Work Text:
"This is Edward Kaspbrak’s cell! Leave a message after the beep. Or don’t. I’ll get back to you either way.”
Richie smiled at the familiar voicemail, leaning back against the park bench he rested on for the third time that week, staring up at the tree above him where two cardinals sat. He remembered them because Stan adored their red color, he used to never shut up about the stupid birds. It was hard not to reminisce about the kid that had been such a big part of his life. He realized he’d been too quiet for too long, and he started to talk about the park, all the things he was seeing.
“Eds, you’ve gotta come down here sometime, really. Los Angeles is fucking beautiful, the parks and shit? There’s these birds, I think they’re doing some kind of mating thing, they’re cardinals, so I don’t really know what their mating ritual looks like. I’m sure Stan could have told us, in like, great detail. He probably could have told us what their penises are like. You remember when he talked about duck penises for like twenty minutes?” he asked laughing. “I miss you man. I’ll probably come visit for Christmas, I bought a bunch of winter clothes I’ll never be able to wear down here.” he said, and the automated voice cut him off, and he stared down at his phone, smiling as the call ended.
He’d call back later, it wasn’t a big deal, getting cut off again. There was probably a good reason for Eds not to answer his phone. He got to his feet, stretching his arms up to take a quick picture of the birds, their red color just visible on the camera, saving the picture to show Eddie once he got to New York for Christmas. He planned on printing them out, and almost homage to the time they’d spent apart.
“This is Edward Kaspbrak’s cell! Leave a message after the beep. Or don’t. I’ll get back to you either way.”
Voicemail, again? Sure, that’s fair. Richie’s messages were long, listening to them all was like binge watching a show. But Richie smiled at the words anyway, Eddie’s voice refreshing his mind from the shitty comedy he’d been up late writing the night before while talking to Beverly, figuring out a way to bring Stan into his comedy show while not offending his widowed wife, although he doubted it would be a problem anyway, she didn’t seem like the kind of person to listen to the kind of comedy that Richie spewed on those too bright stages all across America.
“Hey Eds! I wrote some stuff last night you might like, I’ll email it to you so if you get the chance you can read over it. I talk about Stan a lot, and me and Beverly have a crummy sense of humor according to you, so I hope you’ll like at least some of it. They put me on a new medication, Adderall wasn’t working well for me, so I hope I don’t still talk too fast when I’m on the phone. I’m almost sure you still talk too fast, but you never call me back! ‘Oh Rich, I have—’” he began to imitate, but was cut off by the machine letting him know his time was up. He shook his head, redialing Eddie’s number.
“This is Edward Kaspbrak’s cell! Leave a message after the beep. Or don’t. I’ll get back to you either way.”
Richie continued as if he’d never been interrupted. “‘Oh Rich, I have a real job, real responsibilities!’” he mocked, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “You also have a real best friend who wants to talk to you.” he said, and there was a pang in his chest as he said it. He planned on telling Eddie as soon as he could, as soon as he was there in person, he wasn’t interested in telling Eddie over the phone he was in love with him, that he was certain Eddie was his fucking soulmate.
“I miss you, get back to me whenever you can, however. Hell, I’d accept snail mail at this point. Love you man, I’ll call again tomorrow.” he said, hanging up, his head in his hands, his hands dragging over his face as he sat up in his seat, chastising himself for saying that he loved Eddie so casually. Platonically or not, he was sure to have Eddie roast him within an inch of his life for being such a sap over voicemail.
He snapped a picture of his open notebook on the desk in front of him, smiling. Another picture to get put in the album, the homage to the time apart. He separated the picture into a photo album on his phone, getting up to photograph his new medication as well. He sat down where he’d been before, renewed at the sound of Eddie’s voice as well as a glass of ice water that was much needed since he’d forgotten to do the most basic tasks, including eating, for the day, too distracted by trying to write comedy that even Eds, stick-up-his-ass-Eddie-Kaspbrak, would enjoy.
“This is Edward Kaspbrak’s cell! Leave a message after the beep. Or don’t. I’ll get back to you either way.”
