Archive of Our Own

1. october, 1988

The first time Richie Tozier turns up at Eddie Kaspbrak's house unannounced, Eddie is surprised. It's usually Bill braced gently against the glass of the window, donning a windbreaker and an excited smile, ready for adventure. The other boys stand watch over the living room window, making sure Mrs. K stays asleep, while Eddie collects his things and slips down the tree behind Bill. And it's an easy dynamic. Richie makes a your mom joke, Stan rolls his eyes, and Eddie is dropped off at home first, under the safe cover of the night. 

But Eddie hadn't expected an adventure tonight, for a number of reasons. Partly due to the weather, the storm that rattles windows and howls profanity, and partly due to the circumstances of the week. Bill was sick, and Eddie wasn't sure he'd want to go on a nighttime bike ride with Georgie still missing. 

So seeing Richie crouched on the tree branch, t-shirt soaked through and eyes pleading, Eddie has to pause to understand what he's seeing before surging forward to open the window. He struggles for a moment, and Richie leans forward to help him, slipping his fingers against the frame, and they brush against Eddie's and, 'Fuck, Richie, you're hands are freezing! You're gonna get a cold dressed like that in this weather. Haven't you ever heard of pneumonia? Are you an idiot?'

'Yeah,' Richie mumbles as he slips past Eddie, and Eddie doesn't know which question he's answering. Richie doesn't clarify, just stands in Eddie's bedroom, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the carpet. 

'Um... I'm not adventuring tonight,' Eddie says, unsure of what else to say. He closes the window as quietly as he can. 'Besides, my mom's already put my bike away for winter.'

'That's fine,' Richie responds, and he won't look at Eddie, who is staring, watching the water drip from the hem of Richie's t-shirt to the toe of his well-worn shoes. 

'Sorry,' Richie says a second later, and sits on the floor, ignoring the wet puddle he'd created. Eddie cringes at the thought of Richie's jeans in the wet carpet, but they're already dark with rain, so he internalizes it for the moment. There are other things happening. Eddie can recognize the familiar action of struggling to breathe. 

'Are you... I mean, is everything okay?'

'Seriously?' The word is spat out like Richie can't believe he has to say it, and Eddie feels his cheeks burning. 

'Okay, dickwad, I mean is everything okay with you right now. Like, at-at home and stuff.'

And it's never really been spoken about. The fact that Richie is never really home. He sleeps over at Bill's or Stan's, he takes long bike rides before and after school, he's always the last to go home at the end of adventures, even though dropping off everyone first means him passing his house twice. 

Richie looks up with an apologetic expression and pulls his bottom lip through his teeth. It looks painful. Eddie observes the blood running back into the tender skin three times before Richie says, 'Does your mom check on you? When you go to sleep, does she check?'

It's always been unspoken, but Eddie knows. They all know. 'Sometimes.' It's why Richie puts his head in your lap at any given chance, it's why he links arms with you in the theater, and why his hugs last a second too long. 

'Does it make you feel safe?'

Eddie ponders the question. The storm howls outside, violent and abrasive, and Eddie can see goosebumps on Richie's arms. 

'It... it doesn't really make me feel safe. It just kind of,' Eddie pauses, shrugs, 'it makes me feel protected.'

'And that's different from safe?'

'I never feel safe, Richie, I have seven different diseases all trying to kill me at once,' Eddie snaps, aiming for the high energy of their usual conversations, but Richie looks up with an apology in his eyes, an apology for even bringing it up, and Eddie softens his tone. 'I mean, look, safe means I feel like nothing can get to me. Protected means I feel like I have a fighting chance against things that can still go wrong.'

Richie nods, rainwater dripping from his curls to his nose. Eddie drops to the floor in front of him, trying to catch his eye. 

'I can't remember the last time my parents came into my room,' Richie says finally. 

'No one can get in,' Eddie jokes lightly. 'Your room's a mess.' He brushes his fingers across the knee of Richie's jeans, dampening them, before digging his hand into the fuzz of the carpet. 'Do you want them to check on you?'

'I don't know,' Richie shrugs, and he won't look at Eddie. 'I just. Everything's so fucking fucked right now, Eddie. Bill's sick. He never gets sick. He's sick and this fucking storm isn't what was predicted, and it's been a week, Eddie, a week since Georgie went missing and have you heard of any search parties? Because I sure as fuck haven't. I haven't heard anything. What happens when someone else goes missing, some kid, or Stan, or me, what happens? What's the town doing to try and fucking help? And, I don't fucking know if I want my parents to check on me, Eddie, I don't know if that'll make me feel safe or even protected but fuck!' Richie releases the breath that's carried him through his panic, inhales sharply, and looks at Eddie with wide and terrified eyes that scream louder than the storm. 'Fuck, Eddie, I wanna feel safe!'

Eddie pauses for a moment, listening to make sure he can still hear his mother snoring downstairs, and Richie looks away. Eddie feels a surge of fuck, don't do that through his chest that makes him reach forward, grabbing Richie's shirt and ignoring the squelch of wet fabric in his fist as he drags his friend's face forward. 'Richie. Look at me. Look at me, fucker.' And Richie looks up and they breathe together. 'Richie.' Eddie removes his hands from his shirt, cups Richie's face, and Richie relaxes into the touch, regardless of the fact that Eddie's hand is damp with rain water (and god knows what else when it comes to Richie's clothes). 'Richie, it's gonna be okay, okay? Because I'm looking out for you. And so is Bill, and so is Stan. That's what the Losers do. And fuck Derry, we'll be responsible for ourselves. We'll make our own search parties. So, so, Richie, please, just. I'll-we-the Losers'll protect you, and, and we'll find Georgie and Bill won't be sick and you'll become the only accurate weather man and you'll get the hell out of Derry and you'll feel safe, okay?'

