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Chapter Text

Walking into the Chinese restaurant, the first thing Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier sees is Eddie Kaspbrak, and it's like the floor falls out from underneath him.

Now, Richie hasn't been in Derry for long, so his memory isn't great, but what's left of Eddie is enough to make his stomach turn, and—God, why does he have to look exactly the fucking same? He carved their initials into Kissing Bridge of all places and leaving Derry had made it somehow, conveniently, almost magically easy to forget, but he can't forget now. Not now. Not when Eddie here, really here, in front of him.

And maybe it'll be easy to brush past that whole thing, that whole I was madly in love with you for most of my childhood thing because people change, right? If Richie is lucky, Eddie will be different, or maybe he's different, and the 20/20 vision of hindsight will show him that these things are left better in the past anyway.

With luck, they'll have a quick friendly hug, just like with Bev or Bill—in and out real quick, and it'll prove to him that not only is this not as big a deal as his racing heart might suggest, but also Eddie Kaspbrak (the dense motherfucker) never suspecting a thing. Which would be sick.

Because Richie is not lucky, the minute Eddie locks eyes with him he can just see that the guy is just fuming with oh-too-familiar rage. Rage with no real malice behind it, but it's hilarious to think that after all this time, Eds hasn't let any of Richie's dumb shit slide.

Huh. Richie must've left a real impact.

Good. Life would be too fair if he got off that easy.

Eddie calling him an asshole within the first minute is basically a called shot—Richie knows he might as well be done for. This is Eds, through and through.

The first boy he ever loved.

He's never admitted that to anyone (except maybe Stan, or Bev, but it wasn't so much admitted as it was pieced together because both of them are blessed—or maybe cursed—with the double whammy of being close enough to Richie to "get" him, and also being some of the few Losers with any sense. And even then he never really explicitly confirmed their suspicions, he just never shot them down either). He used to wonder if saying it aloud would will something into being, and that keeping it locked away was the only hope of letting it wither away. Not that he wants it to wither away, this inexplicable thing for the fastest motormouth in Derry.

But first crushes are just that. Firsts. They're not supposed to be indications of "The One" or "meant-to-be" or "happily ever after". But you love your firsts for a reason.

And to his great displeasure, it only takes a few minutes into dinner before Richie remembers exactly why Eddie was worth loving.

Emphasis on "was". Richie could entertain the idea of still loving him…. Maybe. Who is he kidding? The guy was burned into his brain as if the alternative was ever a possibility.

He's never been more acutely aware of how much he not only looks but feels like shit. Running into Bev and Ben had been enough of a rude awakening ("You guys look amazing!... What the fuck happened to me?"), but it's not like he had anyone to impress with those two. I mean, they've all seen thirteen-year-old Richie in his tighty-whities, wearing glasses that made his eyes twice the size of his fucking head. There's no turning back from that.

To be fair, Eddie's also been exposed to Richie in at his gangliest, most disproportioned, most middle-evolution-of-the-pokemon state, and he didn't know that "showing up to the high school reunion 40 pounds lighter wearing your ex-husband's furs" was a revenge fantasy he'd even had until now. But it would've been nice to display some kind of transformation. Like, he's over 40 and he's still wondering when he's gonna get big and strong (that one's not his, but it's never resonated with him more before this exact moment).

So Richie looks about as bad as he feels. But that's not it. Because karma loves to fuck with him (all those ill-timed "your-mom" jokes coming to bite him in the ass, for sure), Eddie looks the fucking same. The same! Are you kidding? Richie's at the stage of his life when his hair starts thinning. They're the same age, yet whatever angel was instructed to dish out traits by the Lord Almighty had the decency to give hypochondriac scrawny-legged Eddie Kaspbrak a real puberty, unlike whatever Richie was stuck with where he's the same except tall. The dude looks like he's in the prime of his life!

Great. Just great. So Eddie got blessed with "grows into his looks". Richie got stuck with "good at 'your mom' jokes". So much for Bev's predictions.

