Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After an excruciatingly long day at work, there wasn’t a lot that Eddie Kaspbrak wanted to do.  He needed a shower more than anything; he’d been tasked with inspecting two separate restaurants that day, both of which had a laundry list of violations, and he swore he could still feel the grime and grease clinging to his skin.  After the shower though, he couldn’t imagine doing much other than passing out for a well deserved rest.

But fate had other plans, it would seem.  He had barely stepped out of the car when his roommate Bill came flying out of the house towards him.

“Eddie! Guess wh-what!” he grabbed Eddie’s shoulders and shook him excitedly, a bright smile plastered across his face.  Eddie attempted a frustrated sigh, but it turned into a laugh as Bill continued to stare at him with wild eyes.  Eddie rolled his own and relented.

“What is it, Bill?” Eddie stepped past him and started to make his way to the door. “If you knew what kind of day I’ve had—”

“The house next door got sold,” Bill said simply.  Eddie stopped dead in his tracks, hand on the door handle.  He had heard Bill perfectly fine, and yet—

“What?” Eddie balked.  He turned to inspect the topic of conversation: a nearly decrepit, two-story house beside their own.  It had been vacant since they moved in--years and years ago.  “That place has to be covered in black mold. Someone actually bought it?”  

“That’s what M-Mike told me.  He ran into the r-realtor when he left this m-morning.  She said some guy b-bought it to fix it up.”

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, considering.  The Victorian-style building was an eyesore, overrun with vines and tall weeds.  Eddie got a shudder up his spine whenever he imagined what kind of vermin must infest the place; how many rat droppings and spider webs must cover the insides.  He couldn’t deny that the thought of someone actually cleaning it up was refreshing, if unbelievable.  He gave it one last withering look before stepping into the house.

“I guess I’m glad someone’s gonna do it.” Eddie finally said, moving upstairs.  “Can’t imagine the kind of person that would, though.”

--

Eddie caught the last moments of the sunset when he stepped out of the shower.  He watched it out his window, getting dressed as he did.  The smell of cooking wafted up through the house, and Eddie was reminded of how long it had been since he’d eaten.

He had barely reached the bottom of the stairs when he heard a sharp, pained intake of breath from the kitchen.

“Fuck!” Bill spat, followed by the sound of a knife clattering against the counter.  Eddie hastened his steps.

“Bill! You okay?” He rounded the corner in time for Bill to turn and face him; the look in his eyes transforming from pained to panicked as he noticed Eddie.

“No, n-no Eddie, d-don’t look.” Bill struggled to say.  But Eddie’s eyes instantly snapped to Bill’s left hand, held aloft and quickly becoming covered by a trail of blood.  He could barely register the feeling of a pit in his stomach opening, and he didn’t have time to notice how the muscles in his legs were giving out beneath him, but the sight of Bill’s dripping hand soon blurred and mixed with the kitchen tiles.  Eddie didn’t even feel it when he hit the floor.

--

He woke up with the living room fan whirring above him.  His knees ached, and if the twinge in his cheek was anything to go by, a small bruise was undoubtedly forming there.  He touched both offending areas gently and hissed at the pain.  

Bill came in soon after with a glass of water in his hands; he stopped short once he realized that Eddie was awake.  He sat at Eddie’s feet and handed him the glass.

“I was c-cutting the onions and I must’ve s-slipped.” Bill said meekly.  “I tried to stop you… s-sorry.”  Eddie regarded the excess of gauze that wrapped around Bill’s index finger.  He couldn’t be sure, but he was almost certain that Bill used more than he needed for Eddie’s sake.  More gauze means less risk of the blood seeping through.  Eddie wanted to thank him, but the mental image of blood made the nauseous feeling creep back.  He had to stop thinking about it.

“You carried me to the couch?” Eddie asked, taking a sip of the water.

“Hey, I m-may be shorter than you, b-but I’m not th-that w-weak. I couldn’t l-leave you on the floor.” He said, patting Eddie’s shoulder with his uninjured hand.  “I d-did finish dinner, though.  Y-you should eat.” 

Bill brought their food into the living room, Eddie complained that they shouldn’t be eating on the white couch, life went back to normal.

When they finished, Eddie returned to his room and immediately collapsed onto his bed.  The only thing that could save this shitty day, he thought, was a good night’s sleep.  But despite how heavy his eyelids had become, he found his eyes drifting back to his window.  Through it, he could see the side of the derelict Victorian home and the cracked window directly across from his own.  Both were shrouded in darkness.  He was distantly aware that he’d have to actually start closing his curtain if someone was going to be living there. 

He fell asleep wondering what their new neighbor would be like.  

The universe gave him an answer to that question three days later. 

He was blessed with a short day at work, arriving back home around three in the afternoon.  He was so enraptured with the idea of getting some long-awaited ‘me time,’ that he almost didn’t notice the yellow sports car parked next door.  It was clearly an older car, like the ones Eddie grew up with--more angular, less aerodynamic than modern cars.

Just as Eddie realized that he was openly staring, a handsome man with curly, light brown hair wandered out of the home.  He took a folder out from under his arm and started leafing through it; he hadn’t noticed Eddie yet.  But before Eddie could escape into his house unnoticed, the stranger’s eyes lifted and caught him.

“Can I help you?” The man asked, authoritative, but not unkind.  Eddie considered running away, pretending he hadn’t heard or seen the man.  It was an appealing thought, but this was most likely his new neighbor.  There was no way he could give him a good first impression if the first impression he gave involved stalking away like a nervous child.  So instead of fleeing, Eddie attempted a casual smile.

“Hey! I’m Eddie, I live at 248,” he gestured to his house as some sort of explanation for his behavior.  The man on the porch in front of him remained unimpressed.  Eddie gave up.  “I um- are you the new owner?”

“Not exactly, but I will be living here.  Probably for a long time given the state of this place.” He sighed, giving Eddie a once over.  Possibly sensing Eddie’s unease, the man relaxed and mercifully broke into a smile.  He moved to Eddie, extending his hand.  “My name’s Stanley, Stanley Uris.  You said your name was Eddie?”

The man, Stanley, had seemed so severe moments earlier, but his smile was so sincere and bright that Eddie couldn’t hold back a smile of his own as they clasped hands. 

“Yeah, Eddie Kaspbrak.” He said, releasing Stanley’s hand.  “If you don’t mind me asking,” he searched for the right words; words that wouldn’t sound judgmental, “why buy such a piece of junk?” Nailed it.

Stanley took pity on him and laughed.  He considered Eddie’s question. “My friend, Richie, he’s the one that bought the place; I’m just his live-in carpenter.  One day he up and decides he needs a change of pace, which means I get dragged to nowhereville Maine to do all the work while he sits on the couch and orders furniture off pier1.”

Eddie nodded impotently.  He wasn’t going to pretend that he understood everything Stanley had said.

“Oh geez.”  Eddie finally mustered.  “That’s a lot to have to deal with.”  He glanced towards the Victorian mess of a home behind Stanley.  Wooden paneling that once was painted baby blue was now cracked and faded, the porch Stanley had stood on was bowed in the middle, not to mention that nearly every window was cracked.  He really felt for the guy.  “Where will you be staying while you work?”

Stanley’s eyes shot up; bemusement spread across his face.

“Oh, that’s the best part: we’ll be staying here.” 

Eddie was at a complete loss for words.  It was terrible enough that anyone should have to fix up that old crack house, let alone live in it--and Stanley seemed like a genuinely sweet guy; Eddie hated the idea of it.  He remained slack jawed and silent, so Stanley spoke up.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it doesn’t look as bad on the inside.” Even with Stanley’s words, Eddie’s disgust didn’t waver.  Stanley seemed to find it very amusing.  “You could come in and see for yourself, I don’t mind giving you a tour.”

Eddie was shaking his head before Stanley even finished speaking. “No, no, no.  I’m a health inspector so I’ve got a pretty good idea of what kind of awful things probably live in there.  No, um, no offense.”  Stanley was smiling again.

“You have no idea… Well, Eddie, it was lovely to meet you, but I’ve got some stuff to do before the moving truck comes.  Maybe once we’ve cleaned up a bit, you’ll come visit us?”  He was already backing through the tall grass.

“You’ll have to get it really clean.”

“Believe me, I’m not going to put up with two inches of dust for any longer than I have to.”  He smiled that brilliant smile one last time before disappearing into the building.

When Bill got home, he was immediately filled in on Eddie’s story.  Meeting Stanley had left Eddie uncharacteristically giddy, and Bill couldn’t blame him.  For as long as they’d lived there, Eddie’s opinion on the neighboring house had oscillated between sheer indifference and heated contempt.  Suddenly, there was an eagerness present; Eddie was eager to see the home renovated.  Bill could only smile and listen.

--

It was Mike and Bill’s weekly date night, so Eddie spent the rest of the evening alone.  He lay in bed trying to pay attention to a movie he’d turned on, when he heard a faint chattering outside his window.  He managed to mind his own business for a whole ten seconds before he skulked towards the sound.  He used the curtain as cover, and peaked down at the stretch of grass that separated the two buildings.  Eddie immediately spotted Stanley.  He was moving towards the back yard, talking to someone that Eddie couldn’t see from his vantage point. 

Before the figures below were completely out of sight, Eddie saw that they carried something large between them.  A long, rectangular object with features obscured by the darkness.  Whatever it was, it was too thin to be a bed, and too short to be a couch.  Eddie’s imagination ran wild and filled in the gaps that his eyes couldn’t, and he didn’t like the answer he arrived at.  

Stanley and the other man disappeared around the back of the house, and Eddie had to hope that a more rational explanation would emerge before morning.

--

“A c-coffin?” Bill’s sleep-crusted eyes narrowed.  “Eddie, it’s s-seven in the morning.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.  I could hardly sleep last night; I was trying to come up with better explanations than midnight coffin transport.  Just when I thought we lucked out with normal neighbors, they lug in a fucking casket.”  Eddie’s lips tightened into a frown; his hands were wrapped tight around a coffee mug filled with hot cocoa.  He’d already had four cups of coffee, and his father always said cocoa was good for calming nerves.  Now that he’s older, he knows there’s no way that’s true, but just remembering his father does help a little.  He took another sip.

“Eddie,” Bill rubbed a hand over his face, “how d-dark was it l-l-last night?”

“I mean… the streetlights were on, but I guess it wasn’t very—”

“And how m-much did y-you drink last night?” He directed Eddie’s attention to the empty bottle of wine that stuck out of the trash can.

“…I was having me time.” His dark eyebrows scrunched in defiance. “And I wasn’t that tipsy, Bill.”

“I b-believe you, Ed.  But there’s n-no reason for you to g-get so wo-worked up when this c-could have been a b-box from Ikea.”  He looked at Eddie with that brotherly sympathy he was so good at. “It w-was dark.”

Eddie sighed.  He had polished off that entire bottle of rosé by himself.  And Bill was right: the most logical conclusion to draw was that it was dark and Eddie was seeing things--it was probably a coffee table.

“You s-said that that Stan guy w-was nice; wh-why not just g-go over tonight and a-ask him about it?” 

The idea had occurred to Eddie. But that was the problem; Stanley was nice.  He didn’t want to insult him or weird him out.  After all, what would he even say?  ‘Hey, Stan the Man! Are you and your friend/roommate stowing coffins in your basement for a reason? Or was that ottoman just really long?’

Eddie’s uncertainty showed clearly on his face.  Bill poured himself a cup of coffee and turned to observe his friend.  Eddie stared back, imploring.  Bill sighed and relented.

“If I g-go with you will you a-ask them?”

“Please and thank you.”

--

When Eddie got home that evening, the sun was only just beginning to set.  Bill was working late that day, of course, so Eddie would have to wait.

Eddie knew that it was stupid for him to care so much, to be so frustrated.  So what if they owned a coffin?  It was already abundantly clear that Stanley and Richie weren’t necessarily normal people.  After all, they had readily decided to live in a glorified sty.  Well, Richie had.  Eddie couldn’t condemn Stanley like that; he hadn’t seemed particularly happy about this situation. 

He knew he shouldn’t care, he really did, but he wouldn’t mind an explanation.  So he was going to suck it up and go. 

Besides, he knew Bill wanted an excuse to meet the neighbors. 

But until Bill got home, all Eddie could do was pace and peek out the window.  Hardly any activity was visible next door, save for silhouetted figures moving behind curtained windows.  Eddie was just about to take another look when he heard a car pull into the driveway.

Eddie practically rushed Bill back out their door as soon as he stepped in.

“You’re the one that suggested this, let’s go.” He ushered Bill down the stairs, and started him towards the neighboring home.

“You d-don’t have to p-push, Eddie.”  Bill shook himself out of Eddie’s grasp, but continued on in the direction of their destination.  It took only a moment for them to be climbing the eroded stairs; a moment more to be rapping gently on the door.  They waited. 

A moment later, the ivory door lilted open.  Stanley stood across from them, smiling widely once he recognized Eddie.

“Eddie, to what do I owe this pleasure?”  He looked between Eddie and Bill expectantly.  Eddie felt himself shrink, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous he was being.  Maybe the coffin question was something to be worked up to.

“Hey!” he finally got out, “This is, uh, this is my friend Bill.”  He stuck a thumb towards the man at his side.

“Very nice to meet you, Bill.” Stanley’s face became warm again as he shook Bill’s outstretched hand.  Eddie knew that he would most likely come to regret his next words, but a little self-sacrifice seemed necessary. 

“Sorry, I know it’s pretty late, but I was wondering if that offer was still on the table?  The house tour?  Me and Bill finally got too curious.” Eddie put on his most charming smile.  Stanley looked between them, a hint of trepidation in him; after a beat too long, and a glance back into the depths of the house, Stan waved them in.

“Let me go tell Richie we have company.  Wait in here?” He asked.  Eddie and Bill nodded as they stepped into the foyer, and Stan disappeared through an archway.  They found themselves in a large entrance hall; dark, hardwood floors, sun-faded wallpaper, and a grand staircase in the center of it all.  At the top of the stairs, past the landing, was an immaculate stained-glass window.   The interior really wasn’t as bad as the outside.  Not by a long shot. 

“Wha-what the h-hell?”  Bill breathed, turning to Eddie.  But they didn’t get a chance to say another word before Stanley returned. 

“Make yourselves at home, please.  I’d offer you guys something to drink but we haven’t gotten a chance to go grocery shopping.”  Stanley smiled, clapping his hands together.  

Hanging above them, a small chandelier hung, filling the foyer with golden light.  Much of the second floor was covered in cobwebs, but, apart from that, the thick dust, and the small portions of the house that looked mildewed or broken, Eddie couldn’t find much to complain about.

“Th-that’s alright.  You know, this p-place is pretty i-incredible.” Bill said.

“That’s one word for it.” Stanley laughed, but then his face scrunched.  He craned his neck towards the archway he’d come through, looking for something.  “That asshole said he’d come and say hello.”  He cupped a hand beside his mouth, “Richie! Get out here and be social!”

“Are you sure you guys aren’t busy? We could come back some other time.” Eddie said.

“No, no, we were about to stop for the night anyway.  I’m honestly really glad you came by; the distraction is much appreciated.” Stanley grinned at Eddie, his hazel eyes shining.  “And Rich said he wanted to meet you two, he’s just taking his sweet-ass time.”

“I mean I do have a really sweet ass.”  A voice echoed through the entrance.

Bill and Eddie turned to find the source of the words. 

Moving out of the darkness of the hallway, a silhouetted figure approached them.  The form moved into the light of the chandelier, and leaned against the doorway.

Eddie would never admit it to another soul, but he couldn’t deny that in that moment, when his eyes found Richie’s--well, he could only assume that this was Richie--his breathing became short and his heartbeat strained against his chest.  Eddie tried not to, he really did, but his eyes swept up and down Richie’s tall frame several times.  He wore dark jeans and a red Henley; both were speckled with white paint.  Behind dark-rimmed glasses, blue eyes flicked back and forth between the three men standing in the foyer.  Eddie was speechless.

“Not funny, Trashmouth.” Stanley rolled his eyes. “This is Bill,” Richie moved from his spot, stepping further into the light, and shook Bill’s hand. “and this is Eddie.”

Richie’s attention was guided away from Bill, and towards Eddie.  He moved till he was inches from Eddie, he moved like a man possessed; he moved and Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of him.  The closeness was startling, and Eddie could only stare.  There was graying stubble dusted across his strong jaw, which tilted downward to meet Eddie’s gaze.  And his eyes, they were cold marbled stone, they were—

“Hey there, Eds.”

EDS?

“Eddie.” Eddie corrected.  Richie let out a breathy laugh and kept giggling as he offered his hand.  Eddie noticed how Richie’s left eye squinted slightly more than his right when he laughed.  Huh.  Fuck.  That’s cute.

Eddie shook himself out of his thoughts and took Richie’s hand.  His skin was cool to the touch, icy and strong as it engulfed Eddie’s hand, but Eddie could barely focus on that when Richie’s cool eyes hadn’t stopped staring him down since he’d stepped up.

“So, you two are here for the tour, huh?  Well, welcome to Casa Tozier.”  Richie grinned, and, mercifully, his eyes broke away from Eddie’s, and instead, swept across the entry hall.  “Stanny would be happy to show you around.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind the mess, Eddie?” Stanley interjected; genuine concern laced his words.

“Oh, well,” Eddie’s brain stuttered, unprepared for the attention, “I think so—”

“What’s wrong, Eds?”  Richie asked. 

Whether or not his tone was sincere, Eddie couldn’t tell.  But what Eddie did know was that he already hated this man.  He hated his stupid, lopsided grin, he hated the nicknames, and most of all, he hated that could still feel his cheeks heat whenever Richie spoke.  He couldn’t stand it; he had to retaliate.

“Nothing, Dick .  I’m just not a big fan of germs.”  He gave Richie a saccharine smile, not caring that he was being childish.  Richie’s grin faltered, but only for a moment, before reappearing--even brighter than before.

“Well,” Stanley said, startling them out of their bickering, “Bill, Eddie, let’s start the tour.”

Stanley led them around the large house, describing what they planned for the renovations, pointing out weak spots, and listing off what they had already accomplished.  Eddie and Bill followed him, and Richie brought up the rear; occasionally commenting or making a crummy joke.  Eddie couldn’t be sure, since he didn’t dare look back, but he could swear he felt Richie’s eyes on him the entire time.  Whether that was infuriating or intriguing, Eddie couldn’t be sure.

They finished up the tour.  It was late, and Bill and Eddie were both suppressing yawns.  Bill did so because he didn’t want to be rude; Eddie did so because he didn’t want to hear Richie ask if it was ‘past his bedtime’ again.  

Despite his original reservations, Eddie couldn’t find much about the house to critique.  In fact, he found himself awed by the old building, and he told Stan as much.

“I’m glad it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be.” Stanley said. “I can’t wait for you to see it when we’ve actually done some improvements.”

Apropos of nothing, Richie spoke up.

“I’ve been cooped up inside all day, why don’t I walk you two to your house?”

Eddie was stunned.  The entire visit Richie had been snarky at best and confrontational at worst.  Suddenly Richie was staring at the two of them—mostly Eddie—with a genuine question in his eyes.  

“Um.  Yeah, that’s fine.  I mean, it’s only like a five second walk.”  Eddie said.  Truthfully, he wasn’t opposed to another five seconds with Richie, but something about the way Stanley looked at Richie—as if he was searching for an ulterior motive buried behind his thick glasses—made Eddie nervous. 

“Goodnight Bill, Eddie.  Don’t be strangers.” Stan started down the hallway that led to the study; and Eddie didn’t miss the way he kept glancing back at Richie.

“After you, Eds.”  Richie said.

The walk didn’t take five seconds; it took nine.  When they arrived at their own porch, Bill was the first to speak.

“Th-thanks for sh-showing us around, Richie.  I’ve got an e-early day tomorrow, s-so I r-really better be g-going.  Goodnight.”  He said, and left them on the porch, turning on the overhead light behind him as he went.

“Do you have an early morning too, Eduardo?” Richie asked.  The dim glow above them cast soft shadows across his face.

“I don’t think I know you well enough for you to be giving me nicknames.” Eddie said.

He was feeling weary; dissected under Richie’s gaze.  Why hadn’t he just walked inside with Bill?  Said he did have an early morning?  Richie was taking in every inch of Eddie’s face, and he hoped that the dying porch light didn’t reveal the blush that was deepening across his cheeks.

“I don’t know; I like it.  A cute name for a cute guy.”

Eddie was going to explode.

“Jesus Christ,” he slid past Richie, backing through the doorway “you’re fucking ridiculous.  Does that normally work on other guys?”

“Is it working now?” Richie asked, lips quirking up.

“Not even a little bit,” he lied. “Goodnight, Richie.” He closed the door between them.

Out of Richie’s assaying view, Eddie’s knees became weak.  He leaned back against the door, squeezing his eyes closed.  He heard Bill walk up to him.

“D-did you ask h-him about the coffin?”

“FUCK!”

Chapter Text

In the following weeks, Eddie didn’t see much of Stanley.  Every once in a while, he would catch him carrying a box or mowing the lawn, never stopping for more than small talk.  More than once, however, Stan made sure to let Eddie know that he would love to hang out with him and Bill soon.  Eddie accepted the promise and waited for Stan to make the first move.

Slowly but surely, the home next door looked more and more like, well, a home.  Over a month had passed since the house tour when Stanley caught Eddie outside.  He had stopped to marvel over their newly painted siding.

“Holy shit, Stan, this looks fantastic.”

“Thanks.” Stan said, clapping a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.  “So, uh, would you be interested in a get together at our place?  Nothing big or anything, but we’ve done a lot and we wanted to celebrate.”

“Is Bill invited?”  Eddie asked.  He hated going to social events alone.

“Of course.  And honestly anyone else you want to invite… we don’t know a lot of people.”  Stan admitted.