Richie nods, and Eddie runs his finger across Richie's eyes, collecting what could be rainwater from his lashes onto his thumb. 'Okay then.' Richie nods again. 

None of the Losers had ever slept over at Eddie's before. Mrs. K is squeamish about the other boys bringing their own blankets, and she certainly wouldn't lend her own. Sleepovers took place at Bill's, with all four boys piled in the living room, bowls of half popped popcorn littering the outskirts of their nest of blankets and pillows. The TV would blare all night, and Eddie would fall asleep feeling content. 

Richie doesn't ask, and Eddie doesn't offer, but midnight passes the boys who sit on Eddie's floor, Eddie's fingers looped loosely around Richie's wrist, and Richie slowly starting to breathe easily. Richie's clothes are nearly dry by the time they stand, and Eddie digs through his closet to find clothes his mother promises he'll grow into. He throws what he finds at Richie, and the pants are still an inch too short, and the shirt reveals his stomach when he stretches, but Richie poses in the clothes appreciatively. Eddie tells him not to stretch them out, he has to grow into them, dammit, and Richie makes a half-hearted joke about growing into other things, and Eddie retches. 

At one in the morning, Eddie clicks off his desk light, leaving the room glowing in the red and purple of his lava lamp. Richie stands in the center of the room, looking ethereal in the odd lighting, and Eddie motions to his bed, an unspoken invitation. 'I gotta go brush my teeth.'

Richie nods, but ends up following Eddie to the bathroom. They pause every few steps to ensure they can still hear Mrs. K snoring in the living room, and Eddie roots through the cupboards quietly before pulling out a purple flower patterned toothbrush. Richie raises an eyebrow. 

'My mom likes them.'

'I know exactly what your mom likes.'

'I hope you choke.'

They brush their teeth in relative silence before creeping back into Eddie's room, and then they don't speak at all. They crawl into bed, and Eddie takes the spot against the wall, and Richie falls asleep facing him, and they never really talk about the way their fingers stay linked throughout the night. 

2. december, 1988

Richie becomes Eddie's collector. Before any adventure, now specifically oriented around the whereabouts of Georgie Denbrough, it's Richie who scales the tree and retrieves Eddie from his room, eyes bright with promise. Richie will climb down first, and wait patiently for Eddie's feet to touch the grass, often placing a hand at the small of his back to ensure his safety. And Eddie flaps his hand in annoyance, with a fuck off, Richie, I can climb a goddamn tree. Eddie never asks why the dynamic changed, and the rest of the Losers never comment on it. 

When Richie turns up on a frosty night in the first week of December, Eddie feels that sense of being rescued, the sensation that grows every time Richie appears. Or maybe he's just missed his friends in general. The seasonal flu has been passing through, and Mrs. K hasn't let Eddie go to school for a week. 

'You know how reckless kids are with germs, Eddie bear,' she says every morning while taking his temperature. 'And your immune system is already so delicate. I can't put you in danger like that.'

Eddie wants to say that kids like him don't die from the flu, but his mother can list off facts and statistics like anything, rambling on about the risks of people with secondary illnesses contracting the flu, and oh Eddie bear, we just can't take that chance. Just stay home, the school will understand. Just stay home and let Mommy take care of you. 

When Richie taps on Eddie's window, he feels as though he can't get it open fast enough.

'Hey Spaghetti,' Richie says, and with the words he brings fresh air. Eddie knows the fresh air feels like salvation because his mother won't let him open the window due to the frost, and Derry always smells good when your window's been closed for a week. But Eddie's a romantic, and he loves his friends, and he pins the cleansed feeling on Richie's smiles and charm as he slips into the room. 'I've barely seen you since Thanksgiving.'

'It's not my fault,' Eddie sighs, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. 'My mom is freaking out over the flu.'

'Yeah, we figured,' Richie replies, slipping his backpack off his shoulders. Eddie absently tugs a leaf from his friend's hair and Richie flashes him a smile that reminds Eddie of spring. Something in his chest blooms. 

'Does Bill have another theory,' Eddie asks, looking around his room and trying to remember where he put his flashlight. 'He's been talking about that landfill out west, hasn't he?'

Richie looks up with mild confusion and maybe—Eddie thinks he sees embarrassment. 'Oh, uh, no adventure tonight, Eddie.'

Eddie pauses, brow furrowed, and he can now see that Richie's backpack is stuffed with comics and snacks. What's actually out of the ordinary is the fact that he's carefully unpacking them onto Eddie's floor. 'So, uh, why are you here?'

'Because I want to spend some time with my good ol' Spaghetti man! Hop to it, good sir, you've been mighty out of touch with the times!'

Eddie rolls his eyes. 'Your voices get worse and worse every day, Trashmouth. And stop calling me Spaghetti. It's stupid.'

'The voices are actually what send your mom over the edge,' Richie says with such a casual shrug of his shoulders that Eddie kicks him, knocking Richie over from where he perched on his heels. 'Uncalled for, my good fellow.'

'Keep it down,' Eddie warns with a glance at his bedroom door. 'But seriously, you came over at one in the morning just to hang out?'

'I mean, do you wanna wait until your mom lets you out of the house again? Cause I can go.'

Eddie thinks he says no a little too quickly, and the smug smile on Richie's face confirms it. But Richie gently lays his comics across Eddie's bed and they rest on top of the covers, leaning over the same issue and nudging each other when they've finished the page. They only make it through one before Eddie's head is falling forward into his arms with exhaustion..

'Dude, why the fuck are you tired, you haven't even left your room all day.'

'Yeah, I know, but I guess pissing out the window just takes it out of me.'

'Oh, cute cute cute,' Richie sings, pinching Eddie's cheeks as they turn pink. 'Little Eds, all grown up. Peeing out the window like a man.'