It's not usually easy for Richie to admit that he's embarrassed. But if he wasn't going to, like… grow, or mature as a person, at the very least, he could've given Eddie something pretty to look at, you know?

Whatever. With all the weird safety precautions Eddie always took, he better look fucking pristine. He was like one of those sickly Victorian women who were afraid of going into the sun, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Suddenly, he's a kid again and Richie finds himself saying stupid shit in hopes of getting a rise out of Eddie. Just like old times. It was the only way that Rich could ever get Eddie to notice him, just letting that trashmouth do the talking for him and bouncing material off the wall until finally, something stuck. Not exactly the most constructive method for positive attention, but lucky for Richie he was willing to settle for any kind of attention, let alone positive.

Sometimes, a joke would really land, and Eddie wasn't pissed at him like usual. Maybe it was the ice cream they ate, or the movie they saw, or something that just had him in a good fucking mood. Sometimes he'd just catch Eddie at a good time, or he'd say something actually funny as a fluke (or who knows, maybe Richie was always hilarious and talented all along) and he'd get a real laugh.

A real, genuine laugh.

Those moments were rare and, not to sound cheesy, but maybe even beautiful. It's been years, but all of a sudden, the memories are so vivid, like being in Derry awakened something deep within him. It always goes something like this: Eddie laughs, and Richie's stomach is in knots and the lump in his throat makes it hard for him to speak for the next few minutes, leaving him a flustered, sputtering mess, praying to anyone that will listen that nobody can really tell that his face is red and his ears are burning. It's not easy to leave Richie speechless, but Eddie's unwitting grasp on him could do it without even trying.

On the plus side, the fact that these moments were hard to come by meant that nobody ever caught on to Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier's dumb little crush. He couldn't let people think he was going soft. Being the funny friend was a hard status to maintain, he couldn't risk it being compromised. Imagine if that title got handed over to Bev, or worse, to Stan.

What are you doing, Richie? People will catch on to what you're doing. Are you really such a lovesick puppy that you're gonna drop everything for this one guy? Well, yeah, but he's not just some guy, he's Eddie Kaspbrak. Which would be corny if it wasn't true.

Richie always thought there might've been something wrong with himself. I mean, there must be a reason why everyone seems to have settled down with their happily ever after, and yet things haven't worked out quite so ride-off-into-the-the-sunset for him. Yeah, there was definitely something fucked about him. Not majorly, just, like, he was an accident, a blip who forgot to be paired up in the soulmates department when the angel was doing the assigning traits thing, so he's just this extra guy who was only good for telling jokes.

'Cause Eds is married. Which if you'd told Richie that when he was thirteen, he would've laughed his fucking ass off. Eddie, married? Gimme a break. But even thirteen-year-old Richie knew Eddie was a catch. He's pretty sure he's known it all along, deep deep down. Maybe it just sucks that someone figured it out before him.

But yeah, Eds is married, so he's not gonna do anything stupid (well, any more stupid than usual) or try anything. He's an asshole but he hasn't reached quite that level of low. It's not like trying to get a rise out of Eddie is anything less than normal as far as the two of them are concerned. It's more natural than breathing.

To anyone else, their relationship probably looked more than a little dysfunctional, but Richie's never been one to care what other people think of him. He could use a little antagonistic rapport—what's a little good-natured bullying between friends?

Eddie doesn't tolerate his cheap shots, so in a way, Richie has to thank him. Sure, he'll never stop being a trashmouth, but he wouldn't be where he is today if he was still the thirteen-year-old boy going for the low-hanging fruit.

Not that he would ever admit that Eddie's made him a better person and a better comedian to his face. It would just go right to his head.

God, Eddie would hate his new material.

Besides, he can't decide whether adult Richie would give his thirteen-year-old self a high five or a kick in the ass. On the one hand, he should cut himself some slack. There isn't a person in the world that wouldn't pass up the chance to fight their thirteen-year-old self, but on the other hand, thinking back on some of the shit he said, it was pretty choice. I mean, maybe it's just him, but did he kind of nail it?

