Work Text:
Clink.
Eddie's eyes shot open. He glared at his clock.
There it was, in blaring red letters: 1:08 am.
He had gone to bed at 10:30– not that he had a bedtime or anything, but because that was his designated time. Wake up at seven, go to bed at 10. It's just clockwork for him. It doesn't matter if it's a school night or a weekend, his brain just controlled when he was tired and when he woke up. No alarms. Besides, the early bird gets the worm. What does the night owl get? Fatigue. Plummeting test scores. Less serotonin. A GPA below 3.5. Don't even get him started on the health issues you could be more susceptible to. On the other hand, Eddie's scheduling helps him have the absolute opposite effect.
The thing about Eddie is that he's a very light sleeper. So much so that his friend's joke he probably broke the world record for waking up the most times during a sleepover. Or waking up ever. Seriously, he would wake up every two minutes because someone had shifted on the floor or Richie was giggling or Stan was fidgeting with something. Eddie needed complete silence or else he couldn't go to bed. No barely audible TVs, no whispers, and definitely no clinks on his window. It probably was just a tree branch brushing against his window, but still. He didn't want to get up from his bed, part of him knowing it wasn't a big deal and the other just wanting to go back to sleep, so he squeezed his eyes shut. His breathing slowed, and–
Clink clink.
WHAT THE HELL? Eddie yelled to himself in his head. It wasn't even windy outside! If there was some squirrel or chipmunk or whatever the fuck– it better scurry off soon. He knew animals sense of time was junk, but Eddie's wasn't, and he absolutely couldn't be awake at 1 am, so help him G–
Clink.
Okay. Eddie had enough. If the little thing wanted to play that game, Eddie would too. He angrily shoved his comforter off of himself and stretched his toes to the floor. It was freezing. He slipped on his slippers. His toes cracked. The floorboards creaked just a little. He couldn't believe he had to do this in the middle of the night, but he had to show that little pest who's boss. If he didn't, he'd be awake for hours. Or however long that thing would've sat there.
He yawned, stumbling over to his windowsill and pulling back the curtains in a fitful manner, hopefully making the animal run off. There was no animal and the branch was a foot away from his window. Eddie smacked his head, groaning as loud as he could without waking his mother. He let the cloth fall out of his other hand. What the fuck was happening? This better be a stupid dream. It was really, really stupid. Whatever, he'll just go–
Clink.
Eddie's eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he turned back to his window, so done with whatever the hell was messing with him. He stomped over (only a few steps) and pulled back his curtains once again. He made an effort to look even madder than he was to make sure whatever-it-was could be intimidated. Or something like that. Still nothing in sight. He grunted again, debating on whether banging his head on the glass would wake his mother or not.
"Juliet, Juliet," a voice Eddie would have recognized from anywhere called out, "let down your hair– wait, shit, that's the wrong thing–" Eddie's head snapped down to make sure he wasn't hearing things. "It's about fucking time. You know how long I've been standing here? Too long, that's how. I was about ready to book it, but..."
"Richie?" Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, clicking the locks on his window up and pushing it above his head. There he was, in all his glory, pebble in hand. "Richard Tozier? What the hell are you doing here?" Eddie whisper-yelled, because he knew for certain that if his mother saw this event in color, Eddie would no longer have the ability to see at all. Richie would be dead.
It's as easy as that. "Do you know how late it is?"
Richie laughed. "Duh, of course," he smirked, motioning Eddie to come down, "come here."
Eddie's mouth gaped. "First things first, Rich, it's past midnight. I don't know if you noticed yet, but I would never be caught dead up this late, not even on New Year's. Curfew's literally seven. Second, what the fuck do you mean by come here? How do you suppose I do that?"
"I dunno," he shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Go downstairs, walk out the door, kinda basic skills, if you ask m–"
"RICHIE!" Eddie said, a bit louder. "Are you insane? I can't just... leave! It's significantly past curfew, and I'm on a schedule here!"
"I'm not insane, but your mom sure was last night."
"Richie. Go home."
"No," he said simply. He pushed up his glasses. "Jump."
Eddie audibly gasped. "What the fucking hell did you just say to me? Did you just tell me to jump down from my bedroom window? On the second floor? That's it, you've lost it," He started to push his window down. "Goodnight, Richie. Don't do anything stupid. Nothing's stupider than what you just did, though."