'Fuck off you overgrown worm. I left the house earlier, my mom took me to the pharmacy.'

'Oh the riveting tales of Edward Kaspbrak! What emotion, what action, the passion unmatched!'

'Eddie bear,' his mother calls from right outside his door, and Eddie smacks Richie to the floor, who drags his comics with him. Mrs. K enters a moment later, with a frown that speaks about disappointment and the failures of her child. 'Eddie bear, what are you doing in here? Why are you awake?'

'I, uh, needed some water.' Eddie fears the next time he opens his mouth, his lips will give way to his heart, currently hammering away in his chest. Mrs. K nods once. 

'I thought I heard voices?'

'No, no,' Eddie rushes out. 'Just, uh, the radio. I was looking for some nice, soft, classical stuff to get me back to sleep.' Eddie thanks the lord that he leaves his radio on his bedside table, and he twists the volume button with great show. It comes up with static. 'Must've lost it.'

Mrs. K nods again. 'I'll go get you that water, baby. You just rest.'

She doesn't close the door when she leaves, and Richie pops his head up for a moment, making faces and mouthing 'Eddie bear', and Eddie pushes him over again. When Mrs. K comes back, the side of the glass is wet, and she lets Eddie take a couple of sips before leaning in.

'Give Mommy a kiss,' she says, and Eddie can feel the moist slip of sweat on his cheek, and he recoils after a moment, questioning why she's sweating in December and worrying that his mother can hear Richie's poorly repressed laughter from under his bed. 

'Goodnight Mommy.'

'Goodnight Eddie bear. See you in the morning.'

When Richie crawls back into Eddie's bed, his eyes are wide with joy. 'Oh Eddie bear,' he whispers, draping himself dramatically across Eddie's chest. He's warm from laughter, and Eddie pulls his pillow across his face, desperate to rid himself of his earthly embarrassment. 'Oh Eddie bear, give a goodnight kiss, there's a good boy.'

'Fuck. Off.' The words are muffled by the pillow, but Richie understands. 

'You kiss your mother with that mouth?'

'I'm going to sleep.' 

'I shall have to teach your mother what a real kiss is like,' Richie sighs like a martyr, and Eddie lifts the pillow off his face to smack it down across Richie's. 

'If you get out of this bed, I will smother you with it.'

'Oh Eddie bear, if you insist,' Richie grins, and curls himself around Eddie's body, all length and limbs, until Eddie feels thoroughly pinned. Warmth extends from the places where Richie rests against him, and Eddie relaxes despite his annoyance. He's missed his friends. He can feel Richie smiling against his shoulder.

They fall asleep like this.

3. january 1st, 1989

They celebrate at Stan's. Mr. Uris moves the furniture in the living room so everyone can watch the ball drop on the television. Bill is there with his mother, who looks tired and despondent. Richie's parents don't come. Neither does Mrs. K. But the Losers sit with their noses near pressed against the TV, much to the lament of Stan's younger cousins, and they cheer the loudest when it hits midnight. 

'Who is gonna start their 1989 off right by kissing one Mr. Richie Tozier,' Richie calls into the crowd of Stan's family, and the Losers drag him away, all laughing. When they are confined in the safety of Stan's room Richie gives them all a look. 'Well? Who's kissing who?'

'You're an idiot,' Eddie quips, and Richie tackles him, curling around him effortlessly and licking up the side of his face. Eddie screams, a long, loud, blood curdling screech that the cousins downstairs complain about. 'You're disgusting! Do you know how many germs the human mouth has? What the fuck is wrong with you?'

'Hey man, it's just you, me, and your mom in these germs,' Richie coos and Eddie smacks him. 

'N-now that the b-ball has d-dropped, I sh-should g-get home,' Bill says as Richie and Eddie roll around. 'Eddie, you h-heading home s-s-soon?'

Eddie pops his head up from the fight he's engaged Richie in, which currently has Richie pinned beneath the weight of his own limbs. 'Yeah. Yeah, my mom wanted me home an hour ago, she was annoyed when I called.'

'Awwww, is she missin a kissin from her Eddie bear?'

'Hit him again,' Stan deadpans, and Eddie happily obliges.

'You guys are insufferable,' Stan continues, and Richie barks out a laugh of pride. He sits up effortlessly, tossing Eddie off of him. 'Trashmouth Tozier, what time do your parents want you home?'

Richie shrugs. 'Parents aren't home.'

'What they just left for New Years,' Eddie asks, and Bill and Stan don't see the way his fingers brush gently along Richie's wrist. 

'I mean, I had the option to go with them,' Richie shrugs, shifting his whole body to better conceal his wrist. He looks at Eddie and Eddie looks back knowingly. 'But I already told you guys I was celebrating New Years with you. Besides, two weeks with my senile grandmother in the middle of fuck knows Maine? No thanks. No sir, buckaroo, not for me!' He dissolves into a voice at the end, and Eddie traces shapes across his skin. The others look apologetic. Richie knows he can't stay with Bill on his first New Years without his brother, and Stanley's house is packed to the brim with cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents and beyond, all clamoring to share stories and be together. They don't know Eddie is an option.

'But hey, a big empty house isn't too bad,' Richie tries, 'You know, maybe if you don't like being lonely, then sure, problem, but what's two weeks to my maturity!' The Losers don't buy it, and Eddie isn't surprised when Richie knocks on his window. 

They're silent as they change, Eddie from his party clothes into his pajamas, and Richie from his party clothes into Eddie's pajamas. Mrs. K is already asleep, having gone to bed as soon as Eddie announced himself home all in one piece, no cuts or bruises. Didn't even get a kiss, just roused herself from her living room seat and tromped into her bedroom. They can hear her snoring as they creep into the bathroom, and Eddie finds Richie another toothbrush, and they're silent until they get back to Eddie's room. 

