Chapter Text
It was chilly outside, mid-October. Richie had stuck his hands in his pockets and watched as cold air mixed with cigarette smoke puffed from his mouth. He was walking to Stan's—nothing new, Stan was like his little brother after all, and Bill and Bev would be there as well. Along with their significant others.
Gross.
Richie didn't like to be a party pooper; in fact, that was the complete opposite of his style--there were just two things about this whole meetup that was bothering the shit out of him. First, romance wasn't really his jam. He liked to fool around, live on the edge... but with Bill, Bev, and even Stan settling down and snuggling up against someone, he did start to feel a little lonely in his friendships. Ben was great, he was smart and bright, and he had just the right amount of Shy Boy Energy that Bill liked. Mike was radiant, his name screamed empathy, and he was as sweet as candy--and Richie had to admit he hadn't seen Stan smile so wide in quite a long time. And Audra was soft and gentle with the right level of assertiveness, the perfect match to Beverly's firey high-energy. He was happy for his friends. No hate. Really, over the moon.
The thing he fucking hated was being around couples.
But the second thing about this meetup? That was the most egregious. He thought that the reason that his friends wanted to drag him out to this party they were headed to is because Bill had a friend. His best friend in fact. And Richie had the sinking feeling that he was going to try to be hooked up with this friend.
Again... gross.
He finally made it to Stan's house—and since they've known each other, he's known that the door has stayed unlocked for him, and vice-versa. He walks in—not having to make himself at home, because in a way, he already is home—and he already hears his friends laughing and taking the piss out of each other in the living room. Shit, he can't wait to take the piss out of all of them for this stupid idea (the idea that he will never tell them he thinks is fucking stupid).
"Rich! You made it!" Bill greets him warmly as soon as he sees Richie's face peering into the living room from inside the kitchen. Bill hugs him, and Richie can't stop himself from smelling Bill's cologne. He tries to commit the smell to memory, even though he's smelled it millions of times before, just in case something
(someone-- a Ben or a Mike or an Audra)
were to ever
(take him away)
happen to him.
He lets Bill go, keeps the good feeling in the room as he squints his eyes. "Did you not think I was gonna show or something?" he teases.
Bill blushes, actually looks slightly embarrassed—Bill Denbrough was not one for embarrassment—and cut his eyes down. Even laughs. "I mean, yeah," he said, talking slowly, deliberately; talking too fast caused him to stutter. "'Specially after we told you where we were going."
Richie rolls his eyes in good spirit, makes a sucking noise from between his teeth. "Nah, I was comin'. Can't have a party without the main attraction there." He then batted his eyelashes and gave a coy smile. "Which is me!"
Everybody laughs (and Stan tries to look like a hardass but the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile), and Richie takes pride in that. "But I do wanna know," he continues, his head tilting and his eyes wide, more innocence, "why we're going to this party specifically."
"I didn't tell you?" Bill asks. He's got his bangs swept to the left like normal, and his hair up in a top-knot bun. That was one of the things that Richie was going to take the piss out of him about... he needs a fucking haircut.
"It's my best friend's birthday party, actually. His birthday’s next month, but we always celebrate it early. Promised him I would go. He said bring friends or whatever, so we're all going now just to make him happy."
"Well, what's the name of said jackass that's dragging me out to a birthday party?" Richie asks, trying to still sound lighthearted, but there's no humor in it.
"Eddie." Stan answers before Bill can, his legs sprawled out in Mike's lap as he doesn't even look up from browsing on his phone—and Richie wants to whine and ask Stan how the hell he knows this guy and never told him.
He also has the undying urge to clock this Eddie square in the face. Especially since he's definitely going to be the guy that his friends try to hook him up with.
For the third time tonight: gross.
You know what? Whatever. He'll go along. He'll play their little game. As long as this Eddie is cute, at least.
He better be. Richie pouted at the thought.
They had all rode in Mike's truck to this guy's house in since it was the only vehicle who could fit all seven of them comfortably. Stan had told Richie that Mike had name this truck Will, after his father—which was one of the many things that Stan loved about him. He could tell how much Stan was in love with him though he hadn't said yet: as they drove there, Mike had made some corny joke and Stan had gave him a smile and pinched his cheeks. Something so brisk—but seeing that Stan fucking hated PDA or being touched, that's how Richie knew.
Eddie's house looked way bigger than what Bill had said it was going to be—honestly, for just him and his old lady, it seemed like overkill. But nonetheless, they all rattled out of Mike's truck and headed their way towards the house. All of their breath bounced around them, their cheeks red, all the couple's hands intertwined or laced around waists. Bill was the one to knock on the door... and some girl answered, not even this Eddie. Richie was starting to realize that he had been feeling off the whole car ride and it was because he was dreading meeting this Eddie. He was almost even scared of this Eddie. He cut his eyes to the ground before they walked into the house and thought: Do I even wanna know what this kid looks like?
