Chapter Text
Richie wakes slowly but surely, pain bursting behind his eyelids and making its way through his entire skull.
Another migraine. That’s okay. He hasn’t had one in a while.
He sits up, gingerly rubbing his temple with one hand and reaching for his glasses with the other. It’s 3 o’clock in the morning, and… oh. It’s June 1st.
Wow. It’s been five years.
Five years since he made the dumbest mistake of his life.
Five years since he let, no, not let, pushed and basically begged for Eddie to walk away from him.
He was so stupid, so stupid, naive, and in so much pain. The pounding behind his eyelids gets worse. He stands, accepting that he’s not going back to sleep, and goes to get a glass of water and some aspirin.
He turns on the TV and watches an SNL skit that he’s surely seen before because he doesn’t find it nearly as funny as he usually would.
“Richie! Are you even paying attention to me?”
Richie looked up from whatever he was doing at the time, eyes glossy. “Of course I am, Eds.”
“No, you’re not. You’re fucking not! You’ve been out late again doing who knows what, and tell me- tell me how the hell are you supposed to get into college when you won’t even go to class? And when you’re falling asleep in the classes you do attend? And when most of the time, you’re not even falling asleep naturally?!” Eddie’s eyes were glistening with tears and he was nearing hysterics at that point.
“‘M not going to college,” Richie mumbled, head nodding.
Eddie sets the papers down on his desk with a smack.
Richie’s head shot up.
“Richie, why are you doing this to yourself,” Eddie said incredibly softly, hoping, praying that this would be more effective than yelling.
“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Richie slurred, crossing his arms over his chest. He stood up and attempted to walk to his bed, fell a few times, and then just laid down on the floor beside it.
“Well I am.”
“What?” Richie asked.
“I am going to college.”
“Fine. Go. Leave me here alone to die.”
Eddie gasps. “What the fuck, Richie? What the actual fuck. You think- that’s not-” Eddie breaks off, tears blurring his gaze. “Fuck you. FUCK. YOU. This is not a joke! Yeah, you’re right, you’re right, Richie, you’re right! You’re killing yourself!”
Richie had been in and out of consciousness at that point.
He can’t really remember the rest of that conversation. Just that he fell asleep off some heroin high and Eddie had stormed out, probably to go cry to Mike or Bill, and damn it, it should have been Richie he was crying to.
But instead, Richie was the one making him cry.
Richie palms his eyes to stop the tears and help alleviate his headache.
Stupid, stupid, stupid…
“Come on, Richie. I know you’re not stupid,” Eddie said.
They were in Eddie’s room this time, and Richie was sober, but nursing a nasty hangover.
Richie scoffed. “Yeah, but I actually am.”
“Would you just help me study? Please?”
Richie rolled his eyes. “None of this shit matters, why are you even trying?”
Eddie was quiet for a minute. “Well at least I’m trying at something.” He could feel tears pricking behind his eyes, and he blinked them back. He grabbed his flashcards out of Richie’s hands and walked over to his desk to study by himself.
Richie pulls his hands away from his face and tries to focus on the TV. He should be over this shit by now. It’s been five years. But somehow, instead of getting better and moving on, Richie only hurts worse and worse every year.
“Richie, can you just be serious for one second?”
Richie hummed, not really caring or paying attention to Eddie, who was probably going on another one of his useless rants.
“I want to know what happened last night. Why did you call me so fucking late? Where were you?”
“Nowhere,” Richie replied.
“You were obviously somewhere. You were bawling your eyes out. Were you drunk? Were you drinking again?”
“No,” Richie lied.
“You’re lying,” Eddie said immediately.
“No I’m not!”
“Yes, you are! You are, and I’m sick of it! I’m sick of you not telling me shit, calling me at 4 in the morning and expecting me to come save your sorry ass every damn time! I’m sick of you saying nothing matters and putting down my hopes and dreams and hey, guess what, not wanting to go to college is fine but I want to go, and lately, you’ve been making me feel pretty bad for that.”
Richie looked up from his very interesting fingernails.