Speaking of nailing things...

"Oh, you didn't know I got married? Yeah, me and your mom are very very happy right now—"

It's out of his mouth before common sense can stop him. Come on, the joke was right there. What was he supposed to do, not jump on the opportunity?

Everyone laughs. Not Eddie, of course, but everyone with a sense of humor. Well done, Richie. Classic material right there. It's like they never even left.

Eddie glares at him. "Fuck you, dude. Fuck you."

Oh, how he missed that vitriol.

It was a useful tactic back in the day for throwing people off the scent—for throwing Eddie off the scent. If he wants to tear your head off every time you speak, nobody will suspect a thing, right? Nothing like a little self-sabotage to keep you on your own—and on your own protects a guarded heart.

And what's a cheaper shot than "I fucked your mom?" Like Eddie's mom doesn't deserve a dig or two at her expense. 'Course, Eddie would never hear it, the mama's boy that he always was. That kid would do anything for her, whether she deserved it or not.

Richie has never understood that—the way people could mistake obedience for love.

It made no sense. Eddie was always way too cool, too funny, too obnoxious and furious and steadfast in the best possible way to buy that love is being held under someone's thumb. He's too hellish and ill-tempered to let someone else shape them into who they want—this quiet, sickly child who needs to be taken care of by someone who knows better. Eddie Kaspbrak was not a caged bird for christ's sake, he was a child, and children are meant to run around and fall off their bikes and skin their knees. Eddie, fragile and sickly and gangly or not, could handle a lot more than people gave him credit. People were so ready to believe Eddie was this pathetic, mousy little dork who couldn't handle himself, but Eddie could dish it back as hard as he could take it. He didn't need to be protected from the world.

You don't keep someone in a cage under the guise of "love". Eddie was too good for that—he's always been too good for that.

That's what Richie always wanted to believe, what he always wished he had been brave enough to tell him, or maybe make him understand.

Maybe that's why Richie pushes his buttons. To make Eddie laugh, that was special and rare. But every time Eddie snaps at him, he's one step closer to realizing—if he doesn't have to listen to Richie, he doesn't have to listen to anybody.

Richie's never listened to anyone in his life, and yeah, that technically might be more of a vice than a virtue, but it's worked out for him so far. He could be worse. He could be married.

(Eddie cusses him out again, and Richie laughs harder than usual this time. "Fuck you!" And honestly? Fuck Eddie for being married. For being able to move on with his life. But hey, Ben's hot now, maybe getting over him will be easier than he thought. Nah, that would be too easy. Ben only has eyes for Bev. Richie may not know much, but he knows that.)

He didn't even listen to Eddie when he was screaming at him in the haunted crackhouse, arm limp and straight up out of its socket. Somehow, the sound of Eddie screaming ("DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!") in pain, in anger, in fear, had not survived in his subconscious outside the Derry city limits, but coming back, the memory is as clear as day.

Eddie is not the suffer-in-silence type. Richie is pretty sure that he's supposed to be, considering the unquestioning and ever-growing number of medications he's on, but Richie now knows that when Eddie is in pain—he's screaming at the top of his lungs. The kind of crying that makes you wish you weren't so fucking useless, that you could anything to make it stop, make it go away, make everything alright again. And Richie's never given a single crap about Eddie's "comfort" in his entire life, (sure, it would've been easier to take turns, but you think sharing that hammock was supposed to be comfortable?) but at that moment, if he could have done anything worthwhile to make Eddie's life just a little bit easier, it'd already be done.

In retrospect, it now seems kind of counterintuitive that he tried to fix the problem on his own, instead of letting it lie—as Eddie wanted. But honestly, he wasn't thinking. Richie never thinks. And, like, yeah, maybe he should've taken his bro's feelings more into consideration, but panicked, hollering, and full of nothing but love and the best of intentions, he'd popped that baby back into place.

