Chapter Text
Hard rapping on his window jolts Eddie awake at--he scowls. Who the fuck’s out and about at 7:27 am on a goddamn Saturday? Richie, that’s who. Who the fuck else? Eddie isn’t even surprised. Asshole in question grins at him through the glass.
“Eds, my boy! Up, up, up and at ‘em, daylight breaks and waits for no man!” Richie’s obnoxiously loud voice is somewhat muffled through the window.
“Richie,” Eddie groans, and grasps at his alarm clock. “It’s way too early for this shit. Go ‘way.”
“No can do, Spaghetti Man. Lemme in, it’s chilly. Also,” and Richie flashes him a sheepish smile, “I accidentally put too much weight on the gutter when climbing up and it broke, so I don’t have a foothold to get down.” He laughs at the look on Eddie’s face.
“Jesus, Rich,” Eddie rubs a hand over his eyes. He can already feel tension building up in his head, his neck. Not that it's necessarily Richie’s fault, not really, but this brand of early morning dicking around certainly isn’t helping his stress levels. “Alright, fine, I’m coming. Fuck, it’s cold,” he says, throwing the covers off and leaving his warm nest of a bed. Eddie continues to gripe as he walks to the window. “Can’t believe this shit, getting me out of bed at the asscrack of dawn for what?” He throws the window open and Richie’s gangly limbs tumble inside. “The fucking county fair? We’re not twelve anymore, fuck’s sake.”
Eddie doesn’t know why he drags this on. He knew Richie would come this early, he knew he’d eventually let him in. They pull this schtick every year, and one would think, seeing as they’re juniors in high school, they’d finally call it quits. But, no--Bill and Richie take the fair way too seriously.
“Eddie,” Richie bounds up from the floor and his grin is all teeth and way too cheery for the hour. “Put some clothes on, boy-o! Go on, hop to it! I don’t want Bill to leave without us. Also, you got any spare toothbrushes?” He laughs at the look on Eddie’s face. “What? I was rushing to get here, sue me!”
“That’s literally disgusting,” Eddie says, turning away from Richie and his gross-ass morning mouth to rummage in his closet. “Obviously we have a toothbrush for you. It’s in the--”
“Second drawer on the left, yeah, I remember,” Richie finishes for him, bounding out Eddie’s door to the bathroom.
“And keep your voice down! My mom’s still sleeping!”
“You’re the one yelling!” Richie calls back, and Eddie can just hear the amusement lacing his voice. Fucking trashmouth! He swears to God if Richie wakes up his mom…he’ll shove him out the window himself, gutter be damned. Serves the loudmouth right. His mom hates the fair, and Richie knows it. She’s always warning him that it’s too crowded, too dangerous, oh, Eddie-bear, you know those awful rides will just give you a headache!
It doesn’t help that she hates his friends, too. He’s had to hear her lectures on Richard and that Marsh girl too many times to count. It’s annoying as fuck! Like he and his mom haven’t been having the same shitty arguments about Eddie’s friends since third grade. Eddie doesn’t know when his mom’s gonna finally accept the Loser’s Club, but he hopes to high heaven it’s sometime fucking soon because he’s still subjected to the third degree anytime he wants to go out.
Which is exactly why Richie should keep his fucking voice down!! Eddie doesn’t want to deal with her nosy, prying questions at this hour. Especially because his mom’s always in an awful mood if she wakes up before her alarm.
“Doesn’t that sound familiar,” is all Richie has to say when Eddie marches over to the bathroom and relates this all back to him as he spits foam into the sink. He bumps Eddie with his hip. “Like mother like son.” As if Eddie didn’t get that the first time.
“Oh, shut up,” Eddie says. “Hurry and rinse, would you? I’m hungry.”
Richie closes his eyes, smiling dreamily at the ceiling. “You think Mrs. D made waffles?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. It’s been five years of the same shit, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Can’t buck tradition!” Richie leans on Eddie’s shoulders, his bony as fuck elbow digging into Eddie’s neck. “Whaddya say, Eds, care to start on year six?”
“The only thing I ‘care’ about is to make it through today successfully without killing you,” Eddie grits out, shoving Richie’s arm off. “Or myself.”
“Nice to know at least ya think about me, Eds,” Richie says, and he smiles at Eddie--actually smiles--with no hint of a tease whatsoever. It’s just a nice, normal, state-of-the-art Richie Tozier smile, like he’s not even kidding or anything. Eddie feels his hackles rise regardless.
He snaps his mouth shut and turns to pad back into his room to escape the moment, but Richie follows anyways. Eddie knew he would. He pulls out his clothes and makes Richie face the door while he changes.
“C’mon Eds, what is this? Fifth grade?” but oddly, Richie doesn’t fight it as much as Eddie expected, spinning on his heels and shucking his hands in his pockets. Usually it’s all, Ooh, Eds, what’re ya hidin’? Don’t be shy, baby, take it all off! Yahoo!! It’s all sorts of mortifying, especially when other people are around and they all start smiling like there’s some inside joke Eddie’s not a part of. He’s started to feel like that a lot, recently, around the other Losers. He yanks the shirt he put out for today off its hanger with mild irritation.
Like, when he yells at Richie for the latest inane thing he’s pulled Eddie will catch Bev and Mike trading glances and grinning. Or, or, one time Richie doodled “R.T. + E.K. = <3 4evr” all over his chemistry notes, and Eddie lectured him for a solid twelve minutes before Stan--fucking Uris--reminded him that he could just erase it. Eddie spluttered and faltered and snapped his mouth shut at the expression gracing not only Stan’s, but (to his horror) Bill and Richie’s faces too. And--arguably the most embarrassing of recent events--last week, Richie pressed a disgustingly sticky kiss to Eddie’s cheek after eating a popsicle and Eddie, Lord help him, didn’t even say anything. He was probably in shock, he doesn’t know, but Ben must’ve interpreted his silence as something more because he waggled his eyebrows at Eddie over the table and Eddie’s face just about burst into flames, it got so red.
Whatever the hell Ben’s implying...it doesn’t matter. He digs around to find bottoms that match his shirt. Eddie’s dealt with the strange dynamic between him and Richie for years now by aggressively clamping down any feelings that even begin to toe the line of fond. The idea that Richie might...that he could...it’ll never happen. Literally. It couldn’t. Eddie’s pretty sure Richie’s first word was “boobs.”
But it doesn’t fucking help, Eddie thinks furiously as he shoves his legs into his shorts, that half the shit out of Richie’s mouth is how cute Eddie looks, what a catch he is, how much Richie loves him. It’s all some big fucking joke that Eddie’s the butt of, and he’s sick of it! Richie needs to cut that shit out real quick. Someone’s gonna overhear and then they’ll really be in some deep shit. God forbid his mom catches wind of this bull.
He can totally see her storming in, brandishing her rosary and Bible like weapons and screeching about “God’s plan” for him. Like his mom gives a flying fuck about what God thinks. He’s pretty sure the last time they went to church she was still stuffing him full with gazebos. Still, she’d take allegations against Eddie’s sexuality pretty seriously, and next thing you know he’s got a one way ticket to conversion camp.
