Chapter Text
Richie Tozier, resident of Derry, had zero friends. It was basically his defining characteristic. His life was also pretty bland. He spent his mornings attending classes that he didn't enjoy. He spent evenings annoying people on the phone to get a bit of extra cash. As people had told him his whole life, his only talent was pissing people the fuck off. So, like most people do with a skill, he practised this fine art and got better and better at it. Some called it infuriating, but he called it a coping mechanism.
Somehow, Richie had managed to snag a job as a telemarketer. It wasn’t the most validating of jobs, to say the least. Putting up with verbal abuse and rejection from the other end on the daily definitely wasn’t the best for one’s mental health. However, he ignored this as much as he could and, in an attempt to actually enjoy his occupation, tried to incorporate his so-called ‘annoying’ sense of humour into his calls. He was willing to advertise anything from food delivery apps to cosmetic products. The college kid, on average, managed to speak for about ten seconds before being hung up on. But that was alright, because Richie got money from it whilst also managing to do what he did best. Being an infuriating and slightly insecure piece of shit.
The young adult lived in a tiny, rundown apartment on the outskirts of Derry. He had constantly been bullied at school, so he decided to lose contact with literally everyone and move as far away as possible without having to spend too much money. Being a college student, it was unsurprising that he didn’t have a lot of that. So here he was, situated about three kilometres away from where he had previously lived. Richie’s apartment had two rooms: a main room which was his kitchen, living room and bedroom compacted into a five by five metre space, and a small bathroom that was positioned near the tattered front door. Richie suspected that some terrible crime had probably been committed in this apartment that the landlord just hadn’t told him about. The state of the place was appalling. The yellow lights constantly flickered, a musty smell filled the room, and patches of mould were present on nearly every wall. Despite this, Richie, being Richie, did absolutely nothing to fix up the place, and simply contributed to the mess by scattering his clothes and work all over the creaking wooden floorboards. He didn’t care though, as no one except him entered the place, anyway.
It was an ordinary afternoon. Richie was walking home from his classes through the cold, windy side streets around his neighbourhood. A worn, brown backpack containing all his notes and books on biology was slung over his shoulder, which was covered by one of his many old, soft, Hawaiian shirts. He slightly scuffed his loose sneakers against the dirt road as he strode, not in the biggest rush to get to his pitiful excuse of a home. A group of young teenagers rode past him on bikes, exchanging insults and jokes in a friendly manner. Richie smiled wistfully, wondering what having a group of friends would be like. He would never admit it, but he secretly craved that personal level of human interaction.
Far too soon, Richie arrived at his apartment block. Reluctantly, he pulled himself inside. His round glasses fogged up in response to the sudden change in temperature. The man made his way to his room, slamming the fragile door behind him in an exhausted fashion. Dust lightly landed on him in greeting, and he collapsed onto his moth-eaten cushioned chair near the small window. He poured himself a glass of cheap alcohol and allowed his body to slightly relax. Richie sat this way for a few precious minutes, before deciding to begin that night’s advertising calls. He dragged himself over to the table with his phone on it, not bothered by the harsh, scraping sound of the chair legs making rough contact with the unsteady ground.
Mere seconds later found Richie holding a well-used, handwritten script in one hand. The other hand was typing random numbers into his phone. Soon, the number of the next sorry soul to receive an unwanted call was illuminated on his screen. He painted a huge smile on his face, as though he was a door-to-door salesman and not a telemarketer. Taking a deep breath, Richie prepared himself for the inevitable rejection and slammed his thumb onto the ‘call’ button.
~~~
Eddie Kaspbrak, resident of Derry, had a pretty good life. He lived alone in a spacious, orderly apartment in the centre of Derry, attending a college as an art student. Classes were definitely enjoyable, and his home made him feel safe and clean. Eddie spoke with his friends every day, even if he didn’t always see them in person, and communicated with his acquaintances in college easily. All in all, he was grateful to have such a supportive group of friends that helped him relish every part of life.
However, Eddie Kaspbrak, resident of Derry, also hated phone calls. Everything about them made him uncomfortable. From the stress of not knowing who was calling, to the pressure of keeping a conversation going, every single aspect of them made him involuntarily shudder. So naturally, when Eddie received a phone call from an unknown number, his heart skipped not one beat, but ten. His stomach flipped as he hesitated.
You could just not answer it, you know, he attempted to reason with himself.
However, the fear that it may actually be an important call overrode his social anxiety. Building up some courage, he pressed that taunting green button and managed to answer.
"Hello, this is Eddie speaking," he said as calmly as possible, attempting to soothe himself by fiddling with a curl of his brown hair with his free hand.
"Hey, Eds! How's it going? You want curtains? Because these curtains I’m being paid to advertise are pretty damn nifty, if I do say so myself," an overly enthusiastic voice replied.
Uh oh, Eddie thought, it's a telemarketer. Something about this one seemed different though. He seemed to almost have an actual personality. He couldn't even resist a chuckle. Half of him wanted to hang up on the man, but the other half noticed that he had called him 'Eds', which he hated with a passion. That couldn't go unignored.
"Don't call me Eds. And no, I'm not interested in curtains, sorry," Eddie responded bluntly. He did feel bad for the person on the other end of the line. He wondered how many people rejected this man, who sounded like he was around his age, a day.
