Chapter Text
It is embedded in the rules of the universe that whenever Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak are breathing the same air, there is chaos to behold. Screaming and cursing are standard—in fact, you learn to tune them out. Sometimes, there is wrestling. Other times, one of them storms off. Most times, it’s Eddie.
Now, Bev, she knows all about this. The Richie and Eddie Show is a well-choreographed performance by the time she came to the group. However, even as a newbie, she’s always noticed this thing between them. The lingering something that usually makes the air heavier— electric— and always just between the two of them.
She’d think something would change, but they’re already a few months off to college and it’s been the same radio static. She’s always paid attention to them. In fact, they’re a good distraction from her shitty life. Although, it has taken a toll on her, watching them circle each other— the perfect pair for so close yet so far.
“It’s all part of the script, mah dahling!” she would think, in the Richie Voice in her head.
And that. That.
It’s gotten so bad that Bev has a Richie voice in her head, that is so specific to Richie and Eddie’s relationship. In fact, she’s spent so much of her free time thinking about them that they have, what good people would call, a ‘manifested character’ and what the wise people would call a fursona, in her mind.
It cheers her up, okay?!
Anyway. Eddie is a chihuahua, small, perpetually vibrating, and vicious. And he’s always barking at Richie, the asshole raccoon that’s always tormenting the shaking, rabid chihuahua. It started from that, and then she started developing the story like one of those fangirls online and she somehow ended up with a touching story about reluctantly paired animals on a journey to discovering their worth and mutual love. (She’s going to pitch it to pixar one day, because she might as well.)
Basically! Basically, these are just points that emphasize just how fucking aware Bev is of the two of them, Long Limbs and Compact Powerhouse, and just how much control Bev has, having not meddled once.
And, meddle, fuck that word. She cares, okay?! She cares.
But for all the reasons above, she has never really given too much thought to what would happen if those what if’s happened. It’s mostly to retain her sanity, to keep her frustrations in check. She’s surprised it worked for so long.
…now breathe with her here, because, as the words of the internet so eloquently poised: shits about to hit the fan.
Funnily enough, it started slow and innocent. But then someone (Bev) turned the dial up to two, and for some goddamn reason, Stan decided to install a dial with five levels, and, at the end of the day, everything and everyone was drenched in complete shit, from head to toe, from the insides of their mouths, right down their goddamn throats. And alright, Stan, it wasn’t all shit! Most of it, Bev stresses, glaring at the Stan in her head, was actually warm chocolate. Some shit just happened to get mixed in. And not of Bev’s own fault. Because, if somebody actually asked Bev, it wasn’t all that bad. And if they were blaming heads here, it wasn’t all her fault, so fuck you, Stan—
Alright, alright.
She might be getting ahead of herself here.
It all really started last Saturday…
--
Bev was walking up the stairs to Richie’s room. It was the middle of the summer and Bev had been busying herself with clothing projects—from designs to repairs to making something beautiful out of scraps. She was going to collect a few of Richie’s clothes as part of that project (“Make me the star that you always knew I was, Miss Marsh!”) when she heard the soft murmur of a conversation.
A conversation that included so much giggling. And Richie—Richie does not giggle. He chuckles, yeah, cackles a few times, laughs from his belly. But giggle? That’s more…
Bev tiptoes towards Richie’s room where the door is slightly open. She peaks through it and tries to see if it really is—
There.
Eddie Kaspbrak, in all his glory, giggling.
But no, it wasn’t the giggling that bothered Bev. It’s happened before. He did that sometimes, especially when Richie said something particularly witty that he couldn’t help but giggle. What shook the very foundations of Bev’s established reality wasn’t that Eddie was giggling at Richie. It was what Eddie said afterwards.
First off: Eddie was talking it in a very flirty voice. It went high and sweet, lips stretched in a smile that encompassed his whole face, and, fuck, the way he bats his eyelash. Eddie was very good at flirting.
Secondly, Eddie was sprawled on top of Richie’s chest, both of them lying on his twin bed. Eddie had his chin resting on Richie’s chest, humming indulgently, fingers playing with his curls, as Richie bragged about Brian May liking his Instagram comment.