God dammit, Richie really can’t keep his mouth shut! And now Eddie’s all worked up from some hypothetical scenario, because the real Richie is actually quite nicely not making a peep as he stares at Eddie’s bedroom door.
“You can turn around now,” Eddie says gruffly.
Richie spins back, and his eyebrows rise when he catches sight of Eddie’s clothes.
“...What,” Eddie asks, preparing himself for whatever crack Richie's about to make against his outfit.
It doesn’t come. “Is that...my old Van Halen shirt?” he asks, blinking as he eyes Eddie up and down.
Eddie is suddenly, stupidly embarrassed. “Yeah, so? You never came back ‘round for it, and it’s comfy, so…”
Richie blinks again, and a slow smile stretches across his face. He bobs his head appreciatively. “I...it’s a nice look on you, Kaspbrack. I like it.” There are two light spots of pink on his cheeks which Eddie tries to ignore.
“It’s just ‘cuz the fair’s always so dirty,” he begins, feeling a panicked need to justify himself. “And the shirt doesn’t even fit you anymore, anyway. And I’d look like a loser if I went in a polo--”
“Jeez, Eddie, chill out,” Richie laughs, and there’s that goddamn smile again. “I just said it was fine. It looks good. You look good.”
A beat of silence stretches between them, and between Richie’s words and his fucking face, gazing at him in the early light--Eddie’s face heats up, and his defenses rise once more.
“Whatever, Tozier.” It’s lame, but all he can manage because Richie still has that soft look plastered on. He’s probably just taking the piss out of him, anyway.
“Ooh, last names! Am I in the doghouse?” Just like that, moment broken. Assuming, Eddie corrects himself, there even was a moment. Or anything remotely sentimental. Whatever it was, it dies instantly as Richie flops dramatically back onto the bed, hand resting against his forehead and a pout on his face. “My heart is too weak to handle our little lover’s spat. Eddie, my darling, come back to me!” He makes grabby-hands at Eddie, mouth puckered.
Eddie rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to breathe steady, and hide his blush. He exhales, and all the while Richie blows him kisses from the bed. “I’m not awake enough for this shit,” he mumbles. Richie laughs.
--
Eddie gazes at the mountain of food before him, mouth watering. Waffles, eggs, a pitcher of juice and a whole pile of bacon--Mrs. Denbrough is a godsend.
Mike whistles through his teeth. “Seriously, Mrs. D--this is too much.”
“Oh, hush,” says Bill’s mom, and she pats Mike on the cheek fondly. “It was no trouble at all! I like feeding all my little ducks.” She ruffles Bev’s hair, and Bev laughs.
“Mom,” Bill groans, embarrassed. “Don’t cuh-call them that.”
“Don’t listen to Bill, Mrs. D,” Richie cuts in, clapping him on the back. “He’s just grumpy because he has to drive this year.”
“Parking’s expensive!”
“Stan’ll cover it, won’t ya, Stan the Man?”
“We’re all splitting it, motormouth,” Stan grumbles, and he swivels in his chair to face Bill’s mom. “Thanks again, Mrs. Denbrough. It’s really sweet of you to send us off like this every year.” The rest of them chorus their thank you’s as well, taking their place around the island in Bill’s kitchen. Before she can respond, there’s a rumbling overhead that Eddie identifies as feet thundering down the stairs.
“Mom!” screeches a little voice, and Georgie skids into the room on his socks. “Mom, look! See, see, I woke up early! Bill and his friends are still here!”
“Hi Georgie,” Stan greets, spreading butter on his waffle and smiling.
“Heya, Stanny,” Georgie begins, spinning to face him. “Do you think this year I could--”
“No,” says Bill abruptly, and Georgie scowls.
“You didn’t even let me ask!”
“Yeah, Bill, let the kid speak.” Ben says, laughing a little bit.
“W-we all know what he’s go-going to say, anyway,” Bill defends, but he and Stan are grinning at each other. Eddie laughs too, because he knows what’s coming. Georgie is, apparently, always one for routine.
Mrs. Denbrough sighs from her spot at the kitchen sink. “Georgie, honey, we talked about this. Maybe next year I can take you with your friends, but I don’t think you can tag along with these guys, okay?”
“But Mo-om,” Georgie whines, pout on his face. “You said that every year! And I’m ten now! Double-digits!”
“Double-digits,” Bev says, sounding impressed. “You’re getting pretty old, Georgie.”
“I know,” Georgie says, giving Bev a ‘can-you-believe-this’ look. “That’s why it’s not fair that you guys get to go every year without me.”
“Not fair? Are you even tall enough to ride the rides, Georgie-Porgie?” Eddie teases.
“Are you?” Richie shoots back from across the table, and even Mrs. Denbrough laughs.
“He’s definitely not,” Bill says, and hooks an arm around Georgie’s head. “C’mon, kiddo, g-give it up. I’m not t-taking you.” He rubs his knuckles against Georgie’s hair, and the kid squeals.
“Mike wants me to come, doesn’t he?” Georgie tries, wriggling out of Bill’s grasp and padding over to where Mike stands next to Eddie. “And Ben’s the nicest--he won’t say no.”
“Why, George Denbrough,” Mike says, placing a hand over his heart. “I had no idea you were such a little devil.”
“I’m not!” Georgie laughs, and he hangs off Mike’s arm. “I wanna go with you guys! I wanna eat funnel cake and hot dogs...and, um, go in the haunted house…”
“You’re much too young to be doing those things alone right now, Georgie,” Mrs. Denbrough says, shaking her head. “I can’t let you go off without adult supervision.” Georgie turns big puppy-dog eyes on the rest of the Losers, and Eddie has to clamp his mouth shut from joining Georgie’s side and whining at Bill and his mom.
Ben smiles sadly down at him, apparently immune. “Maybe next year, Georgie.”
“Yeah, sweetpea, you know it’s not up to us,” Richie says, looking sad, and Eddie’s heart lurches annoyingly at the pet name. It’s absurdly adorable for some reason, coming out of Richie’s mouth.
Georgie’s entire face deflates at the rejection, and Eddie can physically see the fight go out of him. He feels a bit like pouting, himself, looking at the expression on Georgie’s face.
“You guys are so mean,” he grumbles, head hanging low, but in the next moment he’s shrieking with laughter because Bev caught him by his waist and danced her fingers up his ribcage.
“Alright, Georgie,” Mrs. Denbrough says, after the ensuing mini tickle-fight dies down. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for the day, hm? I’ll call Timmy’s mom and see if you two can have a playdate today.”
“YES!” Georgie shouts, the fair evidently forgotten as he pushes through Ben and Richie and sprints up the stairs.
Bill shakes his head at his mother. “I swear, every ye-year he gets worse and worse.”