"Wait, wait!" He yelled before Eddie could lock his window back up. "Eddie, Eddie Spaghetti, Eduardo, Eds–" he used every nickname in the book. "Don't go to bed. Please."
Eddie deadpanned. "Yeah, or what?"
"I'd catch you," Richie promised, though he probably knew he couldn't. "Plus, it's not that far down. Eddie, please, I'm dying."
"Of what, exactly?" He crossed his arms. "Because I'd actually die if you didn't catch me."
"Boredom."
"Go bug someone else," Eddie rolled his eyes. "Why'd you come to me, anyway? I'm like, the least likely to sneak out in our entire friend group. Couldn't you and Bill just wreak havoc instead?" Eddie paused, shaking his head. Bill wouldn't do that either, but he'd probably invite Richie in. Eddie couldn't. "Or... someone. I thought you should know that I'd never do any of the things you've just mentioned in the past five minutes."
"I didn't go to Bill's because I–" Richie interjected himself like he was about to say something impulsive but it reached his brain in time. "I dunno. I just wanted to hang out with you. Plus, you know Bill's room is higher than yours. He'd probably just go out the door, though," Eddie's eyes grew warningly. Richie knew his mother by now. "Sorry, I'll go back home. I wasn't meaning to bother you. You're right, I should've known."
He felt a sharp pain in between his lungs, and he almost ran for his inhaler, but for some reason he knew it wasn't his asthma (which was still probably a fluke, but whatever) and had more to do with the look on Richie's face. "Richie," he said softly, but he didn't know what else to say. He had walked two blocks to come see Eddie, and he's making him walk all the way back with no Eddie? What if he had something important to tell him? "I... I'm paper and bones, Rich. You can't drop me. You have to catch me. My mother will murder you in cold blood if you don't."
"Sorry to say, but Mrs. K has already done much worse to me," Riche's grin returned, and he winked. "I got you," he made an X across his heart. "So strike me dead."
"Trust me, she will," Eddie said, completely serious. He turned to grab his fanny pack off of his dresser. "I want to live a full and healthy life, okay? Not that dying in your arms wouldn't be a great way to die, but it wouldn't."
Richie snickered again. "I got you." Sure he does. "Eds, it's literally like, seven feet. Do you know how far up the jump off of the cliff is? Your house is so close to the ground compared to that. I got you."
He kept repeating that, but it's not like it made it foolproof. "Falling to the ground is different than falling into liquid water. Seven feet is like, two feet taller than I am," he paused, "and stop calling me Eds!"
"Yes! You're short as shit! And it's not that far down!" Richie held his arms out, ignoring Eddie's last comment. "C'mon. We don't have that long. When does she get up in the morning? 'Cause you know, I wanna get you back home in time, but also if she sees that I've left the bed–"
Eddie glowered down at him. "Shut the fuck up," he squinted while clicking his fanny pack behind him. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there." He pushed his window up all of the way. What if his mom got up to check on him? What if she thinks he was kidnapped?
"You good?" Richie raised an eyebrow. Eddie's heart was beating irregularly fast. No, he wanted to say, I have no idea what I'm fucking doing.
"Can you wait five fucking seconds?" He said, trying to sound irritated. Maybe Richie wouldn't be able to tell, then, that he's the only person Eddie would ever do this for. Ever. He sat on the window sill. It all seemed to be real now. "Rich, I swear to fuck–"
"I know, I know," he didn't seem to be taking this as serious as it was. "Catch me or you'll die by my mother's hands, yada yada yada," he had a smug look on his face. "And dying in my arms would be pretty hot, if you're asking me."
Eddie went to scoff, maybe kind of trying to hide the flush on his cheeks, and instead lost his balance on the sill. It what seemed like seconds, he was falling to his death. His life flashed before his eyes. Imagine the last thing you see is Richie Tozier cursing "shit!" to himself. Maybe it wasn't that bad of a last memory. Could have worse. He was too shocked to scream. His mouth and eyes were wide open, but nothing came out. He closed it so he wouldn't vomit.
