie laughs, loud and relaxed, and Eddie smiles happily over at him while he does. They drive in silence for another few minutes, pulling up in front of the Kaspbrak residence soon enough. Richie pulls up by the curb, smiling and waving at Mrs K as she peers at him loathsomely through the window.

“You’re gonna get it in the neck for letting me drive you home instead of Bill, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, probably,” Eddie admits amiably, not seeming to care one bit. “But she’s been trying to keep you away from me since we were in elementary school, so she’s clearly not very fucking good at it.” Richie laughs at that, knowing just how true it is. “So – so we’re good, right?”

“Yeah, Eds. We’re good.” Eddie smiles again at that, blindingly wide. Richie just lets himself stare for a second, thinking about how he should offer to drive Eddie home more often, even if it’s not quite on his usual route home. Eddie moves to exit the truck, which triggers Richie’s memory with a, “Oh, hang on, before you go – will you tell me what Bill’s mad at me for?”

Eddie blinks, smile falling from his face instantly. If Richie hadn’t been worried before, he fucking is now.

“It’s nothing,” Eddie says, strange lilt to his voice giving away how much of a lie that is. “Honest. It’s just because of when you, um. When you said something nasty about Georgie last week.”

Richie blanches. “Eddie Spaghetti Kaspbrak, that is the biggest fucking lie you’ve ever told. I would never show anything but love and devotion towards Georgie Denbrough and you fucking know it.”

“Yeah, well, you were drunk.” Eddie huffs a small, almost humourless laugh. “You can forget a lot of shit when you’re drunk, can’t you, Rich?” Richie frowns at him, wondering what the hell he means by that, but before he can ask, Eddie is opening up the door and climbing out. “Thanks for the ride, anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He slams the door and walks quickly up the path towards his house before Richie can reply.

-----

Jamie sits with the Losers at lunch almost every day that week, despite Richie’s best efforts. These efforts being, namely, glaring at the guy whenever he’s close and never speaking in a conversation he’s involved in. The only one who seems to notice that Richie is doing this is Stan, who elbows him every time he begins to frown simply because Jamie had the damn nerve to speak aloud, as the rest of them all seem enthralled by his presence – Eddie, especially.

Every time Eddie laughs at one of Jamie’s jokes or responds enthusiastically to one of Jamie’s topics, Richie feels sick to his stomach. The only day Jamie doesn’t come to lunch with them is Friday, today, and that’s simply because he’s tutoring Eddie in the school library. When Richie figures out that’s where they both are, he tries to rush into the library to help them – yes, help them, nothing else – but Bev just pulls him back down to his seat and insists that Richie leave them the fuck alone.

Richie does, however reluctantly, but he’s petulant about it the whole lunch hour.

After school, he and Bev meet up for their usual post-Friday smoke before they go back to their respective houses. It’s a little pointless, really, because they’ll see each other again in a few hours when they all congregate at the Denbrough residence for movie night, but it’s a nice tradition they’ve got going on, no matter how futile it may seem to an outsider.

“So,” Richie starts once they’re both lit up, hiding in a corner of the emptying parking lot to smoke on school grounds. “Do we think that Jamie asshole was Eds’ first kiss?”

Bev shrugs one shoulder, taking a drag of her cigarette and exhaling through her nose. Richie pulls on his own smoke incessantly, shaking fingers wrapped around the butt that barely leaves his mouth except to speak – he assumes the shaking is from the cold. What else could it be?

“I don’t know,” she answers. “Maybe. But whether he was his first or not – I think he should be his next. He’s funny. He’s sweet. He’s definitely cute. And he and Eddie clearly get along like a house on fire, so.”

Richie scoffs. “They don’t get along that well. Eddie’s just being nice.” He finishes his first cigarette and immediately lights a second, ignoring Bev’s quirked, questioning eyebrow. “Jamie’s boring. Bland. Not good enough for Eds by a long fucking mile.”

“Oh, yeah?” Both of Bev’s eyebrows are now in her hairline, looking at him with her tongue caught between her teeth, clearly sceptical. “Who would be good enough for Eddie then, Trashmouth?”