“Oh, hush, Bill,” his mother chides. “He’s almost the age you were when you started going to the fair. Honestly,” she grumbles to herself, padding into the adjoining living room to use the phone, “I don’t know what I was thinking when you boys were eleven, sending you off the whole day without supervision all those years ago...”
“She was thinking we had a lot more sense than Georgie does,” Richie says to the rest of them, tapping his head. “Y’know--street smarts.”
Stan barks out a laugh. “No, we didn’t,” he says, spooning eggs into his mouth. “We just had strength in numbers to annoy everyone into letting us go.”
Bev leans onto the counter. “What did you guys even do?” she says, interested. “I can’t even remember what you were like at that age.”
“Oh, mostly nothing,” Stan answers for all of them. “Just messed around until someone picked us up. We were all shitheads--sorry, Mrs. D,” he says sheepishly when her head pokes into the doorway, frowning. Ben shakes his head disapprovingly at him when she returns to her call.
Eddie snorts. “Stan’s right. We’d just buy a lot of cotton candy and then ride the Frisbee until someone puked.”
“Someone,” Richie scoffs, making finger quotes. “Eds, that was always you.”
“Doesn’t really sound any different from what we do now,” Mike comments, side-eyeing him, and Eddie half-heartedly punches him in the shoulder, biting his cheek to keep from smiling too wide.
“Buzz off, Hanlon.”
Mrs. Denbrough comes in a while later, while they’re finishing up breakfast. “So, Georgie will be off to play with little Timmy Clark from down the street for the day, hopefully that will distract him a bit. Honestly, Bill,” she says, looking to her oldest as she runs the tap, “it doesn’t quite matter now, I suppose, but it is a bit of a hassle working around Georgie’s moods every year. Why is it an issue to bring him with you to the fair? I’m a little surprised, since you two usually get along so well.”
“Bill doesn't want Georgie to come because he wants to hit on chicks,” Richie announces.
“He’s k-kidding, Mom,” Bill says quickly, but when her back is turned he and Richie wiggle their fingers at each other. Eddie rolls his eyes.
Ben seems to share his sentiment. “Please,” he scoffs, pouring syrup on the last bit of his waffle. “When was the last time you two even held eye contact with a girl who isn't Bev?”
“I think I saw Bill stay after class and ask Mrs. Donnelly a question once,” Mike offers, and Eddie and Bev laugh.
“Shut it,” Bill says, flushing under the look his mom is giving him. “They’re ju-just messing around, Mom. Here, we can do the plates, you already m-made breakfast.”
His words jump-start the rest of them into action as Mrs. Denbrough goes upstairs to get ready for the day, clearing up glasses and silverware, scarfing down the last of the food like they’re not going to immediately march over to the funnel cake stand the moment they set foot onto the fairground. It doesn’t take too long to get the Denbrough kitchen back into working order, with seven of them working hard--although it’s definitely more like six, with how slowly Bill and Richie wipe down the table. Their work ethic probably combines to be equivalent of one person. Bill can get away with being lazy with clean-up since it’s his house, Eddie supposes, but Richie’s just an ass. He snaps him with the dish towel as he passes.
“Yow!” Richie yelps, like a goddamn cartoon. He rubs his lower back--okay, so what, Eddie hit him in the ass, it’s not like he can control where exactly the towel would end up--and grins at him. “Kinky, Eds. Didn’t know you were into that.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Eddie says, heating up when Stan snorts. “Just hurry, ‘cuz I wanna leave.”
“Whatever you wish, my love,” Richie says, but surprisingly, he kicks it into high-gear and wipes down the counter in half the time it took to clean the table.
“Get you a man as whipped as Rich,” Bev jokes to Ben, and Richie flips her off.
It’s approaching eleven in the morning when they finally get their shit in order enough to cram themselves into Bill’s van. It’s a seven seater, passed onto Bill last summer when Mr. Denbrough finally bought a new car after almost fifteen years. It’s a dark forest green, and the doors don’t lock correctly unless they’re properly slammed, and it smells musty as fuck no matter how many air fresheners Bill hangs from the mirror. Eddie hates it.
Well, that’s a lie. He doesn’t hate it completely, but only because it’s his primary mode of transportation until he gets a car of his own (which, knowing Sonia, isn’t happening anytime soon). He actually doesn’t mind sitting up front with Bill to and from school, feeling almost cool as they blast music, but when someone has the bright idea to cram them all inside the van is literal hell for Eddie. He can’t help but scowl as he stuffs himself into his seat.
For some reason, there’s an awful, pre-set seating arrangement which has Richie, Eddie, and Bev stuffed in the back bench. Richie always has to sit in the middle because his legs don’t fit behind Ben and Mike’s seats. The argument is that Eddie and Bev are the smallest, and therefore the only ones who can somewhat fit in the back--which is total bullshit. It’s a fucking German-made minivan. This shit was built big for a reason. Stan’s much smaller than Richie but claimed shotgun once and hasn’t budged. Eddie always tries to fight for a different spot but is always shot down.
To be honest, he doesn’t mind the fact that the seat is in the back, not really...it’s just, Richie always spreads out and jams himself all up on Eddie’s side, arms and legs pressed together almost forcefully. It’s probably just circumstantial. Most likely, he’s doing the same to Bev on the other side, but she never seems as squished as Eddie feels. Even right now, Richie’s leaning heavily onto him. His whole body is tilted sideways, all his weight bearing down...actually, he’s really forcing Eddie close to the window. What the hell...Eddie cranes his neck and catches sight of Bev, comfortably settled in her seat and an actual, visible gap between her and Richie.
“Richie!” Eddie hisses, not wanting to cut off Ben in the middle of his conversation with Mike and Bev. “What the fuck are you doing? Get off me!”
“Hm?” Richie hums, feigning ignorance. “What ever do you mean?” His head flops sideways on top of Eddie’s and he laughs.
“Oh my God, Richie,” Eddie whines, shoving at Richie’s side. “Do you have to irritate me every second of every goddamn day?”
“Yes.”
“Rich! Ugh, I just--” Eddie turns slightly in his seat, ready to tell Richie off, but Richie has apparently turned to jello and adjusts to drape himself all over Eddie’s front. “Quit messing around! We’re in the fucking car.”
“I’m so tired, Eds, c’mon, lemme rest up before the fair.” Eddie opens his mouth to fire off a retort but can’t find the right words when Richie drops his head onto his shoulder, complete with fake snoring.
Bev laughs and Eddie shoots her a look. “Don’t encourage him,” he says over Richie’s shoulder.
Bev smiles at him. “I don’t think he needs much more...encouragement.” Eddie flushes at her tone, but surprisingly, Richie pulls back immediately, facing Bev.
“Bev, shut up,” he says, settling into his seat normally. “Jesus, can’t even have a bit of fun back here.”
“I’m sure you guys could have a lot of fun if you tried,” Bev says and Richie pinches her arm, twisting until she squawks and slaps at him. Eddie groans, facing away from their antics.