Honestly, he deserves some kind of award. Or like. A date. A kiss at the very least. That's how it works in movies, right? Rescue the girl and live forever in her love and admiration.

Thankfully, the world didn't work like that. Richie's ashamed to admit this, but among the terror and the worry and the misery of that day, getting yelled at—not told off, but really, and truly yelled at—by Eds was the biggest relief in the entire world. The day Eddie ever becomes appreciative of a dumb stunt Richie pulls is the day he knows for certain that Eddie has been replaced by his evil clone.

And Eddie has always been a stubborn motherfucker, but also there was something thrilling about it. Wasn't it great? To tell someone off when you think they're wrong? To assert yourself to someone you love and not be afraid you're going to let them down? To know that love is not something conditional a person can take back the minute you decide to put your foot down?

Of course, that whole logic functions on the preconceived notion that Eddie loves him in the first place. The jury is still out on that one.

Maybe Eds does love him, in that weird way of his. Not necessarily in the way Richie wants, but the guy's been looking out for people since the moment he discovered object permanence. It's what makes him so easy to love. Richie's always maintained that Stan was old before his time, and yeah, he was, but Stan was like a retired grandpa—insightful and caring but also just perpetually over it, you know? Eddie was looking out for the Losers, too. In his own way. Even when they weren't listening to him. Even when they gave him crap. Because that's the kind of person Eddie was.

How could he take up the mantle of the second parent away from home (let's face it, the kid was a total buzzkill shoved into tiny shorts) and yet be treated like a baby by the actual grown-ups? What's the logic in that?

In the middle of saying something, Eddie does that thing where he bisects his own face and puts his hand in the air as he's speaking a million miles an hour. For a moment, he looks like the same thirteen-year-old kid seething at him in the sewers, and Richie is young again, he's bursting with things he hasn't felt in a long time, and doesn't know where to put it.

A younger Richie had carved the impulse to grab Eddie and plant one good kiss on him into the side of a bridge. If a part of him was worried saying the truth aloud might will something into existence, then another part of him was hoping hiding the truth somewhere in plain sight might do the work for him instead. If he doesn't do something equally drastic soon it might come spilling out of him again.

The world honestly seems kinda small and insignificant now. So inconsequential. He's a grown-ass man, and every fiber of his being wants to spit in the face of Derry and say, I love you, Eddie. I love you, I always have. I just didn't know it for the longest time, but now I'm back and the world makes sense.

But it takes several near-death encounters, the resurfacing of a repressed traumatic memory, a knife to the face, and the narrowest dodge of the end of the fucking world for him to finally say it out loud.

Oh, and a cliff dive.

Chapter Text

Sweaty, grimy, and blood-drenched, the Losers peer over the edge of the cliff and down at the water.

"Oh, hell no—!" begins Eddie, but it's too late because Bev has already jumped, leaving no other option but the rest of them to follow suit.

By the time Richie resurfaces, he hears a loud splash not too far behind him.

"Y'know, we could've just showered like decent human beings—" says a familiar nagging voice.

"We just killed a giant supernatural spider-clown, and you're still worried about germs?" Richie laughs, shaking his head, and water sprays everywhere like he's a dog shaking himself dry.

"Hey, watch it asshole!" says Eddie.

Richie turns around to look at him, only to realize from his blurry vision that he is no longer wearing his glasses.

Eddie walks over to him. "Yeah, dipshit, it'd suck ass if I stuck my neck out for you only for one of us to die of a staph infection a week later." He claps Richie on the back, a little too hard and Richie tries not to buckle.

"Awww." Richie grins. "I'd thank you, but I have no idea who you are."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Richie, you seriously dropped your fucking glasses? What are you, an idiot?"

Richie ignores him. "Hey, has anyone seen my glasses?" he calls out to the others.

Bev laughs but stops abruptly. Richie turns in the direction of the sound and squints. He's pretty sure she's looking at him, but it's a little hard to tell. "Wait. You're serious, Rich?"

