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    Summary

    The last time Richie had seen Eddie, they were something like amorphous human blobs. That’s what preteens basically are, right? Just weird limbs and round cheeks, childlike button noses, and button mouths that spew curse words that come out clumsy and loud. Eddie was always small hands and small feet with eyes the size of dinner plates and a feral attitude, and Richie doesn’t think there was ever a minute that he wasn’t drawn to every single one of his freckles and every neatly brushed hair on his head.

    So Richie had blinked, and then he was forty. He’s faced down a clown, twice, and he’s unearthed what makes him inherently Richie in the shape of his friends, and his freedom. He’s forty and he’s running his thumb over the rough stubble on Eddie’s face, a little shaggier than his usually clean shaven look from a stint in the hospital and his own midlife crisis.

    Eddie wants, he's always wanted, but it's only ever been Richie that he trusts.

    Series
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