“You’ve been making me feel pretty bad for a lot of shit lately, and I’m DONE PUTTING UP WITH YOUR BULLSHIT WOULD YOU LOOK AT ME AND NOT THE CEILING!” Eddie screamed, angry tears falling from his baby brown eyes.
Richie looked at him and felt numb.
He felt absolutely nothing.
But he didn’t feel anything at all most days, and when he did, he tried his best to find a way to make it go away, so that’s not really saying much.
“Well, it seems like we’re done here, Edward Spaghedward.”
“You don't get to call me that, anymore ,” Eddie said, seething with anger.
Then his face softened. “And… what…?”
“You heard me. We’re done here. You want to go to college. I don't. Long-distance relationships never work out. Especially not ones like this.”
He watched Eddie’s pretty brown eyes fill with tears and then spill over and onto his freckled cheeks.
He felt nothing. Just an intense need for a cigarette, and maybe some of that new powder he got from that one guy… what was his name…? He forgot.
He felt nothing now, but as soon as Eddie actually left he knew he was gonna feel shit, and he couldn’t, he absolutely could not-
“Okay,” the ice in Eddie’s voice brought Richie out of his thoughts. He’d never heard him speak like that before.
Eddie opens his closet and hands him back all of the clothes he’s left here over the past three years. He hands him the cassette tape he made for Eddie’s 16th birthday, the pictures they took in the photobooth at the carnival, the stuffed animal he won, the DVDs he brought over for movie night sophomore year, it seemed everything Richie's ever touched Eddie wanted out, out, out-
“And if my things aren’t back here by 8am sharp tomorrow morning,” Eddie started, in the same icy cold tone. “I don't know what the fuck I’m going to do.”
Richie nodded, but didn’t move.
“Well?”
Richie looked up.
“Oh my gosh, Richard. Get out of my fucking house!”
So he did.
He left and gathered all of Eddie’s things into a box and delivered it to his house at 7:59 sharp the next day, June 2nd.
He had started feeling things by then, and he knew he needed to stop.
Bev came over later that day, and he remembered her screaming at him but not what she said. He remembered the other losers paying him visits, but he never went to the quarry or the Aladdin with them, or… anywhere with anyone really.
He bought drugs from this guy who hung out in the alleys near the Aladdin, and sometimes they smoked pot together, but they never spoke.
Never laughed.
Never felt.
And Richie didn’t feel again.
Not for a very, very long time.
“Daddy…?” a sweet, high voice asks.
“Emilia,” Richie says, startled. “C’mere, Em, what are you doing up this late?”
Emilia walks over to him, green blanket trailing behind her. “Thirsty,” she says.
“Oh, okay. Sit down, I’ll get you some water.” He grabs a plastic cup for her and fills with cool water, no ice.
“Here you go, sugar. Do you think you can get back to bed now?”
She nods, dark brown curls bouncing slightly. “Carry?” she asks quietly.
“Of course,” Richie replies, picking her up. “Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite,” he says with a smirk, tucking her in.
She giggles and then yawns, and he knows she’s okay.
He’s okay.
He’s done okay.
Emilia.
The source of his feelings for the past four years.
His daughter.
After Eddie left, things got rough.
Really rough.
Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts
Richie just delved deeper and deeper into drugs, sometimes passing out for hours, waking up, and not knowing where he was.
The night right after he and Eddie broke up was the first.
He must’ve passed out for around… it must’ve been at least a day. Everything hurt when he woke up, but somehow, the stars blurring his vision still reminded him of Eddie’s freckles. The drugs didn’t fucking work. He loved Eddie too much. He still loved him. He still felt.
He’d get drunk off his ass and sleep with women, even though he wasn’t particularly attracted to them. He’d been careful not to get any pregnant, though, until around four years ago.
A woman who he’d never met before knocked on his door, dropped a bundle in his arms and then left without a single word.
He’d peeled open the blanket to discover a tiny, sleeping baby, and he ran after the woman, confused and disoriented and mildly hung over and all she said was,
“It’s yours.”
That’s about all he knows about Emilia’s mother and that’s all he needs to know.