“I’d love to, and I’m sure Bill would too.”  Stanley gave him an appreciative smile.  Eddie wondered how lonely he must be in a completely new state.  “When will it be?”

“Me and Richie were thinking Saturday.  Is that alright?”

“Sounds good.”  Eddie began walking home.  “Oh, around what time?”

“After sundown.”

--

“Mike, is this too formal?”  Eddie gestured to the sweater vest and khakis he had put on.

“How formal did he say it was?  Wait am I underdressed?”  Mike played with the end of his button-down, suddenly looking nervous.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.  Fuck, I’m gonna go change.”

“N-nope, don’t even th-think about it, Kaspbrak.”  Bill descended the stairs, dressed more casually than Mike or Eddie.  “Eddie y-you look fine, Mike y-you look fantastic, as al-always.”  He raised up on tiptoe and kissed Mike’s cheek.  A momentary flicker of jealousy showed itself on Eddie’s face, then disappeared.  He was too preoccupied with social anxiety to dwell on how lonely he was.

“This guy isn’t gonna be weird about us, is he?”  Mike asked Bill.

Eddie had heard plenty of horror stories from the two of them over the years.  How quickly people would turn on them once they made it clear they were together.  It was horrifying, but he could only truly commiserate in theory.  The fact of the matter was that Eddie Kaspbrak, as gay as he knew he was, had never even kissed a man.  Being closeted for most of your life (and being particular as hell) would do that to a person.

The all-too-familiar spiraling feeling—the one that told Eddie he somehow wasn’t queer enough, the one that told him he would be alone forever—was washing over him.  But Bill had begun speaking; Eddie shook himself out of his panic and caught the end of it.

“—Stan and R-Richie are a thing anyway.”  He finished, rubbing Mike’s arm comfortingly.  Eddie felt anything but comfortable.

“What?!”

“I s-said I th-think Stan and Richie are t-together.”  Bill stated matter-of-factly.  Eddie’s face twisted up like he had tasted something sour.

“What the hell makes you think that?”  Eddie barely refrained from yelling.

“Eddie, d-didn’t you see the w-way Richie k-kept leaning on Stan?  And ‘live-in carpenter’?  That’s so n-not a thing.”  Bill finished.  Mike had visibly relaxed.  Eddie wished he could be relieved for his friends; safe spaces hadn’t always been easy for them to come by.  But instead, he felt a pit grow in his stomach.

They arrived early, but Stan still greeted them happily.  The entry hall had been cleaned and polished, and new furniture was spread out around them.  Stanley led them to the sitting room where Richie was reclined across a leather chaise lounge. 

Since their first meeting, Eddie had resigned himself to being nervous around Richie; after all, no one had ever flirted with him so overtly before, especially not someone Eddie was that attracted to.  As infuriating as it was, no amount of Richie’s bad jokes or stupid nicknames could have detracted from that attraction.  But if Bill was right—and he always was—Richie was taken.  Eddie didn’t feel nervous; he felt hurt.

“Is there something on my shirt, Eds?”  Eddie’s train of thought derailed.  Richie was comically stretching out his sweater, looking for a stain he knew wasn’t there.

“Apart from that gaudy pattern? No, nothing.”  Everyone but Eddie laughed.  This was going to be a long night.

More guests began to arrive; mostly neighbors.  Eddie only recognized one of them: Patty from across the street.  She was situated between Bill and Stan on the couch; the three of them deep in a conversation Eddie couldn’t hear. 

Mike and Eddie had long since sequestered themselves into a corner.  They didn’t chat much, choosing instead to people-watch.  There was one person in particular that Eddie couldn’t help but look back to.  Richie stood across the room, surrounded by all the other guests.  His voice boomed through the room, making it near impossible for Eddie to ignore. 

Everyone seemed to love him; he joked, they laughed, he smiled, and the neighborhood smiled with him.  The pit in Eddie’s stomach grew as he watched Richie.  Maybe he hadn’t been flirting with Eddie.  Maybe he was just being himself.  Eddie suddenly felt very foolish.

“Stanny!” Richie said as he maneuvered through the crowd.  He reached the couch and kneeled at Stan’s feet, taking his hands in his own.  “Would you pretty-please do me a favor?”  Stan rolled his eyes, but smiled, nonetheless.  Eddie allowed himself a moment to be jealous; but only a moment.

“What is it, Richie?”

“Well, these lovely people were wanting to see the rest of the house, and I said I’d be happy to show them, but Beverly and Ben still aren’t here and—”

“And you want me to stay down here in case they come?”  Stanley finished for him.

“Bingo!”  He patted Stan’s knees and stood.  “This way, folks.  I’ll be your tour guide this evening.” He was backing out of the room; a throng of guests following behind him.

“You coming?” Mike asked.

“Nah, you go ahead.  I’m not really in the mood for the Richie Tozier comedy hour.” Eddie said.

Slowly, everyone but Stan and Eddie had wandered off.

“Didn’t want another tour?” Stan asked.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well I’m glad you’re keeping me company.  Do you wanna sit down?” He patted the cushion beside him.  Eddie moved to the seat without a word.  “So Mike and Bill are a cute couple.  I’m glad they came tonight.” Stan said.  Eddie nodded fondly.  “Is there someone special in your life, Eddie?”

“Nope.” He pursed his lips together. “It’s just me.”

“Oh.  That’s pretty hard to believe.”  Eddie laughed a cynical laugh.

“I’m starting to think I’m better off being single for the rest of my life.” Stanley frowned at that.  “But, hey, if the right guy comes along, you’ll be the first to know.” Eddie grinned; no real joy in his eyes.  His ingrained self-loathing, combined with the fact that Richie—the one person to show any interest in him—was taken, did nothing to make Eddie optimistic about a future love life.

Stanley had been watching him, but now his eyes had fallen.  He looked lost in thought.

“Eddie, this is probably the worst time to ask this… But, do you know if Patty is single?”

Eddie’s soul left his body.  He was vaguely aware of his eyes bulging, and the sound of his heartbeat circulating a dull rhythm in his ears, but he couldn’t respond.  Words would not form in his mouth, even if he wanted them to.

“Eddie?  You alright?”  He had gently placed his hands on Eddie’s shoulders; it made him feel grounded enough to speak.

“What about Richie?” He uttered dumbly.

“What about Richie?”

“What about you and Richie?  You’re together aren’t you?”  Eddie said, confusion lacing every syllable.  Stan paled.

When Richie returned, Stanley still hadn’t stopped laughing.  He was doubled over, one hand gripping Eddie’s forearm.  Eddie was starting to panic; Stan was in hysterics, and it was his fault.

“What did you do to him?”  Richie was staring at Eddie, wide-eyed and amused.

“I didn’t do anything!”  Eddie crossed his arms defensively.  The other guests began to file back into the sitting room as Stan finally calmed.  He took in deep breaths, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, Rich; I’ll tell you later.” Stan said. “Thank you, Eddie, I needed that.” He spotted Patty near the hors d’oeuvres, and left them unceremoniously.

Richie was still staring at Eddie.

“You didn’t come on the tour.” He said.  If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d say he looked disappointed. 

“I, uh, I thought Stan could use some company.”  Eddie said, looking anywhere but Richie.  The haze of assumptions and hurt had cleared, and Eddie felt that nervousness he thought he had prepared for.

“That’s okay, Eds.  Stan deserves more friends like you.”  Richie sounded genuine for the first time since they met.  For that, Eddie could forgive the nickname.

“Thanks, Richie.”  Eddie flushed despite himself.  Richie was looking at him the way he had the night he walked Eddie home.  It wouldn’t be overdramatic to say he was devouring Eddie with his eyes.  But suddenly, his face changed, and excitement took over.

“Why don’t I give you a one-on-one tour?  Come on, Eddie Spaghetti, there’s lots of stuff I want you to see.”  Richie bounced enthusiastically, waiting for Eddie to respond.

“Okay, fine.  I’ll come with you if you promise never to call me that again.”

“I can’t promise that.”  Richie said.  Eddie followed him anyway.

He led Eddie into the foyer, and started up the stairs; grinning like an idiot the entire time.  Eddie slowed when they reached the stained glass that encompassed the landing.  He couldn’t believe that something so beautiful could be hidden inside something so noisome. 

“I love it, too.” Richie said, breaking Eddie from his trance.  They looked at one another before glancing back at the rainbowed panes before them.

“I bet it looks gorgeous in the daylight.”  Eddie marveled.  He reached out, dragging a finger along the textured glass.  Richie was silent, then.  More silent than Eddie could ever imagine him being.  He looked over and found him staring wistfully at the floorboards.

“It does.” He finally said.  Before Eddie could worry if he’d said something wrong, Richie grinned at him. “Come over and see it anytime you want.”  He moved away from Eddie then; walking towards an open doorway.  Eddie followed.

Richie flicked on a light switch as he stepped into a large study.  Bookshelves covered the far wall, a new desk sat to their left, and a faded, leather couch to their right.

“What did you want to show me?” Eddie asked, moving to investigate the bookshelves.  Only a couple of shelves contained actual novels; the rest were filled with comic books, board games, and action figures.  “Surely you didn’t just want me to see your Shazam comics.”

“Well, no.  Especially now that I know you wouldn’t appreciate them.”  Richie gave him a disapproving look; Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Then what?” Eddie laughed.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far… Oh, hey look at this area rug!  It’s the only thing Stan actually let me pick out.”  Eddie could tell.  The rug was severely out of place; it looked like the 80’s threw up on it—all geometric pinks and turquoises covering an off-white base.  It was exactly what he expected from Richie, and Eddie found it incredibly endearing.

“It’s, uh, it’s something.  I like it.  Reminds me of my childhood.”  Eddie said, and his heart jumped a little because Richie was beaming at him now; a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  Eddie tried desperately not to read too much into that look, but trying seemed futile when Richie began to move towards him.

“Thanks for that, Eds.”  He stepped along the garish rug, moving closer.  As the space between them became smaller and smaller, the fluttering in Eddie’s stomach spread through his limbs till his whole body felt numb and prickly.  Richie had to grace to look nervous too; his hands were shoved awkwardly into his pockets.  Unfortunately, this did nothing to diminish the nerves that were wracking Eddie’s body.

“Thanks for what?”  Eddie breathed.

“For being nice.” Richie said.  He was so close that Eddie could count the gray hairs speckled across his chin; could now see that his blue eyes were really the color of polished steel.  In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lean up and kiss the smirk off of Richie’s face.  But before he could, Richie was speaking again.  “Didn’t know you had it in you; normally you’re so snarky.”

“I’m snarky?” Eddie screeched.  “God, you’re unbelievable.” 

“You mean that in a good way, right?” Richie’s eyes crinkled; his tongue poked out, wetting his lips.  Eddie’s eyes followed the movement, and Richie noticed.  “I meant what I said, by the way.”

“What?”

“That you’re cute.”  Richie said, matter-of-factly.  Eddie rolled his eyes, but he felt his body heat up.  He hated how much Richie affected him.  He wished he could explain it away; say that Richie just happened to be the first semi-attractive man to show any interest in him, but there was something more.  Eddie couldn’t explain it, but Richie tugged at something deep within him; it drew him in, made him want to be impossibly closer to him.  Eddie didn’t believe in love at first sight, didn’t believe in shit like preternatural forces, but the way Richie made him feel almost had him believing in something.

Besides, it really, really didn’t help that Richie was looking at Eddie like he wanted to eat him.  It was maddening and exciting.

“Thanks… I guess.”  Eddie stared at the space between their feet.

“Hey, you okay, Spaghetti?”

“Don’t call me that, dickhead.”  Eddie spat defensively.

“Don’t call me dickhead, dickhead.” Richie laughed.  Eddie watched Richie’s hand lift up slowly.  It stopped for a second, hovering in midair, before rising again and resting along Eddie’s jaw.  It was a gentle touch, but Eddie could feel it down his spine.  His eyes fluttered up to meet Richie’s, and it was so nice for a moment… But then Richie’s hand moved to Eddie’s cheek, pinching the skin there.

“You’re so fucking cute, Eds!”  Eddie jerked out of his grasp, smacking at Richie’s arms. “You know that, right?”  Richie said fondly.  They both stilled.  Eddie’s hand stopped swatting, finding purchase on one of Richie’s biceps.  Richie’s hand found Eddie’s jaw again.

“That I’m cute?”  Eddie asked.  Richie gave him a small nod.  “I wouldn’t really call myself that.”  His hand tensed where it was touching Richie.

“Okay, okay, so not cute, but what about adorable?  Devilishly handsome?  Fucking hot—come on, Eds, work with me.”

“I don’t know, Richie… I never thought I was all that special…”  Eddie stared up at Richie, and Richie stared right back.  An emotion, something between confusion and hurt, flickered across Richie’s face.  The hand on Eddie’s jaw trailed down to his neck; Eddie’s heart thrashed inside his chest.

Richie’s eyes shot down to where his fingertips ghosted over Eddie’s pulse point.  His gray eyes seemed to change.

“Is there something on my neck?” Eddie said.  He shivered when Richie’s thumb traced a line up and down his skin. 

“Rich?” 

He didn’t respond. 

“Richie, hey, Rich.  What’s wrong?”  He gripped Richie’s sweater, gently shaking him.  His eyes lightened, and he stepped back quickly. 

“I’m… I’m sorry, Eddie Spaghetti.”  He gave Eddie a tight grin, stepping away further.  “I should get back to the party; Stan’s gonna kill me for abandoning him.”  He turned on a heel and left.

Eddie just stared after him.

When he left the party (very soon after his interaction with Richie), he said goodbye to Stan and Patty, and told Bill he’d see him at home.  Richie was back in his former position, surrounded by guests.  Eddie avoided him like the plague.  He knew he was bad with men, knew his flirting skills were nonexistent, but it still hurt like hell for Richie to just leave like that.

He made it home, showered, got in bed, and tried desperately to get Richie’s face out of his head; an effort that proved to be immediately useless.  He was just about done feeling sorry for himself when he felt his phone vibrate.  An unknown number popped up on the illuminated screen.  A telemarketer.  Perfect.  Just what Eddie needed to cap off this terrible night.  He swiped a finger across the screen, jerking the phone up to his ear a little too roughly.

“Look, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you idiots to take me off of your fucking lists, but—”

“Damn, you’re feisty.”  Richie’s voice cut in, interrupting Eddie’s outburst.

“Richie?”  Eddie said, suppressing the urge to yell.

“Hey, Eduardo.  I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Bill if he’d give me your number.”  Eddie made a mental note to murder Bill in the morning.  “I wanted to apologize.”  Richie said after a moment of dead air.  Eddie was skeptical, but he remained silent, allowing Richie to continue.  “I’m…  Things are difficult for me right now, but I just wanted you to know that… fuck, I like you, Eddie.  I know tonight didn’t really end well but I just needed you to know that.”

Eddie was speechless.  He didn’t know emotional whiplash could feel so good, but dammit if a stupid grin wasn’t plastered across his face.

“Oh.”  Eddie whispered.

“Yeah, oh.”  Richie’s laugh crackled across the line.  “Speaking of ‘oh,’ guess what I found out?”

“Oh god, what?”  Eddie asked, enraptured by how giddy he felt.  Richie liked him too.  Obnoxious, goofy, funny Richie liked him back, and it felt fantastic.

“Look out your window.” Richie said.  Eddie hesitated.

“What—why?”

“Just do it, Spaghetti.”  Eddie rolled his eyes, but got out of bed, moving to his window.  He scanned the grass below, almost expecting to see Richie standing there with a guitar, singing an Italian serenade.  But the space between their houses was barren, and Eddie didn’t know what he was looking for.  Then, suddenly, the window across from his own lit up.  Eddie looked up and saw Richie, standing there, with a phone pressed to the side of his face, staring at Eddie. 

Eddie was immediately regretting his decision to sleep in his short shorts.

“We’re window neighbors!”  Richie said, jumping up and down excitedly.

Eddie shoved his curtains closed, sliding back into his bed. 

“Go the fuck to sleep, Richie.  I don’t even want to know how you figured that out.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Richie said, anxiously.  “Do you like me too, Window Neighbor?”

“Goodnight, dickhead.”

Chapter Text

Eddie ended their call and set his phone down.  His mind was reeling from Richie’s confession, and a fondness began to hum through his body.  Eddie wondered if this was what it always felt like to want and be wanted in return.

He was pulled from his reverie when his phone vibrated beside him, buzzing.  A new text illuminated the screen; Eddie could see that it was an unknown number, and every fiber of his being hoped that it was Richie again.

Unknown: it’s sexy when you hang up on me

Eddie laughed, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  He read the words over and over until his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.  He felt ridiculous; curled up in bed, giggling at the cheesiest text he had ever received.  But it was hard to feel too ridiculous when he pictured Richie grinning proudly at himself; his eyes crinkled and his lips curled tightly.  Eddie wondered if Richie would still be at his window, or if he peeked out of his curtains, would he see Richie there.  Before he could wonder too much, he was leaving his bed and approaching the window.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie registered that it was sorta, kinda creepy to be spying on Richie without him knowing, but it would only be for a moment. 

He slid a single finger in between the curtains, careful not to make his movements too obvious, and slowly parted the fabric, millimeter by millimeter, till an inch of glass was visible.  Eddie situated himself behind the window; crouching till his eye was level with the separated length of curtain.

Across the way, Richie’s bedroom light was still on.  Eddie could see the floral pattern on Richie’s comforter, the light on his side-table that didn’t have a lampshade yet, and, most surprisingly, the red-headed woman who sat nonchalantly on Richie’s bed.

Eddie’s stomach lurched. 

She was stunning; that was abundantly clear even from his limited vantage point.  Bright blue eyes, a strong jawline, and plump lips—the complete opposite of Eddie.  He tried not to read too much into that; he was upset enough already.

Just when he was about to crawl dejectedly back into bed—and stare at Richie’s text till he either replied with a quick, succinct ‘fuck you,’ or cried himself to sleep—Richie himself sauntered into view.

The two smiled at one another, and Eddie hated the rush of jealousy that coursed through his body.  Richie sat down on the bed, only inches away from the woman, and handed her a rolled-up towel.  They were talking to each other, but Eddie couldn’t make out any of their words.  Richie made a dumb face—the one that meant he thought he was being funny—and the woman simply rolled her eyes and smiled at him.  Eddie wanted to stop watching, wanted to stop torturing himself and leave before this turned voyeuristic, but his legs were rooted to the floor.

Richie must have said something characteristically vulgar then, because the redhead reached up with her folded towel and hit him playfully over the head.  He feigned shock, but a huge smile was playing at the corners of his mouth as he wrangled the cloth out of her hands.  As they both laughed, Richie splayed the towel across her thighs.  As baffled as he was by the action, Eddie couldn’t help but notice how non-sexual it seemed.  It was almost clinical.

While Eddie was busy reflecting on towel placement, Richie was holding out his hand, palm up; a silent request directed at the redhead.  She readily rolled back the sleeve of her shirt and placed her arm into Richie’s waiting hand.  When Richie brought his open mouth down onto her pale wrist, it was all Eddie could do to squeeze his eyes shut and swallow down the angry tears that stung his eyes. 

His hand had begun to shake violently where it held back the curtain.  Fearing that the unsteady movement would draw attention and give him away—effectively adding insult to injury—Eddie opened his eyes to make sure his cover wasn’t blown.  That’s when he noticed the expression on the woman’s face.  Though a trained look of stoicism was fixed across her elegant features, there was no mistaking the occasional winces of pain. 

Eddie couldn’t help himself.  His eyes shot down to Richie’s lips in time to see him pull away from the wrist that he had clasped so gently.  Something was… off.  Horrifyingly off.  Because behind the curvature of Richie’s flushed lips, two long, unmistakable fangs jutted downward.  His tongue flicked up across the sharp teeth, and Eddie shivered.  Richie—smartass, adorable, charming, Richie—looked preternaturally inhuman, and Eddie could feel his heartbeat throbbing in his temples, could feel the nausea of pure, unadulterated fear settling in his stomach.

He couldn’t look at Richie’s mouth any longer; he was overcome with some instinctual fear that settled into his very core, and he knew he had to run away.  But his legs became numb as dread filled his body like water in a bucket; he couldn’t flee if he tried.

His eyes flashed desperately around, searching for an ounce of human normalcy to ground him, but all he could see were Richie’s red-rimmed, yellow eyes as they stared down at the redhead’s arm.  Before he could stop himself, Eddie’s panicked eyes moved to follow Richie’s gaze.  Maroon liquid pumped out and across the woman’s smooth skin, dripping down onto her covered lap.

Oh.  That’s what the towel’s for, Eddie thought as his limbs dropped helplessly and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Chapter Text

When Eddie came to, it was still dark outside.  His curtain was closed, but he could understand that much. 

What he couldn’t understand, however, was why he was on the floor. 

Eddie’s mind was all fogged over (spending an indeterminate amount of time unconscious will do that to a person, after all).  His arms wobbled unsteadily when he sat up, and nausea churned through his body with the movement.  He was distractedly lamenting the crick that was no doubt developing in his neck, when he became distantly aware of a niggling thought in the back of his head.  Past all the physical pain and disorientation, he could feel a familiar swell of negativity take root in his core.  For a moment, he was blissfully unable to identify it, only aware that it left him in a cold sweat.

But just like that, apropos of nothing, the haze lifted, and Eddie knew exactly what he was feeling.

Fear.

Eddie was scared. 

He shot up off the floor, swallowing down the dread that brimmed in his chest.  His head was spinning, and he wished he could blame it on motion sickness or his stupid phobia, but he knew that that would be a lie.  The truth, the horrible truth that had Eddie racing down the hallway towards Bill’s room, was that Richie was a vampire.

Eddie wanted to kick himself for even thinking it.  He knew it was ridiculous, it was fiction, it was empirically impossible.  And yet…

“Bill!”  Eddie threw open the door, wincing when it slammed violently into the wall.  Bill lifted his head slowly off of Mike’s chest; clearly the two had been asleep before Eddie had burst into their room at God-knows-what-hour.