"Hang on, Rich, we'll find them," says Mike, the water sloshing around as he wades around a bit.

"Everybody, keep an eye out!" says Bill.

To his right, he hears a splash and then a hazy outline of a person resurfaces. "I think they're somewhere over here!" He's pretty sure it's Ben.

"I'll help you look," says Bev, and Richie wolf-whistles.

"Shut up," says Bev, but Richie can hear a splash and then her giggling quietly.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence go by, and he's pretty sure they're too distracted by all the making out underwater to bother continuing to look.

"It's ok guys..." says Richie, talking to no one in particular, standing there awkwardly in the water, unable to see, and trying not to shiver. "I didn't need them anyway."

He's pretty sure that it's just debris that brushes past his foot and not a poisonous deep-sea eel. Not that he's paranoid about it. He's not Eddie.

"Richie! We found them!" He can barely make out someone waving their hand over their head in the distance. Two figures approach him, and someone shoves a pair of glasses onto his face, and Richie can now see that it's Bev grinning hugely at him.

Glancing down, Richie can see Ben's hand is intertwined with hers.

"By all accounts, don't let my visual impairment deter from whatever's going on here," says Richie, and Ben flushes red up to his ears.

"You're embarrassing him," chides Beverly, but she's still smiling, positively radiant.

Ben shakes his head. "Where's Eddie?" he asks, trying to deflect as usual.

Another splash, this time from behind. "For fuck's sake Rich, next time you plan on cliff diving, hold on to your fucking glasses, will you?" There's the sound of gagging and wrenching. "This is disgusting, you know that? Look, If I get sick, it's all your fault, jackass."

"Eddie?" asks Bev, craning her neck to get a good look at him, but Richie already knows who it is before he's even turned around. He'd recognize that fast-paced snark anywhere.

"Yeah, Beverly, it's me, who else would it be?"

Richie turns around to see Eddie wading neck-deep in water. His eyes dart to Richie's face and noticing that his glasses are resting once again on the bridge of his nose, Eddie stands up, clothes soaked, drenched with water, brushing his dripping wet hair out of his face, eyes wide and looking just about ready to strangle him.

It's a good look on him.

"Are you kidding me, Rich?" cries Eddie.

"Were you looking for Richie's glasses?" asks Bev with a knowing smirk.

He shuffles around awkwardly for a bit, making the water ripple. "Yeah, well, if he trips on a rock and dies on the way home after the shitshow we just endured, I'd never be able to forgive myself," he mutters, not looking at her.

"What's wrong, Eduardo?" cooes Richie. "Risked your life for me twice in one day. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you might be trying to impress me."

The fact that recently stabbed, bandaged, hypochondriac Eddie is wading through dirty lake water for him means almost as much as the time saving his fucking life for real. Almost. Not that he would say that. It would just go right to his head.

Richie expects Eddie to stammer and say something along the lines of, "Fuck you, Trashmouth, you are way off-base," but he doesn't.

Instead, he rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, I'm trying to impress you, dumbass. It's about time you noticed. I've been hoping you'd take a goddamn hint since I climbed into that hammock with you."

Which catches Richie so off guard that the unthinkable happens and he forgets to speak. The Losers are eyeing back and forth between the two of them, watching intently, waiting for something to happen.

When Richie finally is together enough to remember himself, he asks, "I, uh—You remember that?"

Eddie approaches, poking Richie in the chest with his index finger. "I remember you being a stubborn dick and refusing to give me a turn."

"That's funny because I'm pretty sure I remember you kicking me in the face."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't have done that."

"You're forgiven."

Eddie scowls. "You're a dick."

"You knew that before you fell for me."

"You know what? I take it back. You probably deserved to get kicked in the face."

"C'mere, loverboy," Richie leans in and puckers his lips, making some real obnoxious smooching noises.