“—and he called me pal, Eds! It’s official, you’re dating Brian May’s pal. We’re best friends now, which makes me Freddie’s best friend by association—I’m a legend, dahling!”
An eye roll and a dopey smile from Eddie, “Alright, dah-ling,” cue hideously flirty giggling, “you’re a legend.”
Which—when the fuck did Eddie go along with Richie’s shit this easy?!
“And you’re the— love of my lifeeee,” Richie sang in tune to ‘Love of My Life’.
“Oh my God, Rich—that’s, that’s so cheesy!” Eddie shrieked, just as Richie flipped them on the bed. He leaned into Eddie, crowding him with his arms, and Bev watched as Eddie gazed deep into Richie’s eyes, hands caressing Richie’s (broad) shoulders.
She looked away as soon as Richie leans in and not a second later, she heard the distinct sound of sucking face. The moment she heard them moaning, Beverly ran for her life.
--
“They’re dating.”
“What?”
“They’re. Dating.”
“I assume I know who they are?”
“Richie and Eddie—”
“Is—no. No. That’s bullshit.”
“I swear, Stan—I swear on Ben’s very broad chest—”
Stan makes a gagging noise. Bev huffs, offended, “Hey! No need to be rude.”
“Well then, stop salivating about Ben when he’s not even here, I already have to endure Richie and Eddie’s thing! And before you accuse me of something else, yes, I know Ben has a broad chest, it’s lovely, but please, tell him, not me.”
“Stan, I know what you’re doing. You’re distracting me, but it’s not working.” Stan merely raises a brow, already exhausted from the conversation and eager to move on. Not even a second later, the gleam in Bev’s eyes comes back and with a renewed vigor, she gleefully shrieks, “They’re. Dating.”
“Yeah, no.”
“Oh, come on Stanley! I saw them, cooties and all. Or, well, at the exact moment before the cooties commenced.” Bev pauses then, eyes widening before she squints at Stan, “Are you homophobic? Cause when they came out a year ago, I remember you were very much okay with it. The others were, too.”
Bev leans forward, legs dangling over the mattress on the ground, raising her brow challengingly at the boy, “So, tell me now Stan, do I have to kill you?”
“Okay, first of all,” Stan says, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “No, Bev, I am not homophobic. And second of all, I’m pretty sure ‘keeping tab’s’ is a precursor to meddling. That’s never gonna end well.”
Bev gasps, again: offended. “It’s called caring, not meddling! And I’m just very I’m just very excitedly sharing the good news. They’re. Dating.”
This time, Stan pinches the bridge of his nose, “Now, see here, I don’t believe you. Because one: Richie would have told me already. And two: I would have been the first one to know because Richie would have told me already!”
“You keep counting, I’d be pressed to think that you’re very good at math.” Stan gives her his patented unimpressed stare, raised eyebrows, pressed lips and the aura of his dead grandma. Bev tries a different tactic, “Okay if you don’t care about them dating, which they are, how about this. They’re very sweet.”
“So?”
“So?!” Bev repeats, incredulous.
“Really, Bev? Them? Sweet? Their mating dance is literally wrestling. You’re not fooling anybody.”
“Stan!” she throws her hands in the air, “Stan you’re challenging me. You do not want to challenge me.”
“Why are you being such a Richie right now?”
“Cause obviously the world needs to restore its balance,” a beat, “And. Hey!”
Stan smirks but does not budge from the hammock that he only gets to use when the terrible two aren’t having a custody battle over it. Bev stops bothering him, turning to huffing and later mindless scrolling on her phone.
The clubhouse welcomes a patch of sunlight from the open door, afternoon air bringing some warmth into the cool underground. One by one they all fill in until all that’s missing is Richie and Eddie. It is serene without them, lacking the explosive energy that goes wherever Richie and Eddie are even when they are being subjectively quiet.