“It’s only funny when I say that shit,” Richie is saying, and Bev’s responding laughter is muffled. He probably has her in a headlock. Eddie sighs. Bev and Richie can be really fucking rowdy when they want to be but why they chose to rile each other up in the back bench of Bill’s car is beyond his understanding.
--
They make it to the fair in one piece, which is surprising considering Richie and Bev kept pinching and hitting each other with enough force to jostle Mike. They kept at it until he turned around and smacked Richie hard on the arm, which only led to a mini-war in the backseat. Eddie didn’t want to yell, he really didn’t, but Richie’s stupid fucking arm knocked his head into the window in the ensuing battle and it really hurt so of course he had to join in. It was total chaos until Stan roared at all of them to shut up so “Bill can drive in peace and Ben can have a normal fucking car ride for once, thanks.”
They all split parking as promised, even Richie, grumbling for show when he passed up wadded-up bills from his pocket.
“Well, what do you guys want to do first?” Ben claps his hands together, smiling at all of them like a proud dad when they finally make it to the entrance to the fair. What he has to be proud of, Eddie has no idea. Not even ten minutes ago Stan was threatening to chop off Richie’s hair and feed it to Bev.
“I think we should split up,” says Stan. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting Mike and Bev force me into that stupid fucking house of mirrors bullshit again.”
Bev cackles. “C’mon, Stan! That’s like, tradition. You have to come!”
“No way!” Stan shakes his head vigorously, but he’s grinning. “You guys know how badly that fucks with my head.”
“That’s the best part though,” Mike argues. “Watching you slam into every possible glass wall.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Eds’n I are gonna head to the midway games,” Richie announces, grabbing Eddie’s wrist.
“When did I agree to that?” Eddie asks, but he lets Richie’s hand stay. If he tugs out of his hold, Richie’ll put up a fuss which will only draw attention to their position and Bill will smile in that all-knowing way that makes Eddie heat up like he’s suddenly wearing five extra layers. “I want to hang out with Bill and Ben.”
“Oh!” Bill says, looking surprised. “Uh, y-yeah. Sure.”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “What,” he asks, quirking a brow. “Do you have other plans, or something?”
“No, I just...I wuh-was thinking I’d jus-st sort of wander a-around, you know...s-see the si-ights. Take it s-slow,” Bill says, ruffling his hair and avoiding everyone’s eyes.
“You’re so fucking weird,” Stan says, giving Bill an odd look. “‘See the sights’? What sights? It’s the same damn fair each year.” Bill shrugs at him, grinning a little helplessly, and Stan’s eyebrows raise.
“I think that’s Bill-code for...um, talking to girls,” Ben says softly, blushing a bit like he’s the one who should be embarrassed and not Bill, who apparently only showed up to chat up whatever poor girls happens to give him the time of day. Eddie looks at Bill, shocked when he nods at Ben’s statement, face caught between an awkward grimace and amusement. He makes eye contact with Eddie and breaks out into laughter at his expression.
“Ugh, gross, Bill,” Bev says, wrinkling her nose. “Could you have phrased that like...any less creepy?”
“I d-didn’t know wuh-what to say!” Bill protests, but he and Richie are still laughing like the gigantic tools they are. Eddie rolls his eyes at Mike. “I couldn’t juh-just be l-like, ‘see ya, guys, I heard Olivia J-jennings from APUSH was g-guh-gonna show up today t-too.’”
“You’re the worst,” Eddie says, and leans up to flicks Bill’s forehead. “Like, my god, Bill. Have a day off.” Bill only grins down at him, unashamed and smiling big, tall and sturdy and so, so handsome. Eddie can admit it. He’s not fucking blind.
Bill’s always been cute, they all know it, and as high school wore on, everyone else in their bumfuck high school got their heads out of their asses and realized it too. Confidence looks unfairly good on Bill, but even with the influx of attention that only seems to increase with every month, he’s still Big Bill at heart. The steadfast leader of their group; headstrong and loyal to a fault, always ready to lend an ear to a friend, a quality of his Eddie has taken advantage of multiple times throughout the years of their friendship. He used to have a bit of hero-worship for Bill, when they were kids--to tiny Eddie, Bill had not only hung the moon, but carefully placed every star in the clear skies of Derry. Eddie looks at him joking around with the other Losers, his entire face crinkled up in happiness and thinks maybe the hero-worship probably hasn’t completely faded. So fucking what. It would be a crime to not put Bill on some sort of pedestal, anyway.
“Alrighty then,” Richie calms himself down enough to smile at them all. “So Billiam’s off to sweep blushing young maidens faire off their little feet while you guys are gonna try to actively kill Stan, which, I must say, I support one-hundred percent, give a shout if you need a hand--”
“Shut the fuck up, Richie,” Stan grumbles.
“And I’m off with Thelma and Louise to throw my money at the same stack of bottles I’ve been knocking down since before I had braces.” Richie grins, obviously pleased at his little speech, so Eddie flips him off in an attempt to keep him somewhat humble. Richie thinks he’s so clever.
“Thelma and Louise?” Ben says, rubbing his chin. “That’s...a really weird comparison to make, Richie.”
Richie shrugs at him, and then slings an arm over both Eddie and Ben’s shoulders, reaching around to chuck both of them under the chin. “Never actually seen it, Haystack. Let’s get a move on!”
Richie ends up making a spectacular fool of himself at the midway games, carrying out increasingly elaborate schemes to trick both the workers and the game to win ridiculously useless prizes. Eddie’s laughing so hard he doesn’t even mind when they get yelled at for holding up lines and for their destructive behavior. Even Ben, golden-boy Ben, can’t seem to bring himself to give a shit, wiping his eyes and face red with laughter. He even volunteers to distract one of the booths long enough for Richie to hastily hoist Eddie up long enough for him to grab a shitty water gun that, in Richie’s words, “was rightfully theirs, after the way we totally destroyed those fucking balloons, did you see how many were left?”
The water gun ends up being a bad idea because Richie keeps waving the damn thing around, shooting anyone and everyone who is unfortunate enough to walk by within range. Lucky for him, it’s hot enough outside that most people just laugh in good humor, grateful for a small respite. However, “most people” doesn’t include Eddie, who yanks the damned thing out of Richie’s hand after Richie shoots water directly into his ear for the upteenth time.
“God’s sake, Rich! Give it a rest! You’re annoying Ben.”
“Is he?” Ben says from Richie’s other side. “My ears are perfectly dry, so I’m fine. Carry on, Richie.”
Eddie gapes at the betrayal, shaking his head when Richie reaches out for the toy. “Nuh-uh. No way!” He dances out of the way, dodging Richie’s advances.
“You heard Hanscom. Cough it up, Eds,” Richie grins, darting out to snatch it back, but Eddie’s quick to hide it behind himself.
Eddie can feel his stern facade crack into a smile as Richie leans into him, making to grab the gun out from where its pressed against his back. He lets his hands rest on Eddie’s, clasping his elbows in a half-assed attempt to twist Eddie’s arms out of their locked position. It’s obvious Richie’s not really trying at all, and they’re both laughing, and when Eddie looks up, Richie’s stupid hair is flopping into his face and escaping from behind his ears.