She’s a bitch, but to be fair, so was he, at the time.
He set Emilia, well, she didn’t have a name back then, so he set the baby down in the middle of his bed and then got wasted out of his mind.
He must’ve called Bev because soon enough she had shown up at his door, smacked him across the face, and started yelling at him about how he had to get his shit together and blah, blah, blah…
Then the baby started crying and Bev turned to him, appalled.
“Holy shit. You weren’t kidding.”
Richie shook his head, and that's about all he remembers from that day.
He wishes he hadn’t fucked up so bad earlier on, because then he’d be able to remember more. It sucks having really bad migraines all the time, and on top of that, being able to remember about half of your late teen years.
But those were just the stupid decisions he made.
All because he didn’t want to feel things.
He didn’t want to feel normal , teen emotions.
Richie looks at his watch for what must be the fourth time that minute. It’s only 2:30. It’s going to be a long day.
He racks his brain, trying to remember anything he can from those 9 months after Eddie left and Emilia wasn’t born yet. Those months where he was utterly alone with his thoughts and feelings.
Because now he wants to. He wants to remember, and cope.
Before, all he wanted to do was forget.
But now, all he wants to think about is Eddie. And he knows it’s not healthy, but he can’t help it. He can’t stop thinking about Eddie and what could’ve been. Sometimes it feels like he’s dying, honestly.
But not in the way he was before.
Before he was killing himself because of the desire to feel numb.
Now, he feels like he’s killing himself mentally because of how much he wants to feel.
He remembers getting wasted and waking up and still remembering.
It wasn’t enough. He didn’t know what he had to do to forget.
So he just figured he couldn’t, and he’d be forced to remember and think and feel and live.
And it’s not so bad. He’s got Emilia and Bev and Ben, and he’s pretty sure Bill, Stan, and Mike don't hate him-
But he doesn’t have Eddie.
And he never will.
He curls up on the couch and focuses on the blue light of the TV screen, uses that and the pain in his head to keep himself awake while he thinks, feels, and makes sure to never forget.
“Eddie. Wake up,” Mike says, flicking the lights on and opening the blinds. “We’re going home today, remember?”
Eddie opens his eyes and shields them against the light. “Hm?”
“Back to Derry. We’re going to see everyone again. We graduated. Damn. You must’ve had more fun at the after party than I thought-”
Eddie throws a pillow at Mike to shut him up. “No, I know, I just didn’t-” he yawns, effectively cutting himself off from rambling about absolutely nothing. “You know.”
“Yeah, sure,” Mike says. He’s lived with Eddie for their entire four years of college, so he knows he needs coffee, a shower, and a morning run to even start to make sense. “Well, we’re leaving in an hour and a half and you said you’d drive first and I can see you still have some shit to pack up, so… just thought I’d let you know.”
“Mhm,” Eddie says, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“No problem,” Mike says, and then walks out.
Eddie reaches for his phone and sees the date in cold white letters, loud and clear.
June 1st.
He wishes that the date means nothing to him. He pretends it doesn’t.
He walks over to his closet and grabs a pink sweater and a pair of jean shorts. They’re the only things left in his closet. The only things left to pack are his bedding and toiletries, and that shouldn’t take long. He takes a quick shower and dresses. This outfit isn't fancy or anything.
It's not like he's dressing up for anybody.
Just the losers.
He's just going to see his friends.
And possibly R-
No.
That bitch hurt you and he’s probably fucking dead! He probably died of heroin overdose like four years ago so quit your stupid pining and accept that you weren’t good enough for him!
He’s not a bitch.
Eddie continues to war with himself in his mind as he sips his morning coffee. It’s sweet, just how he likes it.
Richie always drank his black.
Eddie wants to scream at himself.
Why can’t he just forget? Why can’t he just move on like a normal person?
“Yo, Eddie, ready to go?” Mike calls from the doorway.
Eddie nods and grabs his bags. “Yep.”
They’re not coming back, and surprisingly, that thought isn't it very scary to Eddie. He feels like there’s a whole world outside of college, just for him, a world full of new things for him to learn and explore and love.