“Not Jamie fucking Lewis,” Richie mutters, looking down at where his heel is digging into the mud at his feet. “Just someone funny. Charismatic. Someone Eds can be his usual scathing, angry self with who won’t take it to heart. Jamie looks like if you said one mean thing to him, he’d breakdown crying. That’s not what Eddie Spaghetti needs.”

“Right,” Bev says, drawing out the word and still looking at him suspiciously. “Anyone come to mind that fits that description, you think?”

Richie thinks about it for a second, nose scrunched up as he considers.

“Nah. No-one at this fucking shithole of a school deserves Eds. He’s too good for all of ‘em.”

“Whilst I agree with you, Rich – our Eddie is special – I can think of one person who’d be perfect for him. And I’m pretty sure Eddie already likes the guy. I’m just not so sure if the guy likes him back. Or, if he does, I don’t think this guy has figured it out for himself yet. And Eddie doesn’t deserve to get messed around or held back while this douchebag ponders on it.”

 “Who?” Richie asks, suddenly feeling irritated at the thought of whoever this guy is. “Jamie? You think Eds likes Jamie? Why? Did he say something to you?”

Bev doesn’t say anything, doesn’t answer any of his questions. Her brow furrows and she purses her lips, looking up at him almost sadly. Richie doesn’t understand it. Maybe she’s sad because the guy Eddie likes – whoever the fucking asshole may be – might not like him back.

Which is stupid, because anyone who’s ever met Eddie should like him. Eddie is amazing.

Whoever this guy is, he’s a fucking moron.

Richie notices that Stan is approaching them, coming to a stop a fair distance away so as not to have to inhale the smoke of their cigarettes too much. Richie gives Stan a ride home on Fridays because he stays a little later than the rest of them, and Mike, his usual ride, has to get back to help on the farm for a few hours and so can’t hang around for him.

“What are you two talking about?” Stan asks, looking between the two of them. “The atmosphere over here is kinda tense.”

“We were talking about Jamie goddamn Lewis,” Richie says, practically spitting the name out with venom. “Bev and I think he was Eddie’s first kiss, that’s why she invited him to spend lunch with us all week. We were trying to suss out whether he was good enough for gorgeous ol’ Eds.”

“Huh.” Stan’s eyebrows are raised, much like Bev’s were. “And what was your verdict?”

“Bev likes him. I fucking do not.”

“Well, that’s not all that surprising,” Stan deadpans. “Seeing as how you’re in love with Eddie, and all.”

Richie blinks. “I’m – I’m what now?”

“Stanley!” Bev admonishes, smacking Stan on the arm. “He was meant to figure it out for himself!”

Stan just shrugs, and Bev bites her lip as she looks nervously at Richie. Richie feels almost like he can’t breathe, like his chest is constricting, and there’s a weird feeling in his stomach, and – oh.

Oh. Right. That feeling he was getting in his stomach, that horrible discomfort – it would flare up when Jamie was near, or when he was forced to think about the guy. It would flare up when Jamie and Eddie chatted and laughed and spent time together, time growing closer to one another.

That feeling he could never quite understand, those looks that Stan and Bev would throw him that he didn’t totally get – it’s all because he’s in love with Eddie.

“I’m in love with Eddie,” Richie breathes.

“Trashmouth,” Stan begins, placing a supportive hand on Richie’s shoulder. “You have been for years.”

“Why didn’t anybody tell me?” Richie shouts, feeling frantic.

“You can’t just tell someone they’re in love,” Bev replies, then pauses. “Or, well, actually – Stan the Man can.”

“Stan the Man can,” Stan repeats, smirking.

“What the fuck do I do?” Richie yells, hissing in pain when his cigarette burns his fingers, forgotten so long it’s burnt down to the butt. “I – I’m in love with Eddie. I didn’t even know I like boys. Or, well, that’s not true actually. I’ve jerked it to photos of Chris Hemsworth shirtless a coupla times. But I didn’t know I liked boys as in real life boys. As in Eddie boys.”

“Rich, you’ve been flirting with Eddie since I met you two in middle school,” Bev says.