“C’mon, Eddie, baby,” Richie cajoles, obviously joking, but the word baby jolts Eddie and suddenly Richie’s too close to his face. He abruptly shoves him backward with an embarrassed cough and tosses the water gun to an amused Ben.
“Ben is the most responsible,” he mutters, avoiding looking at Richie directly. Slowly, his hands let go of Eddie’s arms, his fingers trailing down Eddie’s forearm lightly before stepping away. Not that he particularly cares. He just happened to notice the gesture, is all. “You can have it back when we go home.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Richie teases, breaking the awkward atmosphere, and they continue walking. He pretends to think for a minute. “Or would you prefer ‘daddy’? I know what you get up to at night, Kinky Kaspbrack.”
Eddie growls, clapping a hand over his eyes. Richie is literally such a fucking dumbass. “Ugh! You are so gross, you know that?”
“That was kind of funny,” Ben admits, and holds his hands up in defense when Eddie glowers at him. “Not the--uh, Kinky Kaspbrack stuff, though.”
“‘Kind of’?” Richie repeats, ruffling Ben’s hair. “You really know how to charm em, Benny boy.”
Ben checks his watch. “I think Bev wanted us all to regroup near the food stands in a few, so if you guys are done here…”
Eddie starts to say that he’s ready to go as well but Richie cuts him off with a yell, pointing. “No, wait, guys! I have to do the ring toss, seriously, it’s like practically tradition.”
“Sure thing, Richie,” Ben says easily, and Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding.
“Go get em, I guess.”
“Excellent! Love the support!” Richie swivels so he’s walking backwards, facing Ben and Eddie as they make their way to the last booth. “By the way, this is the pièce de résistance, before we meet up with everyone again. Eddie-bear,” he winks, “this one’s for you.”
“Richie! Quit fucking calling me that!” Eddie huffs, trying to mask his blush with anger, but Richie’s already striding up to the counter and sliding two tickets over. Ben nudges him, smiling so wide Eddie would think it was Ben Richie was teasing, not himself.
“Watch carefully, boys,” Richie says when they join him. He shoots a bright smile at Eddie before windmilling his arms and letting the little rubber ring fly in a high arc before it gracefully loops around a peg. He beams at them, proud.
“Nice, Richie,” Ben says, but Eddie scoffs.
“What kind of technique was that, anyway?” he says.
“I’d like to see you do better,” Richie counters as he concentrates on his next toss, rocking on his heels and winding his arm back. “It works, doesn’t it?” He lets loose again, and Eddie’s surprised when ring number two is successful as well. He doesn’t join in when Ben claps, though. Like Richie needs any more blind support of his antics.
“Alright, high stakes,” Richie says, making the sign of the cross over the final ring. “Don’t let me down, now.” Eddie is startled when he shoves the stupid thing in his face. “Kiss it.”
Eddie splutters. “What? Why the fuck would I do that?”
“For good luck, honey-bear. Isn’t that a thing? The pretty girl kisses dice, or whatever? Back me up, Benny.”
“I think so?” Ben tries, squinting at the sky like the clouds will give him answers.
“I’m not putting my lips on that dirty thing,” Eddie snaps, hands on his hips. “And--by the way--emphasis on girl, Richie. That superstition shit doesn’t work if you half-ass it.”
Richie grins at him. “Nah, emphasis on pretty. C’mon, all that fluffy hair and those big eyes? My heart, she’s a-stolen.” He leans over and pinches Eddie’s cheek, laughing when Eddie yanks himself backward. “Do it for me, Eddie-boo.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fine!” Eddie grumbles, face red as he reaches out and snatches the stupid ring out of Richie’s hand. He kisses the offending item hurriedly, shoving it back. “I only did that to shut you up, by the way. Lord knows you would’ve kept whining for hours.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Richie says, and claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, right near his neck. His fingers are hot on his skin, burning, almost. “Thanks, Eddie.” He squeezes once and releases him, rotating his entire arm and shoulder in an over-the-top display before letting go. Ben and Eddie watch silently as the ring travels through the air, almost suspended at the height of its arc, before, once again, hitting home.
“Yeehaw!!” Richie cheers, grabbing Ben’s hands and doing a little dance. Eddie shakes his head, but he’s smiling.
“Alright, fine,” he says, crossing his arms when Richie pauses with Ben still in his grasp. “That was kind of cool. I said kind of!” He hastily adds when Richie drops Ben’s hands and advances towards him.
“Always so hot and cold, huh, Spaghetti Head,” Richie says, flicking Eddie in the ear as he reaches over the counter to claim his prize. Eddie claps a hand over his ear and frowns at what Richie’s holding. It’s a small stuffed dog, a little heard clutched between its paws. Privately, Eddie thinks it’s cute. He’s surprised Richie picked it out.
“I thought you’d go for the lightsaber,” Ben comments, voicing Eddie’s thoughts.
“Under normal circumstances, sure, but what’s my little good luck charm gonna do with a lightsaber?” Richie says, and he turns around and hands the fucking stuffed animal to Eddie. “For you, sweetcheeks.”
“What?” Eddie says, and immediately scowls. “I don’t want that stupid fucking thing. Give it to Ben.”
“I would, but Ben’s taken, and I don’t want to be the one to send Bev on a warpath.” Richie slings his arm over Eddie’s shoulder and leans in to shake the dog vigorously in Eddie’s face. It’s a lame excuse, and everyone knows it. “C’mon, Eds. I won it for you.”
Eddie doesn’t want to be charmed. He doesn’t. He pushes Richie off and glares at him. Richie is so full of shit. This is just some stupid fucking joke, like Eddie’s some dumbass placeholder for a girl that Richie can just win over--snap--like that, with minimal effort. Why Richie doesn’t bring an actual girl that he can show off in front of is a mystery. He just pulls this shit for practice so that when the time comes he doesn’t look like an idiot, Eddie knows it, but Earth to Richie--it’s completely emasculating! And fucking rude. Because Eddie’s not a girl. They’re both boys. So Richie can just shove off.
Except Richie’s not really mean-spirited at all, and for some reason he seems pretty fucking genuine, if the wavering confidence on his face is anything to go by as he stands silently in front of Eddie, arm outstretched and the damn puppy still clutched in his hand.
Eddie scowls harder, and snatches it from Richie. “Whatever--quit giving me that look, I’ll take it, alright? Jesus,” he gripes, petting the dog’s ears to avoid the face Ben is certainly making at him. “Now shut up about it so we can meet everyone else.”
“Aw, I knew you’d love it, Eds!” Richie says, and he’s back in Eddie’s space, tugging him close with one arm. Eddie lets it happen. “Whatcha gonna do with him?”
“First of all, it’s a girl dog, okay? So get that right. And I don’t know,” Eddie sighs, and he bumps Richie playfully. “Put her on my window, I guess, like a guard dog. Have her chase away all intruders.”
Richie clutches a hand to his chest in a mockery of heartbreak. “Eddie! You love my nightly visits.”