"Oh, no way!" says Eddie, leaning as far back as he possibly, humanly can without falling over. It's impressive. "If you think I am going to let our first kiss happen while standing in grey-water, you're either an idiot or a moron."

"Newsflash asshole, I'm both," says Richie, smirking, but he stops trying to kiss him. A part of him is up in the clouds, the words "first kiss" rattling around in his empty brain, but he's totally playing it cool. And he doesn't want to get his hopes too high.

Eddie relaxes in response, straightening out again, their faces now mere inches apart. He could try again, but he won't. Richie sucks, but he got the message the first time.

For a moment, Eddie just looks at him with a mystified expression. Then he shrugs. "I can live with that."

And with that, he grabs Richie by the shirt and kisses him. Richie freezes, the split second of panic over before he succumbs, and the entire world disappears around him. (He doesn't wanna get too cocky, but it's probably the greatest kiss of all time.)

He's also pretty sure he can hear Bill and Mike whoop in the background, and someone definitely claps. Not that any of that matters, not when Eddie's got his lips on his.

When it seems like they can't possibly go on any longer, their lips part and Richie is afraid of what might happen next. Eddie exhales, and Richie can still feel his warm breath on his skin. So at least that fear can be set aside. Eddie hasn't disappeared, he's right here. Right here in front of him. He's not going anywhere.

Finally, he risks opening his eyes. For a moment, they don't speak, they just exist for each other in quiet silence and appreciation.

Then Richie opens his mouth. "See, look, that was absolutely killer queen, gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind, but Imma just be straight you, I completely blacked after you said 'first kiss" cause 'first' implies more than one, and I'm kinda freakin' out about it."

"Rich—"

"Cross my heart, dude, I am not exaggerating. The last few seconds are basically a blur, and there's a tiny, infinitesimal... prettygoodchance I just might pass out on you, but it's all good. Good kiss, by the way. Real good work. Solid form."

Unable to stop himself, he bumps Eddie on the chest with his fist, pretty certain that it's what a person is supposed to do when he delivers a compliment.

"Richie."

"Not gonna lie, this threw me for a loop, just a little. I'm a little shocked, I didn't think you had it in you. Been waiting for this moment my entire life, but I'm fine. I'm fine. Honestly, I had this whole speech planned—"

"Richie! Shut up!" says Eddie, but his smile is so soft, and his expression is so fond. He reaches a hand to softly brush Richie's cheek, and Richie is pretty sure he could just die of happiness right there.

He takes Eds' hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"For the record, I forgive you for stealing my moment out from under me."

Eddie scoffs, extracting his hand. "What in God's name are you talking about, 'stealing your moment'? Are you kidding, Rich? Is that what you call it because I'm pretty sure I rocked your fucking world." He's talking with his hands again, waving them around, and it takes everything in Richie's power to keep a straight face.

"C'mon, Eds, the least you could do is cut me some slack after you made a complete fool of me. I was gonna confess my undying love for you, sweep you off your feet, and top it all off with a kiss so good it probably would've blown your brains out, but now I just look like a jackass."

"You don't need my help to look like a jackass."

Richie chuckles. "I love you, Eds. I always have."

"I…" Eddie's brow furrows and Richie wonders if he's made a horrible mistake.

"You know what," says Richie. "We don't have to do this now. I just—needed you to know. If it's too soon—"

"No, I—I love you, too." He says it so easily, so simply, like it's the most obvious answer in the world.

"What?"

"Yeah. O'course I do."

Richie wants to kiss him again, but instead, he says, "Oh my God, I am so sorry." Richie turns to the Losers, crying out dramatically. "Somebody get this man some help! He's lost his mind!"

"Fuck you." Eddie shakes his head, trying to reach up and get around Richie's shoulders so that he can dunk him underwater, but it's no use.

That doesn't mean Richie doesn't let him try. "Nice try, fucker, but you can't get rid of me that easy. Looks like you're stuck with me."