Mike ends up lying on the mattress beside Bev, reading a book while she is preoccupied with her phone. On the swing, idly swaying back and forth, is Bill playing animal crossing, occasionally asking Ben about his own game. Stan relaxes on the hammock, unbothered as he watches a documentary about birds on Netflix. He breathes a sigh of relief at the lengthy calm.
Of course, now that he thought nothing else is going to happen, that’s exactly when something happens.
Bev’s phone pings with the notification she has been expecting. It is a text from Richie and it reads:
miss mallow
eds and i are busy on a project cant come rn
tell stan I still love him xoxo
She lets the grin she has been hiding to encompass her face. She begins cackling, not unlike a villain, getting the attention of the others. Stan immediately groans as Bev rises from her throne (a lime green beanbag from Ben’s, decorated with mysterious stains that no one wants to think about too hard).
So, it begins.
“Ehem.”
“Oh my God,” Stan whines bodily.
“Bev?” Ben perks up because of course, he does.
“Wuh-what’s happening?” Bill asks, recognizing the scheming look Bev has.
Mike hums, looking up from his book with interest, “What’s got Stan so…” and then he gestures to Stan who is already ready to battle it out with Bev.
Bev rolls her eyes at Stan, and this only makes him more indignant. She ignores this, and then clears her throat as if all the boys aren’t already looking at her, “I have an important announcement to make.”
“You don’t really want to do that, Bev.”
“No, Stan, I think I really do.”
Mike stands up, sitting beside Stan who is about to have a conniption.
“A-alright, what is it, B-Bev?” It is Bill who asks, already so intrigued at the interaction.
Bev does not hold back her wide grin, excited as she is, she exclaims, “Richie and Eddie are dating!”
Bill stares at Bev. Ben, already staring at Bev, looks back to Stan. Mike, who is keeping track of Stan, looks back to Bev.
Silence.
Somewhere outside, a cricket sings the national anthem for Abrupt Moments of Silence.
And then.
“Huh?”
“HUH?! HUH!” Bev is screeching now, incredulous, “That’s all you have to say?!”
It is Mike who has the courage to speak back, nervous but brave enough to ask, “What do you mean, Bev. Did they tell you?”
“No, of course not,” she snaps like it is obvious. And then, that Cheshire grin, “I saw them.”
“Of course not, yeah, alright,” Stan scoffs.
“I saw them! I did.” She looks at all of the Losers in the eye to show how serious she is, “Eddie was on top of Richie’s chest and they called each other darling—oh wait, no. Dah-ling. They called each other dah-ling.”
“Even… E-Eddie?” Bill asks, unsure.
“Even Eddie! Look, Eddie was flirting with Richie. He was giggling in this… really flirty way. High pitched and sweet and all,” and then she leans in, “With intent.”
“With intent,” Stan scoffs again.
“Stan stop scoffing at me from your moral high ground of Richie woulda told me cause I saw them and I’m not lying. Do you think I would lie about this?”
“No, I just think you’re exaggerating things. Richie would have told me, and Eddie doesn’t giggle with intent. His giggling is never intentional, actually, if its Richie, he’s always surprised that he giggles. He does not want to giggle because that would mean he’s giving Richie the satisfaction from a bad dick joke!”
Ben mutters, close enough for Bill to hear, “They sound like one of those fangirls on the internet.” And Bill agrees wholeheartedly.
“Alright, Stan,” she says like it is an insult. “What could we possibly do for you to believe me?”
“Why would I want to believe you?”
“Because it would mean Richie and Eddie got together! Aren’t you tired of their mating dance?! Don’t you want them to, I dunno, mate already—”
“Do not finish that sentence!” Stan gags, like it is his obligation to do so, and then puts his finger in front of Bev, “I am tired of all their shit, but I understand why they don’t want to be so proud and open and gay in this God-forsaken town! You know what happened to Adrian! And exactly because of that, I find it hard to believe that they would be so sweet and cuddly as you say they are. The last time Richie talked to m— look, I just don’t think it would happen this fast.”