Not that kind of love.
Never, that kind of love again-
“Let’s go, Eddie! We can’t be late!” Mike yells from outside.
“Coming!”
Eddie takes one last look at their humble apartment and then they’re on their way.
“Why are you taking this street? If you go the other way we’ll get there faster…?” Mike asks, confused.
Eddie tightens his grip on the wheel. “Just, this way is more… fun.”
Mike shrugs. “Okay.” He pops and earbud in and then it’s quiet.
The truth is, Eddie doesn’t want to go home because he doesn’t know what he’ll find. Sure, there’s a whole world outside of college and it’s going to be amazing , but that world… that world could include Richie.
If he’s still alive.
Of course he’s alive, Eddie’s rational side argues.
There’s no way Bev would’ve let him die-
But you almost did.
Eddie grips the wheel harder, ‘til his knuckles turn white.
He glares at all the green lights they pass stupidly. They’re inanimate objects controlled by sensors, it’s not like they did anything. If anything, it’s the people in this town he should be mad at because there’s no traffic.
He could really just ask Mike about Richie.
But that would show that he’s thinking about him, that he still, after five whole years, cares about him, and he can’t let anyone know that he’s been pining and thinking about his drug-addicted ex boyfriend since they broke up because that is pitiful.
Eddie looks at the “Welcome to Derry” sign with wary eyes.
He remembers when he and Richie used to hang out there. They’d laugh, talk, chew gum, stargaze, and watch the cars go by, watch everyone’s lives go by because they were living theirs, and they were content.
Eddie doesn’t know what went wrong.
At first, he honestly thought it was something he did, and he kept asking Richie and asking and Richie, back when he could still think clearly, always told him, “‘s not your fault, Eds, I just need some alone time. I’ve made some new friends, aren’tcha proud of me? Never thought you’d see the day.”
But then it started getting worse. Richie called him late at night, a crying, blubbering, mess, begging for Eddie to come pick him up at whatever address he’d landed himself at this time. And Eddie always did.
And it was weird but it was still manageable.
Until Richie started getting into the powdery drugs.
Then Eddie stepped out, said he couldn’t be involved. And he felt horrible but he told Richie to call Bev, and
“Call Bev? Call Bev? You’re my fucking boyfriend Eds, you’re supposed to take care of me!” Richie yelled over the phone.
“I’m supposed to love and support you, but I’m not going to support this! Richie I can’t fucking do this anymore!”
“Yes, you can. Just come pick me up, please come pick me up, I promise I won’t do it again, I swear on my life-”
“Your life clearly doesn’t mean anything to you at this point,” Eddie mumbled sadly.
“Just come pick me up,” Richie said, angry now.
“No! Call Bev, or stay there ‘til morning! Maybe it’ll teach you a lesson!”
“Teach me a lesson? Teach me a- Eddie you’re not my fucking Mom!”
He called him Eddie.
That was further proof that something was terribly, horribly wrong with Richie’s mind.
“Yeah, I know I’m not but I certainly feel like it with the way you’re treating me!”
“Just come pick me up-”
“NO!” Eddie screamed, and hung up the phone.
He sank to the floor, the phone falling out of his hand as he pulled his fingers through his hair and screamed out in pure agony and heartbreak.
“WHY? Why, why, why, why, why…” he mumbled brokenly to himself. He cried there, on the floor, for a few hours, at least until Bill came over to let him know Richie was still alive and-
“Thank goodness,” Eddie breathed. Because he could finally do that again. He didn’t feel like he was being strangled, drowned, and buried alive anymore.
But the next night, that helpless drowning feeling came back. It went away in the morning but came back the next night, and the next, and the next…
He couldn’t take it anymore.
He exploded on June 1st and he couldn’t fucking help it, and at the time, he was glad he did but now…
Whatever he and Richie had is surely long gone by now.
Richie’s not dead, but he’s either still doped up on drugs or has a girlfriend so Eddie needs to get a hold over himself.
It’s over.
It’s over, it’s over, it’s really, really over.