“Bev, he’s been flirting with Eddie since I met them in kindergarten,” Stan supplies. “I’m honestly astounded that you’ve not figured it out before now, Richie. Ever since we were kids, you’ve always been vying for Eddie’s attention. You’re always trying to piss him off or make him laugh.”

“But I do that to everyone,” Richie tries weakly.

“You do it to Eddie more than anyone else,” Bev reveals, shrugging. “It’s been pretty clear that you two are gone for each other this whole time.”

“Wait – you think Eddie likes me back?” Richie screeches, entirely too loud and high pitched. “Holy shit, I gotta tell him. I gotta tell him before he kisses Jamie fucking Lewis again and they start dating and I miss my chance forever. Please tell me one of you knows where the fuck he is right now?”

“He’s with Jamie Lewis,” Stan says, and Richie’s face and heart fucking drop, but then Stan’s cackling and Bev is hitting his arm again. “Kidding, kidding. He’s at home. Alone.”

“You’re a fucking douche,” Richie says, pointing a finger at Stan menacingly. “And you’re getting a ride home with Bev. I’ve got me a Spaghetti Man to romance.”

“Maybe don’t call him that when you’re confessing your feelings,” Bev suggests.

“You know I can’t promise that,” Richie admits, and he’s already moving, practically sprinting towards his truck as he yells over his shoulder. “If I see you guys at Big Bill’s later, my plan to get into Eddie’s shorts will have failed – so I hope I don’t see you fuckers until Monday!”

Bev wolf whistles and Stan laughs. Richie drives out of the parking lot at record speed.

-----

Richie feels giddy the whole ten minute drive over to Eddie’s house, and he feels even giddier when he arrives and sees that Mrs K’s car isn’t in the driveway, meaning Richie can go in through the front door instead of the window. He parks up on the side of the road and runs out the car and up the path to Eddie’s door. He rings the doorbell without hesitation and waits.

About five seconds into waiting, the realisation of what he’s actually doing comes crashing down on him and he begins to freak out.

What if Bev and Stan were wrong? What if Eddie doesn’t actually like him back? What if Eddie actually likes Jamie and Richie is about to confess something awful that will totally ruin their friendship?

A sudden image comes to him: Eddie and Jamie, dressed in their winter clothes in late December, kissing underneath mistletoe, or something equally as sappily romantic as that. He imagines Eddie’s arms around Jamie’s shoulders and Jamie’s hands holding Eddie’s waist and them kissing and smiling and goddamn liking each other. It makes Richie’s stomach turn and he rubs at his eyes, hard, to make the image go away.

His truck is only a three second sprint away, he can maybe knock down to one and a half if he really goes for it, and he’s contemplating turning around and making a run for it when Eddie’s front door swings open and reveals Eddie himself standing on the other side, smiling at Richie once he realises who his caller is.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie greets, standing aside to invite Richie in. Richie hesitates for a second before cautiously stepping inside. Eddie closes the door behind him and walks into the living room, Richie following close behind. “You come to hang out before Bill’s?”

Inside the living room, Eddie’s math homework is laid out on the floor. There are notes beside it in Eddie’s familiar, messy scrawl, but there’s other handwriting on there, written in a red pen and clearly put there by none other than Jamie fucking Lewis.

Richie’s not sure whether he’ll ever be able to say or think the guy’s name again without putting an expletive in the middle of it.

“Um, yeah,” Richie mumbles, standing awkwardly at the centre of the room whilst Eddie sits back on the floor with his homework. “Kinda. But not really, I guess. Um.”

Eddie frowns up at him, patting the space of floor next to him, silently asking Richie to sit down with him. Richie does, tentatively folding himself up so he’s sitting cross-legged, his knee right next to Eddie’s, so close they’re almost knocking one another.

“Everything okay?” Eddie questions, frown still prevalent on his face. “You seem kinda… off.”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, Spaghetti Head.” Richie cringes as soon as the nickname is out of his mouth – if he’s trying to win Eddie over here, and he absolutely is, using the names he hates isn’t gonna cut it. Eddie does roll his eyes a little at the moniker, but he doesn’t protest it – he gave up with that a long time ago. “Just, uh. Wanted to see you. And talk to you. About, um. About something.”