There is stunned silence at Stan’s outburst, and Bev considers this because he has a point. She knows Stan is Richie’s confidant. Has been the calm to Richie’s incessant buzz, as Richie is the river that moves Stan’s rock along. If there’s anyone who might know more about the relationship, at least from Richie’s point of view, it would be Stan.
That must be why he’s so against this. Not that he’s against them, but because, from his honest perspective, the two getting together behind their backs would have meant that what Richie told Stan the last time they talked didn’t match the logical chain of events. But the thing is, in all matters of love, it is never logical.
And it’s okay, she gets it. Really. But she also knows that what she saw in that bedroom that Saturday was not her hallucinating. It was real and everyone needed to know. Because.
“What do you need?”
“Huh?”
“For you to believe me.”
Stan thinks for a moment before he resigns himself, “A picture. Photographic evidence. Clear. Not—incriminating but obvious enough.” Then, Stan smirks in challenge, “If they’re so sweet, that wouldn’t be hard to get, right?”
He walks off from the hammock where Mike has been trying to calm him down and then flops in the corner where he ignores them in favor of his bird documentary. Benedict Cumberbatch murmurs from the background.
Bev looks away from where her eyes had been following Stan, whipping her head to the rest of the Losers.
“You, my soldiers, shall follow my lead,” she grins deviously. They groan in unison and defeat, already knowing that they will do whatever Bev wants them to do if they want to hear the end of it.
--
Huddled in the middle of the clubhouse, Bev picks up a stick to draw her plan.
It’s simple, really.
Disperse, locate the target, and then: Bam! Capture. Remember to be discrete—and seeing as her soldiers are Mike, Ben, and Bill, she doesn’t think she has much of a problem.
--
That’s exactly when shit hits the fan.
The moment she becomes sure of herself.
They’re dealing with Richie and Eddie for fuck’s sake.
--
Bill is the first bastard to go.
Stan has oh so graciously given them a week to do so, and for two days straight after the challenge was made, Richie and Eddie had hung out with the rest of the Losers. Bev assures them they won’t find anything if they were all hanging out as a group. So, they decided to wait for when they’re not hanging out as a group, because then they’d know that Richie and Eddie were with each other.
By the second day, Bev grew frustrated cause that meant they only have five days left. That’s when Ben made a group chat, and suggested not to hang out as a group at all for the next week, so the two would see it as an opportunity, to, “I don’t know, spend time together?”
Bev sent a key smash and then heart emojis that made Ben screenshot.
So, its Wednesday, and Bill told them he won’t be going to the Clubhouse, and the others echoed that sentiment with excuses of their own, when Eddie himself rings the doorbell at 9 in the morning.
“Eddie,” Bill greets in quiet surprise.
“Hi Bill, did you know that raw eggs on cookie doughs could cause salmonella? Like, there’s a small chance that it would give you salmonella, but any chance is big enough, and I didn’t want to give Richie salmonella by feeding him raw cookie dough, even though that was exactly what he asked for. He literally—he literally said,” and in a stupid Richie voice, “Oh give me those sweet, salmonella baby. Which—didn’t make sense. One of his worst once yet. And, and then, I told him, I won’t give him salmonella cause’ I know how to bake cookies like a responsible person. And if he wants to get sick so badly, he could eat some expired meat or whatever the fuck.
“Anyway, I was gonna bake cookies yesterday but you know ma, so I had to take all the ingredients from the kitchen and run, and she’s gonna be home in a few hours, so can I use your kitchen?”
Bill stands there, stunned, but nonetheless nodding. He lets Eddie through, helping with his hand carefully wrapped around his backpack.
“Cool—thanks, Bill!” He pauses for a bit, contemplative, “I think this has been our first hangout in a very long time… you wanna help me bake?” And with the way Eddie beams up at Bill, he can’t really say no, can he?
--
Bill cannot bake for shit.
Eddie has relegated him to mixing things, and even then, he’s only really clicking the buttons in their hand mixer, waiting for intervals, as Eddie tells him what to do and when to do it. All throughout measuring and mixing the ingredients, Eddie keeps talking nonstop, and never has Bill realized just how much of a motormouth he is.