“Aw, come on now, Eds! I’m trying to just make ends meet until I get an actual job – the least you could do is entertain me and pretend to sound interested so I can finish reading my lines,” the disembodied voice almost pleaded back.
Eddie wasn’t sure how professional this was of the man, but he was impressed about how personal he was acting. The playful tone in his voice made him sound like someone he’d genuinely want to know.
It’s just those telemarketing tricks, he sternly told himself, it’s a technique to make me comfortable and steal my money.
“I’m sorry – I’m really not in need of anymore curtains. Have a good day,” he tentatively responded. There was a small pause.
"Oh, okay. Sorry, man. Hope you're having a good afternoon," the voice sighed.
Eddie hung up.
Richie groaned as not-called-Eds ended the call. Yet another failure.
What a shame, too, he internally spoke, he sounded pretty kind.
Eddie hadn't seemed audibly frustrated by him. Richie might have even humoured him. Almost like a potential friend. Because of this, Richie noted down the number and put it on his bedside table. In a totally non-creepy way.
Later, he'd call Eddie in a casual setting. For now, though, the telemarketer had more shitty products to advertise.
~~~
The next day – just his luck – Eddie received yet another phone call. Swallowing his fear as usual, he quickly picked up.
"Hello, this is Eddie speaking," he answered in a monotonic voice.
"Eds. Hi. It's Richie, you know, the weird telemarketer you spoke to yesterday?"
Eddie most definitely did remember. For some reason, the very few sentences he had exchanged with that man had stuck with him. His tone of voice had been so genial. Something about him was unique.
"How the fuck do you have my number?" he snapped. Eddie didn’t mean to – it was a defensive habit.
“Okay, don’t freak out, but I kind of wrote it down after I called you. You seemed kind, which most people aren’t. This sounds really fucking pitiful, but you’re the sort of person that I’d like to get to know.”
That struck Eddie by surprise. All he could think to say was, "Oh."
Shuffling was heard on the other end of the line as Richie uncomfortably shifted position.
"So, you want to like, get to know me?" Eddie guessed.
"Yeah. If that's, like, not weird?" Richie's voice came through the phone static.
"Oh no, there's nothing at all weird about that. A strange man whom I've spoken like two sentences to just called me saying he wants to be friends after trying unprofessionally to sell curtains to me the day before. That's a completely normal thing to do," Eddie replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
Richie chuckled softly into the speaker.
"Man, I get it. I'll hang up. No problemo."
Eddie, for some reason, couldn't stop himself. "No! It's okay. Let's meet up somewhere."
He could almost see Richie gaping with surprise.
"You've got to be shitting me. You're serious?" he spluttered.
"Um. Yeah. Meet me at the quarry tomorrow at midday, fuckface," Eddie grinned, hanging up before Richie could respond.
As soon as the call ended, Eddie made a peculiar, strangled sort of sound and threw his phone across the room in a mixture of awe and horror at what he had just done. He would be meeting a complete stranger in under twenty-four hours. Not only this, but he was the one that had organised the time and place.
Who are you, and what have you done with Eddie Kaspbrak? he internally spoke.
In a nervous rush, the art student reached over to pick up his phone and called his three lifelong friends, planning to meet them to debrief what had just happened.
~~~
"You WHAT?" Stanley Uris all but screamed a mere half hour later.
"I agreed to meet Richie at the quarry tomorrow," Eddie repeated as nonchalantly as possible, picking at the grass in Stan's beautifully pristine garden in an attempt to avoid eye contact. He was sitting in a small circle with his friends: Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom and Stan Uris.
"So, in other words, you are meeting someone you have spoken about ten words to in your whole life tomorrow because he apparently gives you good vibes. And this someone attempted to sell you curtains yesterday?" Ben sceptically clarified.
"Well, I guess you could put it that way, yeah," Eddie muttered, leaving the grass alone to stiffen his body and draw his arms around his stomach defensively.
"Look, Eddie, you can do what you want, but this sure as fuck sounds like either a kidnapping or a marketing scheme to me," Mike, the voice of reason, explained gently. He leaned over to make sure Eddie was looking at him.
"And me," Stan piped up, rolling his eyes in disbelieving infuriation.
“You don’t even know what he looks like. How will you be able to identify him?” Ben pointed out.
Eddie brushed him off. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”
Stan, Mike and Ben exchanged cautious glances.
"Okay, guys, if you want to come with me for protection or whatever, be my guests. I could use some backup in case things go to shit," Eddie groaned.
Ben and Mike nodded, silently agreeing to accompany one of their best friends. Stan was not so submissive.
"No. I'm not about to join you all to meet some potential attacker. I'll be standing nearby with a phone on hand to call the police at a moment's notice."
Eddie made a noise of affirmative, smiling at his friends.
"Okay, guys, let's meet this telemarketer."
The group of four stood and went their own separate ways, planning to meet at the quarry the next day.
~~~
Richie shivered as he lay under his thin blankets that night. He was terrified.
Did you seriously just organise to meet with someone you’ve barely met? he reprimanded himself.
You could get attacked.
What if something bad happens?
What if he hates you?
What if you embarrass yourself?
What if you end up having a crush on hi- NOPE.
Richie shut his brain up before he could start having those thoughts. That was the last thing he needed that night. He was going to meet with Eddie the next day and it would be alright. He could even make a friend.
With these words running through his mind, Richie closed his eyes and went to sleep.