Eddie's smile right there could melt his fucking heart. "Hey, who's stuck with who, here? Pretty sure you're stuck with me, now." Eddie's eyes wander to the surrounding water. He sighs. "This is nothing like how I imagined this moment would go."

Richie snorts. "You've thought about this before? That's got to be the cutest thing I've ever heard."

"I'll spare the details, but swimming in Derry's filth is not exactly how I pictured it."

"'How you pictured it'? Explain to me then, how you pictured it."

Richie's teasing him, just a little—ok, maybe a lot—but it's honestly flattering (and definitely cute) to see this side of Eddie. And, yeah, he's curious, too.

"Well, I always knew you didn't have a romantic bone in your body, so even though I hoped, I knew deep down I'd probably end up making the first move, if at all," says Eddie. "And I was right. So that part's the same."

"What else?"

"I also stupidly believed Bev when she said you'd grow into your looks a little more."

"Fuck you, dude. Hey Bevvie!" Richie calls out to her, but he doesn't take his eyes off Eddie. "What's the deal with those misleading prophetic nightmares? You're setting Eddie here up for disappointment, and, frankly, it sets a bad precedent."

From a few yards away, he can hear Bev chuckle.

"Nah. She was right." Eddie lovingly touches Richie's curls, and he's worried that all that joking about passing out might just come true. See, all that "loving Richie for who he is" stuff is nice, but a part of him is just happy to let Eddie think he's hot.

"Well, this is great news!" When Eddie shoots him a quizzical look, he adds, "See, I've been banking on you liking me for my colorful personality for years now, so knowing I can just kick back and rely on my looks means a lot less work for me."

Eddie doesn't laugh, but he smiles fondly before suddenly going all silent and morose. "How is this going to work?"

"What do you mean?" asks Richie.

"I don't know the rules for a situation like this."

"Kaspbrak! You are frickin' impossible, relationships aren't supposed to have rules."

"You know what I mean. What's the plan here?"

Eddie gestured between them with his hands. Us, thinks Richie. He's referring to the two of us. The idea excites him. But Eddie really is a dumbass. Richie bites his lip, fighting back a laugh. "Eds, this is me you're dealing with. You think I have a plan?"

"Cut it out, Richie. I'm being serious, what's the endgame here? Ending things with Myra isn't a fix-all solution to us. Which… I will." He takes a deep breath. "She technically never even permitted me to come, after I crashed the car and all. So I don't know where we stand... Except I do, I guess, because we're done. But, Rich. What about when all that's blown over? We kiss, and I'm supposed to go weak at the knees and drop everything for you to move to California? Do you know how much seismic activity there is in California, Rich?"

"Whoa, whoa, Eduardo." Richie puts his hands up in surrender. "I'm not asking you to move to L.A. for me—" begins Richie, but Eddie's on a roll.

"Cause the fact that you don't have any idea how we're gonna make this work is kinda freaking me out." Eddie takes a step back. "I mean, we live in two different cities all the way across the fucking country, did you even think of that?" (You kissed me, remember?) He's doing those usual frenetic gestures with his hands as if it were possible to show physically just how far apart they live. "Did you—" He stops—so damn manic that he cuts himself off mid-sentence, interrupting his own thought. "Holy shit, did I even think of that? Does this mean I have to travel with you while on tour—'cause I get very motion sick."

"Dude. It's ok, man. Don't worry about it. Whatever happens to us, we can handle this. I got this."

"You got this? Fuck off, dude, 'you got this'," says Eddie, mocking Richie's voice. The impression is pretty accurate, and honestly, pretty funny. "What if you get bored of me? What if you realize I've been a buzzkill all along and now I'm in a strange place having done something drastic I really regret." Eddie gasps. "What if you're the one who drives me crazy? What if you leave the laundry in the washer overnight, and it's the last straw, and I just straight up kill you."

"Eddie, now that we can cross 'haunted killer clown' off our list of ways to die, I've known you were going to kill me for quite some time and honestly? I've made my peace with it."