“Eddie, wh-what’s wrong?  Are y-y-you okay?”  Bill stammered.  He was still blinking the sleep from his eyes, but his words conveyed such concern that if this was any other situation, Eddie would have been touched. 

“Bill—Bill it’s Richie!  He—he—”

“Clearly has a big crush on you?”  Mike asked, finally waking up.

“No—I mean yes, but that’s not the point.”  Eddie said.  His cheeks flushed at Mike’s words, and he hated that his body apparently hadn’t caught on to the fact that you’re not supposed to get weak-kneed at the thought of a blood-sucking vampire. 

Bill’s eyes were fixed on him, assured and caring and so calm that Eddie breathed his first steady breath since he woke up.  He knew that he could trust him—it was just a question of whether or not Bill would believe him; this couldn’t be another coffin fiasco.

Oh, the fucking coffin.  Eddie wanted to scream.

“Bill, can I talk to you?  Alone?” Eddie asked.  Mike looked up at Bill skeptically.  “I know it’s really late, but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.  Please.”  Without another word, Bill threw back the covers and moved to Eddie.  He pulled them both into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

Bill placed his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and held them tightly; and Eddie was so incredibly grateful.  His eyes silently begged Eddie to speak; because even behind Big Bill’s brave façade, it was clear that he was scared too.  Scared for Eddie. 

“We’re alone, Eddie, y-you gotta tell me w-what’s wrong.”  Bill said.

“Right, right.  Okay…”  Eddie wracked his brain for the right words.  Because even with the hope that Bill would believe him—no matter how insane he sounded—Eddie had to choose his words carefully.  He thought over the events that preceded the horrific discovery, and realized how much had happened.  Richie—vampire Richie—had confessed his feelings for Eddie just like another human would; and he had sounded so sincere that Eddie’s stomach filled with butterflies even as he stood before Bill.  He shook his head, as if he could physically shake away the emotions that still swelled in his chest.  When he found that he couldn’t, he breathed out a heavy sigh, exasperated and disappointed.  He needed to sit down.

“Eddie, you d-don’t look good, buddy.”  Bill said, holding Eddie’s shoulders tighter.

“Can we sit down?”  Eddie said, his head spinning and body aching even as the pang of nausea began to subside.  He hated himself for asking so much of Bill, and when Bill simply nodded and pressed a gentle hand to Eddie’s back as they walked down the stairs, he knew he didn’t deserve such a good friend.  They sat down on the white love seat.  Bill’s knee pressed casually against Eddie’s; a comforting warmth emanated from the contact. 

Eddie stared forward, his eyes landing on the coffee table, its polished wood shone under the overhead light.  If he kept looking ahead, focusing on the natural divots and valleys in the dark wood, rather than back at Bill, then maybe he could get through this.

He started off slow; regaling his and Richie’s earlier phone call.  Bill couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at that, and Eddie even smiled for a moment.  He continued, describing his covert attempt to see Richie one more time, and how much he regretted it when he saw the red-headed woman there.

“That p-piece of shit.”  Bill spat.

“That’s what I thought too.”  Eddie said, cringing at the memory.  “But then…”  Bill’s eyebrows drew together, confused.  Eddie began to describe the scene that followed: the towel, the friendly banter, and finally, the fangs.

“F-fangs?”  Bill said, and Eddie hated the skepticism that was clearly evident in his tone. 

“Yes, fucking fangs.”  He rushed to say.  “The red-head just gave him her fucking wrist and—and his fangs…”  Bill’s features were still twisted into an incredulous gape.  Eddie’s eyes stung; he could feel the corners brimming with tears.  “He fucking bit her—I saw the fucking blo—Bill I saw it running off her skin—I saw it hit the stupid fucking towel—” He couldn’t breathe.  His hands flew to his chest and gripped at the skin there, as if he could tear open his flesh and give his lungs room to expand.  His vision was clouding over again, but he forced himself to focus; he couldn’t pass out again, couldn’t leave Bill before he was certain that he believe him.  If that was even a possibility.

“Hey, hey, b-breathe, Eddie, breathe.”  Bill grabbed his hands, forcing him to release the now-tender skin under his t-shirt.  Eddie did as he was told; in through the nose, out through the mouth, over and over till the darkness receded and his vision was only obstructed by the tears that fell freely down his cheeks.  “Eddie, I n-need you to f-focus, okay?  C-can you do that f-for me?”  He squeezed Eddie’s hands so tightly that it almost hurt, but he squeezed right back, keeping Bill there with him.  Bill’s eyebrows were raised, questioning.

“Yeah.  Yeah, sure.”  Eddie said, his voice rough from ragged breaths and ugly tears.

“Alright.”  Bill said.  He looked down at their clasped hands, thinking for a moment.  “I b-believe you.  At l-least I believe th-that you believe it.”  Bill gave his shaking hands a quick, reassuring squeeze; Eddie would take whatever he could get.

“Thanks, Bill.”  Eddie breathed.  His face stung from hot tears, and the neck of his shirt was soaked.  He felt disgusting, but Bill didn’t seem to be bothered; his mind obviously preoccupied with more pressing matters.

“Wh-what do you want t-to do about this?”  Bill asked.  “I m-mean, if we called the c-cops… what w-would we even t-tell them?”

Eddie hadn’t thought about that.  He hadn’t thought about how or if they should deal with it, if they should even bring it up.  But they should… right?  Richie was hurting people…right?  Maybe?  As far as Eddie could remember, the red head looked pretty complacent; he hadn’t imagined how routine and downright innocent the whole thing seemed.  Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“I honestly don’t know.”  Eddie said, blinking hard as the last of the tears trailed off his chin.  “I don’t think calling the cops is a good idea.”

“Okay.  Should we… talk to him?”  Bill asked, unsure.  Eddie jerked back; the idea of willingly stepping foot back into that house made his heart stutter.  “I know, I know, b-but apart from the potential v-vampire thing, Richie s-seems…not evil?”

“I don’t know.” Eddie said.

“W-well what about Stan?”

Eddie hadn’t even thought about Stanley.  It was hard to believe that someone as mild mannered as Stan would cohabitate with a creature of the night, but at least Eddie could be sure that he wasn’t one as well; Stanley could come out in the sunlight.

“Yeah.  Maybe that could work.”

--

Eddie didn’t sleep well after that night.  He avoided his bedroom, choosing instead to get what little sleep he could on the couch.  Even then, he really didn’t sleep well.

Two days pass without incident.  Eddie goes to work early before the sun comes up—practically running to his car every time—he comes home in the evening and scans the neighboring house for any sign of Stan, and when he’s nowhere to be seen, Eddie spends the rest of the night locked inside.  He’ll be damned if he’s going anywhere near Richie’s house again; if he’s speaking with Stan, it’ll be in the daytime, and when Stan’s already outside.  He was terrified and dying for answers, but he wasn’t stupid.

The day he finally did see Stan, he froze up.  He had been checking the mail when the subtle creak of a door grabbed his attention.  He looked up in time to see Stan waltzing down the walkway, heading right towards him.

“Eddie, how the hell are you?”  Stan asked.  If he saw the panic on Eddie’s face, he didn’t mention it.  “I’m sorry you had to leave so soon the other night.  Richie didn’t do something to scare you off, did he?”  Eddie forced down a bitter laugh; the irony of Stanley’s words cut deep.

“No, no, don’t worry about it.  I just—I just had to get up early the next morning.”  Eddie said unconvincingly.

“That’s a relief.”  Stan laughed, but for the first time since Eddie had met him, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.  A thoughtful look spread across his features.  “I know Richie can be a lot sometimes… well, all of the time, but he’s harmless.  I promise.”

Eddie found himself wanting to believe Stanley’s words; even if he wasn’t talking about the vampire thing, Eddie could tell that he meant what he said.  It was a small comfort. 

Eddie nodded, more for himself than for Stan. 

“Stan, can I ask a favor?”  Eddie asked.  It was now or never.

“Of course.”

“Would you want to come over to our place sometime soon?”  Eddie’s voice wavered, unsure where exactly he was going with this.  The more he talked with Stan—the more he talked about Richie—the more he knew he needed Bill there with him.  He was dreaming if he thought he could confront Stan alone.  “Hang out with me and Bill?”  Stan’s face softened as he laughed.

“That’s not a favor; I’d be happy to.”  Stan said.  Eddie smiled, and he once again found that it was easy to do, to smile when Stan smiled.  “Is Richie invited?”

Eddie’s breath caught in the back of his throat.  He schooled his features and answered with the first thing that came to mind.

 “Of course.  Bill and I were thinking some time during the day.  Maybe lunch.”  Eddie said.  He didn’t miss the way that Stan’s gentle features contorted almost imperceptibly; twisting uncomfortably.

“I’ll see if he can make it.”  Stan said.

--

So they exchanged phone numbers and went their separate ways.  When Stan texted him that night, it was to inform Eddie that he was free for lunch the next day, but, unfortunately, Richie was not.  All this information was, of course, relayed to Bill as soon as Eddie got it, and they began to make their plans.  Tomorrow, they would make lunch and hold a pleasant conversation with Stan until they thought it was the right time to ask whether or not his roommate was undead.  Neither Eddie or Bill believed that there was a good time to ask such a question, but that was their plan and they were sticking to it.

When they were as satisfied with their flawless scheme as they could be, Bill said goodnight, leaving Eddie laying on the sofa.  Though exhaustion was finally beginning to win over—one hour of sleep a night was no way for a forty-year-old man to live—Eddie still had one more thing he needed to do, and he didn’t want to do it in front of Bill.  Bill’s faith in Eddie over the past few days had been unwavering, he couldn’t betray that trust just because he was having a moment of doubt. 

He picked his laptop off of the coffee table and brought up Google.  Even as he typed out his query, he felt ridiculous; never in his life did he expect to have to search ‘how to tell if someone’s a vampire?’ but here he was. 

He wasn’t expecting much, and the idea of having this in his search history was not appealing, but Eddie wasn’t exactly versed in the paranormal; it didn’t hurt to check before he and Bill made absolute fools out of themselves.  He scrolled through results on movie monsters and past numbered lists that must have been made as jokes, till he found an article that seemed serious enough. 

Eddie was surprised by how many ‘presumed vampire traits’—as the article put it—he was familiar with: they can’t go out in sunlight, they’re immortal, and, to Eddie’s eternal chagrin, they drink blood.  He ignored the sickly feeling that began creeping up his throat and pressed on.  He wasn’t on the internet trying to definitively prove whether or not Richie was a vampire; he was already pretty sure, but if there was a way that they could covertly test their theory, see for themselves without having to blatantly ask Stanley, then he was willing to do some research.  No matter how ridiculous it was.

After reading for a while, and learning more about the history of vampires than he ever wanted to know, he considered his options.  He thought about giving Richie food spiked with garlic or holy water, but he wasn’t even sure that Richie could eat food, and the article mentioned that both could be lethal.  He didn’t want to hurt Richie. 

Checking for a reflection was also out of the question; apparently that only applied to old mirrors that used silver, and Eddie was on a time crunch, so there would be no last-minute antique mirror purchases.

There was one last option that seemed doable.  His eyes flicked over the words; reading and re-reading them till he convinced himself that this could work, they wouldn’t have to interrogate Stan and ruin their newfound friendship. 

‘A vampire cannot enter your house without being invited by the rightful owner first.’

This could work; it had to.  If Richie came over to their home, walked up their porch stairs like he did the night they met—god, that was a good night, Eddie thought—and had to endlessly wait for Eddie or Bill to invite him in, then they could know without a doubt.

Fuck, Eddie realized, Richie wasn’t able to make it tomorrow; of course he wasn’t, he was a fucking vampire, incapable of going to brunch.

He had to text Stan immediately, let him know that there was a change of plans, ask him if Richie could make it if they met later in the day.  So he did.  He scrambled off the couch and grabbed his phone, ripping it off of his charger in the process.  He texted Stanley, his hands shaking as he thumbed out his question, and waited for a response.  Stan was probably already asleep; the clock on Eddie’s phone told him that it was 11:57. Eddie was about to give up hope when a minute later, Stan’s name popped up on his phone.

Stan Uris: I asked Richie and he just whooped and fist pumped… I guess that means he can come.  See you then! 

Eddie shot him a quick goodnight text, sure to apologize for the last-minute change, before he collapsed back onto the couch.  Anxiety had been playing hell with his emotions, causing a deep, existential dread to take root in his stomach and fuzz up his mind till it hurt to think, but now a sense of relief crept into his body.  For the first time in days, Eddie felt like he had a hold on the situation.

But then his phone started ringing.

He couldn’t say he was surprised to see Richie’s name lighting up his screen, and he certainly wasn’t surprised by the way his heart palpitated, but he was surprised to find that he wanted to talk to him.  Before he went and screwed everything up by spying of Richie, Eddie was actually happy.  Richie made him giddy, he made him nervous, and Eddie hated how much he still felt for him—even after everything he’d seen.

He answered the call.

“Hello, Edward Kaspbrak speaking.”  Eddie said, because yes, he had saved Richie’s name in his phone, but he didn’t have to let Richie know that.

“Aw, you’re such a professional, Eds.”  Richie simpered.  Eddie hadn’t realized how much he missed Richie’s voice.

“Oh, Richie, hey.  Didn’t know it was you.”  Eddie said as convincingly as possible.  “A little late to be calling isn’t it?  Especially if you’re just going to mock me.”

“Aw, I’m not mocking you, Spaghetti; frankly it’s adorable.”  Eddie could hear the smile in Richie’s voice, and it turned out to be impossible not to grin a little in return.  He was endlessly thankful that Richie couldn’t see him.  “So, Stan just told me something interesting.”  Richie said after a beat.

“Oh really?”  Eddie said, hoping the intended eyeroll was obvious.

“Well, earlier dear Staniel asked me if I’d be free to have lunch at a certain cutie’s house, but unfortunately I just wouldn’t be able to make it—heartbreaking, I know—but then all of a sudden, he tells me that plans have changed.  You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Eddie scoffed; partially to hide the giggle that escaped his lips, but also because he would never be over how unabashedly fucking forward Richie was.  And, oh yeah, because a bloodsucking freak was flirting with him and it was working.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Richie. Something came up.  That’s all.”  Eddie flushed.

“Of course, Eds.  I totally won’t read anything into it.”

“Good.  Cause you shouldn’t.”  Eddie said, his lips twisting into a sour frown when he heard Richie laughing across the line.

“Well, while I’m busy not doing that, why don’t you come to your window?  I’ve missed my little Eds.”  Richie said.  Eddie stumbled at that, unsure of how exactly to respond.

Bickering always seemed to work.

“First off, I’m not little.  Okay, asshole?  And second… I’m not yours.”  Eddie huffed, annoyed by how unconvinced he was with his own words.  Richie was, of course, unfazed.

“Alight, fine, grouchy-pants, but I still wanna see you.  Pretty please?”  Richie asked, his voice going high pitched and whiny.

“Jesus, Rich you’re going to see me tomorrow night.”

“Not soon enough; get your cute butt out of bed.”

Eddie took in his surroundings and the sofa beneath him, doing mental calculations on how long it would take to run upstairs and get to his window.

“Just… just give me a second.”  Eddie said, shooting off of the couch and down the hallway.

“Take your time, Eds; I’ve got all night.”  Richie drawled. 

Eddie took the stairs two steps at a time, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible.  He inched past Bill’s room and pushed into his own, cringing at the loud creak of the hinges.  He didn’t bother with the light switch, and he hardly gave himself time to adjust to the darkness, stumbling as he navigated between the furniture. 

Before he knew it, he was at his window, right back where he swore he’d never be again; not if he could help it—and all it took was Richie just…asking him to.  Eddie honestly didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with him.

He brought his free hand up, shaking the whole time, and pulled back the curtain. 

And there was Richie.  He wasn’t looking up yet, thankfully, but he was leaning against the large frame of the window.  He had his phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder, and holy hell, no man needs shoulders that wide.  His hands were busy cutting into what looked like a white peach.

“What are you eating?”  Eddie asked, smirking to himself when Richie jumped and fumbled with his slice of fruit.

“Holy shit—” Richie gasped, quickly nabbing the falling slice and shoving it into his mouth.  “Ffck, Ehs, ‘m eatin’ uh froo—” He paused and chewed way too loudly before talking again.  “I’m eating some fruit cause someone took their sweet time.”

“Well I’m here now, asshole.”  Eddie said.  Richie placed a hand against the window frame and leaned into it like a teenage heartthrob with a locker door; Eddie swore he was trying to kill him.

“Hey, I’m just relieved you haven’t hung up on me yet.”  Richie laughed and Eddie watched his shoulders rise and fall.  He was struck by how immensely human he looked, framed in pale lighting, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and his completely normal-sized teeth bared in a crooked grin.  When he looked back to Eddie, he kept smiling, but it turned into something softer.  Something much fonder.  Eddie couldn’t fall back into this hole; at least not now.

“Are you good now?  Can I go to sleep?”  Eddie asked, a little more curt than he had planned.  He watched Richie’s smile fall as he began shifting his weight nervously.

“Sure, man.  You don’t owe me anything.”  Richie said weakly; his eyes wouldn’t meet Eddie’s.

“Rich—”

“I’m sorry I said I liked you.”  Richie interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up as if he was surprised by his own confession.  “I mean I guess I’m not sorry, but I did kinda spring it on you—and we don’t really know each other, but I just felt like—like we had a connection.”  He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose before stomping out of Eddie’s view.  “And I know how fucking cliché that is but… I thought you felt it too.”  Richie said.  Eddie felt his words as if they were knives in his chest, cleaving his ribs and tearing apart his insides.  He hated to admit how conflicted he was, but if he was honest with himself, he had been conflicted from the moment the red headed woman smiled at Richie.

Fuck it, he felt it too; he felt all of it.  He liked Richie, he liked that Richie liked him, and if Richie was a vampire… he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

“I did.  I do.  I feel it too, I mean.”  Eddie said, hoping it sounded as true as it was.  There was a shuffling noise from Richie’s end before he came careening back into his previous position, only this time when his hand flew out to grab at the window, it was to steady himself.  A goofy smile was plastered onto his face and he was somehow out of breath, which Eddie knew couldn’t have been healthy.  It was unbearably adorable.  “I like you too, Richie… against my better judgement.”

“Holy shit.”  Richie breathed.  “I really wanna kiss you, can I, like—can I come over—”

“No!”  Eddie said too quickly.  “No, don’t be silly, we need to sleep.  Neither of us are going to feel like kissing if we don’t get enough sleep.”  If he was panicking, Richie hadn’t noticed.  He did, however, stick out his lower lip in an overdramatic pout that had Eddie giggling like a little kid.

“Oh, Eddie Spaghetti, you underestimate how much I want to kiss you.”  Richie said, staring up at Eddie from behind his lashes.  The effect was kinda ruined by the thick rims of his glasses, but Eddie’s face still grew warm. 

“How much?”

“Fuck,” Richie threw his head back, giving Eddie a long second to stare at the pale expanse of skin.  “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you.  You’re too good to be true, honestly.”

That was an overwhelming concept.

After all, the first time Richie saw Eddie, they bickered endlessly, and Eddie insulted him; the second time was no different.  He was lucky, he supposed, that Richie didn’t seem to care about his nonexistent flirting skills, or how angry he could be.  Richie just cared about him.  Eddie, somehow, was enough for Richie. 

Eddie shivered when he realized that the feeling was mutual.

Huh…

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Richie.”  Eddie breathed.

“Sweet dreams, Spaghetti.  I’ll see you soon.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in days, Eddie Kaspbrak got a good night’s sleep.  He still woke up early, his biological clock was rigged with a frighteningly precise seven AM alarm, but he couldn’t even try and be upset about it: he didn’t have work that day, there was no crick in his neck from the armrest of his too-firm white sofa, and he liked Richie Tozier, and Richie Tozier liked him back.  Frankly, he was elated, and if he smiled to himself as he wiped the sleep from the corner of his eyes, then that was his business.

He knew Bill would still be asleep, and he didn’t want to bother him or risk waking him up with a text, so he made a note and stuck it to the fridge.  He sipped at his coffee as he reread the written message hung up by a banana magnet: Change of plans.  Stan and Richie are coming for dinner/drinks.  Call me when you wake up.  -Eddie

He didn’t expect Bill to understand, at least not fully.  Even if he tried to explain the intense feelings that had been growing in the cell of his heart, he knew he couldn’t do them justice.  Richie was gorgeous, and if Eddie had a type, it would surely look like him; he was brash and ridiculous, he made Eddie laugh till his face hurt from the strain of it all.  Eddie was endeared to just about everything he did, so of course it was just his luck that Richie also had to be a mythic, bloodsucking creature-of-the-goddamn-night.

Bill was an understanding man, but even he had his limits.

“It’s going to be fine.”  Eddie whispered, as if saying it out loud would convince the universe to listen.  He hoped it worked.

He pressed on with the rest of his morning routine; all the while, making a mental to-do list. 

-Get ready

-Text Stan about an exact meetup time… should I text Richie?

-Go shopping

-Explain new plan to Bill

-Make dinner

-Trap Richie into revealing he’s a vampire

-Kiss Richie? Maybe… Strong maybe.

He knew he could knock out the first two items in under an hour. 

He decided that texting Stan was the more practical decision; after all, Richie was too busy sleeping the sleep of the undead to text back in a reasonable amount of time.  Stan, on the other hand, responded almost immediately.  They agreed that meeting at six for a casual dinner and drinks sounded perfect.  Eddie didn’t think about his ulterior motives, he didn’t let the guilt seep back into his mind; he just allowed himself to be excited again. 

When Eddie finally headed out, his hair was combed, he was wearing the most flattering clothes he could find—dark skinny jeans and a baby blue polo—and his lips were coated with a liberal amount of chapstick.  Just in case. 

