Chapter Text
Richie, despite popular belief, was not a night person.
He liked his sleep, dammit.
But when he decided to pick his extra credit for his Electric Media Class at the very last minute, he got the shitty night time slot at the campus radio station. So Richie had to become a night person. To his utmost delight.
At least he wasn’t the only sorry bastard here until two in the morning. There was another guy here in the dim white hallway, dressed in comfortable red shorts, a pale yellow t-shirt, and gray hoodie. Not the weirdest ensemble he had seen. Speaking of, Richie was a third year student and never remembered seeing this guy around his classes. The thought struck him that maybe he was in a different major than Richie, since people in certain majors never crossed paths until graduation, but then why the hell would he pick this shit show job?
He found his eyes traveling over the guy’s neatly styled brown hair that fit well against his face, which was nicely tanned, along with the rest of him. If he wasn’t on the shorter side, Richie would have guessed that he was some sort of athlete. Not that height was really mattered if you were like a swimmer or something, he thought, looking at his well defined calves. There was a lot of calf there.
It wasn’t like Richie was never mistaken for a basketball player with his height, but a college of diet of Dr. Pepper and Cheez-Its was definitely ruined his chances of joining the team.
It felt weird just looking at this dude when they hadn’t even been introduced, so Richie tried to shift his focus back to the mousey guy that was explaining the rules of the station. His name was Jerry something.
“So when it hits two in the morning, you let the last song play out, and then one of you signs off. There’s an automatic playlist set to play once you power down the mic. You each get a key, and when you lock up make sure that you guys kept it clean. No one wants to find trash in the morning.” He gave Richie a distasteful glance, as if he was made of the trash he was warning about.
Rat faced asshole.
“If you lose your key, you’ll have to pay for a replacement before the semester is over or you won’t get class credit or letter of completion.” Letter of completion huh? “You guys do get paid, paychecks come every two weeks on Friday, and you’ll get paper checks for the first month. Got that?” He eyed Richie again and the taller boy felt himself crack a smile. “Good. You guys get to fight over who talks and who controls the music.”
“I’m sorry, we have to talk?” The guy in the shorts finally piped up.
Jerry, the rat, narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes. This is a radio show. Someone talks to the listeners and takes requests over the phone.” He talked in a slow, condescending tone, and Richie could see the other boy getting embarrassed. “You’re from the resume building program right?”
He nodded, more red than tan now.
“Did you realize what what you were signing up for or did you just not care?”
What a grade A prick.
Richie lunged forward from his place on the wall to stand next to the shorter boy, putting an arm around him, for… protection? Comfort?
“He’s kidding man,” he said, managing a fake laugh. “We already agreed that I would be doing all the talking remember? It’s a gift after all. My teacher told me you’re good at the music software so by all means, it’s yours.”
The shorter boy’s shoulders relaxed under Richie’s arm, and he knew he said the right thing.
Jerry glanced between them, obviously not amused but not invested enough to really care.
“Whatever,” he said, pulling out two keys and thrusting them at the two boys. “Just keep it clean, no swearing, and no smoking. There’s cameras so don’t even try it.” He gave Richie one last scathing look, almost daring him to challenge him.
“You got a predisposition about me, man? Is it the Hawaiian shirt?” Richie held out the colorful fabric and looked over it. “A Hawaiian shirt does not a stoner make, man.” He crooned in a raspy, deeper voice, sounding like Tommy Chong. It was a pretty dead on impression, and it earned him a chuckle from the boy he still didn’t know the name of.
Rat Boy ignored him, flashing someone on the inside of the studio a thumbs up. The door turned and a girl with purple hair peeked out. Richie recognized her from one of his classes. Cute girl, really nice. Ninety percent sure she was gay, though. Like, lesbian gay.
“Come on guys, I’ll show you everything before I leave.” She ushered them inside, flicking up the dimmer switch so the small space was better illuminated. It looked just the way Richie imagined: old, outdated, small, and dusty.
The computer that held all the music sat on the desk next to a microphone that was made before he was, which was an interesting mix of technology, since the computer was probably like ten years old. There were two swivel chairs with nice cushioning that looked almost comfortable enough to sit for four hours without Richie’s bony butt getting sore. There was a door behind them that turned out to be a bathroom, which seemed like the smartest thing about this space.
“So the red button on the front is what you press when you wanna talk, and it does hold down so be careful and remember to press it twice before you decide to have a private conversation. The phone is here,” she said, pointing to an equally ancient phone. It was a tan brick of a thing. “And all phone calls get aired automatically when the music ends. If you get a heckler just put them on hold.” She demonstrated by pressing one of the buttons, and then pressed the bigger button at the bottom of the number pad. “And this is the speaker so that you don’t have to hold the actual phone. Helps when there’s multiple callers.”
Richie had no doubt that their phone line would be mostly dead but he nodded along in understanding anyway.
“I mean that’s pretty much it. The music system is pretty organized, you can search alphabetically for titles, or albums, or you can go by year of release. There’s so much music but if you can’t find something you want no one will snitch if you use Youtube or Spotify. You guys got this right?”
Suddenly it was Time. Holy shit.