“About what, Rich?”

Richie closes his eyes, draws a deep breath in and releases it slowly. He takes a couple of seconds to steel himself before what could be an incredibly stupid thing to do, and when he opens his eyes back up, Eddie’s head is tilted, looking at Richie with concern lacing his features prominently.

Richie decides fuck it and hopes he won’t have to regret it too much.

“I figured out who your first kiss was.”

Eddie inhales sharply, eyes going wide and worried. Richie knows it’s because Jamie fucking Lewis must be a closeted mother fucker and Eddie is scared that Richie has discovered his secret. Maybe the douchebag would be angry at Eddie for people figuring it out. All indicators point to the fact that Jamie is not really an angry sort of person, but logic is eschewed at this moment in time, so Richie finds himself gritting his teeth at the notion the guy might take his closeted fear out on Eddie.

“Oh?” Eddie’s voice is a pitch too high; he’s clearly aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “Um, who – who do you think it is?”

Richie closes his eyes so he won’t have to see Eddie’s reaction.

“Jamie Lewis.” The name makes bile threaten to make its way up his throat along with the sound. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone or out him or anything. But… but Eds. He’s not right for you. You can’t date him. You shouldn’t kiss him anymore. You should – you should kiss me. Because I love you. And I don’t know if I’m right for you, either, but I’d like to try. If – if you like me back, obviously. I mean, there’s a pretty big chance that you’re sane and don’t like me back. But, you know, you miss a hundred percent of the chances you don’t take, right? So here I am. Taking my chance. And it’ll probably blow up in my face, but… but yeah. If you want me to leave and never see you or talk to you again just flick me on the forehead and I’ll go. No words required. Um. I’m gonna… I’m gonna stop talking now. Yeah.”

Richie bites his bottom lip painfully, mostly to get his mouth to just quit jabbering. The silence in the air hangs heavily with each passing second and Richie doesn’t open his eyes, fully braced for a flick on the forehead as his ultimate rejection.

“You’re a fucking dumbass,” Eddie says instead. He sounds angry, but not in the way Richie was expecting. He doesn’t sound disgusted, he sounds – he sounds irritated. Richie opens his eyes to find Eddie staring at him, brows furrowed in agitation. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe my first kiss was with a fucking dumbass. I wasted that magical moment on a fucking dumbass like you. Jesus Christ.”

Richie stares at Eddie for another few seconds.

“Uh, Eds,” he starts tentatively. “Have you had a – a stroke, or something? We’ve never kissed.”

“I know you think that,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes. “But we have. You just don’t remember it. Because you’re an asshole. And a dumbass.”

“Yeah, Eds, you’ve fucking said, I got it.” Richie is more confused at this moment in time than he’s ever been before in his entire goddamn life. “But you’re wrong. I’d fucking remember kissing you. You don’t just… just forget something like that.”

“Yeah, well. That’s what I thought, too. Until you did.”

“Jesus Chris, Eds, help me out a little here! If we did kiss – if –  then when was it? Where was it? And how the fuck did I forget?”

Eddie shuffles a little, looking off to the side uncomfortably.

“You were drunk,” Eddie explains quietly, still not looking at Richie. “We both were. But you must’ve been more drunk than you seemed, I guess. It was – it was last New Year’s, at Mike’s. You dragged me outside to watch the fireworks when the ball dropped because none of the other Losers would go with you. And – and when it hit midnight, we heard everyone cheering inside, and you smiled at me. You smiled at me and you put your hand on my jaw and you – you kissed me.”

Richie can imagine it. Hearing it said, nothing comes back to him. No memories come flooding back, nothing hazy, nothing tinged with alcohol. He’s still just as blank as he was before. But he can imagine it.

He can imagine the goofy smile on his own face, the fond smile on Eddie’s. He can imagine his too cold hand on Eddie’s too cold face. He can imagine the look of shock on Eddie’s face as he lent down and pressed their lips together.

He wishes he could remember, but instead he imagines.

“I don’t remember,” Richie whispers. “I – I’m so fucking sorry, Eddie. I don’t remember.”