All of the sudden, he was done falling. He felt himself tumble onto the ground. Richie definitely didn't catch him. It wasn't solid ground, though, it was–
"RICHIE?" Eddie sprung up, his knees being a little bruised but that was it. "See, I told you that you couldn't catch me!" He really wanted to ask if he was okay, but he couldn't just... do that. That'd be weird. "Oh my god, you probably broke something."
But Richie wasn't crying or acting like he was hurt at all. He was laughing. He pushed his glasses back towards his face, sitting up. "That sure was a mighty close one, old chap, was it not?" Eddie rolled his eyes and groused loudly at the stupid accent. "I want to remind you, chum, that I did, in fact, catch you. Just not in my arms."
"I hate you so much," Eddie stared blankly. For a split second, he thought Richie frowned.
Then he laughed.
Eddie's heart was still racing.
"So, where are we going?" He said, ignoring that his heart should definitely be slowing by now, but it just got faster. He was probably having a heart attack.
Richie looked around. "I'll show you, once you get off of me," he had a shit-eating grin on his face, "unless..."
"EW! Gross!" He jumped off of him, crossing his arms and turning the other way. "Save that for my mom, or whatever."
Richie laughed even louder.
Bump bump bump bump bump bump. That's what his heart felt like. It made Eddie mad.
"Let's go," Richie knocked their shoulders together once he got up.
"So, do your parents just not care that you're wandering the streets of Derry at 1 am?" Richie's parents always seemed laid-back, the complete opposite of Eddie's mother, but seriously? Just leaving the house? That seemed like a rule no kid should break. What if they did get kidnapped? What would they do then?
Richie shrugged. "Not that they don't care, they just don't know," he smiled. "My mom would just cry about it, and my dad probably would just... lower my allowance? I don't know."
"You make your mom cry?" Eddie gasped. "Regularly? My mom only cries at me because she thinks I'm leaving her or something. She'd ground me for a whole year if I tried to make her cry!"
"Yeah, well, your mom's psycho," Eddie looked down. She was just looking out for him. But... he was right, in a way. "It's not like I'm making her cry on purpose, but whenever I do something she deems wrong, she cries. When Bowers broke my glasses that one time? She cried. When my teachers say I talk too much in class? She cries. She's just emotional. That's how girls are," Richie said, like he knew everything about girls because he's kissed two, "not that you would know."
"Shut up, Rich," Eddie murmured. But Eddie wouldn't know. He didn't really care to know. "It's not like I haven't talked to girls before. I live with my mother. We're friends with Bev."
"Those don't count," Richie smirked.
Eddie narrowed his eyes. "Oh, but because you kissed Jessica Palmer on the cheek in fifth grade you're a lady-whisperer?"
"That was in sixth grade," Richie stated, proudly. "I kissed her on the lips and Michelle Brown on the cheek in fifth grade."
"Still, it's been two years since you've spoken to a girl without them shooing you off," Eddie pointed out. "At least Greta Keene talks to me."
"Greta Keene?" Richie looked at him like he had grown two heads. "Eddie, for Christ's sake, she gives you your fucking pills! She signed LOSER on your cast when you broke your arm!"
Richie's laugh was contagious, and Eddie knew that saying Greta talked to him was a stupid thing to add. The truth is, all of the girls at their school (excluding Bev, when she went there) sucked. And Eddie didn't like them. Sure, they were pretty and everything, but there's going to be better people in the world. Why waste your time on middle school girls who think boys have cooties?
Instead, focus on your best friend who somehow looks like an angel even when he's laughing.
WHAT?
NO. NO. NO.
Anyways,
"Are you going to tell me where we're going yet?" Eddie looked away from Richie to make sure he didn't see his face all pink. It was an allergic reaction. He knows it. "Or are we just gonna walk?"
"I know where we're going," Richie replied, mysteriously.
Eddie clenched his teeth. "You are so annoying."
"Says you," Richie raised his eyebrows.
"Okay, we both are." Eddie rolled his eyes.
Richie coughed. "I'm failing."
"What?" Eddie looked up at him in surprise. They both stopped walking.