'Cause saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts
Something squeezes Eddie’s heart as he pulls up to Bev and Ben’s apartment on the outskirts of Derry. This is where they’ll be staying for the next few weeks, while they’re apartment hunting and figuring out who they’re rooming with, and adult things like that.
“Eddie!” Bev exclaims, opening the door. “Mike! Oh my goodness, it’s been so long!”
“Eddie, have you gotten taller?” Ben teases.
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up. C’mere. Bring it in.”
Eddie and Ben hug first, and then Bev and Mike join in for one big group hug.
“Aw… you guys are su-su-such saps,” Bill comments from the doorway.
“Bill!” Eddie exclaims, and pulls him in.
“I am not getting involved in this,” Stan says dryly.
“Y-y-yes you are,” Bill stutters, grabbing his arm and pulling him in as well.
“The Losers Club, once again.”
Nobody mentions Richie, but everybody is thinking of him.
And though he’d never admit it, Eddie is thinking of him the most.
“So how was college? It’s been way too long since you’ve even come to visit!”
They make idle chatter as they walk into the apartment, but everything Eddie sees reminds him of Richie somehow.
It’s like this entire town just screams his name.
“This is a really nice place you’ve got,” Eddie mumbles absently, admiring the artwork on the walls.
“Thanks!” Beverly says warmly. “Ben basically designed the whole thing, I chose the color schemes though.”
“It’s perfect,” Mike says.
“Oh! Have you guys eaten yet?” Bev asks. “It’s past lunchtime but before dinner, but I can always make a few sandwiches if you want…”
“I’m okay, thank you,” Eddie says politely.
“I’ll definitely take a sandwich,” Mike says.
“Us too!” Stan calls from the couch.
“Okay,” Bev says, laughing and brushing some fire-red hair out of her eyes. “What kind?”
“Peanut butter and marshmallow,” Stan replies.
“That’s a thing?” Mike asks, in awe.
“Yes. They love it. You’d honestly think there’s a bunch of five year olds in this house instead of twenty-three year olds with how often I make these stupid sandwiches,” Bev says, laughing and shaking her head.
“Okay, if it has mini marshmallows on it, I take it back. I want a sandwich,” Eddie says.
“Okay, seven sandwiches coming right up!” Bev exclaims, still laughing.
Seven.
Richie.
There’s only six people here, though.
“Seven?” Eddie asks quietly.
“Yeah,” Bev says. “Ben has two.”
“Oh,” Eddie mumbles. “Cool.” He smiles again, but can’t stop thinking about that seven. Lucky number seven, that was them, and always was, until… it wasn’t. But that’s okay. There’s six of them here now, he doesn’t have to think about that missing piece.
But they all feel it.
They’re not complete without their resident trashmouth.
But Eddie doesn’t know if he even lives here still, let alone still acts the way he used to, and goodness, what if he got contacts? What if he doesn’t wear those stupid coke-bottle glasses anymore, and what if he has a girlfriend, what if-
“Eddie, you okay?” Bev asks.
“Mhm,” he nods.
“You sure?”
“Yes. Of course,” he replies, smiling so that he’s more convincing.
She leaves him alone and they eat and laugh, but he feels more like he’s watching through a window then actually living in the moment.
He wants Richie.
And that’s stupid, but he does.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Emilia exclaims, wandering out into the living room.
Richie stirs on the couch, waking abruptly from the light sleep he’d drifted into. “Hi, apricot, what’s up?”
“Hungry,” she says, dragging her blanket behind her.
“Didn’t you just have breakfast…?”
“No, Daddy. It’s lunchtime.”
“Oh, oh crap, I’m sorry sweetie, why didn’t you wake me up?”
She shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry ‘til now,” she replies simply.
“Okay, what do you want?”
“Pop-tart?” she asks tentatively.
“Em, you already had one for breakfast,” Richie says, wishing she’d just ask for a peanut butter and jelly.
“Pwease,” she begs with her stupid puppy dog eyes. She got those from him, too!
“Fine,” he gives in. “But I have to tell you something first.”
“What?” she asks quietly.
“It’s a secret,” he replies. “Come here, sit next to me.”