--

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute drive from their neighborhood; it was a smaller store, fixed in the middle of a strip mall.  He took his time once he was there; he had hours to waste before he needed to start on dinner.  So he meandered down the wine section, ultimately deciding on four different wines, and wandered around the store until he found all the ingredients he needed.  Eddie only knew how to make one dish, but it was a safe, simple choice, and he needed all the simplicity he could get.

He checked out and made it a couple of steps outside of the store, reusable bags in hand, when his phone started buzzing in his back pocket.  He knew it had to be Bill, and he was about to pull it out when he heard someone calling his name.

“Eddie, hey!”  He looked up in time to see Patty Blum waving excitedly at him.  But he couldn’t wave back, he couldn’t even respond—the sound caught abruptly in the back of his throat—because following close behind Patty was the red headed woman. 

She looked just as pretty as Eddie remembered: soft features, a dimpled chin, fiery hair, and a cordial smile that graced her lips when she locked eyes with him.  But most importantly, she looked very-much alive.  Eddie felt like the world stripped away around him, the only thing he could see was the living, breathing woman before him, and the only thing he could think of was Richie.  Richie wasn’t a murderer after all.  Eddie could reconcile the fact that Richie was a vampire; seemingly insurmountable task though it was, he could do it.  He couldn’t have dealt with murder.

An immense weight seemed to lift off of Eddie’s heart, and his lungs filled completely for the first time in days.  He took a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh before he found his words again.

“Patricia, hi.  How are you?”  Eddie said, aiming for nonchalant, but sounding more frantic than anything.  “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh gosh, how rude of me—this is my new friend Beverly.”  Patty said as the red head—Beverly—stepped forward and extended her hand to Eddie.  “Beverly, this is Eddie.”

Beverly beamed at him, shaking his hand excitedly.  “So you’re the famous Eddie; I’ve heard so much about you.”

That threw Eddie for a loop.  He gaped, his mind working a mile a minute trying to figure out how to respond; he didn’t even realize Beverly had stopped shaking his hand, or that he still held onto it.  She had the courtesy not to point it out.

“Bev was at the housewarming party the other night.”  Patty said, taking pity on him.  “I think you left before she got there, though.”

“Yeah.”  Eddie finally said.  “Yeah, I guess I did—Sorry, you said you’ve heard about me?”  He dropped Beverly’s hand, realizing with a shudder that it was the same one she had offered up to Richie only nights before.

“Oh yeah, Richie hasn’t stopped gushing about you since I got here.  I feel like I know you already.”  Beverly laughed.  Eddie felt his face heat up.

“How do you know Richie?”  He asked, hoping to god that that was a normal thing to ask and he didn’t just seem desperate and jealous.  He was desperate and jealous, but Beverly and Patty didn’t need to know that.

“Oh boy, now that’s a long story, but… the short version is that I’ve been friends with Stan since we were kids.  I didn’t know Richie until Stan started working for him, but now we’re all really close.”  Beverly finished, a far-off, warm expression gracing her features.

“We were just about to get some coffee.”  Patricia said.  “Bev promised me lots of embarrassing stories about Stan; would you want to join us?”  Eddie regarded the two women, then looked down at his groceries; unsure what exactly to do, though Patty’s offer was undoubtedly intriguing.

Eddie was about to politely decline—providing some weak excuse about needing to prepare dinner even though it was only ten in the morning—when Beverly interrupted. 

“I’ve also got embarrassing stories about Richie.”  She winked.  A knowing smirk touched the corners of her mouth, wordlessly letting him know that his affections were so painfully obvious that all she had to do to convince him was mention Richie. 

She wasn’t wrong.

As they walked down the strip mall towards the coffee shop, Eddie wondered how much Richie had told her; if he mentioned how flustered Eddie was after they first met, or how they always managed to give each other so much shit and still come out laughing, or how Richie had confessed his feelings to him.  Judging by the way Beverly kept looking at him, Richie had told her all of it.

So they sat down with their coffees and teas; he listened to Beverly’s stories, laughing way too hard at each one.  After she told a particularly hilarious story from Stan’s bar mitzva, Eddie looked over to find Patty lost in a dreamy haze, a soft smile on her face.  Eddie thought it was adorable; she looked properly lovesick and he was happy for her and Stan, they were a perfect match.  Before he knew it, an hour had passed, his latte was cold, and Beverly was in the middle of an anecdote about Richie.  He caught his reflection in the store window and found that same goofy, lovesick expression on his own face.

--

When he returned home, he busied himself with putting the groceries away and cleaning around the house.  He and Bill kept their home nearly spotless on the worst of days, so he finished quickly and sat down, forcing himself to relax.  Eddie was an anxious person, he would never try and deny that; he willingly admitted that he was panicking about dinner, about drinks, and mostly, about the guests.  But he wouldn’t be able to get through the night if he was a neurotic mess the whole time; so he did a grounding exercise his therapist had taught him, turned on some white noise, and sat back.

He didn’t think about Richie’s vampirism.  He didn’t think about his invitation test, or how faulty it might be.  He most certainly didn’t think about how badly he wanted to kiss Richie, or how much he wanted to tangle his fingers through Richie’s unkempt mop of hair.  He didn’t think about anything, and pretty soon he curled into the warm cushions of the couch and fell asleep. 

He woke with a start.  The disorientation of sleep was still clinging to his limbs as he bolted off of the couch and into the kitchen.  The oven clock told him that it was a little after four, and he cursed himself for not being more careful.  He could maybe make dinner in two hours, but after falling asleep his clothes had wrinkled, his hair felt matted down, and his mouth tasted like stale coffee.

He began rushing, preheating the oven before he took his second shower that day.  His replacement outfit didn’t look as good as the first, but an overwhelming wave of something washed over him when he realized that Richie probably thought he looked good in anything.

Time was flying by at an unfair pace.  His ‘simple dinner’ idea ended up taking much longer than he thought it would, and even setting out wine glasses and placemats felt like it took forever. 

Just as the timer went off for the breadsticks, Eddie heard the front door opening. 

Fuck.  He had forgot about Bill.  His phone, long forgotten on the kitchen counter, was probably overloaded with missed texts and calls; he left Bill high and dry and hadn’t even spared a thought to him.

“Shit—Bill,” Eddie shouted as he saved the breadsticks from burning.  “dude, it’s been a wild day.”  He jogged out of the kitchen, hoping that Bill wouldn’t be too mad at him when he explained himself.  “You’re never going to believe who I ran—”

“Well hey there, cutie.”

“Holy fuck—Bill what are they—Richie, Stan, aren’t you guys a little early?”  Eddie squeaked.  Bill was staring at him, a mix of worry and confusion distorting his features as he hung up his coat.  Behind him, Richie and Stan were situated beside each other, just inside their foyer; Stan cast a nervous glance at his watch, while Richie, completely unbothered by the concept of being early, continued to watch Eddie.  Horror twisted his gut as he realized that Bill had already invited them in; Eddie’s test was effectively nullified, and he found himself right back at square one.

“Are y-you oka—”

“Bill, can I talk to you for a second?”  Eddie said frantically, pulling Bill by the elbow towards the kitchen.  Bill struggled against him long enough to tell Richie and Stan to make themselves at home before rounding the corner and fixing Eddie with a stern glare.

Eddie did his best to fill him in; he told him about Beverly, the invitation rule, and why he hadn’t responded to any of his calls.

“Shit… w-well we’ll just stick to the original p-plan?  Right?  We ask S-Stan.”  Eddie nodded; he couldn’t say he was happy with the night’s turn of events, but he was tired of dancing around Richie.  He didn’t want to be scared of him anymore, he wanted answers.

Pretending that everything was fine turned out to be easier than Eddie planned.  Stan and Richie had found their way into the living room where the latter was flipping through Derry Highschool’s 1993 yearbook.

“I tried to stop him.”  Stan said as he motioned to where Richie was laid across the couch, scanning each page before flicking to the next.

“It’s f-fine; I said for you t-to make yourselves at home.”  Bill smiled, having no effect on the familiar, longsuffering look on Stan’s face.  Richie straightened up then, patting the newly available space beside him.

“Eduardo, come here.”  He said without taking his eyes off of the yearbook.  “Where are all the pictures of you?”

“We were juniors that year; I guess there’s one of me in that section.”  Eddie said, making no move to sit down.

“He w-was also on the track team.”

“Bill!”

“Wait, track team?  As in tank tops and short shorts?  That kind of track team?”  Richie asked, his eyebrows raised, creating deep lines in his forehead.  Before anyone could respond, his gaze fell back down as he began turning the pages with a renewed vigor.  Eddie shot to the couch, sidling next to him as he grasped the book, attempting to wrangle it out of Richie’s hands.

“Richie—give me the fucking book.”  Eddie said through gritted teeth.  Richie was strong; stronger than Eddie would have thought.  It didn’t seem like he was even trying to keep hold of the yellowed pages; while Eddie was using all his strength and losing.

“You’re cute when you’re mad; have I told you that?”  Richie smiled.  Eddie stopped struggling, noticing all-too-late how close their faces had become.  “Oh wow, you’re cute when you’re flustered too.  How do you do that?”  Eddie’s entire body became hot and his fingers lost their grip on the yearbook.  Richie gave one last, long glance at Eddie’s lips before turning back to the book. 

Neither of them said anything, and Richie finally found Eddie’s picture.  Sandwiched between the black and white images of a young woman with a hideous 80’s hairdo and a boy with a Nirvana shirt, was 17-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak.  He remembered that day well; it was the first picture day that his mom let him choose his clothes.  The grainy image made his brown eyes look completely black, and his jawline was much rounder than it was now, but it was definitely him.  Ugly turtleneck and all.

Richie’s fingers traced the outline of his young face; he was so transfixed by the photo that Eddie let his eyes wander.  For the first time in what seemed like forever, Eddie just looked at Richie.  No bickering, no walls between them—literal or otherwise—no fear, just.  Admiration. 

So Eddie had a huge crush; so what?  He could indulge himself the private pleasure of taking in the chapped, pink of Richie’s lips, the single curl of hair that hung out of place over his stupidly big forehead.  Everything.  Everything about how Richie looked, sounded, how his fingers tapped absentmindedly over the black text of Eddie’s name; it was all so infuriatingly nice.  God, he was truly fucked, wasn’t he?

“This isn’t fair; when I was a kid I looked like Buddy Holly’s ugly cousin.”  Richie laughed.  “Hell, I still do.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”  Eddie asked indignantly.  Richie finally lifted his eyes from the yearbook, surprised by Eddie’s sudden outburst.  Reel it back, Edward. 

“What are you saying, Eds?  You saying you think I’m hot?”  Richie grinned, and oh shit, he was leaning in; it was the smallest of movements, but Eddie felt like he was tuned in to every incremental change in Richie.  He swore his legs went numb.  He was caught between giving into weeks of yearning, and his indescribable need to rile Richie up.  He could do both, he reasoned.

“If you keep calling me Eds, I can take it all back.”  He said, his words losing petulance in response to Richie’s hooded eyes.  The sofa cushions between them dipped as they tilted into each other.  At some point Richie’s pinky had looped itself around Eddie’s.  It felt right; like it was always meant to be there.

“Eddie…”

“Eddie I b-brought you your rosé, but Richie, Stan and I didn’t know wh-which w-wine you liked so I brought you r-red and white.”  Bill announced, taking small steps so as to not disturb the filled glasses he carried.

If looks could kill, Bill would have been dead two-times over.  He set the tray of drinks in front of them, ignoring their stunned silence, and walked back to the kitchen.  After a moment, his and Stan’s indistinct conversation could be heard across the hallway.

“I didn’t even notice they left.”  Richie whispered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie could see Richie turning to face him, so he turned to look right back.  Richie’s cool gray eyes met his, and for a beautiful moment, they just looked at one another—before promptly breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“They must’ve—fuck they must’ve left to avoid your bad flirting.”  Eddie said breathlessly, laughing between each word.

“Bad?  You were about to kiss me, you little twerp!”

“Yeah because I like you, not because you’re good at flirting, asshole.”

“Aw, say that again.”

“Asshole?”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”  Richie smirked.  They were laughing again. 

Eddie made a show of rolling his eyes before saying, “I like you, Rich.  I really do.”

Richie took in a deep breath and slowly lifted his hand to cup Eddie’s face.  It felt like time stopped.  The smooth pads of his fingertips brushed the sensitive skin beneath Eddie’s ear, his thumb rubbed back and forth across his cheek.  He was holding him so delicately.  Eddie shivered when Richie’s hand moved to the base of his neck and tugged him ever so slightly, and he found himself mere inches from Richie’s face.

“I like you too.  Now can I please kiss you before we get interrupted again?”  Richie breathed; a hint of hesitation hidden in his eyes.  Eddie nodded and that was all that it took before Richie leaned in.  Eddie closed his eyes in time to feel the warm press of Richie’s lips to his.  It was everything that Eddie could have hoped for; the pressure, the taste of cinnamon toothpaste, all of it.  It was perfect; made all the better by the fact that it was Richie. 

Eddie sighed into his mouth, and when his brain finally caught up to the situation, he noticed how his arms were hanging limply at his sides.  That just wouldn’t do.  He brought a hand up, tangling it into Richie’s curls.  He twirled a finger around a lock of hair and relished the softness of it as it slid against his hand. 

It was the most incredible thing Eddie had ever felt.  An intoxicating lightheadedness was building in his mind; his body thrummed with electricity every time Richie’s lips moved, perfectly slotted against his own.  Eddie’s free hand came up to rest on Richie’s chest; he could feel every bit of movement as it heaved under his touch.  He wanted to rip the button-up off of his shoulders so he could feel that rise and fall better, feel the way Richie’s breath hitched as he pressed his fingers deep into the firm muscle—just so he could feel closer to him.

But just like that, Richie pulled away.  Their mouths made a wet, smacking noise that punctuated the separation, and Eddie shuddered at how obscene it sounded.  He sucked his lips into his mouth, licking along the length of them to taste every last bit of Richie that lingered there.

“Holy shit, Eddie.”  Richie struggled to say, pausing to clear the roughness from his voice.  Eddie felt it too; he felt the raw emotion that caught like glass shards in the back of his throat.  This was the first time he had ever kissed a man, one of only a couple of times he had kissed anyone, period.

Eddie was overwhelmed, to say the least.

He was fumbling for his glass of rosé before the logical side of his brain could tell him to stop.  The wine tickled his tongue with sweetness and a negligible burn, and he winced as the glass’s contents emptied too quickly.  Despite this, he then grabbed the white wine that Bill had reserved for Richie and downed it too in seconds.

“I don’t know if I should be offended or turned on.”  Richie said, hesitantly placing a hand on the small of Eddie’s back.

“That was the first time I’ve ever done that.”  Eddie admitted.  There was no way the alcohol had hit his system yet, but the comfort of knowing that liquid courage was on its way was enough to bring the difficult words into the open.

“Done what?”  Richie asked.  Eddie’s heart soared as he realized that there was no judgement evident in his words, or in the soft, ever-affectionate way Richie gazed at him.

“Kissed a man.  I’ve never—I’ve never done that before.”  He choked out, unable to face Richie; though he could still feel the couch shift beneath him as Richie’s body stiffened.  “I’m glad, though.  I’m glad it was with you.”  Eddie rushed to say.  He couldn’t let Richie think he regretted one of the single-best experiences in his life.

“Fuck, come here.”  Richie said, and he sounded wrecked; absolutely agonized.  Eddie couldn’t help but comply. 

They fell back into each other.  Eddie’s hands found the places along Richie’s back where bone protruded, and he soaked in the way they moved beneath his fingers as Richie clung to him.  Richie was mumbling under his breath; something about how perfect Eddie was, how stupid it was that no one had kissed him.

“Rich—” Eddie tried, but the words were swallowed as Richie claimed his mouth in another electric kiss.  He gently pushed against Richie’s pecs until he could look him in the eyes.  Fuck, Eddie thought, I love his eyes.  “As much as I’d like to keep doing this—and trust me, I really would—we should probably stop ostracizing Bill and Stan and actually eat the dinner I made.”

Richie pouted and collapsed into the sofa.

“Ugh, do we have to?”  He whined, putting on a pained expression before opening one eye to gauge Eddie’s reaction.

“Richie.”  Eddie warned.  He had to suppress the smile that was prickling the corners of his mouth and fucking with his conviction.  “Please.  For me?”

“Oh you little bastard; you can’t say that kinda stuff—that’s cruel.”

“Come on.”  Eddie stood.  “Don’t forget your wine.”

Eddie made his way through the house, towards the muffled sound of conversation until he found Bill and Stan.  They sat across from each other at the dining table, drinking wine.

“Hey, you two.”  Stan said.  Eddie looked behind himself and found Richie following close behind.  His hair was noticeably more disheveled than normal, and Eddie had to smile because he did that.

“Is dinner ready?”  Bill asked, pouring Stan another glass of red wine.

“I was just about to check; should be done by now.”  Eddie said.

The kitchen smelled of oregano and basil, and relief flooded Eddie’s senses as he observed that nothing had burned, and it all looked so fantastic.  He dipped a wooden spoon into the sauce and tasted it one last time.  He felt a presence behind him before a warm hand was resting on his shoulder.

“Hey Spaghetti, what are—” Richie gasped, and Eddie didn’t have to look to know that an ecstatic smile had broached his features.

“Oh no.”  Eddie realized too late.  He pinched his eyes closed, bracing for the inevitable.

“Eddie Spaghetti… did you make spaghetti?”

“Fuck you, that’s not—I just—Look, it’s a quick, easy meal, okay?”  Eddie huffed.

“Aw, you do like me.”  Richie said as he wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waste and buried his face into his neck.  That was all it took, apparently, for his performative defensiveness to snap like a twig, and for Eddie to hum with contentment.

“Fuck you.”  Eddie said, despite this.

Dinner was… nice.  Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he’d been surrounded by people that made him feel so comfortable.  Even with Beverly and Patricia, Eddie’s natural walls had been in place, making sure he didn’t say too much about himself or just say the wrong thing in general.  But with these three, it was different.  Bill was his oldest friend for a reason; they understood each other’s intricacies, they brought out the good in the other, and forgave the bad.  Eddie thought of Bill like a brother, and he didn’t have to wonder if Bill felt the same way.  And Stan, well Stan may have been the kindest person Eddie had ever met.  He was always ready to offer an understanding smile.  It also helped the he was the perfect intermediary between the familiar—Bill—and the new—Richie. 

And Richie… well Richie was wholly different from Stan and Bill.  He didn’t make Eddie feel comfortable—at least not in the way that the other two did.  No, Richie made Eddie feel alive and unashamed.  He may make Eddie erupt into petulant rants over the dinner table when he tries way too hard to make ‘Eduardo Spagheduardo’ roll of the tongue, but he also makes Eddie feel young again.  He can’t stop staring at Richie the whole time, and a jolt of something runs through his veins when Richie can’t stop staring at him either.

Eddie’s face is red by the time they finish eating; a combination of more wine and the blush that took hold the moment Richie’s foot nudged his under the table. 

Bill insisted that he do the dishes since Eddie cooked, and Stan is happy to help him.  When they marched all of the dirty dishes into the kitchen, Richie grabbed Eddie’s attention with a chaste peck on his cheek.

“What’s your favorite part of the house?”

“What?”  Eddie asked, taken aback by the sudden change of topic and the kiss that left his skin tingling.

“The other night I showed you my favorite room, now you show me yours.”  Richie rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pants pockets.  The new position tensed his wide shoulders and Eddie couldn’t help the too-long moment he took to appreciate the sight before him.

“It’s not exactly a room, but—”

“Doesn’t matter, I want to see it.  I want to know about all the things you like.”  Richie smiled down at him, and Eddie’s heart skipped a beat for the thousandth time that night.

“Alright.”  He led them back to the living room, but instead of lingering there, he unlocked the house’s back door and pushed out into the chilly air.  It was early February and way too cold and dark for them to be hanging out on the back porch, but Richie had asked for this.  The porch was a modest thing; ten feet by fifteen, elevated a foot or two off of the ground, with stairs that led down to the rest of their backyard.  “I haven’t been out here in forever.”  Eddie said, taking in the scattering of leaves that dusted the white wood around them.

“Is that a fire pit?”  Richie asked excitedly.

“Yeah.” Eddie giggled.  “You want me to light it?”

“Fuck yes!”

Within minutes, Eddie had ignited the flames and they were sitting side by side on the cold plastic cloth of the patio loveseat.  The fire helped a little, but Eddie still shivered against Richie's side, so Richie pulled him even closer and Eddie let his head fall to his shoulder.

“I like your shoulders.”  Eddie said, and maybe he drank a little too much.  That didn’t mean it wasn’t true, though.  Richie turned to regard Eddie, an amused, somewhat startled look playing on his features.

“What?”  Richie snorted. 

“You said you wanted to know everything I like.  I like your shoulders.”  Eddie said, as if it were obvious.

“What else do you like, Eddie Baby?”

“Oh, I like that.”  Eddie said, dreamily.  He didn’t know if Richie understood what he was referring to, but he couldn’t be bothered to clarify; his body was vibrating, and his mind was fogged over by glasses of wine and Richie’s scent.  “I like Spring, even if my allergies disagree.  I like museums—mostly for the history, but the art is good too.  I used to really like comic books, but then I got older and I couldn’t find the time… What about you?”

“What do I like?”  Richie asked; Eddie gave a small ‘mmm’ in reply.  “Well… I like comic books too—I’ve got a butt ton.  I like 80’s synth pop, and I like blasting it way too late at night to annoy Stan.  I would like to take you on a date—just the two of us.  And I like you.”

“Duh.”  Eddie giggled.  Richie gave him a quick noogie before leaving a sloppy kiss on his forehead.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie knew that he would have to ask Richie the dreaded question.  Even if Bill did the dirty work of asking first, Eddie would still have to contend with it, and Richie would have to acknowledge it.  There was no better time than now.