“They really do match with each other,” he thinks in private wonderment.
“—and I’m not trying to spoil Richie, in fact, I don’t think he could be spoiled. You know him, he jokes especially hard when he’s uncomfortable and he thinks he doesn’t deserve all the good things in his life and all the good things that have yet to come, which is utter fucking bullshit, right—”
In the middle of Eddie’s rant, Bill realized with sudden clarity that he should be recording this right now. The mixer is still set to five minutes, so he whips out his phone and begins to surreptitiously take a video of Eddie.
(In that, he is not so subtle: like a fan trying to secretly take a picture of a celebrity when he is five feet away.)
“—so, then Richie says he wants some cookies, and I know this isn’t the most luxurious thing. I can’t give him a brand-new car or a branded guitar right now but this I can do for him. And since he thinks he doesn’t deserve anything, I’m going to smack the back of his head so hard with these cookies, cause, you know, he deserves everything!”
He throws his hands in the air, “I know he’s not expecting anything from me, but I want to do something good for him. Especially since he’s doing something for me, and like, tomorrow night he’s gonna do this thing that I don’t know so I want to be good for him too, you know?”
At the end of that, Eddie slows down. He looks up at Bill in a rare display of vulnerability, and Bill, who puts his phone down immediately feels guilty. He checks his phone, sees the video, and is just thinking of deleting it when Eddie appears across the table, mixer in between them, and then grabs Bill’s phone.
“I’m just gonna search some measurements—”
In a moment of incredible panic and guilt, Bill does not think and slaps Eddie’s hand. The phone falls from his grip and, with the hand mixer aggressively kneading wet dough, falls right into it.
Bill stops. Blinks. That’s. That’s his phone. In the mixer. Blink. fuCK—
He sticks his hand in the mixer while it’s still kneading the dough and effectively gets crushed by the force of it. He takes his hand out as fast as he can, but his fingers are already bruised and tingling. Amidst the dull pain, his mind is screaming for his phone.
Eddie screams through it all and the one that sticks is— “TURN IT OFF!” And Bill does, only a few seconds before Eddie would have surely blown a fuse.
“Give me your hand,” Eddie demands, towel ready and fanny pack open. He starts wiping Bill’s hand, careful as he removes the dough, massaging it carefully to ease the pain. When its clean enough for him, he gives Bill rubbing alcohol, moving on to the mixer.
He pulls the dough out of the mixer where his phone is stuck and malfunctioning. He hands it to Bill and then grumbles, “What’s on that phone that you don’t want me to see so bad? You could have just told me. You didn’t need to go all ape shit with it.”
Then he looks at the discarded dough. Eddie sighs, loud and disappointed, “Now we have to make another batch.”
Bill’s phone reflects a cracked screen, he hears Eddie promise him to clean it up for him. But the screen would need replacement.
Bill sighs.
That’s casualty number one.
--
Surprisingly, it’s Mike they get to next.
It’s not really them because it’s just Richie walking up towards the farm, but by virtue of their secret relationship, they’re already one fucking unit. They have one brain cell and they lose it sometimes. So, this is the kind of stress they have to deal with.
Mike sees Richie trudging with a bunch of wood, but even though he has the time to prepare himself mentally for whatever the fuck is going to happen, it still goes into his head, and for a lack of a better word, fucks things up.
“Mikey!” the (bastard) jokester sings from beyond the fence, face lighting up when he sees the paragon of patience (Mike). Richie runs up to the house where Mike is already waiting for him.
“Mike,” he says panting, “I need your help.”
“Sure,” Mike starts, willing but uncertain, “what do you need?”
Richie holds up the wood in his arms, and upon closer inspection, he has some lights there too. “Can you help me carve out some shapes with the wood here?”
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, I just—need to get it done fast.”
“Oh, alright.”
“Shit, thanks dude, you’re a life-saver. I could give you the best tips on how to get with the ladies if you want. I have a whole catalog of advice that even beefy cupcakes like you would need.”