"This isn't funny, dickwad! Why are you so calm about this?"

It's true. For someone who finally just confessed to the one and only love of his life, he's never felt calmer. And weirdly, he's never been surer of himself. Because everything makes sense now. He loves Eddie. And Eddie loves him. And that's it.

"'Cause you're it for me, Eds. You've always been it."

Wow, that's so disgustingly sappy. The thirteen-year-old Richie in his head is pointing and laughing. But he means it. It's probably the most sincere thing he's ever said. In the face of something really and truly terrifying, and having overcome it, just being honest doesn't sound nearly as scary.

"How the hell can you know that?" asks Eddie.

Richie shrugs, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "I just do."

It's not something he can explain. But if he says something even more sickly sweet, or vague or all feelings-mumbo-jumbo like "I can feel it," Eddie will definitely, one hundred percent strike him down right there.

Richie doesn't mean to mock him. Looking at Eddie now, he looks so… scared. Richie has never felt compelled to reassure anyone ever in his life, but if he can not add fire to the flames of Eddie's breakdown, that would be great. Eddie doesn't seem to be taking it that way, though.

"Christ, Richie, are you ok?" He grabs Richie by the arms and shakes him. "Call me a jackass or a dickweed or something else equally asinine, Trashmouth, so I know it's you. Give me something." (No. Because Richie doesn't give Eddie solutions, Richie just causes him problems. That's the way it's been as long as they've known each other.) "So we defeated It. So what?"

Eddie's still holding him by the arms. They're so close.

"Just because I almost lost you once, and the thought of losing you again makes my stomach want to turn inside out, it doesn't mean—" His voice breaks, head bowed so that he doesn't have to look up at him, and Richie is pretty sure Eddie's gonna cry. "What does it mean? We both made it, so—What, does this mean we're just gonna live happily ever after, Rich? We—We have to talk about this kind of stuff, do you honestly expect everything to just fall perfectly into place? Pick up where we left off… Live a life… Settle down… Wake up in each other's arms…"

Eddie glances up at him, their eyes meeting. They're almost nose to nose. "... Grow old together?"

"Is that what you want, Eds?" murmurs Richie, putting a hand to his cheek, the one without the bandage. Eddie's breath catches. Richie cracks a grin. "To grow old with this dirtbag?" Gotta add some levity to the situation, after all.

He doesn't mean to wait in anticipation. He's supposed to be at peace with whatever Eddie decides. That's the whole point of this. To let Eddie decide for himself for once. But he still cares. He still wants that answer.

"More than anything," he says, and he pulls Richie in for a crushing kiss.

Richie smiles on Eddie's lips. What was he ever worried about, again?

They part, slightly breathless.

"Well, there you go. Then you have your answer."

For the first time in—well, as long as Richie's known him—Eddie's shoulders relax and all the tension he's been holding is finally gone. "Guess so."

"But that also means no matter how much you want to kill me, you have to let me live."

For a moment, Eddie doesn't speak. "Alright." He laughs (Hey, congrats Rich, you got one of those moments). "Alright then. Hey, can we get outta here? This place is a cesspool of disease."

Richie claps him on the shoulder. "Sure, Eds, sure."

"What about the others?"

"Fuck 'em. If they haven't caught on to what's happening, that's on them."

Eddie takes his hand, their fingers intertwined, and he's about to lead Richie off when instead he pulls Eddie in for a peck on the lips.

"Does this mean you are gonna start watching my stand-up?" says Richie.

"Oh, absolutely not," says Eddie, allowing for the kiss but then immediately pushing Richie's face away with his free hand, but he's never looked so happy.

"Even if I fire my ghostwriter?"

He hesitates. "I'll think about it."

Richie grins. "Come on, Kaspbrak." Eddie's hand grasped in his, he tugs him along.

"And where are we going, exactly?" asks Eddie, trudging and sloshing through the water.

"No idea!"

They have the rest of their lives to figure it out.