“Richie?”

“Yeah, Eds?”  Richie said, pulling away ever-so-slightly so he could look into Eddie’s eyes.  And that was the problem, wasn’t it?  Because Eddie looked back at Richie’s big, blue eyes that contrasted so perfectly against the warm orange light that flickered across his pale skin and he found that he couldn’t ask.  He couldn’t let Richie know what he knew, couldn’t let their dynamic change and ruin their whole relationship.  Eddie was drawn to Richie by something stupidly profound, and the thought of losing that made his eyes burn and water.

So he didn’t ask, he just smiled and watched with a deep fondness as Richie smiled back.  They kissed beneath the stars, then, and this time when Eddie shivered, it wasn’t because of the cold.

--

“I couldn’t do it, Bill.”   Eddie said. 

Richie and Stan had said goodnight only seconds ago, and the weight of Eddie’s shame was already too much.  He had put Bill through so much shit, only to fail him in the eleventh hour.

“C-couldn’t do what?”

“I didn’t ask him if he was a vampire—I couldn’t.  I really like him Bill, no one—no one’s ever liked me back, at least not as much as Richie does.”  Eddie was vaguely aware that he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop.  He needed someone else to know; he needed Bill to understand.  “I’m sorry I brought you into this, Bill.  I know it’s stupid—”

“Eddie, Eddie slow down.  B-breathe.”  Bill’s eyebrows drew together.  He moved to Eddie, and Eddie was grateful for the proximity.  “You d-don’t have to worry ab-about it; I already asked S-Stan.”

“What?  When?”  Eddie screeched.  He was sure the room was suddenly spinning.  “Bill, what the fuck did he say?”

“He said R-Richie would t-tell you when he was ready.”

“What kind of fucking answer is that?”  Eddie knew he was screaming, but Bill wasn’t stopping him.

“Eddie.”  Bill said calmly, shrugging.  “It’s a better answer th-than it could’ve b-been.  Get some sleep, ah-alright?  It’s late.”

True to form, Eddie did as Bill told him. 

He curled into the warmth of his many blankets and let the day’s events wash over him.  It wasn’t all bad, he thought; not in the slightest.  And when he reflected on Bill’s words, well, they weren’t so terrible either.  Richie would tell him.  Eventually.  And that meant Richie had talked to Stan about this, he planned on a future with Eddie—at least to the point where he divulged his vampiric nature to him.  That meant something.

He found himself already missing Richie’s company.  He got a taste of what it felt like to be admired unabashedly, and he couldn’t let it go that easily.  He had to have one last moment full of Richie.  But when he picked up his phone, he was surprised—but not really that shocked—to see that there was already a new text from Richie.

Richie: i meant what i said btw

             about the date

             just you, me, and my shoulders

Eddie: You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?

Richie: nope. so what do you say, spaghetti??

Eddie: I’d love to

Chapter Text

Richie would tell him when he was ready.

That’s what Stan said.

And it was a stupid answer, Eddie thought.  Not that Stan was stupid, not in the slightest—but he’ll tell you when he’s ready was just a resounding yes disguised as a cryptic maybe.  And to be fair to Stan, it did take Eddie the rest of a restless night to figure that out; after his inner turmoil finally fizzled out and his mind was clear enough that he could think about something other than the fact that he just made out with a vampire.  

Sometime around four in the morning, when the heady memories of Richie’s lips and the lingering burn across Eddie’s chin from where Richie’s stubble had rubbed into his sensitive skin had waned away, Eddie realized the ridiculousness of Stan’s answer.  Because there was only one logical answer for a normal person to give to that question; when asked, ‘hey, is your friend/roommate/business partner a vampire?’ a simple ‘no’ would suffice.  Stan hadn’t said ‘no.’

So Eddie stayed up for hours and hours that night; longer than he was proud of.  He listened to the quiet of the outside world, where no birds chirped, and the cacophony of human noise was silenced by sleep.  Eddie wished he could fall asleep; his eyes ached with dryness and overuse, and his brain was screaming for a break, and yet he stayed up considering the seemingly innocuous fact that Richie must have talked to Stan about this.

Whatever this was.

Eddie didn’t think it was entirely wrong to infer that that meant something; that he meant enough to Richie for him to consider divulging his secret.  And what a secret it was.

Eddie didn’t think of himself as a foolish person, nor did he think of himself as a gullible schmuck that believed in hocus pocus and ghost stories.  He prided himself on that.  His life, his job, his beliefs were all built on observable fact, and up until now, nothing had ever challenged that.  Then along came Richie fucking Tozier, and suddenly Eddie was throwing caution to the wind, absorbing himself in implausible, macabre concepts—and all because he fell for a pair of pretty eyes and a couple of good chucks.  Forget tangible logic and centuries worth of a lack of evidence, forget how ridiculous it was that no one else had found out about the very real existence of vampires; suddenly none of that mattered anymore because Richie made him laugh.  Richie made him feel different and good; so what if he was a blood-thirsty, preternatural being? 

Yes, Stan’s answer made it abundantly clear that Richie wasn’t human, and Eddie knew that that should bother him more than it did.  But if Richie wanted a future with him—one where he told him his secret and they rode off into the sunset together—then that sounded pretty good to Eddie.

Eddie was a fucking schmuck.

Exhaustion finally won out around five in the morning; by then, Eddie was mentally kicking himself for staying up so late.  He had work to go to, normalcy to get back to, and he’d left himself with only an hour’s worth of sleep in between then and now.  Hardly enough time to decompress from the previous evening’s events, but at least it was something.

Before sleep overtook him completely, he spared a moment to wonder what Richie was doing then.  Was he getting ready to sleep too?  Or would he stay up a little while longer—as long as he could before the sun rose and the world became bathed in deadly light?

Maybe one day Eddie could ask him.

--

To Eddie’s complete lack of surprise, returning to work in the morning, pretending his worldview hadn’t changed dramatically, was not an easy feat.  It was hard to focus on health ratings when he was overcome with a knowledge that no one else was privy to, and each hour dragged on and on as if time itself was mocking him.

By the time he made it home he was mentally and physically exhausted.  His lack of sleep and his obsessive thoughts had reduced him to a weakened slog.  When he finally caught a glimpse of his reflection—purple crescents under his eyes and five o’clock shadow that he didn’t wake up in time to shave—he knew he looked as bad as he felt.

He heard the sound of familiar voices echoing through the house, muffled through layers of walls.

“Bill, Mike, I’m home.”  Eddie called.

“In the living room.”  Mike’s voice came in response.  Eddie made his way through the house till he found his friends curled into each other on the couch.

“Aren’t you two cute.”

“Eddie, are y-you alright?  You look like sh-shit.”  Bill asked, concern pinching his face.

“I got like an hour of sleep last night, so… no, not really.  I’ll probably be passed out before dinner, so don’t wait up.”

“You wanna talk about it?  That’s really unlike you.”  Mike said, genuine worry and care radiating off him.  If Eddie wasn’t so tired, he would have taken a moment to appreciate the two men that sat before him; two of the best friends Eddie had ever known.  As it was, all he felt like doing was burying himself in layers of blankets and sleeping like the dead.

“Nah… some other time, though, yeah?  I just wanted to let you guys know.”  Eddie said, rubbing a sanitized hand over his face.  Bill and Mike didn’t say anything else, but they were smiling up at him—twin, commiserative smiles that spoke volumes about how much they cared. 

Before Eddie turned to go upstairs, he caught Bill leaning up to Mike and planting a kiss to his temple.  Eddie meant what he had said, they really were cute together.  Years of friendship, dating, hardships, and milestones hadn’t changed that fact.  It was always clear to him that Mike and Bill had something special, and a tiny shiver ran through his spent body when he thought of having something like that for himself.  And when he thought of that something special—moreover, someone special—it was no surprise to him that the first face that came to mind was Richie’s.

Maybe that’s why, after he pulled off his work clothes and stumbled into bed, he brought up his and Richie’s text conversation.  Even as he stared at the words his eyelids drooped and begged to close, but he was bound and determined to send something before he let that happen.  A fuzzy feeling deep in his core—one that had made its home there on the night he met Richie—was guiding his fingers.  He couldn’t tell you what he wrote, or even if he hit send before the comforting pull of sleep won out, but he could say—without a doubt—that he already missed Richie; and he needed Richie to know he was thinking about him.  And not even sleep deprivation could make Eddie unaware of how cheesy that was.

--

Eddie woke up to the sound of his stomach growling.  Avoiding sleep and skipping out on meals was wholly unlike him; he should probably eat something.  A quick glance at his phone told him two things: it was past two in the morning—so he had slept for almost ten hours, Jesus—and there were several new texts lighting up his lock screen.  His heart leapt into his throat when he saw that they were all from Richie. 

Only after the sleep cleared from his eyes and he took several steadying breaths did he open their conversation.

“Oh no.”  Eddie said, cringing as he read over the text he had sent Richie.  He was suddenly wondering if a drunk text would have been worse.

Eddie: Hey so I couldn’t sleep because of you..  you’re ridiculous and I miss you

“Oh no, oh no, oh no.”  Eddie dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, hoping that maybe he could physically rub away the imagery of bad flirting that had burned itself into his retinas.

Another minute passed of Eddie blushing more furiously than he ever had, before he mustered up the courage to look back at his phone.

Richie: aww you couldn’t sleep because of little ol’ me??

 i miss u more eds

Eddie blushed unbelievably harder.  To his horror, there were more texts; spanning the hours from early evening to a little before midnight.

Richie: if you miss me that much you could come over 😉

             ok the winky face was stupid but i would like to see you

             sooooo either youre asleep or i fucked everything up

             both are equally likely

Eddie giggled at that; his previous discomfort outweighed by the fond warmth that was blooming in his chest.  Richie was nervous; it was a side of him that Eddie hadn’t really seen before, and frankly, it was adorable.  He knew he didn’t want to leave him hanging, though; and he didn’t have to worry about whether or not Richie was still awake at such a late hour.

Eddie: You? Being too forward and fucking everything up? Nah 😉

Richie: i was right the winky face is stupid

Eddie rolled his eyes and only hesitated for a moment before calling Richie.

“Yello?”  Richie’s voice rang across the phone line.  A smile subconsciously spread on Eddie’s lips, and he was sure it could be heard in his voice when he said—

“Fuck you, dude.”

“Fuck me?  I mean only if you wanted to.”  Richie chuckled.  So much for him being nervous.  “What are you doing up so late?”

“Well… I couldn’t sleep last night—”

“So you’ve said.  That was probably the cutest text I’ve ever gotten, by the way.”

“Once again, fuck you—I was tired okay?  I basically fell asleep as soon as I got home.”  Eddie defended.  When Richie simply laughed in response, Eddie decided to push his luck.  “What are you doing up so late?”

There was silence across the line; not a dangerous silence that signaled that Eddie had gone too far, but a pregnant pause, nonetheless.  Eddie worried his bottom lip between his teeth until Richie spoke again.

“I’m a night owl, Eds.  We’re dating now, you should know that about me.”  Richie said, matter-of-factly.  No malice, no offense taken, not even an indication that he knew why Eddie had asked; but something told Eddie that Richie knew exactly why. 

“Oh, we’re dating now?”  Eddie asked, attempting a casual tone, but failing miserably when his heart started up a hard rhythm.

“Why don’t you come over?  We can talk about it.”

And what a silly question.  It was the dead of night, Eddie still had work to go to in the morning, and as much as he liked and trusted Richie, he was a vampire.  Yes, Eddie had no proof that Richie had killed anyone, and yes, Richie seemed infinitely harmless and overly fond of Eddie, but that didn’t mean Eddie felt any better about the idea of waltzing into the grotesque lair of the vampire.  Proverbially, of course; thanks to Stan, the old Victorian building looked more and more like a five-star B&B with every passing day.

Eddie scoffed into his cell phone’s receiver.  He told Richie what a bad idea it would be for him to come over, regaling him with excuses about a fucked-up sleep schedule, and how important the recommended eight hours were for a productive workday.  Of course none of that changed the fact that he found himself standing on Richie’s porch, shivering inside of his thin pajama pants and the red track jacket he had thrown on. 

Inside the old home, several lights were on, spilling yellowish light onto Eddie’s skin and the newly varnished wood that he stood on.  It was like an artificial sun, illuminating the universe that was the Victorian structure.  Eddie could almost feel its warmth radiating through the wooden panels before a strong wind picked up around him, biting cruelly at his exposed skin and pushing him to raise his arm and—

Knock, knock, knock.

Richie was at the door in seconds flat.

“Hey cutie, glad you decided to join me; you’re just in time.”  Richie smirked.

“In—in time for what?”  Eddie stammered, caught between confusion and the strong desire to rush forward and curl into Richie’s warmth.  Luckily the decision was ultimately made for him when Richie bent forward, clasping a hand in Eddie’s and pulling him into an embrace.

“I’m cleaning my basement.”  Richie said.  Eddie could feel Richie’s breath as it mingled with the chill early morning air and tickled the hair on his neck.  He pulled Richie a little tighter against him.  “There’s a lot of shit down there from before we moved in.  Stan’s been hounding me to sort through it.”

“Where do I fit into all of this?”  Eddie asked with faux annoyance.  Richie pulled back enough to look him in the eye, a look of mischief glinting in his gray irises.

“I can’t clean an entire basement on my own!”  Richie’s smirk widened.  “I need a big, strong, five-nine man to help me.”

Eddie pulled out of Richie’s hold and stepped into the foyer, shaking off the lingering cold and taking in the bright hallway and the smell of a vanilla candle to his right, burning at its wick’s end.  He heard the door shut behind him.

“I get it if you don’t want to, though.”  Richie’s voice was a low hum, right behind him.  Eddie wondered how he kept managing to sneak up on him like that.  He could’ve sworn that that nervousness—that unsure tone—had crept back into Richie’s voice, and when he turned around to face him, he was sure that it had.  Richie’s thick eyebrows were pulled together worriedly, and his eyes wouldn’t meet Eddie’s.

“Sounds fun… and I’ve got nowhere else to be.”  Eddie smiled, watching the tension in Richie’s shoulders fall away.  He opened his mouth, wanting to say something more, like I’m always happy to be around you, no matter what we’re doing, but something held him back.  Some niggling itch at the back of his mind made his lips close around the unsaid words.

He’d have to unpack that feeling later.

“Fan-fucking-tastic!”  Richie said, clapping his hands together.  “Follow me, Eduardo; basement’s this way.”  He pointed to an open door down an alcove that ran beside the staircase.  Eddie had already made a move towards the basement when he felt Richie’s hand at the small of his back, guiding him to the doorway.  The contact sent chills up and down his spine. 

“Does this count as our first date?”  Eddie found himself saying as they made their way down the—questionably safe—wooden stairs.  Richie hummed behind him.

“If that’s what you want it to be… but honestly I considered our first date to be the housewarming party.”

“The housewarming party?”  Eddie asked, stopping short on the last step and turning back to Richie.  “You hadn’t even told me you liked me at the housewarming party.”  Eddie stated succinctly, more for his own benefit than to discredit Richie.  Eddie watched as the apples of Richie’s cheeks reddened.  There it was, that nervousness again; so unlike the Richie that Eddie had come to know.  Richie scrubbed a large hand over the tense muscles of his neck.

“Yeah… I know.  I wanted to, though.  I planned on it and everything, but…”  The sentence faded out, getting lost somewhere just on the tip of Richie’s tongue.  Eddie didn’t have to pry; he remembered exactly how that night had ended, with Richie staring just a little too hard at Eddie’s neck, and Eddie making a quick exit soon after.  If only Eddie had known then what he knew now, would he have ever talked to Richie again?  Would he still be so absorbed in his affections?  Would forgetting all about Richie have been easier?  

If Eddie was being honest with himself, he didn’t even want to entertain the idea of forgetting Richie.

“Don’t be so selfless.”  Eddie said.  He quickly continued, spurred on by Richie’s confused expression.  “You said I could consider this our first date if I wanted to, but what about what you want?  If you want to think of the housewarming party as our first date, then… then that’s alright with me.” 

“You sure?”  Richie asked, barely containing the huge grin that was threatening to split his face in two.

“Of course I’m sure.”  Eddie said.  And in a moment of thoughtless bravery, he grabbed Richie’s hand and squeezed. 

Unlinking their hands, Eddie stepped down off the final step.  He took a quick look around the previously undisclosed level of the home.  Nearly every inch of the basement was occupied by some antique, mildewed piece of furniture; there were rolled-up carpets that surely had water damage, chest of drawers and side tables that showed signs of termites, and countless cardboard boxes filled with god-knows-what.  Eddie couldn’t say for sure, but if personal hells existed, then his would look like this.

“So, Mister Health Inspector, how many health code violations are there?”

“I feel like you’re making a joke, but honestly there are probably more than twenty; and that’s just what I can see.”  Eddie gawked and Richie laughed.  “Where the hell would we even start?”

“I was working on this corner over here.” Richie said, indicating the section of the basement that ran underneath the stairs.  To Richie’s eternal credit, it was the cleanest-looking part of the cluttered room.  “Basically, Stan wants me to go through everything, keep anything that looks like it’s worth something, and throw everything else out.”

Eddie didn’t say anything for a long second; just scanned the remaining, smothering mess with a pained look on his face.  He was so distracted by the sense of disgust that was creating a dull discomfort in the pit of his stomach, that he didn’t notice Richie stepping into his space until he was touching him.  Richie had brought two fingers up to Eddie’s brow, and started smoothing across the worry lines there.  Eddie almost flinched at the contact, but quickly leaned into it as his face relaxed.

“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.  We can just, I don’t know, make some coffee and cuddle on the couch if you want.”  Richie said quietly, running his hand down Eddie’s face till it was cupped along his jaw.  “As long as I get time with you, I don’t mind what we’re doing.”

Eddie had to catch his breath at that.  Some day he might get used to how direct and affectionate Richie was, but today was not that day.  And as truly wonderful as Richie’s coffee and cuddling suggestion was, Eddie felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of accepting it;  Richie always worked so hard to let Eddie know his feelings, to let Eddie know he was cared for, but even though Eddie most certainly felt the same about him, he hardly showed it.  Eddie spent most of his time with Richie thinking about their past and future instead of their present, thinking about blood-soaked fangs instead of Richie’s lips moving on his, and he was tired of it.  Eddie had spent his entire life overthinking; overthinking his actions, his fears, his relationships, the way he looked, the people he hated, the people he loved. 

He didn’t want to overthink this.  He couldn’t.  Despite how much his brain tried to ruin things, Richie made it so easy to feel sure.  Eddie was sure that he wanted to try this thing with Richie, no matter how convoluted it all was, no matter the vampire thing or the hemophobe thing, no matter how much he might end up regretting it.  And in order to make it work, he had to try.

“No, no, I want to help you.  I don’t want you to do this alone… Besides, we can always cuddle later.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”  Richie said, beaming unashamedly at him.  He started to turn, heading towards that semi-clean corner of the basement before stopping short and pulling Eddie to him.  “I didn’t give you a hello kiss.”  He said, eyes flicking to Eddie’s lips.

“Oh.”  Eddie breathed, not sure what else to say to that.  His mind supplied him a couple responses: then kiss me, you jerk, or well what are you waiting for, but nothing came out.  And maybe it wouldn’t have mattered after all, if he said something or not, because Richie pulled him forward and kissed him.

Just a night ago, when they had first kissed—though to Eddie it felt like ages had passed—neither of them shied away from the other, making out like they had been doing it for years.  Both of them were red-lipped and flushed by the time they reluctantly called it a night.  But even then, they had a hard time letting go of the other.  Despite this, it still surprised Eddie how familiar it felt, the soft, intoxicating pressure of Richie’s lips against his.  He wondered how he managed to go a whole day without feeling Richie pressed against him.

“Okay, okay,” Richie stepped back, smile wide and eyes crinkling in that adorable way that Eddie loved.  “You’ve gotta stop being so cute, or I’ll never get anything done.”

“You’re the one that wanted me here, dumbass.”  Eddie giggled, embarrassed by Richie’s words.

“I love it when you get snippy.”  Richie said breathily.

“Shut up and help me carry this ottoman.”

An hour passed, and Eddie didn’t feel like he was being very helpful.  It wasn’t for a lack of trying; Eddie knew what to look for as far as mold or structural damage and he was doing his best to sort through the old furniture, but he kept getting…distracted.  He couldn’t blame it completely on Richie, but it was mostly his fault.  Either he was grabbing up whatever knickknack that caught his eye and shoving it in Eddie’s face till they figured out what it must have been used for, or he was grabbing disgustingly crusty clothes out of boxes, putting them on, and making a character out of the costume.  And if you asked Eddie, he would say that he most definitely did not think the stupid voices he made were funny.

However, Eddie wouldn’t try and deny that the third and final reason for distraction was Richie himself.  Every time he bent over a bundle of boxes, his shirt rode up to expose the pale skin of his back, and Eddie had a hard time looking away.  On one specific occasion, Eddie let his eyes trail down to the waist of Richie’s dark jeans.  When Eddie was sure that Richie was none the wiser, his gaze continued down to the curve of Richie’s ass.  He stared longer than he was proud of, and when Richie stood back up, holding a beat-up brown leather jacket to his chest, Eddie couldn’t meet his eyes.  Richie was smarter than he seemed, Eddie had discovered, and if the sly smirk that he gave Eddie was anything to go by, then he knew exactly why Eddie was suddenly so shy.

He got a heated kiss out of it, so he couldn’t really complain (apart from the fact that they were getting distracted yet again).

They worked as long as they could; all the while, Eddie made it his job to keep Richie—and to a lesser extent, himself—in line so that they could get more done.  They made a decent dent in their established corner, boxing up what they thought they should keep, and moving all of the trash out through a cellar door.