Richie rolled his eyes at his call going to voicemail again, but couldn’t help the smile on his face at the sound of Eddie’s voice as he started yet another voicemail, hoping Eddie would get around to being in contact. “Eds, my main man, I miss you. I’m coming up to New York this weekend, me, Ben, and Bev, we’re all coming up there.” he spoke, tapping the countertop nervously.
“I have news, you know, uh, maybe a voicemail isn’t the best place to tell you, but, oh well, you know?” he started, looking down at the ramen that still needed to be put in the microwave. “I’m moving up to New York, next month. Bev doesn’t want me all the way across the country, and I’m not too attached to Los Angeles, you know? I’m sure there’s cardinals up there, … I mean ours are prettier but I can sacrifice having nice birds for seeing you.” he said, his face heating up as he said it. Another sappy comment, Eds was sure to go in on him when Richie visited. He shook his head, mouthing along to the automated voice letting him know his time was up, an almost bitter mimicry.
Richie shook his head, putting his ramen in the microwave, grabbing the remote and as the television flickered to life, he leaned over the counter, squinting at it, trying to read the words on the television. Sugar Rush, he’d seen all of it, already. Nailed It? Well..
His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing, and as he looked at the Caller ID, his heart hammered in his chest. Eddie K. He answered immediately, and there was a silence on the other end.
“Richie Tozier spea—” he started, but the feminine voice on the other end of the line cut him off.
“I know. And I’d like to ask you to stop calling.” the voice said, through sniffles. Richie wasn’t sure who the hell was on the other end, and the person on the other end must have sensed it, because it spoke up again, this time through broken sobs.
“It’s Sonia. Sonia Kaspbrak. The woman Eddie left so he could go run off with you and your friends?” the voice, who Richie finally recognized, practically yelled in hysterics.
“Sonia…” Richie whispered, his eyes widening. Someone had been clearing the voicemail box for the last three weeks, and Richie hadn’t the faintest of ideas. Sonia let out a broken sob, shaking her head.
“Richie I miss him just as much as any of you do, but he’s gone. And you… you need to accept that he’s not going to send you any fucking letters, he’s not going to call you back, he won’t answer the fucking phone, any of it!” she screamed, eliciting a wince as Richie pulled the phone away from his ear. Tears filled his eyes as the fantasy he’d built up slowly started to crash down.
Sure, he knew Eddie was dead, but… this was just his way of coping, he didn’t know he’d be hurting anyone he… Richie swallowed hard, nodding like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before realizing Sonia couldn’t hear him.
“... I’ll stop calling.” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.” he said, quickly hanging up, setting his phone on the counter, running out of the room and into the bathroom where he proceeded to get sick for the next fifteen minutes, only calculable from the amount of beeping that came from the microwave.
Richie ate his ramen on the floor of his kitchen, only realizing after he’d not added the seasoning. It didn’t matter. It would have tasted like nothing either fucking way, he thought, so it didn’t really matter to him.
He thought of calling Beverly, telling her he was moving up the flight date, but he didn’t. He grabbed his phone, the hoodie Eddie’s old inhaler had stayed in since he got back, his glasses, his wallet, and his charger. He’d catch a cab, he figured, already changing his flight.
For being a winter night, he was.. very successful in getting to New York that night, minimal interruption besides the two signatures he’d doled out in the airport in L.A.. Richie had one mission, and as he detailed to the cab driver where to take him, he became even more determined to fulfill it. The cemetery. Get there, give Eddie his inhaler back, tell him all the things he’d always wanted to.
And he did just that. And sure, maybe much too little and much too late, but he checked on his best friend. He told his best friend stories about his childhood Eddie had missed out on while he was stuck at home with a broken arm. He told him all the comedy lines he could remember from being up with Bev and writing. He told him about all the dreams he’d had about Eddie in the last twenty seven years, the ones where he saw him so clearly and could never figure out his name, about how badly he’s wanted to reach out to him. He told him everything he could think of, but most importantly, he told him how in love with him he’d been, his entire life.