Mike had a lot of issues with the whole sentence Richie just spewed, but he focuses on the worst of it all, “Beefy cupcake?”
“Yeah, cause’ you’re built like a Greek God but you’re also sweet and soft like a cupcake.”
Richie was definitely not straight.
--
Mike spends the rest of the morning helping Richie with carving wood, the light and electrical wires strewn somewhere less haphazard. When the afternoon comes, Richie starts fidgeting way before he asks, “Hey Mike, can I use your shed for the rest of the day? I love your godly presence and all but I think I can do the rest by myself; I don’t want to make you work more than you should, y’know and—”
“Okay, Richie,” he says, and Richie visibly sighs. But then Mike asks again, “But can I ask what this is for?”
“Oh! Oh, well,” Richie flusters, which is a very unique look on him, and Mike didn’t want to make Richie uncomfortable but he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t suspect this had something to do with the whole Stan vs. Bev debacle. He just needs to see it to its end before they hurt each other one way or another.
“I—well, I love you and all, you’re my best friends in the whole entire world and—”
“Richie, it’s okay, you don’t have to say all those things,” Mike eases slowly, feeling bad that Richie felt bad enough about it all to overexplain. Maybe they just weren’t ready yet? That must be why they won’t tell them that they’re together already, right?
“No! No, no dude. Sorry. It’s nothing, really. It’s just a thing I’m doing for Eddie, cause, y’know,” yeah, actually, I do know, “And it has to be sturdy and all cause the quarry is shit for anything not built for the apocalypse.”
Mike must have looked more surprised than he is because Richie immediately looks like a deer caught in headlights. Mike rushes to soothe him, “Oh! That’s cool. If you have time, you can show me how you work those electricals? That’s more Ben’s thing, but I really find them fascinating too.”
This seemed to calm him down because he chuckles before saying, “Yeah, dude, I’ll tell ya, and then we can have a big nerd club for electric-eels or something.”
Mike just chuckles at Richie’s rambling, letting him off the hook so he could get his ‘job’ done. He takes his phone from his room where its charging and sends them what he found out.
Wed. 1:00 pm.
Mike: Guys
Somethings gonna happen in the quarry but idk when
Richie just told me
Bev: MIKE YOU FUCKING IDIOT
Mike frowns, Bev never talks to him like that. Maybe to Richie, and sometimes to Eddie. In rare occasions, to Stan. But to Mike? Never. Especially since he just sent them information that would save them time from looking all over Derry for the two.
And then he looked up at the group chat name, where it showed, in its proud bold title: the Loser’s STRIP Club xo
FUCK.
Mike has experienced many life and death situations—high stress, adrenaline rushes a familiar feeling to him, however unwelcome they are. This time, it becomes a savior of some sort. He does not have time to think, so he doesn’t. His fingers move in rapid succession, eyes roaming the unfamiliar settings and that’s when he finds it.
Delete conversation.
He punched the motherfucker like it deserved it.
He collapses on his bed, sweat trickling and breathe releasing in relief.
And then.
PING!
Mike does not check it for a few moments, before it follows another notification, and then another, almost aggressively so.
He’s not surprised when its Bev.
Wed. 1:10 pm
Bev: Oh my god Mike
I love you but what the fUCK
This time, it’s in the right group chat.
Bev: you deleted our WHOLE conversation! IT WAS PRECIOUS SAVE FOR RICHIES DICK JOKES!
Mike: Im sorry okay
I panicked
Im really sorry, I didn’t check the title, I was just eager to send the info
Bev: You know you could have just deleted the one message?
Mike: I could do that?
Bev: Now you cant because you deleted THE WHOLE CONVERSATION
Mike: : - (
Bev: Youre going to explain to them
Mike: : - ( (
--
The light from the wide windows filters through the library, dust dancing visibly in the beam, and the air smells like old books. It’s Thursday and Ben is just starting his afternoon shift at the library.
He settles into it, relaxing, when Richie slams the library doors open, cringing when everyone turns to him. A vicious hiss comes from a particularly grumpy old man and then proceeds to forget about it all when he catches Ben’s eyes.