Eddie was keeping up the diligent act until he moved a box out of the way and found something that made him gasp excitedly.

“What’s wrong?  Did you find another cockroach?”  Richie asked, stepping behind him.

“Gross, don’t fucking remind me—no, look at this.”  Eddie said giddily, holding up his new discovery.

“A skateboard?”

“Fuck yeah, a skateboard.  This is a Santa Cruz skateboard, too, so it’s good quality.”  Eddie said, turning it around and looking it over.  The board seemed to still be solid, mercifully untouched by time and termites, and the wheels were only a little squeaky.

“Never would’ve taken you for a skateboard kid, Eds.”

“Oh yeah, before I—” Eddie drifts off.  He doesn’t know exactly how to finish that sentence.  Before he started worrying about everything?  Before he became a semi-hypochondriac with crippling phobias?  Either would work, but he finds that he isn’t comfortable saying that in front of Richie just yet.  So he thinks of something else to say.  “When I was a teenager, and, fuck, even in my early twenties, I had a rebellious phase.”

“Really?”  Richie gaped.  “You?”

“Yes, you butthead.”  Eddie giggled, setting the skateboard down at his feet.  “My mom… my mom was kind of a bitch.  She was really controlling, made me believe that there were a million things wrong with me, that I was sick and diseased…  that I shouldn’t like boys.”  Richie gave him a solemn nod and stepped even closer to him.  Eddie appreciated the proximity.  “She fucked me up for a while there, and rebellion was my first big ‘fuck you’ to her.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Tell you about what?”  Eddie asked, finding Richie’s eyes as they stared down at him.  There was no judgement, no discomfort, just kindness.

“Tell me about rebellious Eddie.”  He said.  Eddie toyed with the skateboard under his feet, turning it back and forth with the movement of his toes.  Richie watched the movement, an entertained, fond smile curling his lips.  As they stood there, Eddie realized that he felt safe; he felt safe with Richie, even if every logical synapse in his body told him not to.

“I learned how to skateboard, I started hanging with the ‘cool kids’ that boarded too, and of course my mom thought that they were ruffians… At one point I bleached my hair, which sounds really stupid—and it probably was—but it looked cool for the nineties…”

“I’m sure it was, Eds.  I don’t think you could look bad if you tried.”  Richie smiled, watching as Eddie hopped onto the skateboard.  “Could you teach me?”

“What?”  Eddie’s attention shifted, away from the board underneath him, away from the childhood trauma, and up to Richie’s infuriatingly earnest face.

“Could you teach me how to skateboard?  Let’s be honest, Eds, cleaning up a moldy basement isn’t exactly the best date.”

“And me teaching you how to skateboard is the best date?”  Eddie asked incredulously.

“Maybe it’s not the best, but it’ll require a lot of hand-holding to make sure I don’t fall, and that’s good enough for me.”  Richie said, leaning further into Eddie space.  Richie’s words hit Eddie somewhere delicate, a fragile part of him that hadn’t really been reached before.  Richie really wanted to learn all that he could about Eddie, he viewed time with Eddie like it was something precious.  And maybe that did something to Eddie… and maybe he stepped off of the skateboard and reached for Richie’s hand so he could guide him onto it.  In that moment, Eddie promised himself that he wouldn’t feel guilty for how he felt.  It was a conversation he had had with himself many times before, granted, but this time, he meant it.  From here on out, Eddie wouldn’t care about what Richie was, and he wouldn’t care about the implications of dating a vampire, he would just enjoy it.

So he did.

He watched Richie tentatively step on the skateboard, and Eddie didn’t even flinch when Richie held his hand with a death grip.  He wobbled back and forth; the board slid unsteadily with each shift in weight.  Eddie wanted to laugh at him, and even though he felt a small pang of guilt at the idea, he did laugh; and Richie laughed with him.

By the end of the night, they hadn’t made any progress in the cleaning, but Richie could stand on his own on the skateboard and propel himself a couple of feet before he needed Eddie’s help.  Eddie considered that a win.

Early in the morning, only an hour or so before Eddie needed to rush back home and get ready for work, they lived up to their promise and found themselves curled up on Richie’s sofa. 

“It was really hot when you did a kick-flip.”  Richie murmured around a kiss.

“That wasn’t a kick-flip,” Eddie huffed, pressing his mouth back against Richie’s, relishing the wet movement and the way Richie moaned.  “that was an airwalk.”

“Whatever.”  Richie said breathlessly.  “It was still really hot.”

Eddie was about to respond when a loud clang sounded through the house.  It took him a moment to realize what the noise was: a clock chiming.  But not just one clock, several clocks; all of which were loudly alarming away.

“What the fuck?”  Eddie asked, missing the slightly panicked look on Richie’s face.

“Hey,” Richie said, pecking Eddie on the lips.  “I’m gonna go back to the basement and try and get some work done.  You should go get ready for work.”

Eddie was about to protest and tell him he had time, that he’d make time if it meant spending more time together, when he truly realized what the alarm bells meant.  They were a warning signal.

“Of course.  No problem.”  Eddie said dumbly, getting off the couch.  He wanted one more kiss before he left, but he also didn’t want Richie to get hurt.  “I’ll just let myself out.”  Eddie walked into the foyer, zipping up his jacket as he went.  He wasn’t happily anticipating the cold winter chill that awaited him on the other side of the door, and he already missed the warmth of Richie’s body.

“Wait!”  Richie called.  Eddie didn’t have to be told twice; he spun on a heel and found Richie trailing after him.  “I already forgot to kiss you hello, I can’t forget to kiss you goodbye.”

“But Rich…”  Eddie hesitated, unsure how exactly to finish that thought.  Richie would tell him when he’s ready.  Eddie didn’t want to rush him.  Subconsciously, though, Eddie did take a quick glance at the couple of clocks that lined the wall.  Richie noticed.

“Just… just kiss me, Spaghetti.”  Richie whispered.  And Eddie couldn’t deny him that request, no matter how worried he was.  They kissed, ignoring the words left unsaid, ignoring the secret that both of them surely knew by now.  They kissed… and wasn’t that enough?

Chapter Text

Eddie Kaspbrak liked to think of himself as a practical person.  He had hit a sensible stride early on in his adult life, he worked hard, he stayed away from the more ridiculous, irresponsible things in the world, and—since his rebellious phase—never let his irrational side win out.  He liked practicality; it never led him astray.

Which was why his current predicament was so disconcerting.

It all started when winter had faded into spring.  The days were getting longer; the nights were getting shorter.  Eddie tried to see Richie as much as he could—that amounted to three or four times a week, and never for long.  After their first couple of dates—early evenings that quickly turned into late, late nights—Eddie had to force a curfew upon himself; night life with Richie just didn’t mix well with early mornings and normal, human stuff.

But somewhere along the way, Eddie had promised himself that he would make it work, because despite how fast it seemed, Richie made him happier than he’d ever been.  And a couple of groggy workdays weren’t going to change how Eddie felt about him.

And Eddie… felt a lot.

It was early March when Eddie’s predicament fully came to a head.  It must have been a couple of days before St. Patrick’s Day, because Richie broke a comfortable silence and asked—

“Which holiday is your favorite?”  Richie grinned down at him, sitting only inches away on Eddie’s couch.  Eddie was stunned silent for a moment.  His eyes shot up, breaking away from the work papers he had on his lap.  The living room television was set to a news station that Richie had turned to, telling some story about the upcoming St. Patrick’s Day festivities along the east coast.  Eddie gave him the courtesy of thinking through his answer silently, and Richie knew him well enough by now to give him that time.

“Which holiday is your favorite?”  Eddie retaliated childishly.  Richie moved the hand he had on Eddie’s shoulder up so he could give him a gentle noogie.  Both of them were lost in laughter as Eddie pulled away from the assault on his scalp.

“Mine’s Halloween.  A day where you get to be something you’re not?  And best of all, no one judges you for it?  It’s clearly the superior holiday.”  Richie giggled, moving his free hand to clasp Eddie’s.  “Monsters get to be the status quo… How could you not like that?”

Eddie regarded him for a moment before answering.  His eyebrows were drawn together in thoughtfulness, and his steely eyes went hazy behind his glasses.  Eddie wasn’t stupid, he understood the deeper meaning of Richie’s words, but it hurt him to hear that Richie thought of himself as a monster.  Richie was beautifully goofy and endlessly affectionate, he was a huge, unabashed nerd that ranted about the superiority of DC comics, he took Eddie on dates to fucking 7/11 and bought them pink frosted donuts, on their third date he begged Eddie to adopt a cat with him.  At this point in their relationship, Eddie knew for a fact that monster and Richie were two words that did not go together.

“Christmas.”  Eddie smiled.  Richie lazily nodded his head, as if he knew that’s what he’d say.

“God, I can practically see you curled up with a mug of hot chocolate watching the Hallmark channel.”  Richie simpered, bringing Eddie’s hand up to press a kiss to each of his knuckles.  Eddie made a production of rolling his eyes, despite the warm, fuzzy feeling that was sweeping through his body as he watched Richie kiss the back of his hand.  He wasn’t about to admit that that’s exactly what he did last Christmas Eve.  “I wish I could’ve spent last Christmas with you.”

“You were busy.”  Eddie excused.  He didn’t add on that he would’ve loved if Richie had been there, but as he thought about it, he realized he really would have…loved that.

“There’s always next Christmas.”  Richie said matter-of-factly, picking up the remote and changing the channel.  “We’ll make gingerbread cookies and watch A Christmas Prince.”

Richie looked over at him, mirth lighting up his eyes.  Only Eddie didn’t laugh, he couldn’t even return his smile, because here’s where Eddie’s predicament started.  Somewhere between the St. Patrick’s Day news broadcast and now, Eddie realized a couple of things:

First, he realized that Richie was special to him, and Eddie would be happy to eat a million overly sweet pink frosted donuts as long as he was doing it with Richie.  Because nothing is ever boring when they’re together.

Second, Richie apparently expected to still be with him almost a year from now.  That’s longer than any other relationship Eddie ever had, and when Eddie thought about that fact, he didn’t feel fear or trepidation—just elation.  Richie really saw and wanted a future with him.

Third, and most horrifyingly, Eddie was in love with Richie Tozier.

--

Eddie went home early that night, earlier than his self-imposed curfew.  He most certainly did not tell Richie about his revelation; Eddie hardly managed some weak excuse before booking it back home.  Eddie was a terrible liar and Richie, smarter than he looked was up.  But Eddie was too busy panicking to care.

He wasn’t surprised to see that Bill had already gone to bed, but he was surprised to find Mike sitting at the kitchen table.  Mike looked up from his bowl of cereal when he heard Eddie come in.

“Hey, man.  You’re home early.”  Mike glanced out the dark kitchen window before casting a sly smile at Eddie.  “Earlier than normal, anyway.”  Eddie attempted to smile back, but when it came off as more of a pained grimace, Mike straightened up on his stool.  “Woah, hey are you okay?”

Eddie didn’t know the answer to that question.  Theoretically, love was fantastic, and Eddie had always wanted to fall in love.  No matter how logic-minded he was, he had never been able to douse that sickening warmth that brimmed in his body at the thought of loving and being loved.  Right now, he should feel downright blissful—and maybe he did… but at the very least, he felt the need to air out some demons.

“Mike… can I ask you a hypothetical question?”  Eddie asked, slouching into the seat across from Mike.

“Anything, Eddie.”  Mike said.  He slid his bowl aside and reached a hand across the table to rest on Eddie’s forearm.  Eddie stared at the contact, thinking over how exactly to phrase this stupid question.

“So… you love Bill, and he loves you.  And because you love each other, you’re going to stay together forever.”

“If I have anything to say about it.”  Mike smiled.  At the mere mention of Bill, an impassioned look had taken over his handsome features.

“Right.”  Eddie tried to grin again; and he found it a little easier this time.  “But what if forever meant something different for Bill—like, what if Bill lived for a hundred more years and you only lived for fifty?  Could you do that to him?  Could you love him with your whole heart knowing that he’d have to go on without you, knowing that he’s your one and only but one day after you’re gone, he might move on?  And you want him to move on because you love him, and he deserves to be happy, but that doesn’t make thinking about it easier.  What the fuck would you do, Mike?  Cause I—I’m lost.”  Eddie finished.  He could feel his face reddening even as he tried to catch his breath.

Mike was staring at him; not looking as shell-shocked as Eddie thought he would, but concerned, nonetheless.  He seemed to take a moment to think over every one of Eddie’s words, genuinely considering the hypothetical question.

“I’d like to say that it wouldn’t matter; if Bill and I loved each other as much as I know we do, then it wouldn’t matter.  Because every day would’ve been worth it, but… I get it.”  Mike said, soothing his hand across Eddie’s wrist.  “But, Eddie, that’s love.  Yeah, it’s the shitty part of it, but you don’t love someone without worrying about all of that.”

“You don’t?”

“Hell no.  You fall in love and suddenly you’re worrying if they got in a car crash just because they’re two minutes late getting home.  It sucks, but… it’s worth it.  Bill is worth it.”  Mike’s beautiful, earnest smile turned just a little wicked as his eyes flicked up to Eddie.  “Richie is worth it, too.”

“Yeah.”  Eddie said, because it was true.  “Yeah he is.”

--

So Eddie was stupidly, head over heels in love with Richie.  And he was happy about it, he really was, but he had to actually tell Richie, and that was terrifying.  Being truthful, being seen and vulnerable, it was all too much for Eddie.

Besides, Richie hadn’t told his own truth yet.  Eddie wanted to be patient for him; for fuck’s sake, he loved him, he’d do anything for him.  But… it was getting harder as each day passed.  Eddie loved Richie, but Richie seemingly didn’t trust Eddie enough to confirm what they both knew.  It made it hard for Eddie to believe that Richie loved him back.

“Hey.  Spaghetti.”  Richie’s finger was gently tapping at Eddie’s temple.  “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry—sorry I was just…”  Eddie gripped the game controller he’d forgotten about, looked back to the video game that was idling on Richie’s television.  “I was just thinking.”

“Ooh, what about?”

“Nothing.”  Eddie tried.  He picked up where he left off with the game, hoping that Richie would just drop it.

“Aw, come on Eds, you can tell me.”

“No, Rich.”

“Pleeeease.”  Richie drawled, his voice grating on Eddie’s nerves.  “Tell me.”

“Why should I?”  Eddie snapped, hating himself when Richie flinched, looking like a kicked puppy.  Eddie wanted nothing more than to reach forward and hold Richie, to apologize and soothe him till it was all okay again.  But Eddie was hurting too.  Richie was a hypocrite for prying, and it struck Eddie in all the wrong places.  He lowered his voice, pushing past the way it shook with every word, and kept going—in for a penny, in for a pound.  “Why should I, Rich?  I’ve got a lot of things to think about right now—things that are hard for me to say.  And I know you’ve got your own demons, trust me I know, but it’s not fair.  It’s not fair to push me like that, Rich—I’ve tried so hard to work through my stupid, overactive thoughts because I knew you were worth it, but—but there’s this huge fucking secret—”

“Eddie, please don’t.”  Richie begged, his eyes watering and his lips curling pitifully downwards.  Eddie couldn’t look at him, his heart felt numb and pained all at the same time.  Leave it to him to fall in love and immediately ruin it.  He shoved himself off of the couch, turning back to Richie and crossing his arms, but never looking back to Richie’s face.

“Don’t fucking worry.  I’m not going to say anything—that’s on you, Richie.”  Eddie’s throat felt raw, the strain from holding back tears causing it to burn.

“Eds, please, it doesn’t matter—we’ve come this far without that getting in the way.  We don’t have to talk about it—”

“It hasn’t gotten in the way?  Richie do you know how many nights I’ve lost sleep because of it?  How can you fucking say that?”  Eddie wrapped his crossed arms around himself, ignoring the nagging thought in the back of his mind that told him that his arms didn’t feel as good as Richie’s.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”  Richie held up his arms in surrender and stood, making a small step towards Eddie.  When Eddie only stepped further away, Richie’s resolve visibly broke as he choked on a broken sob.  “I can’t lose you.”

Eddie held himself a little tighter.

“Richie, I love you.” 

Richie’s trembling lips parted, but to Eddie’s chagrin, no words came out.

“Did you hear me?  I love you.  You won’t lose me if you just… tell me.”  Eddie hated himself, he hated the vindictive words that spewed unbidden from his lips.  He wasn’t being fair, and he was fucking terrified of losing Richie too, but all of his cards were on the table now.  If Richie felt the same, then he should return the favor.  “Please.”

Richie sniffed and wiped at his wet cheeks, never looking anywhere else but at Eddie.  Eddie’s heart fell heavy down to his stomach, his limbs were numb and ineffectual.  When the silence lingered too long and Richie’s face contorted into the most pained look yet, Eddie knew his answer before he said it.

“I can’t.”  Richie whimpered. 

Eddie’s heart broke.  Time didn’t stop like in all the shitty stories; there was no dramatic, woefully beautiful moment where Eddie stood there, taking in the passing seconds as if they were ages.  He had no time at all to mourn one of best things that had ever happened to him. 

Eddie ran.  He ran like a bat out of hell, ignoring Richie’s desperate pleas, no matter how much they hurt him.  It felt like dying, like his chest had been cracked open and his soul was floating off into the starry night sky.  It felt like Eddie had lost everything.  The only thing that stuck around in Eddie’s husk of a body was the love he felt for Richie; there wasn’t a doubt in Eddie’s mind that that wasn’t going away any time soon.

Chapter Text

Eddie wondered if this was how it always felt after a breakup.  If that was even what this was.  These were unfamiliar waters for him, untested and avoided for practically all of his life.  Until now.

Eddie’s sure that better men than him could properly describe how he’s feeling; give the hollow impression in his chest the poetic treatment it deserved.  But even though Eddie could feel the way that the butterflies in his stomach had withered and died—replaced by gray-brown moths that dusted his insides in a sickening melancholy—he didn’t believe that that description was worthy enough.  The dull pain that ached throughout his body couldn’t be summed up with words alone, and sometimes—after hours and hours of hopeless agony—Eddie had to wonder if screaming through the tears would help.

He occupied his time simply, either at work or at home, pretending his heart wasn’t left in the gutter that ran between his and Richie’s house.  Work, which was never a particularly stimulating occupation anyway, was suddenly just… another thing to do.  Another thing to distract.  He appreciated the distraction, though; after all, it was while working that he achieved his current record for most time spent not depressing himself over Richie.  Five minutes, twenty seconds.  Give or take.

Home was another story.  The distractions were few and far between, and it certainly did not help that the reason for his grief lived next door.  And the atmosphere was tense; Bill wasn’t an idiot, nor did he have to be to notice the way Eddie was acting.  If Eddie wasn’t locked in his room like a mopey teenager, then he was sneaking downstairs for dry cereal or cold leftovers.  He’d stopped having dinner with Mike and Bill altogether, and there was more than one occasion when Eddie had been caught coming out of the bathroom with tear-reddened cheeks.  He wasn’t exactly being discreet about it, but so far neither Bill nor Mike had felt the need to comment.  Eddie was a grown-ass man, and if he wanted to tell them why they found him sobbing into their decorative throw pillows watching When Harry Met Sally at one in the morning, then he’d fucking tell them.

Something must have broken their patience, though.  The days were running together, and Eddie had lost track of how long it had been since he had seen Richie, but maybe a week after the fight, Eddie heard a knock on his bedroom door.  The sound broke his focus away from his phone, where a new—but now achingly familiar—text read ‘eds please answer.’

He wiped the tears from his face, the sleeve of his sweater grating against the raw, puffy skin underneath his eyes.  Choking back more tears and swallowing around the catch in his throat, Eddie gave a weak, “Come in.”

Bill poked his head in, haloed by the yellowish light of the hallway.  Eddie blinked hard against the bright contrast—because yes, he’d been sitting in the dark.  It was lame, and Eddie knew it.  It felt infantile to brood with the lights off, but he didn’t really feel like broadcasting his location through the window and across the way.  The less Richie knew about what he was up to—crying, never leaving his room, ignoring his friends and responsibilities—the better.

“Hey.”  Bill said gently, as if he was approaching a wild, injured animal.  Eddie wondered how close he was to holding up his hands in surrender.

“Hey.”  Eddie bit.  His foul mood wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own—and Richie’s.  He didn’t really want to strike up a childish word volley with Bill—impudently throwing blame where it didn’t belong—but here he was.  “What do you want?”

Bill, unfazed and too understanding for his own good, simply moved closer and sat down at the foot of Eddie’s bed.  Eddie averted his gaze—too weakened and scared to look Bill in the eye—and inadvertently ended up staring right at his drawn curtains.  His stomach lurched; his eyes brimmed with burning, angry tears, even as he closed them tight.

Bill kept quiet.  Eddie didn’t know if he was thinking over what to say or if he was trying to give Eddie his own chance to speak first, but either way, Eddies patience was growing thin.  He blinked away the newborn tears and threw his phone down.

“Bill, I’m really not—”

“We’re worried about you.”  Bill said.  Eddie’s mouth snapped shut.  “You’re my best friend, Eddie; I love you—we love you… Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Eddie huffed in disbelief; it wasn’t the first time he’d heard Bill speak without stuttering—and he imagined that it wouldn’t be the last—but it was uncanny every time it happened.  Always so purposeful, so sure; even when Eddie felt his most uncertain and scared, Bill was there to pick up the pieces and be strong for him.

It didn’t necessarily make him want to talk about it any more than before, but now he felt like he owed it to Bill; he needed to show Bill that he could be strong too.

Not before a pathetic sob ripped its way through his body, though.

“He—Richie, he—” Eddie’s chest heaved unsteadily, hatefully.  His eyes, his throat, the skin that ran from beneath his eyes all the way down to his chest—that had been run over with so many searing tears that Eddie couldn’t count them if he tried—all itched with a raw, too tender burn.  He hated all of it.  He hated how small he felt, how distant he’d let himself become, and he especially hated how much he’d let one man upend his life.  No matter how much Eddie still loved him.