"I'm failing math because Mrs. Smith hates me and I have no idea what I'm doing wrong," Richie said dejectedly. Eddie felt like it had been years since Richie had told him something this serious without cracking a stupid joke in between. He looked... sad. And Richie Tozier never looked this sad. It made Eddie sad, too. "And it feels like my life is crumbling. I'm failing math, I'm failing my parents, I'm failing you guys, I'm failing myself. I can't... there's something wrong with me."
Eddie blinked, his mouth turning downwards. "Hey," he put a hand on Richie's shoulder. "You're not failing me. I don't think there's something wrong with you. What are you having trouble with? I could try to help..."
"No, Eds, it's not even that," Eddie said nothing about the nickname. It wasn't the time. He only complained because it made his heart race anyways. "It's everything about me."
Eddie's frown deepened. He wasn't good with emotions. He masked everything with being angry and annoyed, while Richie masked his feelings with jokes and stuff. Eddie was the worst person to tell this to. He had no clue what to say. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you." He repeated. Richie laughed bitterly, kicking a stone. "Do you want to... talk about it?"
"I wish I could tell you," Richie said. He was smiling, even though he clearly was upset. "But I can't. I'm a loser, Eddie. Not in the good way. In the worst way."
None of this made sense. What was he supposed to say?
I think your dumbass is perfect and you should shut the hell up, please?
I would so kiss you right now if you were a girl because that seems to reassure people in movies?
I would so kiss you right now, period?
That wouldn't make him feel better. It would definitely make him feel worse.
"When you're a loser, you have nothing to lose," Eddie mumbled, "but that's not true. We could lose each other."
"Huh?" Richie adjusted his glasses.
"Because I'm failing everyone too, Rich," he glanced down at his slippers and train-pattern pajama pants. "And it sucks that everyone could just... leave in a flash."
"Are you moving or something?" Richie said, naively. Eddie shook his head. "Oh. Well, everyone loves you, Eddie. No matter what's bothering you, everyone would care."
Eddie took a deep breath and let it out. "Caring about it would be worse, honestly."
"Is your mom telling you you're sick again?" Richie's eyebrows lowered. "You're okay, Eddie. I know you're fine. You're not gonna die, okay?"
"That's not it," Eddie cringed. He was gullible to his mother saying those types of things, but he's been getting better at ignoring them. "Also, they all love you too."
He didn't know when they started walking, but at that point, they were already passing the Neibolt house. He hated that thing. He stepped a little closer to Richie.
"Yeah, okay," he laughed again. "Everyone thinks I'm annoying. How many times have you heard someone say, "great job, Richie" or "you're the best, Richie"? All they ever say is "shut up" or "that's not funny". I really try, Eddie, but–"
"You are the best, Richie," Eddie interjected. Richie stared at him. "Your jokes are really funny. No, seriously, you could be a comedian one day. And you're my best friend. Maybe I'm biased, like, I like all of our friends, but you're the best, you know? You're the only one who gets me."
"I am fluent in Kaspbrak," his lips quirked up, and so did Eddie's. "I guess that's what's the best. We have each other. Right?"
"Right," Eddie nodded.
Richie wrapped an arm around him. "Anyways, my mom was talking about tutors but we can't really get one for me. It's a lot of money. Do you think I could come over to your house and we could do homework and stuff?"
"Do you even need to ask?" Eddie giggled. "You could live in my house for all I cared, endless sleepovers? That would be awsome."
"Alas, your mother hates me," Richie said, dramatically.
Eddie nudged him. "No, she's just... overprotective. And you're like, a daredevil. Which I am not."
"Actually, you just jumped out of your second-story window," Richie smirked. "Pretty badass, am I right?"
"Peer pressure is a serious problem, Rich," he said, trying to sound serious, but they both ended up laughing.
"Your mother and I have endless sleepovers anyway, so," Richie added, making Eddie laugh even more.
Eddie tried to not notice how his nose crinkled up when he smiled really big, or the way his eyes practically sparkled in the moonlight.
They walked past the woods. It was almost at the edge of town. He almost asked if they were close, because he really didn't want to leave Derry, but he stayed quiet.
They reached the Kissing Bridge, and Richie sunk down to sit. Eddie sat next to him.
"Eds? I think I wanna tell you."
"Yeah?" The way Richie said his name made his heart lodge into his throat. His stomach twisted up.