“Pffftt, yeah, of course we do.”
Richie’s other talent was being able to lie out of his ass, but it didn’t look as good on a job application.
The other guy nodded, and the purple haired girl smiled.
“Alright, I’m gonna sign off and play my last song so that you guys can get yourselves settled. Have fun, guys.” She pulled the mic over to the edge of the desk, while Richie and the shorter boy scrambled into their chairs.
“Alright guys, that was Mariana’s Trench rounding out my night. We’ve got newbies in the station tonight taking over the late night slot so be kind and send them love. I’ll be ending the night with a little Say Anything, to smooth out any troubles you may have. This is your girl Rigby signing off.” She pressed her button twice, and gave the boys a thumbs up. “It’s your show now fellas,” she told them, clicking play on her last song, and waving goodbye as she left, leaving them to their own devices. Literally.
Richie let out a low whistle. “Well, fuck.”
“What a fucking asshole.”
The guy in the shorts stared hard at the computer screen, looking at it like he was ready to put a hole through it.
“Geez, get to know me first, man.” Richie tried to ease whatever this guy was feeling with a cheap laugh. That seemed to snap him out of it, because he looked over at Richie with big, apologetic doe brown eyes.
“God, I’m sorry, not you. That weasel dude that is somehow in charge of this fucking department.”
“Okay, so I’m not the only one that thought he looked like a rodent. Good, because I was starting to feel like a little bit of an asshole,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. He became fully aware that the song was just about halfway over, and he still didn’t know this poor guy’s name. “I’m Richie. Richie Tozier.” He offered his hand to shake, which seemed weirdly formal for the circumstances.
The other boy took it anyway. “Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak.”
A genuine smile made its way over the taller boy’s face. “Eddie huh? Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie was just spouting shit, like he normally did.
“God, that’s a new one,” groaned Eddie, but not in an angry way. The song was almost over, and Eddie had finally noticed. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
Of course Richie wanted to say no. This was all very new to him. But if there was anything that he knew how to do, it was talk.
“Pull up Video Killed the Radio Star and have it ready to play. How many seconds do I have?”
“Fifteen.”
Oh yeah. They had this in the bag.
“Give me a silent countdown when we hit five seconds,” he told him, pulling the mic closer to him, finger resting over the red button. Eddie nodded. He held up his hand, all five fingers up.
Five, four, three, two…
Richie pressed the button, giving a second before speaking calmly into the mic.
“Hello night owls of North Derry University. My name is Trashmouth, and I’m your new host for the late night hours.” Eddie arched a thick brow at him. “I’m here with my compadre Eddie Spaghetti, who will be laying down all the sick tracks tonight, so I encourage you to call in with any requests you may have. Tonight’s theme is eighties hits, and we’re gonna start off the night strong with a bit of irony with Video Killed the Radio Star. Thanks for tuning in.” Richie gave Eddie the thumbs up to play the song, and double pressed his microphone button so that they could talk again.
“Wow, dude, that was amazing.”
That wasn’t normally a word used to describe Richard Tozier’s mouth diarrhea, but he would take it.
“Thanks dude.” The tenseness in his chest eased, killing the nerves. "Would you want to pick the next song?"
Eddie looked back at the computer and his shoulders deflated. "I wouldn't even know where to start. I mean it's easy to figure out but do we wanna go by year or popularity?" He faced Richie again. "Picking a theme was smart."
"You can't go wrong with eighties music," he agreed, ignoring the heat in his face. "Why don't we start with 1981 and work our way through the years?"
Eddie seemed to enjoy that suggestion, because he got to work finding songs released in 1981, picking one out to queue up next.
This didn't seem so bad.
"So, tell me about yourself, Spaghetti."
Eddie chuckled. "What do you wanna know?"
Suddenly, Richie didn't know what a question was.
"Uh, well. What kind of shitty luck do you have to be stuck here with me?" he asked.
The shorter boy seemed surprised by the phrasing of his question, as if Richie really thought he was the worst part of this experience. (Depending on who you asked, they would agree with him).
"I went to my counselor to see if I could get into some extra circulars to make me seem more interesting on my resume. He put me in this resume building program and I just got in at the last minute. It was this, or picking up trash around campus."
"Not much of an environmentalist, are ya, Spaghetti?” Richie didn’t blame him, picking up trash sucked.
“Have you seen the people on this campus? I barely want to be around them, much less their trash. Too many germs.” Eddie winced.
“That’s fair. What’s your major?”
Now Eddie looked embarrassed again. “Nursing.”
Richie turned dramatically in his chair like James Bond villain. “Dude, what the fuck there are like, a million more germs in a hospital!”
Eddie sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s just different. I can’t explain why.”
Finding himself searching Eddie’s eyes for more, he found himself disappointed that there was nothing telling in his gaze. “Alright, that’s double fair.”
There was a bit of tension now, hanging like an ugly painting in your childhood home, unsure why it was even kept around.
The smaller boy was working on queuing up more songs to fill the silence between Richie’s spoken parts, though he really didn’t know how long those should be. Fifteen, twenty… Thirty minutes?
“What about you?”
“Huh?”
The painting had fallen.