“Hey, hey.”  Bill shifted closer till he could pull Eddie into his chest.  Eddie breathed heavy, taking in Bill’s comforting smell—clean linen, old books, Mike, coffee—and let the closeness lull him down, till he was as calm as he could be.  Bill rubbed his back, holding him through the last of his sobs.

“I told Richie I loved him.”  Eddie cried, wiping his eyes gracelessly into Bill’s shirt.

“Oh.”

“I know.”  Eddie grimaced as he pulled back to look at Bill.  He almost looked as hurt as Eddie felt.  Almost.  “I told him I loved him, and he still couldn’t tell me the truth about what he was.  He just—he just stood there, looked me straight in the eyes and told me he couldn’t.”  Eddie’s face contorted as he wept, his lips curling into a harsh frown that almost looked like a clownish smile.  Bill’s features blurred before him, but Eddie didn’t bother to rub away the tears this time.  “I’ve never felt like this before, Bill.  I hate it—I really fucking hate it.”

Bill guided him back into his chest, petting his hair with one hand and finding Eddie’s own with the other.  Bill’s hands were smooth and knobby, writer’s hands.  Eddie wanted to get lost in the feeling—the soothing pull of Bill’s hands drawing circles across his shoulder blades, the itchy texture of Bill’s flannel shirt as it pressed into his forehead—but he couldn’t, because as much as Eddie loved him, Bill wasn’t Richie; and Richie was the only person who could make this better.  Eddie hated to realize, for the first time in his life, that sometimes a friend was a sad substitute for a lover.

Eddie’s eyes gave way to more salty tears that soaked into Bill’s chest. 

Minutes, or maybe even hours, passed before his throat was unbearably hoarse and he couldn’t have cried any more if he wanted to.  Bill rose off of the bed, never unlinking his hand from Eddie’s, and pulled Eddie up, out of his musty bedroom and down the stairs till they reached the kitchen.  Bill carefully sat him down on a barstool, holding a hand up that told him to stay.  Eddie watched him take a cup out of a cabinet and fill it water.  Eddie swallowed, finding his throat stuffy with mucus, but dry at the same time; it made a clicking kind of noise with the movement.

“You’ve gotta b-be thirsty.  I hardly see y-you come downstairs, and ah-all that crying can’t be g-good for you.”  Bill handed him the water, a commiserative, open look in his hazy blue eyes.

“Crying doesn’t actually dehydrate you.”  Eddie said, taking a long gulp anyway.  Bill rolled his eyes.

They didn’t say anything for a long moment; Bill sat down beside him, and Eddie kept drinking his water, occupying his mouth with something other than pathetic words about how fucking agonizing love could be.  When he finished the water, he pressed the empty glass against his cheek, letting the cold temperature offer some kind of relief to his tear-tracked skin

“Wh-what did Richie say?”  Bill asked, quirking his eyebrow.  “He didn’t admit t-to b-being a vampire, but…  I mean, y-you told him you loved him; he didn’t s-say anything ah-about that?”

Eddie sighed, setting his cup down a little too roughly.  “I uh, I didn’t really give him a chance to say anything…”  He fidgeted with the damp sleeve of his sweater.  “Besides, I practically already know his answer: if he loved me back he would’ve been honest with me.”

“You d-don’t know that.”

“Maybe I don’t, but maybe I’m just too tired and too fucking scared to do anything about it.  Fuck, Bill, I don’t even know if this is a breakup—I mean it sure fucking feels like it, but I do not know.”  Eddie said, voice shaking and one hand chopping succinctly into the flat of the other.  “I’ve got a mountain of texts from him, and there’s a part of me that wants to answer them, another part that’s still so mad I could spit, and another part that’s just worried he’ll realize that I pushed him too far and that I’m not worth it.”

Eddie squeaked out the last bit, too out of breath for a grand finish.  Bill held his gaze with a characteristically stoic look fixed upon his features.  His knee bounced, shaking his hands where they were clasped together on top of it.  This was his pensive face; Eddie knew it by heart now. 

Bill finally pursed his lips, gave a quick nod of his head—as if he was assuring himself of his own plan—and asked, “If you knew f-for sure that Richie w-wanted to work things out, and he kn-knew the error of his ways, would you t-talk to him then?”

It was Eddie’s turn to think.  If the past week had taught him anything, it was that he was miserable without Richie.  And yeah, maybe that was something he’d get over eventually; realistically, love couldn’t last forever: people leave, people die, people get over it.  But Eddie didn’t have to be emotionally competent—and he wasn’t—to know that Richie was something special, and that he had it bad for him.

On the other hand, Richie had had his chance to talk, and didn’t take it.

“Maybe.”

Bill nodded once more, and the subject was dropped.  He said goodnight, squeezing Eddie’s hand extra tightly for good measure, and told him to stop being such a stranger. 

Eddie didn’t expect Bill to let it go, or stop trying to help, but he really didn’t expect to come home the next evening to find Mike and Bill dressed up and waiting for him.

“Get ready, we’re g-going out.”

“Out?”  Eddie asked cautiously.  His friends shared a conspiratorial glance.

“Clubbing.”  Mike chirped.

“Clubbing?”  Eddie looked between them, taking in their casual yet stylish clothes.  “We haven’t gone to a club in like five years.  Aren’t we a little old for that?”

“Probably, but come on, Eddie, you used to love going out.”  Mike reasoned.  He wasn’t wrong; at college Eddie was normally the one that stayed out for hours on end, dragging the other two from night club to night club—young wild streak and all that. 

But those were different times, times when Eddie didn’t have a job that wore him out most days.  Back then he’d still had a bright hope propelling his body; hope that on one of those adventurous nights—and without putting forth any real effort—he would meet the love of his life, and be swept off his feet.  He was young and dumb, and that hope had long-since atrophied.

“P-please, Eddie.  It’s the weekend ah-and we wanted to do something t-to cheer you up.”  Bill said.  His eyes were a little red around the pale blue of his iris, and he looked tired, like he had stayed up too long trying to figure out a way to help Eddie.  He wanted to tell Bill that he’d be happy just to have dinner with the two of them again, but there was a quiet pleading to the way Bill’s eyebrows drew up and Eddie couldn’t say no.

Sighing, Eddie slid out of his blazer and walked past them towards the stairs.

“We come home before midnight and you’re buying my drinks.”  Eddie called behind him.  He heard his friends’ triumphant laughter as he rounded the bannister at the top of the landing.

He wasn’t going to bother dressing up too much, if it was up to him he’d be in his t-shirt and sweatpants by now; but he certainly wasn’t going to pull up to the club with pressed slacks and a button down either.  So he pulled on a white, short sleeve undershirt and a relaxed pair of jeans; and after a couple minutes debating his clothing choices, he also shrugged on a dark chambray and buttoned it up to the second-to-last button. 

He regarded himself in the stand mirror.  He didn’t look fantastic; he never thought much of himself anyway, but the past week had been particularly damaging to his self-worth.  He looked boxy in his chosen top, the dark circles under his eyes contrasted poorly with his pink, puffy eyelids, and his neglected facial hair served to deepen the lines of his face.  He heaved out a sigh as he rubbed at his face a little too hard.  He reached up further, mussing his hair a little till it wasn’t so tightly combed to his head.

“Get a fucking grip, Kaspbrak.”  Eddie gritted out.  Maybe he wasn’t done being sad, but at the very least he’d hit his breaking point for feeling sorry for himself.  Fuck Richie Tozier—yeah, that’s right, fuck him.  I don’t need him, Eddie thought…but I love him, Eddie also thought.  He shook himself, straightening his body out just a little taller.  He cuffed his jeans and rolled his chambray up to his elbows, exposing his tan, defined forearms, and when he looked at himself again—with a renewed fervor, fueled by the sentiment of forgetting Richie Tozier and all he stood for—he wasn’t so disappointed by what he saw.

He had a strong body, a full head of hair that hadn’t started receding yet, and so what if his facial hair accentuated the lines on his face?  It made his dimples stand out, and Richie always loved his—no.  No.  He looked good, and he was going to party with his best friends, and he was going to drink till he forgot why he’d been so sad.

“Alright, let’s do this.”  Eddie said as he descended the stairs.  Mike and Bill were dutifully waiting for him.  The smiles that he received in response were validation enough; he could do this, he could have a night out with Mike and Bill, he could be happy again.

They found street parking blessedly close to the entrance, and made the trek to the end of the club’s busy line shoulder to shoulder.  Eddie forgot this part—the waiting; but someone must have been smiling down on them, because not ten minutes later they were being IDed and allowed in.  The moment the door swung open, the previously muffled bass became clear and nearly deafening as the rest of the music filled in around it.  Mike took the lead through the narrow entry way, past a goth couple locked in a tight embrace, and into the large main room. 

Red and blue lights flashed in time with the music, and throngs of people covered the dance floor; but it was the crowded bar to the far left of the room, separated from the rest of the building by a floor-to-ceiling chain link fence, that caught Eddie’s attention.  Bill, bless him, seemed to read Eddie’s mind.

“Mike, y-you want to find us a booth?  Me and Eddie will g-get drinks,” he yelled over the music, face inches from Mike’s ear.  Mike nodded, peeking over the crowd in search of empty seats.

Bill found a small space between two barstools and leaned dauntingly across the bar, immediately getting the bartenders attention and ordering their preferred drinks.  Bill may have never gotten much taller after his late teens, but hell if he didn’t still command attention like it was second nature. 

They soon got their drinks, they found their way to the spot Mike had found them.  Eddie wasn’t too proud to admit that this may have been exactly what he needed.  The loud, oppressive atmosphere didn’t give him time to dwell on much else; and when he sat down across from the best friends he’d ever had, he realized how much he had missed their company.  Who needed Richie when Eddie had good friends and alcohol?  And speaking of which—

“Cheers.”  Eddie smiled.  Bill and Mike echoed him, clinking their glasses, slamming them down on the table, and downing their shots.  The double of Jameson that Bill had ordered him went down easy, filling his belly with a pleasant warmth; and on the empty stomach that Eddie had, that reticent warmth soon turned into a full-body tingle, and one double shot turned into another, and suddenly Eddie was on the dance floor.  He couldn’t dance to save his life, but damnit if he wasn’t going to try.  His movements mostly amounted to jumping in time to the heavy beats with erratic hand movements thrown in.

He decided to take a breather as soon as some techno song ended.  He maneuvered his way through a couple of people, only wobbling a little as he did, till he could see Mike and Bill again.  They were leaned into each other, talking animatedly even in the close proximity.  Bill looked worried; his shoulders were drawn up in tension.  Mike’s hand came to rest comfortingly on his knee, but that didn’t seem to help much.

“What’s going on, guys?”  Eddie asked, eyes flicking back and forth between them.  A guilty grimace appeared on Bill’s face, and Mike wouldn’t meet Eddie’s eyes; instead he looked down at his lap before scanning the dimly lit club behind Eddie.

“Eddie, I—Look, you might want to slow d-down with the drinks.  You’ll probably w-want to b-be sober for th-this.”  Bill said.  Mike was still looking behind Eddie, but his eyes had finally settled.

“Sober for what?”  Eddie demanded, the alcohol in his system making him immediately defensive.  He hadn’t even realized he was leaning down, gripping the edge of the table. 

“I w-wanted to help—”

“Hey, Eds.”

The words came from behind him, like a drop of rain in the ocean of sound filling the room, but Eddie still heard them clear as day.  The booth, Mike and Bill, his hands in front of him all spun a little.  He blamed it on the whiskey and blinked till the ice chips in Mike’s empty glass stopped swinging unsteadily.  He couldn’t move, like he was an insect pinned into place through his hands and feet; and he didn’t want to move, because then he’d be face to face with exactly what he’d been avoiding all week.

“Richie.”  Bill said by way of a greeting, forcing a casual smile.

The metaphysical pins released, and Eddie turned around just as one song faded into another.  Eddie felt a pounding between his lungs, and whether it was the bass boosted music reverberating there, or his heart palpitating at the sight before him, he couldn’t tell.

Richie stood closer than Eddie would have liked—so close that Eddie’s head tilted up to look him in the eyes. And even through the sensory dulling fog of alcohol he could smell the heartbreakingly familiar scent of Richie’s bodywash, and see how red-rimmed Richie’s eyes were, despite the low club lighting.  It felt ridiculous to Eddie, but it seemed like a lifetime since he had last seen him, like ages instead of days had passed since Eddie had left Richie crying out, begging him not to go.  A shudder wracked Eddie’s body at the memory.

Eddie’s resolve crumbled as he felt his eyes travel the length of Richie’s body.  He hated to admit that Richie looked good: a maroon t-shirt showed off his big arms, dark jeans clinging to the strong meat of his thighs, and it looked like he’d shaved recently—not a hint of peppered scruff was to be found.

“Bill,” Eddie snapped, voice wavering.  His eyes never left Richie’s.  “What the fuck is going on?”

Richie’s pitiful, gray eyes finally strayed away from Eddie, and looked to Bill with a pleading stare

“I couldn’t keep d-doing it, Eddie…  I c-couldn’t k-keep seeing you in pain and n-not do anything about it.”  Bill’s voice was a weak thing behind him; Eddie was surprised he could hear him at all.  At the mention of Eddie’s less-than-perfect wellbeing, Richie’s eyes shot back, fixing Eddie with a look that was too caring, too fucking loving.  It wasn’t fair.  Eddie couldn’t handle it.

“What did you do, Bill?”  Eddie turned, his body steadying itself long before his sight did.

“I called S-Stan.”  Bill said, casting a corroborative glance at Richie before he continued.  “When he t-told me that R-Richie was j-just as upset, I knew what I h-had to do… I didn’t m-mean to trick you, Eddie, but you s-said—you said you would t-talk to him if he—"

“I said maybe.”  Eddie said petulantly, uselessly.  His back was burning from Richie’s proximity; a moment of clarity told him he needed to move away, before he did something stupid like leaning back into him.

“Well, while you’re both here,” Mike said cautiously; ever the judicious one.  “it wouldn’t hurt to tal—”

“No!”  Eddie yelled.  He could almost feel the air behind him shift, sense Richie stiffen.  A tightness pulled at his insides as a million emotions hit him at once; he wanted to scream at them that this is not what he came here for, he wanted to cry into Bill’s shoulder like he had the other day and tell him he appreciated the sentiment, but seeing Richie again just hurt too much, and he—he really wanted another drink.  “I’m not doing this right now.”

Eddie was halfway to the bar in seconds flat.  He thought he could hear the muffled voices of his friends as they called for him to wait or come back, and his heart only dropped a little when he didn’t hear Richie join in.  Maybe that was for the best, though; god only knows what a repeat of last week would do to Eddie’s already fragile composure.

He climbed onto a bar stool and ordered the first drink that came to his addled mind; he knocked it back in one go without so much as flinching.  Eddie knew that alcohol was a depressant, and that it wouldn’t help his situation one bit, but in that moment, Eddie needed to feel numb.

A tap on his shoulder made it clear that he wasn’t getting to that point any time soon.

“Look, I’m really not—” Eddie spun in his seat, fully prepared to tell Bill or Mike or, god forbid, Richie to kindly fuck off, but he was greeted with an unfamiliar face that was a little thrown off by Eddie’s preemptive snarking, but handsome, nonetheless.

“Woah—hey, sorry I didn’t mean to bug you or anything.  My name’s Jerry.”  He smiled sweetly down at Eddie; his dark skin shone brilliantly underneath the club’s pulsing blue lights.  Eddie nearly swallowed his tongue trying to apologize.

No—no, I’m sorry.”  Eddie tried, hoping Jerry could hear him over the blasting music.  “You weren’t…  Sorry, I was expecting someone else.”

“Don’t worry about it.”  Jerry said.

He was cute, Eddie had to give him that.  When Eddie blushed a little, Jerry beamed; his smile wasn’t lopsided, and one eye didn’t close just a little more than the other when he laughed, but… But Eddie was trying really hard not to focus on that.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to dance?  Or, I mean if dancing’s not your thing, then I could buy you another drink, or whatever you like.”

Eddie spared a glance at his empty shot glass, very pointedly did not let his eyes wander back to his friends’ booth, and stood up so he was nearly chest to chest with Jerry.  This isn’t exactly what he came here tonight for either, but his original intentions had already been blown out of the water.  What was one more change of plans?

“I’d like to dance.”  Eddie said, acting a little more eager than he really was.  A small part of him felt bad for using this nice man for his own personal interests, but his inhibition was currently on the bar behind him, evaporating into the air quicker than alcohol on marble.  And damnit if he couldn’t bring himself to care too much, because this was exactly what he’d been hoping for all those years ago; when young Eddie stayed out till the tall buildings eclipsed the rising sun, it was all because he was waiting for a gorgeous, normal—non-vampiric—man to ask him to dance.

Jerry moved around the chain fence and navigated his way through the pulsating crowd until he found an empty space.  Eddie followed close behind.  Jerry turned to him, pulling him close with a timid arm and rocking their bodies in half time rhythm.

It felt wrong; in no small part thanks to the self-conscious way Eddie tried to match Jerry’s motions, but also because Jerry’s eyes kept distractedly glancing away.

“Hey,” Jerry said, bending to speak in Eddie’s ear.  “Do you know that guy?”

Eddie followed his gaze and, unsurprisingly, found Richie staring intently back at them.  Eddie huffed dramatically, making sure to roll his eyes extra hard so Richie could see.

“That’s my boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend.  I think.”  Eddie stammered, the words leaving his mouth before he could think them through.

“Wait, you have a boyfriend?”  Jerry asked, gaping.  Eddie stared back, squinting too hard as he willed his vision to be less blurry.  He worked their conversation back through his mind.

“Ex.”  Eddie said, drawing the sound out and not helping his situation at all.  Jerry shot him a look before walking off.  So much for getting over my fear of rejection, Eddie thought.

He watched Jerry disappear behind masses of swaying bodies.  Eddie didn’t move, save to cast a dazed look at the twirling mirror ball directly above him; it reflected purple specks of light all around him—tiny, bruise colored stars in this bustling, isolated universe.  Without even knowing, he had begun to spin with it, closing his eyes and getting lost in the drunken feeling of lazily turning on his own wobbly axis.

He didn’t stop until the pop song that had been blaring over the speakers faded out, and a new, melancholy song started up.  Heavy drumbeats thrummed in his ears, and a bass guitar played along, resonating through him.  Eddie finally opened his eyes; and suddenly he was greeted with strong shoulders, thick glasses, and dark hair that looked almost black in the colored lights.

Eddie didn’t know the protocol for this; what do you do when the person who broke your heart is standing in front of you, their eyes swimming, looking for all the world like they’re just as heartbroken as you?

Lucky for him, the alcohol decided for him.

“If you’re going to scare everyone else off, the least you could do is dance with me.”

Richie’s eyes bugged and his mouth opened just a little, like he was going to ask Eddie if he was joking, but despite his apparent disbelief, he still moved forward until he could tentatively close his hands around Eddie’s waist.  The contact sent a violent pang of want and sadness clutching at Eddie’s heart.  It felt so familiar and so, so good and Eddie didn’t want him to let go ever again… but surely that was just the loneliness and alcohol talking; Eddie was still ridiculously mad at Richie.

So mad he wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck and pressed their bodies together.

Richie hummed his contentment; Eddie couldn’t hear it so much as feel it vibrating through him, especially when Richie gathered up the courage to touch his forehead to Eddie’s.  The melancholy song was still playing, but now a somber female voice was etching lyrics through the repetitive chords.  Eddie couldn’t tell how fast or slow the song was; he and Richie were swaying to their own beat.

They were close, so close that Eddie could have tilted his head by increments and he’d be kissing Richie; and god, did he want to.  All of the vampire bullshit aside, Eddie felt like he had found a home in Richie, a home where all of the other fucked up things in life took a backseat.  Eddie would have been content to die at the ripe, average age of 78 in Richie’s unchanging arms, looking up at his forever 40-year-old face if Richie had just come out and addressed the immortal elephant in the room.

Richie’s hands slid to the small of Eddie’s back, pulling him closer till they were flush from their knees to where Richie’s glasses were digging into Eddie’s brow.  Liquid courage was starting to win over, and Eddie nuzzled his nose into Richie’s, allowing their lips the faintest of contact.

But then something changed.

Maybe it was brought on by their time spent apart, or maybe it was because Eddie was practically radiating want, and Richie could somehow feel that.  Honestly, Eddie wasn’t sure what exactly set it off—after all, they’d been in similar positions before—but he watched as the gray of Richie’s eyes dissolved into a stark, sickly yellow, with a ring of violent red outlining his iris.

“Rich,” Eddie pulled back; not out of fear—quite the contrary.  Eddie wanted to look straight into his inhuman eyes and try to convey everything he was too upset to tell him the last time they spoke—that he loved everything about him, even the darker parts…So long as Richie trusted him to talk about it.  “Your eyes…”  Eddie pointed to them as discreetly as possible.

Realization dawned on Richie’s face.  His hands jerked away from Eddie’s hips and flew to cover his own eyes.  Eddie watched helplessly as Richie backed away, blindly running into other patrons, muttering obscenities and apologies as he did.

Eddie wished that he was more hurt---wished that disappointment, not resignation, flowed through his veins as he watched Richie clamming up again; but as it was, he didn’t wait for Richie to return or for his eyes to change back, Eddie just walked back towards Bill and Mike’s table.  He only stumbled minutely as he pressed through the spinning club-goers around him; his interaction with Richie was nearly enough to sober him up, but he was still slurring when he found Bill and begged him to take them home.

Bill didn’t ask any questions, thankfully.  He and Mike gathered up their coats and scrambled to catch up with Eddie’s quickly retreating form.  Neither of them said anything to Eddie during the whole ride home; maybe they knew they had done enough damage.  When they pulled into their neighborhood, a cursory scan told Eddie that Richie hadn’t made it back yet; his tacky Iroc-Z was nowhere to be seen. 