“I love uninterrupted sleep more.”
“Hey, at least he didn’t deny that there’s a part of him that loves it, though,” Ben elbows Richie, and he spins to face him, grinning big.
“Up top, Haystack! You got a point--there’s still a chance, bro!” He and Ben slap hands, laughing like douches. Eddie groans and hides his scream into the dog’s fur.
--
When they meet up with the others, it’s just Stan, Bev, and Mike hanging out behind the burger stand, and they join in the conversation easily. While Ben recounts their midway adventures and Richie disappears to grab food, Eddie glances to where Bill’s a few yards away at a different trailer, chatting up the funnel cake girl.
They look like the picture of quintessential Maine. Bill’s pretty good-looking, in that all-American way, with his easy smile and blue eyes. He looks like he should be homecoming king, football captain--except Bill is probably the least active person Eddie knows. He’s seen him spend an entire weekend playing Sega and gorging on junk food on this disgusting couch he and Mike dragged into the Denbrough’s garage. Eddie doubts Bill even knows what their school mascot is. Stan went on a lecture about how DHS’s school spirit is actually a gateway for the toxic enforcing of gender roles at a pep rally once, and Bill nodded and listened like he actually gave a shit.
The girl’s pretty, with dark hair--but not as pretty as Bev, of course. Eddie doesn't think anyone can even come close to Bev’s beauty. He’s probably a little bit biased, but--it's Bev. Who wouldn't be? Why the hell she's still rolling around with the rest of them is a complete mystery.
Well, alright. Mike’s pretty cool, and Ben’s kinda handsome, too, especially now that he’s all bearded up. Richie just has really lame scruff that itches if you get too close. Eddie bets it would itch if Richie nuzzled into him, and then backtracks. Why’s he suddenly comparing Richie to Ben, anyway? He doesn’t even notice he’s still zoning out until a voice cuts in. Speak of the devil...
“Why th’fuck’re ya droolin’ over Bev?” Richie asks through a mouthful of food. He’s got popcorn in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. He shoves the pizza back into his mouth, fingers twisted around the crust because Richie’s the kind of maniac that eats pizza folded in half.
“I’m not drooling, moron,” Eddie snaps, and steals a handful of popcorn. “I thought you weren’t supposed to eat this shit with that metalmouth of yours.”
“I’ve mastered the art of consuming those pesky little kernels with minimal trouble,” Richie boasts, and dumps more into his mouth. “The trick is a lot more inhaling, a lot less chewing. Besides, who gives a shit what ol’ Went says? These pearls are past saving, anyway. His words, not mine.” He quirks his mouth up in an effort to seem uncaring, but Eddie’s not an idiot.
He frowns. “Rich, shut up. Your teeth are fine. Your dad’s just a dick.”
Richie sighs. “Is he, though? I’ve had these damn things on for forever, and I’m not getting them off anytime soon. I’ll probably die with this fucking overbite, dude.” He laughs like it’s some joke and suddenly Eddie’s pissed. Richie’s teeth are an endless source of insecurity for him, and it really gets on Eddie’s nerves when his dad talks about them like they somehow makes Richie less of a person.
“So fucking what?” Eddie barks, facing Richie. “Your dad doesn’t know shit, alright? You could have the straightest, whitest teeth in the world and he’d still say some bullshit about them. Besides, they don’t even look bad or anything. You wouldn’t be Richie without them and even if you hate your teeth, I don’t. So how about you shut up ‘cuz you know what? It’s actually insulting that you think they’re so ugly because I think they look great. Are you insulting my taste, Rich, huh? Huh? You think I have no sense of what looks good, is that it?”
During his rant, a smile had slowly worked its way across Richie’s face, and he stands there beaming like Eddie’s words are the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. “You like my teeth?”
Eddie can’t help it--he blushes. “Yeah,” he says, jutting his chin out. “What of it?”
Richie just smiles at him--that rare smile again, sweet and so purely genuine, like this morning in his room. Eddie doesn’t return the expression, but he doesn’t glare back, either. For some ridiculous fucking reason he’s caught staring--which is like, who gives a shit? Why should he? Richie is genuine all the fucking time. About shit like weed and video games and making Eddie’s life hell. Him smiling like that doesn't mean...anything. Eddie scowls to himself. Even in his own goddamn mind Richie annoys him.
“Thanks, Eds,” Richie says, but his voice is too soft for Eddie to handle, so just he nods awkwardly and brushes past to go stand next to Bev. Richie lets him, and after he settles against the wall of the trailer she’s leaning against he watches as Richie takes off to bother Stan where he stands with Mike and Ben for a lick of his ice cream.
Richie’s such an enigma, seriously. What’s the deal with all this...this...flirting nonsense? Because that’s definitely what it is, right? Why can’t he be normal and talk to girls, instead? Why is it always Eddie Richie insists on making fun of? And why does he give this much of a shit? He watches Richie laugh with his head thrown back as Ben’s ice cream falls and splatters over Mike’s shoes. Eddie knows if he pursues these thoughts he’ll voice certain...things he’s not entirely comfortable or ready to bring to light, but Richie makes it really fucking difficult sometimes, with his floppy hair and his height and those stupid, secret smiles he seems to pull out just in front of Eddie. Fucking hell...if Richie...if he could just...
Eddie jolts when Bev knocks her shoulder into his, smirking, and he quickly schools his face from whatever dumbass expression he’s sure to be wearing into something more neutral.
“What,” he grouches, when her face doesn’t waver.
“Oh, nothing...it’s just, Ben told me a-a-all about Richie’s little gesture of love at the ring toss,” she sing-songs, smug expression still plastered all over.
“Oh my god,” Eddie moans, shifting his fanny pack to the side so Bev won’t catch sight of it’s lumpy exterior and deduce that he’s stored the dog in there. “He’s just being Richie, okay? So whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”
“He won a stuffed puppy for you, Eddie. That’s pretty big.”
“Are you just jealous cuz Ben kept all his prizes for himself?” Eddie asks, to divert the attention away.
“I’ve already wooed Ben, we don’t need those grand gestures to prove anything anymore,” Bev says. “Rich, on the other hand--”
“Bev, shut up, oh my God.” Eddie’s flustered, cutting her off before she can finish her thought.
“Hmm,” Bev hums, finger tapping her chin. “Nope, don’t think so. C’mon, Eddie! Don’t you--”
“No!” Eddie says. “No, Bev, I ‘don’t’ anything, alright? Can you just…” He inhales deeply. “Can we just talk about something else?”
“Sure,” Bev says easily, but she points in Eddie’s face. “But we aren’t done here. I know you, Kaspbrack--you’re totally charmed, I can tell. So I’ll wait like the good friend I am with open arms until you decide to come to me for some much needed girl talk, because Lord knows you need it. You can’t live in denial forever, Eddie!”
Oh yes, Eddie thinks as she saunters over to the boys and throws her arms around Ben. Richie looks up and makes eye contact with him, waving madly to call him over. Eddie is decidedly not pleased with the attention. Watch me, Bev. I totally and completely can.