“What’s your major, Richie?”
“Oh. Communications.” Why was it so hard to speak?
“Are you a third year student too?” Eddie wondered.
“Yeah. Feels so close, and yet so far,” admitted Richie. He never thought much of college in high school despite his A average, but being there was a whole new experience. He was glad to have it.
“I know right? I just want it to end.”
“Not a big fan of college?” Some people did it to get by. It was pretty understandable.
“Not… I mean, like I love the campus and everything, but I’m just ready to start my life. Get a job and stuff.”
Richie chuckled. “Be a real adult?”
“Yes. Exactly.” Eddie seemed more bright and confident now, which gave Richie the sneaking impression that this guy didn’t share much.
“Not in those shorts you’re not.”
“Wow, fuck you okay? These are comfortable.”
Oh, they were going to get along just fine.
The night came to an end pretty quickly for the two of them, and after two prank phone calls and three requests for Rick Astley, it was time for Richie to sign off.
“Alright night owls, it’s time for Trashmouth and Eddie Spaghetti to hit the hay so we can sleep through our morning classes.” Eddie glared at him. “Kidding, don’t skip class kids. But is time for our night to end, so I wish you all a good night. We’ll pick up tomorrow with more throwback hits. Trashmouth signing off. Peace.”
Richie turned off the mic, leaned back, and sighed. “I think that went well, don’t you?”
Eddie sat back in equal apprehension. “You make that look so easy.”
“It’s just talking. Never been that hard for me.” Richie wasn’t the best at taking compliments, but he knew a genuine one when he heard it. “We better lock up, huh?”
Eddie nodded, and both managed to stand. Sitting for four hours straight was no joke.
They turned off the lights and Eddie pulled out his key to lock the door behind them. It was weird walking into completely bright hallway again.
“You gonna be alright getting back home?” Richie asked his compatriot.
“Yeah, I live across the street at the student apartments. I’ll be okay.”
“Okay good. I live in the dorms so at least we’re both close.”
Eddie seemed lost in thought until he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it quickly and brought up the new contact screen, holding it out to Richie, who took it gently, like it was a newborn baby.
“Put your number in there. We should probably keep in contact just in case something happens to one of us and we can’t make it here or we lost one of the keys or something.”
Richie cocked his head, unintentionally staring hard at the screen. He couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone new his number.
The messy haired boy snapped out of his gaze and typed out his number and his now radio moniker Trashmouth. He gave it back so that Eddie could look it over and save it.
“You really want to go by Trashmouth, huh?” Richie shrugged. “Is there a story behind that one?”
“There is,” he said, smiling. “For another night. Can’t give away all my material.”
Eddie scoffed, but saved his number anyway. “Guess we should get going.”
They were going opposite ways, so they wouldn’t get the chance to walk together. Richie really hoped that he would be safe.
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, Trashmouth.”
Walking through the dorm halls at two-thirty in the morning felt weirdly like walking through a cemetery, even though he was sure that somewhere someone was losing ample amount of brain cells.
At least his floor was quiet. He hoped that his friend and roommate Stan would be heavily asleep so that he could sneak in. Stan was as much of a grump as Richie when he didn’t get his sleep, especially now that he had an eight AM class.
He pulled out his keys from his pocket, careful not to jingle them too loudly. He slowly unlocked his door and opened it carefully, making small steps inside. The door shut quietly behind him and he crept towards his side of the room, being as silent as he could while he pried off his shoes and threw off his button down shirt. Richie was a simple man, and he simply didn’t need pants to sleep in, so he took off his jeans and crawled into bed. Triple checking his alarms, he finally plugged his phone into the charger snaked on to his sheets and snuggled into the covers.
“Stan?” he whispered. “You awake?”
“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t be up waiting for you on your first night,” a sarcastic whisper replied from the bed across the room.
Richie laughed softly. “Of course you would, Staniel.”
Stan also laughed, “So, how was it?”
“Fun. You should get a radio and listen. I think we’re pretty good.”
“And not get a break from you? I don’t think so.” Stan processed what Richie said a second late. "Wait, who's we?"
“Oh, um. There’s another guy there with me. He controls the music, and I do all the talking business.”
“Naturally. Do I know him?”
“No, he’s a nursing student. His name is Eddie.”
“Hmmm, okay. Interesting. Got the short stick then?”
“Something like that. Resume program.”
“Ah, okay. Fuck those.”
“Agreed.” Not really. He didn’t mind meeting Eddie tonight.
“Well, I’m glad it went okay.”
Smiling was starting to become a habit. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Get some sleep so we don’t kill each other.”
They had come pretty close before, but something told Richie that they would be okay.
“Yeah, I will.” There was a flash of light on Richie’s bed sheet, his phone lit up with a new notification from an unknown number.
New Number: Hey it’s Eddie I made it back. Are you okay?
Richie felt a silent relief settle in his stomach.
Me: yes i am. made it to the dorm ok. thnx for letting me know ur ok.
Richie quickly saved the number under Eddie Spaghetti. It was only right.
Eddie Spaghetti: No problem, Richie :)
For the first time in a while, Richie drifted off with complete ease.