'You should've told me-' Eddie begins as Richie says, 'Look, I know it's-'

They both stop, look at each other, and laugh breathlessly, and a little awkwardly. Richie's sleepovers have never been discussed, not with each other, and not with the other Losers. Trying to is uncharted territory. 

'You first,' Eddie says, because he likes being a good person. 

'I um, well, it's nothing, I was just gonna say I know it's the holidays, so, you know, just tonight, cause it's sort of pathetic spending New Years night in an empty house but, like, yeah, just tonight.'

Eddie has the sneaking suspicion that Richie is at a slight loss for words, and he feels a little smug as he says, 'Don't be such an idiot.'

'What?'

'I was gonna say you should've told me sooner. Just like, fuck man, bring an overnight bag. We stash it in my closet, you can stop stretching out my clothes, you go home in the morning to eat your own food cause I know you hate what's in my house, and you don't have to be so alone.' 

Richie blushes to match the Christmas decorations Eddie hasn't taken down yet from his window, the bright red of the Santa illustrations. When he says, 'Oh,' his voice is high pitched and Eddie adds it to his list of his favorite moments. 

Another second of silence passes as Eddie tugs at his bedsheets, and fiddles with the hem of his shirt. When he looks up, he sees Richie is staring dead at him in a way that is unnerving, and it's only until Richie steps towards him that Eddie realizes what was wrong. He's never seen Richie stand so still in his life. 

'You really want me to bring an overnight bag,' Richie asks, and his voice is a range of emotions. Eddie feels outraged by some, and touched by the rest. 

'Yeah man. You can't keep using my clothes you're gonna wreck them.'

Richie looks down at his ensemble, the clothes he wore the first night he stayed. Gray sweatpants get shorter on him with every wear, and a black and white Mickey Mouse t-shirt, made with the original design. 'But I'm so fond of these.'

Eddie scoffs and climbs into his bed, tucking himself against the wall, because he knows Richie will crawl in after him and flop on his side. 'Fine. Have those as a New Years gift, you've ruined them already. But I'm still asking you to bring some of your own shit. If you aren't gonna pay rent.'

Richie smiles and tucks his cheek against his shoulder, rubbing his face against the material the shirt. 'You spoil me, Spaghetti.'

'New year, new name,' Eddie demands.

'Spoil sport,' Richie suggests as he pulls the covers to his waist and props himself up on his elbow. Eddie groans. 'Eddie Confetti. Eddie Upsettie! Get it, cause you're always upset?'

'I am not always upset.'

'Oh yeah? What are you right now?'

'Tired.'

'Pussy,' Richie retorts, punching Eddie in the shoulder. It knocks Eddie on to his back, and Richie moves with him, draping his arm across Eddie's chest. They don't need to talk about it. 

They stay like that for so long, Eddie thinks Richie has fallen asleep. They breathe deeply and in sync, and Eddie tries to think of what makes him upset, but he can't remember when Richie's hair is tickling his neck and his breath is warm across his shoulder and his hand is nestled so gently against his ribs. Eddie can't remember a thing. 

'Hey, Eds,' Richie whispers into the dark room. 

'Don't call me that,' Eddie responds, but tilts his head to look at Richie any way. 

'Thank you for letting me come over.'

They hold eye contact for a moment. Eddie is surprised by how comfortable he feels. How comfortable everything feels. He moves his hand to his chest, near where Richie's arm lays, and gently rests the tips of his fingers against Richie's elbow. 'Any time.'

Richie's arm jerks slightly, and he looks away, adjusts himself, and when he looks up again, they're nose to nose. 

Eddie isn't sure which one of them initiates it. It lasts about ten seconds. Richie's lips are soft and Eddie's are hesitant. And it's not the painfully embarrassing kiss on his mother's cheek, marked by the tang of her sweat. It doesn't feel like trading germs. Eddie feels warm. 

Richie's hand moves from Eddie's ribs to his cheek, and Eddie's hand moves from his chest to Richie's forearm, and then they stop kissing and exhale. And Eddie opens eyes he didn't realize he had closed and is met with Richie's, bright with promise. And Richie smiles, and it's not his shit eating grin that he so often dons in Eddie's presence, but a sweet and gentle smile that Eddie can feel, they're still so close. 

'Happy New Year,' Richie whispers, dragging his thumb across the corner of Eddie's mouth before dropping his arm back down around his chest. 

Eddie takes a deep breath that he knows Richie can feel, and smiles. 

His New Years kiss. 

His first kiss. 

4. march, 1989

Eddie hadn't expected to start yelling at his mother, but it was bloody murder in the Kaspbrak house when she wouldn't let him leave. 

'It's March, Eddie bear, and I can't go and get your allergy medicine until tomorrow.'

'I'll suffer through it!'

'Eddie, no, it'll compromise you even further, and you know how sensitive you are when the weather changes!'

'I can't miss Richie's birthday!'

'He'll just have to manage without you today. Call now and wish him a happy birthday.'

Fuming, Eddie stomps to the landline and drags it as far as it will go into the linen closet. He waits patiently for four rings before the line picks up. 'Tozier residence.'

'Hi, Mrs. Tozier, it's Eddie.'

'Oh,' there's a slight pause, and Eddie can see Mrs. Tozier thinking hard, matching a face to a name, 'hi Eddie. Would you like to speak to Richie?'

'Yes please.'

Another pause as she cups her hand around the phone and shouts for Richie. Eddie can hear the slight noises of the other Losers, already at the house, and his stomach grows cold. 

'Eddie Spaghetti,' Richie declares breathlessly as he answers the phone, a sprint evidence in his voice. 'Wudderyoo still doing at home?'

Eddie takes a deep breath, smelling the close, stale dust of the closet. 'Don't be mad...'