"Please don't be mad, okay?" He sounded pained. "We have each other, right?"
"I won't be mad," Eddie raised his eyebrow, trying to look calm. Bump bump bump bump bump bump. "And, yeah, of course."
"Promise?"
Eddie didn't respond, just held out his pinkie finger. Richie interlocked them. Bump bump bump bump bump bump.
"Bowers was right."
Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. "What?" He said, "Right about what?"
"The stuff he calls me." Richie said, but Eddie still got nothing from it.
"He calls us a lot of things, Rich," Eddie rolled his eyes again. "I'm sure you're not–"
"A faggot."
...
"What?"
"A fairy, a flamer, a homo. Whatever the fuck you want to call it," he sounded angry.
"But..." Eddie was lost, "you're like, in love with women?"
"Yeah," Richie sighed, "but also with men. It's a mess. I don't know why."
"Um." Eddie shifted. He didn't know what to say to that.
Richie was staring down at the dirt. "I get it if you hate me."
"No, it's not–" Eddie huffed a breath. "I don't hate you, Richie, I don't. I just..."
"It's just that you're uncomfortable and don't want to be my friend," he paused. "I get it, don't–"
Eddie slapped him. Right in the face.
He didn't even know why. He just wanted him to be quiet.
"You're such a fucking dumbass, Tozier."
The look on Richie's face made him want to cry.
"No, I didn't..." Eddie wanted to kick the bridge until it broke. "Not because you're... oh my God."
There were tears running down Richie's face. He was staring at Eddie. "I'm so sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry." Eddie had never seen him like this. Richie never dared to show himself crying to anyone. He was starting to think this was a nightmare after all.
And because Eddie couldn't articulate any words and had no clue what to do with an apologizing-profusely-bawling Richie, he took his glasses off and wiped his cheeks.
He looked at him like he was saying what the hell are you doing?, but Eddie continued, even though he didn't know what he was supposed to do.
He grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him down to his lips, squinting his eyes shut. It was quick, a little peck, only a second longer than when he kisses his mom, but it was still a kiss.
He pulled away and looked at him, nervously.
Was this bridge cursed or something?
"Sorry."
"You're shaking," Richie said, matter-of-factly. His eyes were huge, almost as big as the moon. He didn't acknowledge anything that had just happened.
Eddie looked down at his own palms. "Yeah."
"Are you okay?" He said, placing his glasses back on his face.
"Yeah," Eddie bit his lip. "Are you?"
Richie made a sound in agreement.
"I didn't know what to say," Eddie said. "And I wanted you to shut the fuck up."
"Oh," Richie said, lamely. "So..."
"I know that you were trying to confide in me, and hitting you wasn't the best thing to do," Eddie started, "kissing you wasn't, either. I'm not good with words, Rich. Anyways, sorry for kissing you. I don't think that it's a bad thing. That you're, you know. I am too, I think."
Eddie got up.
"Where are you going?" Richie said quietly.
"Home," Eddie grimaced. "I ruined your night. You don't have to take me back. Sorry for making you upset." His breathing had sped up quickly, and he felt like he couldn't breathe at all. He whipped out his inhaler.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie's heart screeched to a halt. "Edward fucking Kaspbrak, come here."
Eddie sat back down.
"Look," Richie was pointing at something on the bridge.
R + E
"Weird," Eddie blinked, feeling his heart whine once again. His breathing was still irregular. "Our initials."
It was Richie's turn to deadpan. "I carved this last week, Eds."
"Why?"
He laughed. "You're such a fucking dumbass, Kaspbrak."
Then it clicked.
They were on the Kissing Bridge.
You sign your initials when you want to kiss someone.
"OH," Eddie said, "oh shit, okay, well–"
Richie cut him off, pulling him into a hug. "We suck."
"We really do," Eddie laughed into Richie's shoulder.
"In both ways."
"Get the hell off of me," Richie was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "You're gross. Why do I like you so much?"
"No clue," he clicked his tongue.
He looked at his watch: 2:09 am.
"We still have two hours to mess around," he reminded.
"Yeah, let's go."
Richie wrapped his hand around Eddie's.
Maybe he was terrified of everything that would come next, but at least they had this. They had each other. That was enough.