“Okay…” she trails off, mildly suspicious.
“The secret is…. tickles!” he yells excitedly, tickling her ribs, under her armpits, neck, backs of her knees, anywhere he can reach.
Her laughter is music to his ears. He thinks he’d do anything just to hear it. He’s so lucky to have her. So, so, lucky.
“Daddy…” she manages through her giggles. “I- I have a secret for you, too,” she says.
He scooches in. “What is it?”
“Tickle!” she exclaims, and tickles him the same way he did her. He laughs and lets her, and then scoops her up and off the couch to go make another poptart. He also cuts up some fruits and vegetables for her to eat alongside it.
He gives her a glass of water since she had juice with breakfast.
He yawns and grabs a cup of cold coffee from earlier and a Belvita bar from the lower kitchen cabinet. Bev suggested he started eating those to gain weight and just for natural health reasons, and as it turns out he actually enjoys them a lot. He hopes Emilia doesn’t suffer from his lightning fast metabolism. It sucks.
“Aunty Bev said that you shouldn’t drink so much coffee,” Emilia states matter-of-factly.
“Aunty Bev also said you shouldn’t be eating so many pop tarts,” Richie shoots right back, smiling.
Emilia shuts up. “Okay. Let’s not tell Aunty Bev.”
“Let’s not.”
Richie does the dishes while Em finishes breakfast, and then he sets her up with the TV in the other room.
It’s summer, and even though it’s a Monday, he has time to scroll through his social media a little bit.
He’s not prepared for what Beverly just posted on her instagram.
He never could’ve been prepared, not in a million years.
It’s all the losers together at her and Bev’s place, but with them is…
Eddie.
Richie gasps, bringing a hand up to his mouth.
The morning after Eddie left was the worst morning of Richie’s life. He woke up with a pounding headache, stars bursting underneath his eyelids, with no idea where he was or even who he was. He woke up in some stranger’s bed, butt naked, with her hand slung across his stomach. He sat up and removed it, touching his hips, heart, chest, everywhere that Eddie had once touched, loved, and kissed him better. He stood and stared at himself in the mirror, wondering how the hell it came to this, but not having the will to reverse it.
“Are you up for round two?” the stranger asked, so he had rough morning sex with who must’ve been Emilia’s mom because this was nine months before that day in May.
He truly believed Eddie gave up on him, so he gave up on himself too.
He went to a club that night and had sex with a woman in the back of a cleaning closet, so she could’ve been Emilia’s mom too…
He doesn’t know.
He just remembers searching and searching for a way out of feeling, but once he did find that way out, it actually took a while to get to that point of numbness. He had to go through a shit ton of emotions first.
So while he was searching for a way out, he was also, in a way, looking for a way in. A way into his own heart, and a way back into Eddie’s.
But no.
That was never going to happen.
Eddie’s here now… and they could very well run into each other, after all, it’s a very small town…
He shouldn’t think about that. All it does is hurt him.
But the hurt is always halfway for it, because there’s always that what if. Eddie could swing by, or Richie could show up at Bev’s.
He wouldn't do that.
That would be a jackass move. After everything they’ve been through? It’s not just gonna be like, “Hey, so guess what? I’m off drugs now and I still lo- like, really like you and I think we should pick up where we left off except without the fighting?”
No. Life doesn’t fucking work like that.
“Daddy, what are you looking at?” Emilia asks.
“Nothing, sweetie. What are you watching?”
“Nothing.”
“Touche,” Richie says, laughing.
“Do you want me to order a pizza for dinner tonight?”
Emilia nods. “And we can get out the fancy plates?”
“Mhm.”
“And Aunty Bev can come over?”
“Aunt Bev is busy tonight,” Richie says carefully, hoping Emilia won’t be too upset.
“Oh. Okay. Tomorrow then,” Emilia says, mind made up.
She turns back to the TV.
“Tomorrow,” Richie mumbles to himself.
Eddie.
Eddie stays on the couch with Ben, Bev, and Mike far later than he should if he still wants to run tomorrow morning, but it’s alright.
