Chapter Text
Richie was used to living in noise; hungry for laughter and attention, disgusted or disapproving or awkwardly amused, it didn't matter, it's what he fed off of. Everything had to be either producing or receiving or interacting with noise, in one way or another. A moment of silence that stretched for a little too long and he would start to feel the teeth inside his skull and his eyes inside their sockets and his knuckles like white pebbles in his fist. Not particularly uncomfortable, not painful, just there, existing in silence, and that wouldn't do. Self awareness wouldn't do at all. So he made noise. He created, restless, wherever he went.
And then he met this kid, that he already kind of knew (which is to say, he had made noise around him and he'd received a lingering scowl and that had been kind of it), but he really met him and slowly, annoyingly, became friends with. And soon, his thirteen year old mind decided he had to give him the title of best friend, because that was, somehow, what he had become.
And with this kid, Eddie, sometimes not making noise, sometimes just existing, made sense. And that was uncomfortable, that was painful to realise. Because what the fuck.
"Hey!" The glossy pages of his new comic book had gone suddenly blurry.
"Hey."
Eddie held his glasses at arms reach, grinning stupidly. He couldn't currently see the grin, but he knew it was there, nicely printed into his voice. He lunged forward to get his glasses, and Eddie dived into the hammock with him, almost knocking both of them off, quickly becoming a tangle of limbs.
"Give them back, asshole."
"Or what?"
Richie leaned towards him again, his anger bubbling lazily, still half in his comic book reading stupor. A hand against his chest stopped him easily, pushing back ever so slightly, and he could kind of see how Eddie was using his other hand to awkwardly place Richie's glasses on his nose, and that made him feel a certain type of way again. He'd become self aware enough, in those moments of existence that he rarely allowed himself to have, that he felt a certain type of way around Eddie and that it was wrong - so he better keep making noise.
"Or-"
"What are you gonna do, Rich? You can't see shit."
"I can still see what a pain in the ass you are."
Eddie laughed, pushing back a little more, "You're powerless, moleboy."
"Moles aren't actually blind, this isn't fucking… Wind in the Willows or whatever-"
"Yes they are. They're blind. Like you."
"Do you see any moles walking around with little round spectacles, Eddie? Do you?"
"They don't make glasses for moles, dipshit. That doesn't mean they aren't blind."
"How do they even know?"
"Who?"
"Scientists. Did they ask a mole?"
"Huh. How did they know you were blind? 'Cause I'm sure you were experimented on as a kid."
"You're fucking hilarious, Kaspbrack. Give them back."
"Come get them, Toz-"
He lunged forward again, felt Eddie's hand press hard against his scrawny chest and give out, and he toppled on to him. Eddie gave out a little yelp of surprise as the hammock creaked a pained old warning and Richie reached for his glasses. That were still on Eddie's face, which was suddenly that much closer beneath his, looking simultaneously startled and challenging and bemused because he could see it now, because he was that much closer . His fingers found the glasses of their own volition, palm pressed against the boy's ear, and he faltered. Because he was existing so much right now and yet there was still noise.
Eddie laughed, pushing back hard, and the hammock swung precariously as they changed roles. Eddie was practically straddling him. Well. What the fuck was that feeling. He didn't have time to think about that , that wasn't something he was supposed to think about at all, that was very dangerous and very not okay and why couldn't he fucking move, why couldn't he fucking breathe-
"Guys!" Bill's voice cut through the dusty golden light that burrowed into the hiding place at this time of the afternoon and suddenly they weren't alone, "Stop. You're going to f-f-fall off and break your necks."
"Let them", said Stan distractedly leafing through his bird guide.
"Thanks, Stanley, love you too", Richie snatched the glasses off Eddie's nose and put them on, and Eddie stared at him, mouth ever so slightly open as he looked at his hands on Richie's chest, "What?"
"Huh?"
"You comfortable, Eds?"
"No, you fucking scarecrow."
"Then get the fuck off?"
Eddie pushed him into the hammock again, just to make a point, and got up.
That night… well.
It was around 6 am and Richie Tozier opened his eyes. He felt a little woozy, somehow. He reached blearily for his glasses and froze. He felt a dampness between his legs and his breath caught in his throat. Don't tell me I've fucking pissed myself. How fucking old am-
Oh. That- was new. A hazy image of Eddie Kaspbrak reformed at the front of his mind, smiling at him from above, bathed in amber sunlight and eyes glinting with mischievous wonder, pushing his own glasses onto his nose with a slow soft finger and other hand coming to rest on his clavicle.
He remembers not quite breathing. He remembers existing.
He suddenly wants to scream because this self awareness was becoming absolutely deafening. He feels so- just terrified. Petrified. So close to something horrifying and wonderful and that should remain out of reach. And he steadfastly ignores the prickling want in his chest and fingertips as he gets up, rushes to the shower pulling at the wasted elastic of his pajama pants and cries.
***
"Hey, Richie! Hey!"
Richie did something he hadn't done in a while. He took out his notebook and looked at the teacher. The teacher seemed genuinely unnerved and eyed him warily, losing track of his sentence. How Richie got such good grades was beyond anyone's comprehension, including Richie's.
"Richie! Richie!" Eddie hissed. He heard him clack his tongue in annoyance. Then, lower, "What the fuck is he doing?"
"We're in class, Eddie", Ben whispered back, probably much louder than he thought.
"Yeah, exactly. What's he doing? Hey, dipshit!"
"What?" He finally snapped his head around and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him square in the chest the second his eyes fell on the boy behind him.
"Oh, he only answers to dipshit now, good to see some self awareness."
"Fuck off", he grumbled, turning back around.
"No, hey! Richie. Dipshit. C'mon."
" What, Eddie?"
"Did you see h- are you okay?"
Fuck. He could tell. Could they all tell? Was he that obvious? Did everyone know? When were they going to tell him? Apart from Bowers, who insisted on him knowing, constantly, how much of a fucking fa-
"Richie?" Eddie's face was doing that thing he did a lot around him, where he wasn't sure if he should be laughing or genuinely worried.
"Yeah. What do you want, Eds?"
"For you to stop fucking calling me that, to start-"
"Dipshit's fine but I can't call you Eds? My wittle Eddie-bear?"
"Fine", Eddie propped his face in his hands and looked mock-lovingly at him, "Sweetheart. Sugarplum. My cute- my- my precious little-"
"I don't feel well. Anymore", he got up, knocking painfully against the table, (Eddie finished, confused, "-shitbird?"), "I need the bathroom."
"Tozier-", the teacher put down his book exasperatedly.
"Pee pee. 'Scuse me, gents", he rushed out of the classroom, Eddie's worried stare following him all the way into the hallway.