Richie takes the news silently, and stays silent when Eddie finishes. Eddie thinks he's hung up before he hears Richie's breathing. 'And she definitely won't let you out?'

'I've tried everything,' Eddie says, twisting his fingers through the cord. It's slick and rubbery and Eddie feels a little sick to his stomach. 'No allergy meds until tomorrow, and she just. She won't budge on this.'

'We'll pick you up,' Richie says, before Eddie hears the telltale click of the line going dead. 

He waits anxiously in his room. Mrs. K makes disappointed comments all day about his behavior. It's for the best, Eddie bear and You know I'm helping you and Your friends are giving you bad habits, you never used to treat me like this. Eddie ignores it all, sitting with his knees to his chest on the edge of his bed, watching his window.

The Losers don't arrive until 11:30 pm. Richie appears in the dark, drumming his fingers against the window, and Eddie hopes he doesn't look too excited as he opens it.

'You could've given me a time, asshole,' Eddie says to compensate, fighting the grin off his face. 'I've been waiting all day.'

'Waiting for me,' Richie sighs, sitting on the windowsill, reaching forward to try and pinch Eddie's cheeks. He ducks out of the way. 'How romantic.'

'Shut the fuck up. Where are we going?'

'Stan's taking us to his favorite bird watching place. He says it's like, up on some hill that's like a half hour ride out of town.'

'How'd Stan coerce you into that?'

'Hey, I'm a good person! I cater to the masses! Get your coat. And your flashlight. And also-oh, no, wait, you don't have edible food in this house.'

'Fuck you,' Eddie snaps, already stuffing spare batteries into his fanny pack. He grabs the darkest jacket he can find and follows Richie out the window. Bill and Stan whisper their greetings to Eddie, while Richie looks around, frowning. 

'Dude, where's your bike?'

Eddie glares at him. 'In the garage, because I don't feel like raising my chances of death when it's been snowing outside.'

'It st-stopped snowing weeks ag-ago,' Bill points out in a way that is equal parts teasing and apologetic, and Stan nods to emphasize his point. Richie just shrugs and slings his arm around Eddie's shoulders. 

'Looks like you're riding with the birthday boy.'

It takes a moment to organize, but Eddie ends up pressed against Richie's back as they share the bike seat. It's not very comfortable, and they don't have much space, but neither of them consider it a sacrifice. Stan leads the way out of town, and it's a relatively easy ride until they reach the hill. Then Eddie has to hop off, but Richie hops off too, and they push the bike the remainder of the way, arriving a full three minutes after their other two friends. 

'Can't leave your partner to climb a hill himself,' Richie says in an abysmal, unplaceable accent that no one objects to, because it's his birthday. But they all roll their eyes. 

It's cold, and there isn't much to do, but they get to enjoy each other's company, which is what counts. Stan recounts beating Richie's high score in the arcade earlier today, and Richie quickly jumps in to defend his honor, listing the other games he holds the records for. Bill watches the stars and explains the constellations he knows. Stan comments occasionally on the nocturnal bird population. Eddie beams in the moonlight and wonders if the rest of Derry can feel how much he loves his friends. Knocking shoulders with Richie, he digs his fingers into the grass and wills the world to understand the love he carries. And maybe it works, because Richie catches his hand as he pulls it from the earth, and squeezes it tightly, sending Eddie a brilliant smile that leaves him a little breathless. 

'Hey, thanks for coming to get me,' Eddie says to his friends once Richie drops his hand. They all nod, and Richie scoffs. 

'It's my fucking birthday, I'm not leaving anyone behind.'

Eddie smiles appreciatively. 

'D-don't w-w-worry about it, Eddie,' Bill confirms, and Stan adds, 'Richie bullies the hell out of us when you're not around.'

Richie drops back into the grass dramatically, hand over chest. 'My good name, soiled by mine own friends! On my birthday, no less. Oh the pain! Never to recover! In years to come, they'll happen upon my body, here, where I died from a broken heart. A warning against false friendships!'

The rest of the Losers laugh. 

They bike home close to two in the morning, according to Stan's watch. Richie's says it's closer to one. Bill compares their time on the hill to school classes, and tries to figure out which watch seems right, and Eddie thinks silently that time is irrelevant. He warms a patch on Richie's coat where he presses his cheek during the ride home, and he feels cold when he finally hops off. Bill and Richie are about to leave when Eddie mutters a small, 'Wait.'

The two look up, and Eddie shifts where he stands. 'Richie, I have your presents in my room. Come get them.'

'Oh,' Richie says, the idea of presents having completely evaded him. 'Uh, okay. Big Bill, you okay to get home on your own?'

'R-Richie, I'm f-f-fucking older th-than you,' Bill says with a smile. 'S-see you at s-school, g-guys. Happy b-b-birthday, T-Trashmouth.'

Richie and Eddie watch Bill disappear into the night before Richie tips his bike carefully into a nearby bush and follows Eddie up the tree. Eddie left his window propped open with a copy of Animal farm, and Richie helps him pry the window up. They slip into Eddie's room, dark and cold from the open window, and Eddie hesitates for a moment, wondering what to do first. 

'I'm gonna change,' Richie whispers, and Eddie nods while the boy heads to the closet, digging to the back to find his carefully hidden overnight bag. Eddie heads to his desk, quietly removing the carefully wrapped packages he had prepared the previous day, before he was put under house arrest. He listens to the sounds of Richie unzipping and tugging at fabric, then a quiet shuffle before the lava lamp turns on, and Richie clears his throat.

'I... you can turn around now.'

Eddie presses the gifts into Richie's stomach and they sit on the carpeted floor. Richie has to peel the wrapping paper away painfully slowly, and Eddie cringes as he goes. 'I didn't know you'd be opening them in secret at two in the morning with my mom asleep down the hall. Sorry.'