“Hey, guys, I think I’m going to turn in for the night,” Eddie says, standing from the couch.
“Okay, goodnight. See you in the morning,” Bev says.
“Goodnight, Eddie,” Mike says, still engrossed in the movie.
“Goodnight!” Ben says cheerily.
Eddie walks down the hall to the guest room, opens his suitcase, and pulls out an old band tee and some plaid pajama pants to sleep in.
Led Zeppelin.
Richie loved that band.
Why can’t I stop thinking of him? Eddie asks himself.
Well, it’s not like this day has been particularly worse than any other day in the past five years… That’s a lie. It has. Because this entire town reminds him of Richie and everything they used to do together, and how everything fell apart.
Maybe tomorrow he’ll stop thinking about him.
Maybe the five year mark is magical and after that happens, Eddie will be able to move on, get a new boyfriend, and forget about Richie.
But he doesn’t really want to do that.
His mind does, but his heart is screaming for him to get Richie’s number from Bev and call him and say he’s back and “Hey, can we talk because even thought you were a complete and utter jackass to me, maybe you’re better now and I really hope you’re better now because I kinda think I’m still in lo- in like with you and if you’re not better by now then I can finally fucking let go?”
No.
He plays with the hem of the t-shirt. Richie had a shirt just like it that he let Eddie wear all the time. Maybe that’s why Eddie subconsciously bought this shirt. Part of him wants to take it off, but the other half of him wants to wear this shirt forever.
Ugh, what is wrong with him?
If anything, Richie’s probably moved on by now.
This is so stupid!
Eddie lies down and buries his face in a pillow. He remembers apartment hunting with Ben and Bev and Richie. He remembers when they found this place and the first glass of cherry wine they all sipped here.
Back when Richie could drink and stop. He remembered going back to Richie’s place after and the sweet, sweet making-out-
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and bangs his head against a pillow.
What kind of psychopath is he? What kind of person thinks about their ex-boyfriend this way after five years?
It’s been five years, Eddie.
Wake up and grow up, kid.
Damn.
Richie does the dishes long after Emilia has gone to bed. He lies down and turns on the TV in his room, but doesn’t watch it. He stares and stares at the picture on Bev’s instagram, wondering why he can’t just let go.
Just accept what’s happened has happened and it’s over.
You fucked up.
Eddie sits up and stares out the window, giving up on sleep.
He misses Richie.
He always has.
But how can he miss someone who treated him like absolute shit? How can he miss someone who was addicted to drugs, when drugs were more important then he was, how can he miss that?
But that’s not what he misses.
No.
He misses the old Richie.
The one who would take him on long drives and play trashy music, and call him Eddie Spaghetti and make out with him when they went to the clubhouse alone, who’d always partner with him when they played chicken, who’d hold his hand when they’d see scary movies, who’d scoot his sleeping bag closer to Eddie’s when they all slept over at Bill’s. He missed the Richie who he would have to beep, the Richie who had a zest for life and love- he missed the Richie who loved him.
But, sometimes people fall out of love.
Maybe that’s just what happened.
Yeah. People fall out of love.
And it’s okay. (No, it's not)
It's death by a thousand cuts
Jeez, it took him five years to figure out that people just fall out of love with no damn explanation! How stupid is he?
Eddie stands and slides on his slippers, opening the ever-creaky door. He remembers laughing over that creak with Richie, Bev, and Ben. They thought it was the funniest thing ever.
The hallway is silent. Everyone’s gone to bed.
Eddie hops in the car and turns the key in the ignition. He doesn’t know where he’s going, just that he can’t be still right now.
He finds himself pulling up at Richie’s old house.
And now he’s a stalker?
He bangs his head against the wheel, feeling tears make their way out of his eyes.
He’s just overtired.
Yep.
It’s not like he actually feels things.
No.
Little does he know, Richie is inside feeling the exact same thing.
(it's death by a thousand cuts)
Eddie wipes his pathetic tears and drives away as slowly as he possibly can.
What is wrong with him?
I take the long way home
I ask the traffic lights if it'll be alright
They say, "I don't know"