Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxHt43-1inE
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On September 1st Richie woke up cold, it wasn’t unlike every other day since he took that one trip to Maine last year, it was just that the cold he felt somehow sunk deep into his bones. It was aching, it resonated in the canals and pores of every fiber of his being and weighed him down to his bed. He’d shake it off as the drowsiness of the medication he was taking, his system getting over the alcohol he didn't put in it anymore. He flung his arm over to his nightstand and fumbled for his glasses. He pushed back his window curtains and from where he stood he could feel the cold seeping through the glass as the seasons did, changing the leaves from green to orange in a matter of days, with just one touch of the cool autumn wind.
Later that day, Richie felt a calamity inside his chest, a strange gaping hole inside him, like a black-hole had pulled open a passage of him he hadn’t known about, one that if seen would suck him in forever and absolutely crush him. He was standing in line waiting to go up to the barista at the register and mumble his order for a black coffee with two sugars, he did a double-take of the person who was standing at the front of the line, going on about what he could and absolutely could not have in his drink. The back of his head, the style of his clothes were familiar, like someone he didn’t know he was missing. As if on instinct Richie stepped out of line, which the other people gladly took to move up a spot, to get a better look. He looked mad with how he approached him, eyes locked on the back of his head. He was almost there, with the intent of seeing his face, the familiar rambling, the-
The man turned his attention to him, searing blue eyes wide as he looked at Richie studying him.
“Hey buddy, wait your turn.” Richie had almost grabbed the man, he stepped back and shook his head, arms steadying himself.
“I’m sorry, you just-you reminded me of someone…” The man turned back to the cashier and went on with his order. Richie stepped out of the cafe, the ringing of the door jingle made him stop.
The arcade was where Richie spent most of his summers, he knew that as a kid how much he loved the bright lights, the mindless playing, and the sound of coins jingling heavy in his pants. Richie and six other kids parked their bikes right outside the arcade and made a beeline for the entrance. The door jingled and they piled in, calling dibs on the first round to a game, proclaiming how they’d ruin everyone else who dared challenge them to a duel in air hockey or race cars. Richie couldn’t see any of their faces, blurred by the flashing colors of the arcade, he could only hear their distant yelling over the noise.
He was a beast at street brawler, he came to a close second in Mario Kart and was reduced to smithereens on Dance Dance Revolution by a kid they referred to as ‘haystack.’ Each time he tried to look closer he couldn’t gravitate towards any of their faces, not one. Richie stood at the air hockey table on one end and at the other end stood a face he could see clearly, it may have had to do with the black light hitting his face or the fact that Richie couldn’t keep his eyes off this person.
“You’re going down!” The teen exclaimed and inserted the few coins it took to start the game. Richie almost missed his cue to say something witty back.
“You’re on spaghetti!” But he couldn’t stop watching him, for the life of him and everything he tried he couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The bell over them rung, high-pitched and whirring a bright red light to signal the winner. Spaghetti through his hands in the air and proclaimed victory against Richie. He could only celebrate along and demand a rematch.
“Eddie!”
Richie stumbled out of the cafe door and his eyes flicked all around him, the faces were all so familiar but that one stood out. The crowd that passed him gave him weird looks as the strange man reeled right there on the pavement. He looked at their faces searching, grasping an ounce of familiarity from each of them in a pathetic effort to remember the details of friends he used to know; of someone he used to call Eddie. Richie looked around and slumped, stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket.
“Tozier, you’re losing it…” He sat by himself at the park facing a large fountain. The water roared against the marble structure trickling down the body of the erect statue at the center. There were couples holding hands, families played in the grass and kids running around, it was all white noise against Richie’s ears as he felt more alone than he could possibly handle.
Water dripped down the sides, flowed past their feet as they waded through the sewers. Before this he had gently cleansed someone’s wound, hand padding said person’s cheek softly, the smallest exchange he had, almost too intimate, the man’s hand came up to his and he saw the gleam of a ring. Richie knew it wouldn’t last, that he had to go to a home and no matter how much it pained him, to a wife.
Richie stood from the bench, a heavy feeling settling inside his chest, he tried to breath around it but his heart just beat impossibly faster.
Richie’s hands moved past his cheek and behind his head, bringing him closer, fingers tangling into his wet hair and one arm going around his back.
‘Stay with me.’ He could tell his eyes were brown despite the bare light that came into this shit hole they found themselves in. The man’s breaths were ragged, he gulped down every ounce of air he could take, hoping he could get one word out, in a last effort to make a confession
‘We’re all here, I’m here Eds…' His name was Eddie and Richie had loved calling him Eds or spaghetti. Eddie who was in his arms, Eddie who he looked for in every hookup he had, in every date that he went on, in every friend that he ever met.
'You know I-' Eddie’s breath stilled, his last words caught in his throat. His body grew cold in Richie’s arms and with every passing breath Richie took he wished he could breathe life back into him.
And he had loved him.
He had loved Eddie Kaspbrak.
Richie was still watching the fountain, he felt the spray of the cool water against his skin, contrast to the warm tears rolling down his face.
What was that? It was a memory, no, a dream, some twisted nightmare he recalled and put into the back recesses of his mind to never turn over again.
...he had loved him.
It was twisted, to love and not be loved in return because the dead were gone, brushed away like some forgotten shred of person.
Richie didn't know what to do with himself, to delve in deeper to those recedes or to back away completely, run as far away from it as he could. He would drown in it if he kept going, gulp down the water of it until he knew he would suffocate.
Richie made it home in a daze, it was late afternoon and he already wanted to call it a day. His stomach grumbled and he thought to himself how he could go for some Chinese food about now. He made the order over the phone, not wanting to get back in his car to make the short drive.
He settled himself on his couch, still feeling the lingering scorches of memory etched into his brain. The TV went by numbly across his eyes, half the food sat there cold then he abandoned the living room to take a warm shower in an effort to wash away those memories, soothe them back from his hands reach. Richi knew if he didn't stop himself he'd keep going, going until he lost himself to see.
Once dry he looked at the clock; 9 o’clock and he had spent it in a swamp of disarray. He checked his emails and saw reminders for upcoming meetings, listed party invitations, and script readings. Richie glanced out his window, the curtain still open from this morning but now it was moonlight that shone high, bouncing on the floor, shadows drifting across every surface until they reached him like some unknown hand he had left empty long ago. His day off went unnoticed as he settled back into bed, the remains of those dreams scurrying back into the closed doors he had built himself and let go of the hand he fit so perfectly in to.
I had loved him.
Those were the last words he remembered as he drifted off to sleep, maybe the memories wouldn't be back for another month, maybe a year. The love he searched for in every familiar brown eye that he saw, in every warm embrace that he felt, could never die like he had.