'Speaking of your mom,' Richie grins, 'you think your gift to me can top hers?'

Eddie worries if he opens his mouth he'll wake his mother with the frustrated shriek that's climbing up his throat, so he settles on punching Richie's shoulder. 

It takes Richie ten minutes to unwrap a telescope, a notebook, a pen, and a book of 'Jokes for Every Occasion'. Richie runs his fingers over them fondly, and fixes his smile on Eddie. 'They're perfect.'

'Are they? Cause I was worried that, like, I don't know, maybe they wouldn't work, and like, I know you don't like reading, but I thought the book is appropriate. And I hear you listening to those radio hosts and stuff in school and mimicking them, so I thought you can start like, writing your own ideas and, and I don't know, the telescope was just kind of symbolic, you know, cause I know you wanna get out of here, so I thought, just like, maybe it'll help you see beyond Derry and-'

Eddie's frantic whisper is cut off when Richie pulls him into a hug. 'Shut up. They're perfect.'

They spend a moment on the floor, Richie flipping through his book of jokes and carefully writing his name and address in the notebook by the light of the lava lamp, while Eddie smiles at him fondly. They creep to the bathroom and brush their teeth. When they return, Eddie carefully gathers up the wrapping paper and hides it in the bottom drawer of his desk before changing into pajamas, and when he turns around, he sees Richie loitering awkwardly by the edge of the bed. 

'You can get in.'

Richie jumps slightly, knocking over an orange prescription bottle on Eddie's bedside table. 'Oh, but, uh, I'll block your side.'

Eddie blinks once. Twice. Designated sides. A routine. He nods. 'Okay.' And crosses the room. 

But instead of climbing into bed, he stops in front of Richie. 'Hey Trashmouth?'

Richie's eyebrows raise expectantly. 'Yeah?'

'Happy birthday.'

Richie initiates it this time. Eddie knows he does. He ducks his head and presses his mouth against Eddie's. They lack coordination, but Eddie feels urgency in the touch, so he kisses back. And Richie cups Eddie's face gently, and brushes his thumb across his cheekbone. Eddie's hands slip to Richie's neck, and he twists his fingers through the curls at the base. They're soft and pliable, and Richie's neck is warm and smooth, and Eddie feels the kiss in his whole body. Richie drops his hands to Eddie's waist and rests them there, comfortably. Eddie pulls away, takes a deep breath, and smells the fresh grass from the hill. 

'Thank you.' Richie is still breathless.

Eddie blinks, and stares at his friend. 'Thank you?'

'Um, I mean, did you want me to say something else?'

Eddie shrugs, and laughs lightly, and Richie shrugs too as they break apart. They climb into bed, and Eddie automatically searches for Richie's hand as soon as he's settled, and he finds it, and pulls it to his chest, and maybe he imagines resistance, he doesn't really know what to make of things now. A New Years kiss is a New Years kiss. This seemed like something else. He knows Richie can feel his heart pounding away in his chest. 

'Goodnight,' Richie finally mumbles. 

'Thank you.'

'That's what your mom said.'

'That's what you said.'

Richie seems stiff against his side. Eddie thinks he starts crying.

'Hey, Richie,' he whispers. 'It's... it's okay, man.'

Richie nods once, but doesn't say anything.

When his breathing evens out and he's sure he's asleep, Eddie traces patterns across Richie's hand before he falls asleep as well. 

5. august, 1989

It takes Richie two weeks to visit. Eddie expected him sooner, he admits to himself when he falls asleep in an empty bed, lights on, heart hammering. He can't get comfortable in his cast. His mother checks on him frequently. He expected Richie sooner. 

He's almost surprised when his friend does turn up, at 6:50 in the evening, the sun filtering into Eddie's room in warm shafts between the leaves. His window is always open now, trying to survive the muggy heat, and Richie tumbles into his room with a thump.

'Fuck,' Eddie squeaks, already fumbling with his inhaler. His brain struggles and his chest contracts and he throws the inhaler before it reaches his lips. It hits the wall with a dull thunk and Richie follows its trajectory while Eddie forces himself to breathe. 

'Just me,' Richie says once Eddie's calmed down a bit.

'Yeah, no shit,' Eddie snaps, and he feels a little hurt. He wonders if Richie can see it in his face. To go from the comfort of the boy almost nightly this summer, to unanswered phone calls and empty bedrooms, made Eddie more furious than he would willingly admit. 

'I waited for your mom to leave,' Richie says, and he looks at Eddie, and Eddie is reminded of the first time Richie turned up unannounced, fearful and desperate. It's a similar expression, and Eddie pushes his feelings to the side for a moment and manages an, 'Are you okay?'

Richie looks down and shrugs before dropping to the floor. 'It's fucked up, Eds.'

'Yeah no shit,' Eddie repeats, and Richie's head snaps up, searching Eddie's face. 

'You're like... this is real, right?' Richie asks quietly, and his voice is absolutely terrified. He had told Eddie about his head in a mattress in Neibolt, his voice in the clown room, and Eddie falters for a moment.

'What would convince you it is?'

Richie shrugs and leans forward, grabbing Eddie's hand from his lap. Eddie instantly traces his thumb across the lines of Richie's palm, and Richie stares at the interaction before closing his eyes. 'I yelled at Bill.'

Eddie stops. 'I know.'

Richie has guilt stamped across him in waves when he looks at Eddie. 'You do?'

Eddie tilts his head and shrugs. 'I... well, when I couldn't get ahold of you, I called Stan, and he kind of told me what happened.'

'Kind of?'

Eddie shrugs again. 'Well. Not really. Just that, you and Bill fought. And you weren't hunting It anymore.'