They all lethargically wandered inside without a word, too emotionally exhausted to put on fronts.  Eddie wanted nothing more than collapse into his bed and feel nothing for a couple of hours.  But when Bill turned to him, shadowed in guilty scruples and weighed down by the fear that he’d hurt his friend, Eddie had to forget his exhaustion and pride and pull Bill close to him.  He knew Bill meant well; hell, it probably would have killed Eddie just as much if Mike and Bill split up, but that didn’t mean Eddie had to be happy with the way this night had ended.

He was showered and in bed later than he would have liked, but he didn’t mind sobering up a little before he fell asleep; even then, though, he wouldn’t have been surprised to still have a skull-splitting headache in the morning—just to add injury to insult.

Unlike every other night that week, he didn’t cry.  He didn’t soak his pillow through, making a peaceful sleep even harder to come by; he didn’t choke on particularly hard sobs and worry about waking his friends up.  He laid down and slowly slipped into sleep; all the while pretending Richie’s face wouldn’t be the last thing on his mind when he finally passed out.

--

A sound—an insistent knocking woke Eddie up.  His eyes were sticky with sleep, but he could see that the sun hadn’t risen, and the hall light was turned off.  He forced himself to blink into the darkness, adjusting.  His phone screen nearly blinded him when he unlocked it, reading that it was only three in the morning.  He huffed out a long sigh as he slid out of the warm covers, groggily moving towards the door to the hallway.  He was too tired to question what his friends could possibly be knocking on his door for; too out of it to think about how abnormal this was.

His hand wrapped around the doorknob just as he heard the knock again.

Coming from behind him.

He whipped around, wide awake now.  The knocking turned into a more persistent tapping, a hollow beat that mimicked the speeding of Eddie’s heart.  The hyaloid clang told Eddie that whatever it was, it was tapping at his curtained window.

His bedroom was on the second fucking floor.  They had lived in this house for years; there was no tree branch close enough to rap against the glass, no matter how hard the wind may be blowing, and Eddie made damn sure that there were no animals burrowing into their walls and creating rackets.

So what the fuck was knocking on his window?

Eddie stared hard through the darkness, focusing on the scant light that made it’s way past the curtains.  Maybe it was the fear causing his senses to heighten, but he thought that if he concentrated hard enough, he could see a large silhouette moving on the other side of the glass, backlit by the moon or the streetlights or god-knows-what.  Eddie didn’t care.  Something was outside of his room, drumming deliberately on his window, and he was terrified; frozen stock still as the increasingly loud rhythm continued.

Then another sound accompanied the tapping.  Eddie couldn’t be sure, but it almost sounded like—

“Spaghetti?  Are you awake?”

Oh, Jesus Christ—

“Richie?”  Eddie hissed.  He was way too exhausted for this bullshit.

“Yeah.”  Richie stage whispered.  “I’m guessing since you’re talking that means you’re awake.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”  Eddie groaned, turning on his lamp. 

“Are you sober?”

Now that was a good question.  Eddie’s vision had cleared up, his fingertips were no longer tingling, and all other tell-tale signs of drunkenness were gone—not to mention the dull ache that had settled in his temples that told him he was a tiny bit hung over.  Conversely, he hadn’t told Richie to fuck off yet, so maybe he was still a little under the influence.

“Yeah, Richie.  I am.”  Eddie said, slinking over to the window.  He steeled himself, anxiety ripping through his body at the thought of facing Richie again after drunkenly dancing with him and being abandoned on the dance floor.  “But I’ve got a splitting headache and I—Holy shit Richie, what the fuck?”

So, maybe when Eddie found out that it was Richie outside his window, he forgot about the whole… second floor thing.  And if it wasn’t three in the morning and Eddie hadn’t already had his pride hurt twice in two weeks, he probably would’ve been more embarrassed about stumbling flat on his ass when he saw Richie floating. 

“Shit, Eddie, are you okay?”  Richie asked, pressing into the window.  “Would you let me in?  We need to talk.”

“What?  You can float but you can’t get through a window?”  Eddie asked, rubbing at the pain in his lower back as he stood.  Richie laughed fondly, watching Eddie come to the window.

“Honestly I could, but I figured you didn’t want your window ripped out of it’s frame.”  Richie said, too casually.

Against his better judgement, Eddie unlocked the window and slid it open.  Richie climbed—floated—through the limited entry space.  He was still wearing the same clothes from earlier; he smelled like both the cigarette smoke that had been wafting through Tech Noire and the blooming flowers that littered the grass outside. 

Eddie wouldn’t let his eyes meet Richie’s.  He slid past him to close the window back, and combed a self-conscious hand through his bedhead; then he fidgeted uselessly when he found nothing else to occupy his attention.  He could feel Richie eyeing him, making him feel even more small and angry.

“So what the fuck was that all about?”  Eddie asked, storming away and collapsing on the edge of his bed.

“The floating?”  Richie asked timidly, taking a step towards the bed, but then thinking better of it and staying still, shoving a hand in his pocket.

“No, the pollen count today—Yes, the fucking floating!”  Eddie shrieked, ignoring momentarily that Bill and Mike were resting peacefully just down the hall.

Richie looked ashamed for a moment, shifting his weight from his toes to his heels.  He wouldn’t lift his eyes, but he stared at the empty spot beside Eddie.

“Can I sit down?”  Richie asked, shooting a weak gesture towards the bed.

“Are you going to answer my question?”  Eddie snipped.

“I’ll answer any question you’ve got for me…  any of them.  I promise.”

“Fine.”  Eddie conceded with a heavy sigh.  Richie was visibly relieved by the permission and moved to Eddie’s side quickly, like he was worried Eddie would change his mind.

As Richie settled into the mussed blankets, Eddie could see how much he was shaking.

“Why didn’t you just use the front door?”  Eddie asked.

“I didn’t wanna knock and wake Bill up.”  Richie shrugged.

“You could’ve just texted me and asked me to get the door.”

“Ah, but you’d have to actually read the texts I send you for that to work.”  Richie said.  Eddie wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a joke.  He wished it was, but it was all too clear that his words had struck a nerve in both of them.

“I do.”  Eddie muttered after a while.  “I read them, I just—I couldn’t respond.”  He twirled the draw string of his pajama bottoms between his fingers.  Admitting it out loud was hard enough; mustering up the courage to look in Richie’s eyes when he was sitting this close was a whole other ballpark.

“I really pissed you off, huh?”  Richie asked, chuckling joylessly.

“Yeah.”  Eddie said truthfully.  “I think it hurt me more than it pissed me off, though.”

Richie nodded, ruminating for a long, terrifying time before taking in a deep breath and saying, “If you still want me to answer your questions, then I will… But if you want me to leave, I understand.”

“No, I—” Eddie’s head shot up, eager and scared, unwittingly bringing him face to face with Richie’s watery gaze.  “Richie I want you to stay.”

“Okay.”  Richie’s voice shook.  “But… before we start I need to say something.”

Eddie’s heart clenched and his mind filled with all of the potential things Richie could say, all of the terrible, unwanted things, and all of the wonderful things Eddie still wanted to hear even after all the shit they’d put each other through.  He tried to speak, but found his voice too feeble, so he gave one succinct nod.  Thankfully, Richie got the message.

“I don’t expect anything from this.  I don’t expect you to understand, or for you to forgive me, I especially don’t expect you too still lov—” His voice cracked with raw emotion, and his resolve collapsed when a solitary tear fell down his chin and dripped onto Eddie’s sheets.  He slipped his glasses off and craned his face, wiping the remnants of the wet streak off on his shirt’s shoulder.  Eddie watched, his own eyes stinging with impending tears.  Richie tried to continue, even as he wept.  “Just, just ask away, Spaghetti.”

Eddie swallowed hard.  Richie thought Eddie didn’t love him anymore; Eddie was shocked by how outraged he was by the concept, because despite fucking everything, the one thing he knew for sure—the one thing he didn’t have to question—was that he still loved Richie so fully and so much.  Otherwise, this whole situation wouldn’t hurt so badly.

“So you can float.”  Eddie said, dumbly.  That caught Richie off guard, and he cackled around his tears.

“Yeah, I can.  Glad you caught on.”  He said, smiling wider when Eddie rolled his eyes in irritation.  “It’s one of the few perks of…”  

Richie trailed off.  He sat up taller and wiped his face, but still couldn’t find it in himself to continue.  In some ridiculously poetic act of dedication and warmth, Richie only found the mettle to be truthful when he turned back, looking deep into Eddie’s dark eyes.

“It’s one of the perks of being a vampire…  Which I am, obviously.  But you already figured that out, smartass.”  Richie giggled.  “I wanted to tell you.  I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.  I hated keeping it from you, especially when I knew that you knew…  Speaking of which, how’d you figure it out so quickly?”

Eddie blushed at the memory.  “Let’s just say that you should really close your curtains if you’re going to—” Bile rose in Eddie’s throat; the image of Beverly’s skin punctured open and dripping burgundy liquid was enough to have Eddie reeling.  “to do what you did with Beverly.”

“Oh.”  Richie uttered.  “Shit, you’ve known that long?”

“Yeah.”

“And you still went out with me?”

“I’ve bleached my hair and unironically worn pucca shell necklaces; I never said I had good common sense.”  Eddie said, holding back a smile when Richie’s eyebrows scrunched, and his mouth gaped in mock offense.

“Rude.”  Richie deadpanned, and Eddie had to smile.

Eddie let a renewed sense of comfortability wash over him as Richie laughed at his own joke.  Eddie considered what to ask next—about a hundred questions passed through his mind: why his eyes changed sometimes, did he really have to sleep in a coffin, had he ever killed someone for sustenance?  Now that the big secret was out in the open, he wanted to ask Richie every single one of them; and maybe he could.  Someday.  Some time when it wasn’t so early in the morning, and Eddie was more sure of where they stood with each other.  With the way he was acting, it seemed like Richie still wanted to be friends, and maybe one far off day Eddie would like that too.  Then he could ask the sillier questions, like: can you really not eat garlic?  Cause I may have put some in that spaghetti, and I kinda had a heart attack when I realized it could’ve killed you.

But for right now, Eddie only had one question that he really wanted answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me this the other night when I—” Eddie bit down on his lip, stopping that line of conversation before it got ahead of him.  Richie had never said he loved Eddie back; he’d left countless texts and voicemails saying he was sorry, or that they should talk, but never anything about reciprocating his feelings.

“It’s kinda a long story.”  Richie said, rubbing a hand up and down the dark material of his jeans.

“Well,” Eddie drawled, holding up his wrist to observe a nonexistent watch, “we’ve got a couple of hours before sunrise.  And you promised.”

Richie rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“Okay, strap in.”  Richie grinned.  Eddie brought his legs up and under himself, relaxing into the bed.  Richie’s gaze drifted, his eyes went a little hazy as he stared into the middle distance; his smile faded, too.  “I, uh… I don’t remember much about how it happened—how I turned into… this.  But I know it was 1988, Bangor, Maine, I had just turned 41, and—from what I was told after—I looked like I’d been mauled by an animal.”

“From what you were told after?  Who else knew about this?”

“Yeah… that’s the biggest reason I didn’t tell you.”  Richie sniffed.  His eyes were finally dry enough for him to slide his thick frames back onto his face.  He brough his own leg onto the bed, wrapping an abashed arm around it.  “I was with this guy.  His name was Reese, and I—I thought I was head over heels in love with him.”

Eddie schooled his face, trying his best not to seem so jealous, though it was almost definitely a lost cause.  His lips subconsciously twitched down, and he leaned away from Richie.

“It’s not like anyone really knew about us; he was always just ‘my friend Reese”.  Never anything more than that.  I know it’s never necessarily been easy to be gay or out, but… back then it was especially hard.  I’d felt wrong my whole life, but when I found Reese, suddenly everything was a little easier—he made it a little easier.”

Eddie nodded; partially to let Richie know he was listening, and that he could empathize, and partly to distract himself from the urge to ask Richie if he had ever made him feel as good.  Now was not the time, Edward.

“We’d been together for almost a year when it happened.  I took him out to the movies, walked him home, kissed him goodnight, and while I was walking home I started to hear noises.  I don’t really know how to explain it, it was almost like the sound a sheet makes when you hold it open and shake it to get the wrinkles out; but it was coming from above me, no matter where or how fast I walked.”  Richie uttered feebly.  That far off look had turned into one of horror, as if what happened to him all those decades ago was happening again, right before his eyes.  Eddie could only watch ineffectually, shivering as he watched Richie growing more and more uneasy.

“I couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from exactly, but I could tell that it was getting closer and closer and… I panicked—I ran into some alleyway thinking I could hide or something.  And… it gets pretty fuzzy after that.  I remember being scared shitless, especially when I finally saw the guy.”

“Was it someone you knew?”  Eddie asked, his mouth speaking the words before he even registered it was happening.

“Nah.”  Richie breathed, relaxing a little at the sound of Eddie’s voice.  “I don’t even know if I could’ve picked the guy out of a lineup if I had to…”  Richie’s eyes flicked left to right, trying to remember, trying to put together even the smallest of memories about his attacker.  “He had red hair, and I’m pretty sure he was white.  I remember that much.  Other than that, I don’t even think I could tell you if he had blue or yellow eyes…  Hell, maybe it was both.”  Richie laughed humorlessly, pointing to his own eyes as they swum with ghosts.

Eddie pushed his pride and fear down and laid a hand on the thigh Richie hadn’t brought onto the bed.  He was shaking.

“I think—I think I thought he was some homophobe asshole that was gonna beat the shit out of me; like maybe he saw me kiss Reese, or—or something.  Fuck, maybe that was why he came after me… Maybe he wanted to punish me.”

“Is it—” Eddie paused, thinking over his words.  “Is it really that bad?  Being a vampire?”  It was the first time he’d said the word out loud to Richie.  It still felt a little ridiculous in his mouth, still felt too fantastical, even as Richie shook his head nonchalantly.

“Not always.  But sometimes,” Richie said, staring purposefully at Eddie, “it can really fuck things up.”

Eddie breathed a little harder, his heart was pounding, and he was hyper-aware of how Richie’s body felt under his palm.

“Anyways,” Richie started, tearing his eyes from Eddie.  “there’s not much else I remember.  I know it felt like my life was being drained from my body, and I knew I was dying; I remember crying because I wouldn’t see Reese, or my parents ever again, but apart from that, there’s just blackness—all these holes in my memory. 

“I don’t know how many days had passed when I finally woke up, and for your sake I won’t go into the gory details in between then and finding my way back to Reese’s door, but… through all of the bloodlust and confusion, I knew I wanted to see him.”

Eddie’s heart quickened, not only from the horrific imagery that Richie had mostly left unsaid, but because as much as he trusted Richie, this was a totally different point in his undead life—when his vampirism was new, and god knows how well he could control it.  What had happened to Reese?

“Well,” Richie sighed, a longsuffering sound, and let himself slouch just a little more so he could rest his chin on his drawn-up knee.  “to make a long story a little less long, I’ll just say that Reese didn’t take it too well.  I tried telling him what happened, or at least what I’d figured out by then, and… I could see how scared he was.  He was scared of me.”  Richie’s glasses were fogging up again.  Sometime while he had been talking, Richie had laid his hand atop Eddie’s.  Eddie turned his palm up and clasped Richie’s trembling hand in his; he was too enthralled, and too pained to act like comforting Richie wasn’t all he wanted to do.

“To his credit, he tried to make it work, but it only lasted a week.  And all that time he couldn’t look at me, he’d pull away when I tried to touch him, and before too long he stopped answering the door.  When I tried to call him, I always got his answering machine.”  Richie said, letting a few tears drip down his chin.  He squeezed Eddie’s hand and timidly brough it closer and closer to his lips; Eddie let him.

“I know that after tonight I don’t deserve another chance, Eds.  I know.  But you asked me why I didn’t tell you, and this is my answer.”  He delicately kissed Eddie’s knuckles, his thumb, the webs in between.  “I thought I loved Reese, and when he saw what I was, what I’d become, he left me, and I never thought anything could hurt so bad after that.  But Eddie,” Richie said, staring heartbroken into Eddie’s eyes, “I know I’m so fucking in love with you that it’s ridiculous, and this past week without you has been more painful than decades without him ever could’ve been.”

“You’re such a fucking dummy.”  Eddie croaked breathlessly, feeling his heart swell.  He slipped his hand out of Richie’s so he could cup his face.  Richie leaned into it, huffing out a relieved laugh.

“I know.”  He turned in Eddie’s gentle grasp and kissed his palm.  “I wanted to tell you—I wanted to tell you so badly, but I didn’t want you to leave me like he did.”

Eddie scooted closer till their thighs were flush, their faces inches apart.

“I only ever wanted you to trust me enough to tell me.”  Eddie reasoned.  Richie nodded somberly, looking ashamed.  Eddie reached up to stroke Richie’s hair, wanting to quell that shame.  “I’m sorry it took me so long to listen.  I could’ve let you explain yourself before, but I just ran away.”

“No, no it’s my fault.  I should’ve trusted you, cause I do; I was just so scared.”  Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist.  Eddie could feel both of their chests rising and falling, breathing together.  Eddie wondered if Richie’s undead body still required breath, or if it was simply some aesthetic act he’d clung onto.  He made a mental note to ask Richie later.

Eddie allowed himself a moment to really look at Richie—the man that he loved, who loved him back.  He took in the wrinkles on his forehead and the slightly protruding vein that ran perpendicular to them, the uneven slope of his eyebrows and the way they hooded his bright gray eyes, and the blinding smile that he was flashing Eddie.  He was so deeply, incredibly in love with every inch of Richie that he could only beam in reply.

Richie started to speak again, but Eddie didn’t hear; he was too focused on joining their mouths in a long kiss and pouring all of his pent-up longing into it.  Richie tasted like salty tears, and he felt like home.

“Does—” Richie broke the kiss.  “Does this mean you still love me?”

“Shut up.”  Eddie said, surging forward and smiling against Richie’s lips.  “Of course I do.”

Richie sighed happily.  “Fuck, Eds,”  He nipped at Eddie’s lip, “I missed you so much.”

Eddie moaned, gripping desperately at Richie’s hair.  “I missed you too.  God, Richie, I love you.”

Richie’s hands clamored for purchase—on Eddie’s hips, his elbow, the back of his neck—anywhere he could find.  He dragged Eddie’s willing body onto him, letting the momentum lay them back onto the bed.  They groaned at the contact, Eddie’s weight covering Richie, and Richie’s warm, heaving body rolling up to meet him.

The oppressive weight, the all-encompassing ache from the previous week dissipated slowly when Richie switched their positions, when he threw their clothes onto the sheets and across the floor, and when he carefully slipped inside Eddie.  Nothing else seemed to matter anymore, and how could it?  Eddie’s mind was full of bliss and love; what did a week apart matter when they had the promise of a lifetime together?

Richie thrust deep and Eddie twisted his hips in kind, moving together in the most beautiful way.  The silence that hung through the house was steadily interrupted by stifled moans and breathy curses.  Richie came with Eddie’s name on his lips; Eddie came repeating the same six words: I’m never going to leave you, I’m never going to leave you.

Eddie only had a moment to bask in the best orgasm of his life before Richie was cleaning them up and wrapping himself bodily around Eddie.  He nuzzled into Eddie’s neck, his shaggy hair tickling every bit of skin that it touched.  Eddie hugged back, dragging his fingers across swells of muscle and soft layers of pudge.  Richie slid his glasses off and wordlessly handed them to Eddie, who folded them carefully and placed them down on the side table.

“Do you wanna turn the light off?”  Richie asked.  Eddie nodded, leaning over to flip off his lamp; Richie took advantage of the position and covered his neck in sloppy kisses and soft bites.  Eddie forced himself to enjoy the moment; he didn’t want to get too wrapped up in his head, overthinking the adoring way Richie was mouthing at his pulse point.  However, Eddie was never good at letting things lie.

“Would you ever—”  Eddie whispered, his voice gone weak and his stomach turning.  He didn’t know if he really wanted an answer to this question, but he did know that when it came to Richie and all of his eccentricities, ignorance wasn’t necessarily bliss.  He didn’t want miscommunication to come between them again.  “Would you ever bite me?  Like—like actually bite me?  Or…”  Eddie swallowed.  “I mean, if you knew how, would you ever think about… making me into what you are?”

Richie pulled away, his eyes apprehensively scanning Eddie’s face.

“I’d never do anything you weren’t comfortable with.  Ever.”  Richie stressed.  His eyebrows were raised incredibly high, his eyes were wide and focused, and even through the darkness Eddie could see the genuine truth in his grey irises.  Eddie let his lips turn up, moved by how clearly Richie loved him.

Richie left a chaste kiss on his forehead before continuing.  “I know you’ve got your issues with blood, Eds.  I couldn’t do that to you unless you wanted it.”

Eddie’s eyes wandered over to the window, the curtains drawn open for the first time in ages, and the night sky just visible through the top corner.  For a long moment, Eddie considered a life of only dark skies.  The moon and stars and artificial light would be the only illumination; he’d never again see Maine snow shine like gemstones in the early morning sun, or watch the horizon turn into a water color backdrop outside a plane window.  It was a lot to give up.

Conversely, Eddie had never missed the sunset on a California beach like he’d missed Richie.  He never felt love course through his veins—filling his extremities with dazzling warmth—when he thought of the sun’s rays poking through rain clouds, but he had felt that love when he looked at Richie.

Maybe he would be losing a lot, but he would be exchanging it for stargazing till dawn on his back porch, late night Golden Girls marathons on the Hallmark channel, watching generations go by without a care in the world, and doing it all with the love of his life.

Either way, he had forever to think it over.

“I dunno,” Eddie smiled, twirling a stray strand of Richie’s hair between his fingers.  “We’ll figure it out.”