Eddie shrugs; sad, defeated. ”I didn’t think you would. I mean, if you didn’t remember the morning after, then the more time that passed, the less I held out hope that it’d come back to you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Eddie shrugs again, chewing his lip. He picks up a piece of paper from the floor – a page of his notes – and begins tearing the corner into tiny shreds.

“I figured if you were drunk enough to forget it, you were drunk enough to regret it if you ever found out. I mean, I’ve been in love with you for years and I was so, so happy when you kissed me. But I thought maybe you hadn’t really meant it. I thought maybe you did it as a joke, or something.”

“Eds,” Richie breathes, looking at him imploringly. “I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry that I forgot. I get now why Bill was mad at me. I’m mad at me. I can’t believe I don’t remember kissing you. I can’t believe I ruined your first fucking kiss.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Rich,” Eddie says, laughing a little. “It was a nice first kiss. Romantic, underneath the fireworks and everything. I mean, your technique was a little sloppy, but I’ve not got any frame of reference, so I didn’t judge you too harshly.”

Richie laughs too, ducking his head for a second before peering up at Eddie through his lashes.

“I can’t believe I’ve been jealous of my own fucking self this whole time.”

Eddie grins. “You were jealous? Of Jamie?”

Richie nods, grimacing slightly. “Yeah. That fucking asshole.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie laughs, rolling his eyes. “I have never nor will ever kiss Jamie Lewis. He’s straight.”

“You could turn any guy, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie admits earnestly, literally not joking one bit. “I mean, you turned me. I thought I was straight – for the most part, at least – until Stan told me that I’m in love with you today.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You had to be told you were you in love me? You couldn’t figure that out for yourself?”

“Apparently not, Spaghetti Man,” Richie confesses, offering him a what can you do kind of look. “If I’d have been able to do that, I woulda kissed you years before that stupid New Year’s I can’t fucking remember.”

“Hey!” Eddie reprimands, reaching out to smack Richie’s chest. “You can’t call it stupid. I had my first kiss that day with the boy I’ve been in love with since I was fourteen.”

Richie brings his wrist in front of his face and looks at his digital watch.

“Well, today is the second of February, so you can mark that in your calendar as the day you have your second kiss with the boy who has been unknowingly in love with you since he was fourteen.”

Eddie smirks, shuffling a little closer to Richie. Eventually he realises that with the way they’re both currently sitting – cross-legged – he’s not going to be able to actually get that close. So, he huffs and gets up onto his knees, manoeuvring Richie’s legs so they’re sticking out straight on the floor, and then he straddles Richie’s lap and takes a seat.

Richie is dizzily delighted by this turn of events and he clutches at Eddie’s waist like a lifeline, gazing up at him in awe.

“Is your technique any better when you’re sober?” Eddie asks.

“Only one way to find out, baby,” Richie answers, and Eddie giggles – fucking giggles – at the pet name. “I promise I won’t forget this one.”

“You better fucking not,” Eddie whispers, and he’s so close that Richie can feel the words against his mouth more than he can hear them. “Or I really will kiss Jamie Lewis.”

Richie shuts that notion down by pressing his lips firmly against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s mouth is warm and soft, insistent in its chasing of Richie’s. Eddie’s hands curl into Richie’s hair and he keeps lifting up on his knees slightly every couple of seconds. Soft, hitched breaths escape his mouth when Richie pulls away, even for a second, and when Richie pulls away a little longer to catch his own breath back, Eddie is smiling the brightest smile that Richie’s ever seen.

“Fuck knows how I ever forgot that, Eds,” Richie murmurs, raising one hand to stroke a thumb across Eddie’s reddened cheek. “But we’re gonna have to do it a few more times. Just to make it wholly unforgettable, y’know?”

“I can be down with that,” Eddie replies, pressing a chaste kiss to Richie’s lips. “Just lemme text Bill that we won’t make it tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Richie assures, rolling them over so that Eddie is pressed into the carpet, giggling loudly as he goes, with Richie in between his legs. “Stan and Bev knew what I came here to do. They’ll fill the others in, I’m sure. Now, where were we?”

Richie Tozier may be his own goddamn worst enemy, but sometimes… sometimes, it all works out for the best.