Richie pulls his hand back and buries his face into it, his shoulders shaking as he struggles to breathe. Eddie moves from his desk seat to the floor, placing his hand on Richie's shoulder and rubbing in a way he hopes is soothing. 

'I fucked up, Eddie,' Richie says, and he sounds close to tears. 'I fucking... I said the worst shit to Bill and I fucked everything up. And then I just... oh fuck, Eddie, fucking Neibolt house and, and, fuck, your arm!' Richie grabs at Eddie's cast and lets out a strangled cry. 'Who the fuck did that?' His fingers trace the black ink.

Eddie removes his arm gently from Richie's grasp. 'Not important. Tell me what happened with Bill.'

Richie stares at Eddie's cast as he continues. 'I told him he needed to face facts and save himself. I think I pushed him. I... I told him Georgie is dead, and he has to accept that.'

Eddie raises his eyebrows. 'Shit. What did Bill do?'

'Punched me in the face.'

Eddie doesn't really mean to laugh, and it isn't warm, and he doesn't mean it, but he laughs. 'Jesus Christ Richie.'

Richie nods miserably. 'I know, I know, he just. You got carted away by your mom, and she was going on about how we wouldn't be allowed to see you anymore, and fuck, Eddie, you nearly died in there, and Bill starts going on about the next time we face It and... I can't, Eddie. I can't fucking see that clown face piece of shit again.'

Eddie drops his castless hand into Richie's lap and loops his fingers around his wrist. 'I know.'

'You almost died.'

'Trust me, I know.'

'But am I wrong? I mean we've all been thinking it. Bill's been losing it ever since Georgie disappeared.'

Eddie sighs. 'I mean, sure, but you could've been more sensitive.'

'You weren't even there.'

'Yeah but I know you.'

'Okay, yeah, but Eddie, you almost died.' 

'Yeah.'

'Has Bill even called to check on you? To apologize for dragging you to Neibolt?'

'He called to see if I was okay. My mom wouldn't let him talk to me. But he didn't drag me to Neibolt, he doesn't have to apologize.'

Richie looks up with some level of anger, and Eddie presses their foreheads together and links their fingers. And they haven't been this close since Richie's birthday, it's only been Richie falling asleep on the edge of Eddie's bed since a fucking demon clown started terrorizing them, and Eddie feels relief bloom in his chest at how comfortable it all feels again. 

They breathe like that for a while. Mrs. K is out, visiting friends, getting placebos, and Eddie sits with his forehead pressed against Richie's, taking comfort in their shared fear. 

'My pills are fake.'

Richie jerks back. 'What?'

'Gretta told me. When I went to get my refills. She told me they're fake.'

Richie turns and frowns at the thrown and forgotten inhaler. 'And you trust her?'

Eddie shrugs and stands, stretching his legs and grabbing an orange bottle from his desk. 'I mean. It makes sense. I went to the library the other day and read about my medications. For everything I take, I don't have a single side effect, common or otherwise. I'm pretty sure they're just like, sugar. Or vitamins.'

Richie scrambles to his feet and leans over Eddie's shoulder, reading the label. 'What did your mom say?'

Eddie sighs. 'Are you gonna tell me?'

Richie makes a sound like he's choking, and when Eddie turns around, Richie's grinning slightly, and they feel a little better. 'I meant about your fake drugs.'

'I know what you meant. She doesn't know that I know.'

Richie's eyes bug behind his glasses, a comical sight. 'You haven't...? Shit, man.'

Eddie shrugs. 'I just. What the hell am I supposed to say? Hey, I know I'm totally healthy and that' you've been lying to me my entire life? My mom's just like... trying to take care of me.'

Richie frowns and shakes his head. 'Eds, she's been lying to you for years! Years! You're terrified of breathing at this point! Why aren't you furious?'

'I am,' Eddie responds, 'but, I don't know, I don't know what to say yet! I'm sure it'll come up sooner or later, and then she'll have to let me do my own thing, but right now... right now I'm not taking any meds and seeing what changes. Cause like you said, the news came from Gretta! Not the most reliable source!' Eddie waves his arm to emphasize. Richie's eyes catch on the cast and his gaze darkens as he puts two and two together. 

'Her missing poster is going up next,' he mutters, and Eddie knows he's joking, but his blood runs cold. He reaches his free hand up to Richie's cheek and brushes his fingers across it, and Richie flinches, and Eddie remembers something. 

He brings it up slowly. 'Richie, the other day...'

Richie looks up from the cast. 

'You said clowns.'

'I'm sure I was being relevant, but give me the context.'

'We asked you what you're afraid of,' Eddie reminds him. 'You said clowns. And I mean, fair, clowns are fucking terrifying, but then we got to Neibolt house, and It messed with you through those missing posters.'

Richie doesn't say anything. He stares at Eddie, and Eddie is sure Richie knows what's being asked, but he waits for it to be said aloud, so Eddie continues, 'And, when you first slept over here, you were so freaked out about feeling safe, and I mean. You're terrified of going missing.'

It comes out like a statement, and Richie takes a step back from Eddie's touch and assumes a stance that makes Eddie feel too big. Richie looks cornered. 

'Why are you so scared of going missing,' Eddie asks softly, taking a step forward, and Richie takes a step back with guilty, apologetic eyes. He drops his head into his hands. Screams into his palms. Looks up again, terrified. 'Eddie...what do you want me to say?'

Eddie wants to take another step forward, but he fears Richie will leap out the window if he does, so he stays put. 'I... do I know why?'

Richie's face scrunches up, pleading, and Eddie thinks, okay, yeah, maybe he does know. When Richie first crawled into his room in October, Eddie assumed it had to do with his parents. His absent, distant parents, that never truly understood their son. Of course Richie would worry about going missing. Now Eddie questions why they don't understand him. He considers Richie's desperate attempts to be recognized as the funny one, and his overtly sexual nature, and he thinks about Richie's gentle New Year kiss and urgent birthday kiss, and Eddie thinks of everything he knows about Richie and oh. 