--
The thing is, even if Eddie did have a crush on Richie (not that he does, this is purely hypothetical) even, by some weird circumstance, he did--
Well. Richie definitely doesn’t--wouldn’t--didn’t--oh, what ever. Richie doesn’t like him like that, plain and simple. He’s too keen on the girls in their grade, too supportive of Pam Grier, too in love with his poster of Cindy Crawford. A small part of Eddie thinks that Richie’s got him figured out and is playing some giant, dickish, drawn-out joke on him. Richie’s no bully--he would never--but still. Real life doesn’t work out like in the movies. Richie probably likes the attention Eddie is always gives, even though it’s hidden behind scowls and yelling and punching. Because it’s pretty obvious, even to Eddie, that he’s always willing to give Richie the damn time of the day. So he goes through the motions and keeps himself in check because even though it’s starting to get harder to ignore Richie’s advances, joking or not, nothing can be more mortifying than the inevitable reality where Richie rejects him outright.
Which is why he refuses when Richie asks him to go on the ferris wheel before they pile into Bill’s car to head home.
“C’mon, Eds! I’ve been waiting all day to ride with you!” Richie whines for the fifth time, tugging on Eddie’s arm. “Don’t hold everyone up while you pretend to think about it before saying yes.”
They’re standing near the exit with the rest of the Losers, everyone absorbed in their own conversations and thankfully not paying attention to the growing tension between Eddie and Richie.
“Shut up!” Eddie says, scowling and tugging his hand back, annoyed. “I’m not pretending anything, alright? Why would I want to go up there with you?”
Richie looks pained for a brief second, before flashing him a smile. “Eddie, come on, man. I have something to show you, okay?”
“Show it to me here.”
“I can’t.”
Eddie crosses his arms. “Then I’m not going. Either show me here or not at all. I’m not gonna lug myself onto that death trap so you can like, burp in my ear at the top or some dumb shit.”
“I’m not gonna--ugh!” Richie cuts himself off with a groan, hands clutched in his hair. “Eddie, God, for once can you just cooperate?”
“No, I can’t,” Eddie says smugly.
Richie groans again, throwing his hands in the air. “Why, though? Why don’t you want to come?”
Eddie falters. Because you didn’t ask anyone else. Because everyone knows that people kiss at the top of the ferris wheel. Because I’m tired of being a joke to you. Because I literally can’t handle something that intimate. “Because the last thing I want to do at the fair before going home is spend it crammed next to you on that stupid ride.” He says, sticking his nose into the air.
Richie scowls. “Eddie, oh my God, you’re literally so annoying, do you know that? You’re not complaining when I’m ‘crammed’ next to you when I sleep over.”
“That’s different!” Eddie splutters, blushing furiously, embarrassed and a little startled. “You’re the one that--that--shoves himself into my personal space!”
“Eddie,” Stan cuts in suddenly, hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Just go, okay? It’s not a big deal, and we’ll all wait.” Eddie gapes. Oh, so now Stan’s in on whatever bullshit Richie’s about to pull? Is that it? Eddie knows they’re close, but this is way too underhanded! Fuck this!
“You know about this?” He starts, astonished. “I can’t believe you guys,” Eddie continues, and he feels like stamping his foot. “Ganging up on me so Richie can pull some dumb prank--”
“We’re not ganging up on you, be a little less dramatic,” Richie snaps. He’s really starting to get irritated. “Listen--it’s not a prank, alright? Can you calm your paranoid ass down for like, two fucking seconds? I just need to talk.”
“No, I absolutely cannot!” Eddie yells. “You’re always doing shit like this--why can’t you just leave me alone?” He tries to hide how scared he is inside with anger. Richie’s looking at him like he can see through all his bullshit, and Eddie’s terrified Richie’s trying to drag him on the ferris wheel so he can expose Eddie and let him down gently. Eddie can’t even begin to handle that, so he’s fighting tooth and nail to escape whatever awful scenario is surely set to play out on the ride.
Richie looks hurt. “Fine! I’ll leave you alone, you overdramatic asshole. Didn’t know I was such a burden to hang out with.” It’s rare that Richie lets Eddie work him up like this, rarer still that he pulls the guilt card. Eddie feels a pang of regret, but he’s too riled up to properly address his emotions. As usual, he lets his anger get in the way and take control, spinning on his heel to stalk away.
“What happened?” Mike asks as Eddie passes by him and Bill to head to the car, the two of them exchanging concerned glances.
“Nothing,” Eddie growls. “Everything’s perfectly peachy.” He chances a glance backward and sees Richie glaring after him. It shouldn't cut him up as much as it does, so Eddie tears his gaze away.
--
The ride back is, objectively, awful. Eddie and Richie argue on the daily, but it’s not very common for the two of them to get into an actual, honest-to-God fight. Richie’s far too easygoing, and for all Eddie’s shrieking he’s not actually that much of a dick. They’re both constantly talking, usually to each other or the group at large, so when they spend the ride silently glaring out of the windows of the back bench with Bev stuffed between them as a barrier, it’s cripplingly awkward. The rest of them try to fill the silence, even Stan, who glared at him before he got into the front like Eddie was the one who did something wrong. Bev keeps shooting him sad little looks, so he shifts so his entire body faces the window. Richie snorts. Eddie can barely keep himself from turning and snapping at him.
When Bill pulls into his driveway, Eddie practically catapults himself out of the car, adjusting his shorts and patting his hair down as he faces everyone.
“I should be getting home,” he mutters, and Bill frowns slightly.
“Do you wuh-wanna stay f-for a bit? I th-thought we could watch a m-m-movie,” he says.
Eddie fidgets nervously, because Richie looks sad, but even worse; he’s not even looking in Eddie’s direction, gaze trained on Bill’s front door. It’s uncomfortable, and Eddie feels the awkwardness in every fiber of his being. He wants to escape. “No thanks, Bill. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He takes off before anyone can say anything else, scurrying down the driveway and speed-walking to his own street.
Later, when he’s in bed, the guilt settles in. He feels like a real idiot. There was no reason for him to react so harshly to Richie, but in the moment he couldn’t help it. The combination of Richie’s recent behaviour and the implications of the ferris wheel caused sudden, squeezing panic in his chest, and he lashed out. He always lashes out and Richie always just takes it with good humor and a bright smile, because he knows Eddie’s just an anxious, jittery mess underneath his big mouth.
Fuck...he’s really starting to feel bad. Eddie sticks an arm under his bed and rummages around until his fingers close on a familiar strap. He draws his arm back up and grabs at his fanny pack, unzipping it and pulling out the little stuffed puppy Richie won him. God dammit. The thing really is unfairly cute. Eddie sighs and clutches it to his chest for a moment before hastily putting it on the pillow next to him. He’s not about to start--swooning over Richie, or something, like he’s some twelve year old girl. He just feels bad, because Richie really was nothing but nice to him all day and he went and ruined it because he’s a big fucking coward. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck! Eddie doesn’t like dealing with guilt, and he especially doesn’t like admitting he’s wrong. He knows tomorrow he has to apologize to Richie properly. If he’s feeling brave enough, he might even work up the courage to try and explain the reasoning behind his irrational behavior. Maybe. Okay, probably not, but even just thinking about entertaining that possibility is a step forward, in Eddie’s opinion.