Alcohol was a great thing that was at this party. Bill had told him that this Eddie's Moms was out of the house, that she'd never let him have a party like this normally. He knew what Bill was trying to do. He was trying to fill in the gaps of this Eddie, make him a tangible person that Richie could almost touch before he even met him, so he would like him. Hold hands with him, fall in love with him, whatever the hell his friends wanted... shit, if he was cute, Richie would think about fucking him.
"—And she told him for a long time that he was really sick with all this stuff, but don't tell him I told you that," Bill was going on. "She tried for such a long time to make him scared of everything. But now, he's scared of nothing. I don't think. I dunno. I think he’s badass."
"Badass? But you said he's short!" Richie exclaimed, even sticking his tongue out, trying to deflect the things that Bill said. "I can't think a dude is badass when he's short!"
"Where'd you come up with that fucking rule?" Bill teased, a laugh and playful scoff escaping from him. Right as Bill laughed, Ben and Audra laughed at something together, sitting with Stan and Mike as they all swished drinks in their hands. Bev sat in between her girlfriend and the boys, and cupped her hands over her mouth. Richie ribbed Bill with his elbow—their typical loving aw shit, here she goes manuever.
"Ladies and gentle fellas!" she yelled, and everybody that accumulated in the living room turned their gaze to her. "May I have your attention, please! The Birthday Boy is coming down the stairs! I repeat: The Birthday Boy is coming down the stairs! Drum roll, please!"
Everybody smiled and began to drum-roll—even Stan, who after a few drinks always became a really good sport—but Richie had to roll his eyes, because even for him, he thought this was grandiose. He thought the whole over-the-top theatrical thing was his shtick. He was about to raise his hand up and stick out one special finger for this birthday boy (this Eddie) until he saw him coming down the stairs.
He walked down graciously, almost daintly—but there was confidence in that walk. Richie tried to fill in the rest of the gaps that Bill didn't have the time to fill. He had on a red college sweatshirt from some school in New York. He was stocky—and as short as Bill made him out to be, but it fit him—his skin lightly tanned, dark brown eyes and dark Italian curls; he had freckles like confetti, he had a smile that printed dimples in his face; he had a heart tattoo on his neck; he looked loud and sassy and and all the things that Bill had said he would be. He looked like he had the radiance of Ben and Mike, he looked like he had the assertiveness of Audra, he looked like he had the wit of Bill and Stan, and the fire of Beverly. And god, not to wax poetic, but Richie didn't just think he was cute... he was beautiful.
He wanted this dude to be boring, or ugly and uncaptivating, or just a random introduction, or nothing—but goddamn it, in this moment, this Eddie was everything.
"—to Richie," he heard an amused voice, and he finally registered that it was Bill's... and Bill was waving his hand in his face.
He blinked. "Huh?"
Bill laughed, and this Eddie—well, just Eddie, now he had seen him—was suddenly standing right next to Bill, and he regarded Richie with the amused raise of an eyebrow. "I said earth to Richie. You look like you're on a different planet."
"Shit, sorry," he said dumbly—and he felt his cheeks flush in mortification. For one well-versed in theatrics, he wasn't one to get embarrassed either.
"It's cool," this Eddie—just Eddie—said. He turned to Bill with a smirk and said: "I get it. You’re not used to seeing pretty people, seeing that you hang out with Bill."
Bill snorted and ribbed Eddie with his elbow—which made sense; this was Bill's best friend after all, he was forgetting that—and then cut his eyes playfully. "Fuck you!"
"I'm kidding." Eddie laughed too, those dimples imprinting his cheeks again... and fuck, it was happening. No, god-fucking-dammit. He was cute. So cute. And funny too? He also liked to take the piss out on Bill? Richie found himself not wanting to punch this Eddie anymore but instead to count every freckle on his face.
"So you're the Richie that everyone's been telling me about." Eddie said this matter-of-factly, a Stan-like smile playing on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest.
(people have told you about me?)
"Yep! The One and Only, Richie Tozier. Think it over." He stuck out his hand for a formal handshake, even though formal was anything but his style, and
(did they say anything good?)
Eddie surprisingly returned the gesture, even though he snorted and raised his brow again.
"'Richie Tozier? Think it over?' How long it take you to come up with that?" Eddie teased, and even though Richie had initially just wanted to meet this dude, fool around once, and never see him again... he was very quickly learning that he liked Eddie's style.
He was really witty, he exceeded any looks that Richie could've imagined, and he could keep up with Richie's humor. Richie was enraptured. By his beauty, of course... nothing else. But somehow he found himself swept up by this kid like how sailors are swept up by sirens in the sea. Richie was the Richie and he was this Eddie, even if it was just between the two of them and the playful little glints in their eyes... and he liked this little game that they played.
Which is why he rebutted, “No time at all, baby! No time at all.” And he knew how it looked like to other people: that he was losing this little game.
(but rest assured, Eddie Spaghetti, I’m not gonna let you win this game)
(if you wanna play it)