Oh.

Of course. 

Eddie steps forward now, and Richie doesn't move, but looks pained as Eddie reaches out and touches his arm. 'You kissed me.'

Richie squeezes his eyes shut. 'Eddie please...' but the plea is empty, and they both know it. 

'Richie. Look at me, asshole.'

Richie opens his eyes, and Eddie smiles at him gently, brings his hand to his cheek. Eddie doesn't know what it means, the fact that he can understand Richie in his entirety and still stand, cupping his face, and loving the boy entirely. Loving him in all his flaws and bad jokes. His ridiculous glasses and brilliant smiles. 'I said it's okay.'

And maybe Eddie will panic for a moment later, when he realizes how much he loves Richie, but for now, he traces his thumb across his cheekbones. 

'That's what my parents said,' Richie mumbles, eyes watery, and Eddie shakes his head. He has to stand on his tiptoes and forcibly tilt Richie's head down, but he presses a kiss on Richie's forehead. 

'You're safe. Okay? We're safe.'

Richie closes his eyes and leans into Eddie's touch. 'Okay.'

He feels safe. 

+1 august, 1989

Eddie can still hear his heart hammering in his chest. Curled on his bed, crying into his pillow in a mix of exhaustion and fear and relief and confusion. His heart thunders a new song and he cries. 

He goes downstairs on shaky legs, and Mrs. K won't speak to him. He sees that she's locked the cabinets again, and he resorts to taking an apple from the bowl, but it feels mealy in his mouth, and he can still smell the sewer, and he doesn't finish it. 

The house is suffocating. He feels like screaming. Bill said go home, sleep it off, meet tomorrow, talk it over. And Eddie keeps trying to create a speech, to form some sort of coherent monologue that will explain to the Losers how he feels now, but the more he searches for the right words, the more he forgets the events he's describing. 

He doesn't tell Mrs. K he's leaving, and she doesn't ask. His bike is tipped over in the grass and he picks it up and starts riding. His legs ache. God, fuck, his legs ache but he pedals through the pain, it's something to do, he keeps riding, away from his suffocating house. 

Eddie sees Bev, Mike, and Ben in the town square, sharing a picnic table. Mike sits with his back to the table, leaning across his knees, and Bev rests her head in her arms. Ben sits across from them, and they're all talking. Eddie watches them for a moment, and feels like he has to slow, digging his heels into the ground and waiting. He doesn't know how long he stands, but Mike suddenly catches his eye and nods, and Eddie feels known. And then Ben waves a friendly greeting, and Bev lifts her head and turns and, God, Eddie loves his friends. Bev lifts the fingers gripping a cigarette in salute, and it's not an invitation to join them, and Eddie doesn't really mind. He doesn't want to talk with them. He waves back, feeling a little more sure of himself, and kicks off the ground. 

He sees Stan leaving the pharmacy, his head wrapped in bandages, and Eddie considers pulling over, but Stan is already stepping into his father's car. He looks miserable. Eddie can recognize that on anyone. He smiles at the car as he passes, but he has no way of knowing if Stan sees it, and he keeps going. 

The Tozier house is clean and the garden is orderly, and Richie's bike is leaning against the pristine wall. There are no cars in the driveway, and Eddie drops his bike next to Richie's, not bothering with the kickstand, and circles around to the back of the house. 

Eddie has to count the windows. The Losers never really hang out at Richie's. They've visited before, dropped in to see if Richie was home, followed him to his room so he can grab something he forgot, but they've never stayed. When Richie hosts a hang out, they go to the arcade, or get pizza and eat it in the park. Eddie hopes he guessed right as he clambers up the tree and down a branch towards a window. A leaf brushes across his neck and he panics for a moment before the sensation leaves. He's still on edge when he's greeted by a bathroom, and has to change branches. 

He knocks gently against Richie's window, and the branch to his room isn't nearly as stable as his first choice. He sways precariously with the summer breeze as Richie pushes the window open. He wears a smile he's only ever given to Eddie, and even he can see the layers of anxiety beneath it. 'Hi Spaghetti.'

Eddie sniffs, and he hates that he's about to cry, but the panic of the leaves on his neck and the bobbing of the tree and Richie's perfect smile send him somewhere new. 'There's no good food in my house.'

Richie lets him in without question, sits him on the bed, and hops from floor patch to floor patch to get out of the cluttered room. He returns ten minutes later with a tray of snacks. They don't speak, they just sit on Richie's bed and listen to the radio drone on about the changing weather and the new school year. Eddie eats and reminds himself with every bite that he is healthy and can afford it. Hell, he beat up a killer clown in the sewers, he fucking deserves it. They hold hands and they don't talk about it. The sun goes down, and Richie stands to close the window, before digging through his closet and throwing clothes at Eddie. 

'They're too small for me.'

They're too big on Eddie. The shorts slip down to his hips and the shirt swamps him in fabric, but Eddie changes into it gratefully. And he's tired. He's so fucking tired. Richie puts the tray of empty bags and wrappers on the floor and Dude seriously, your desk is right there Richie, and they crawl into bed. 

Richie twines around Eddie in a mass of limbs and length, and Eddie grips Richie's arm, clinging to each other in search of security.

'And this is okay,' Richie asks hesitantly, his fingers inching towards Eddie's hand. Eddie grabs them and squeezes, raises Richie's hand to his mouth and kisses him palm. They press their foreheads together and Eddie starts crying. He doesn't mean to but he does. 

'I feel safe,' Eddie murmurs, and Richie closes his eyes and smiles, a sort of ironic smile, and presses a kiss to Eddie's temple. 

'Me too.'

fin