He shifts to face the dog, eye level with the little heart. Eddie, she seems to be saying, somehow looking reproachful in the moonlight streaming in. You better talk to Richie tomorrow. Eddie sighs. Figures even his dog would support that damn Trashmouth. But he knows she’s right. He can’t afford to chicken out this time.
“Tomorrow,” he mumbles, and closes his eyes. “Tomorrow for sure.”
--
Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tappity-tap.
Eddie groans and fumbles for his alarm, grabbing it and squinting at the harsh red numbering.
7:27 am. Wait...what the fuck...
“Eds, my boy! Up, up, up and at ‘em, daylight breaks and waits for no man!” Eddie jolts harshly, pushing himself up on his arms and staring out his window, where Richie waits, grinning widely.
“What…” Eddie gasps, staring. “What are you doing here?”
Richie laughs. “What the fuck do you think?” he asks, and knocks on the window again. “It’s fair day today! Lemme in, it’s chilly. Also,” Richie smiles, and Eddie feels sick when he finishes his sentence, “I accidentally put too much weight on the gutter when climbing up and it broke, so I don’t have a foothold to get down.”
There’s a long stretch of silence in which Eddie does nothing but open and close his mouth wordlessly at Richie. Finally, he gathers himself and frowns. “Is this some kind of joke?” he asks, going over and opening the window. “What do you mean, ‘it’s fair day’?”
“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” Richie says from the floor, where he landed, just like yesterday when Eddie let him in. Eddie blinks. He feels like he may be dreaming.
“Am I dreaming?” he asks. Richie barks out a laugh.
“Not at all--am I usually sneaking into your room in these dreams of yours? Flattering.” Somehow, Richie’s teasing snaps Eddie out of his stupor and he scowls at him.
“Shut the fuck up,” he says, “I thought you were mad at me.”
Richie stands up and cocks his head to the side. “Mad? What for?”
Slowly, Eddie starts to piece it together. “Oh, I get it. You’re still mad, so you’re playing some sort of joke, right?” he begins, pacing around the room. “Well, hardy-har, Rich. I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have yelled yesterday. You don’t need to keep up the charade anymore.”
Richie whistles, looking a little confused. “Wowza, Eds. Some dream you must’ve had to get you this apologetic. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone...anyways, put some clothes on, boy-o! Go on, hop to it! I don’t want Bill to leave without us. Also, you got any spare toothbrushes? What? I was rushing to get here, sue me!”
Eddie looks at him, feeling a slight edge of panic creeping over him. “It wasn’t a dream,” he says, furrowing his brow, breathing even. “Look, Rich--I’m sorry if I hurt you, but can you please drop the act? It’s freaking me out.”
“What act?” Richie laughs again, but he’s frowning a bit too. “Eddie, you’re half asleep. C’mon, get dressed. I don’t want to make the others wait.”
“Wait for what?” Eddie cries. “Don’t tell me you got them all into this stupid little scheme of yours.”
“If you call spending the day at the county fair with your friends a scheme, then I’m completely guilty,” Richie has his hands up in a surrender, grinning. “Dude, go comb your hair or something. That always calms you down.”
“I’m calm!” Eddie doesn’t want to yell, but his words come out louder than he intends. “Richie, what do you want from me? We went to the fair yesterday, so whatever you’re pulling, just drop it. Are you really that mad? Because I really can’t handle this shit this early, alright?”
Richie’s starting to look a little alarmed. “Eddie, whoa, whoa, chill out. Dude, it’s just the fair. We didn’t go yesterday, what are you on about? Do you not want to go? Are you sick?” He starts forward and makes as if he’s going to touch Eddie’s forehead, but Eddie jerks backward, clutching his chest.
“Don’t--don’t come closer,” he warns. “We went yesterday, alright? I know it.”
“No we didn't,” Richie says, and he’s looking a little anxious.
“Yes, we did,” Eddie snaps.
“No, Eddie--yesterday was Friday. We had school, remember?” Richie’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and he’s looking at Eddie like he’s a cornered animal he’s trying to calm. “You had a test in pre-calc, remember? And I said I’d wake you up in time to make it to Bill’s for breakfast.”
“No,” Eddie says, breathing fast. “We went yesterday, Richie, and this really isn’t funny anymore, alright? And Bill hit on girls and Stan threw up and you won the ring toss and gave me your prize. I remember, okay? So just--just--”
Richie looks vaguely surprised. “I gave you my prize?” He echoes, and smiles a little bit. “Alright, Eddie Spaghetti. Prove it.”
“W-what?”
Richie smirks. “Where’s this little prize of yours I oh-so-sweetly gifted to you, huh?”
Eddie turns to his bed and frantically runs his hands over the covers and pillow, but the little dog is nowhere to be found. “It was just here,” he mutters, throwing his covers off, even getting on his knees to check under the bed. No dice. “I had it--it was right here, what the fuck, what the fuck.” He jumps out of his skin when Richie clamps two large hands down on his shoulders.
“Eddie, sit down, alright? I think you’re about to have a panic attack.” Richie’s peering at him, eyes wide and a little nervous.
“I’m not,” Eddie yells, even as his chest tightens and his ears pound. “Richie, get off me. Get the fuck off me!” he shouts, when Richie stays put. “Just--get out, okay? Get the fuck out, go to Bill’s, I don’t care, just leave me alone! Please!” He adds, to pacify Richie somewhat, who’s now looking very nervous and a little more than panicked, himself.
“I don’t think--”
“Go!” Eddie manages, stumbling forward and pushing Richie towards his door. “Richie, please. Just leave. I’ll meet up with you later. I can handle this.” When he smiles, he knows the fear he’s feeling is clearly broadcasted. Richie purses his lips, looking conflicted, but when Eddie adds another little please he nods jerkily and lets himself out, shooting Eddie one last concerned glance through the doorway.
“Call if you need anything. Seriously,” Richie says, and he disappears down the stairs. Eddie waits for the latch of the front door to click and hangs out for another minute or so to give Richie time to leave before he flies out of his room and down the stairs, wrenching the door open and grabbing today’s newspaper off the welcome mat. Frantically, Eddie zones in on the date.
He can’t breathe. He seriously can’t fucking breathe--where the fuck’s his inhaler? Holy shit. Holy motherfucking--yesterday’s date is plastered on every goddamn page. Richie may be one for tricks but he would never drag it out this much, never allow Eddie to work himself up into such a frenzy. And there’s no fucking way he has enough money to pay off the town newspaper for such a stupid joke.
Eddie slides down to the ground, back against the front door and head clutched in his hands. What’s going on? What the fucking fuck is going on??