“Haystack!” Richie says in his normal voice, which is to say is louder than normal and earns him a handful of glares. Richie ignores them in favor of rushing to Ben on clumsy feet, in his hands a small box with some electrical units. He puts them on the counter where Ben does his work, leaning in with his arms before smiling wide, “My favorite architect, Benjalicious Handsome, wonderful man—”
“What do you need, Richie?” Ben asks, flustered but also knowing where this is going.
“Alright,” Richie concedes pretty easily, chuckling but Ben can see the haste in his movements, like he is going through motions, chasing time. “Okay so you know all this stuff about buildings, right? And you could work electrical stuff like that, in your super nerdy summer camp?”
“My summer architecture camp?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever—so can you teach me how to work this light bulb?”
“Uh, yeah, Rich. For what do you need this though? Where is it going to be attached?”
“That’s a funny question Ben. If I don’t tell you, will it cockblock you from your architecture powers?”
“Well, I need to know some things so we could maximize its use, and also the parts—”
Richie does not let him finish, instead scrambling to get his box out of Ben’s hands and then walking further into the library instead.
It must be about the… Richie and Eddie thing.
Ben sits on his chair for a minute to think about his options.
--
Eddie slams the door almost like Richie just an hour before him, but unlike the latter, he was more ashamed of the looks the people in the library gave him.
He hones in on Ben who is now standing by the bookshelves. “Ben,” he asks, panting, “Did Richie come here by any chance?”
“Uh, yeah? He was asking about light bulbs and I think he went to the DIY section…”
Eddie is already walking away, muttering a fast, “Thanks, Ben.”
Ben’s eyes follow his figure, slowly catching Bev’s eyes from across the room. Bev who had been waiting for something to happen, to maybe confront Richie or to just talk to Ben about their plan. Her eyes widen in disbelief. To think that her two targets willingly went into the maw of the beast.
Her grin prophesizes the chaos that will ensue.
Bev is the third loser to walk towards Ben with intent today and it is to drag him to where Richie and Eddie are. They wade through the shelves, hiding behind the books as they catch sight of the pineapple patterns on Richie’s garishly purple Hawaiian shirt. They’re standing by the homestyle section, where the DIY books are hidden. Conveniently, they’re also at the most well-hidden part of the library.
Ben shivers when Bev grips his forearm, its presence on his skin like a brand. And he also can’t ignore the possibility that they might stumble into something, ehem, well… into something.
They peer through the gaps in the books a shelf away.
“…are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for tonight, or have you suddenly started an interest in… electrical engineering? Or whatever the fuck that is.”
“The only thing I’ve started an interest is in your electrical—”
“Richie, that doesn’t make sense, shut up—"
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll shut you the fuck up.”
“Oh yeah?” a challenging brow, and then those two horrible words, “make me.”
And then Eddie does it.
Eddie giggles.
Bev looks at Ben with wide eyes, Ben who is already looking at her with equally wide eyes, nodding now in understanding because he knows exactly what Bev meant last Saturday.
“Come here then, you tall ass tree.”
The thing that drills in the realization of it all is that Eddie does. Eddie makes him.
Richie who is a few feet taller than Eddie, crowding him by the shelves, is ducking down as Eddie puts her hands at the back of his neck. Eddie, who is looking at him in that sickeningly loving way, lets slip a dopey smile and that diabetes giggle.
If they had kissed, Ben would have found it more acceptable. Instead, Eddie leans forward, but not high enough and he hears Richie’s breath hitch as Eddie sucks on his collarbones, and as Ben is getting immersed in it, censoring their faces for the sake of his sanity (and maybe replacing it with other people), Bev pinches his forearm.
He yelps, but not loud enough for the two to hear him and looks down at Bev who is frantically whispering at Ben, “Get their fucking picture Ben—oh my God—this is it, this is IT!”
And Ben who has always been eager to please Bev is shaking in both excitement and nerves, finally gets his phone out of his many cargo pants pockets. He opens it, hands entering his long ass password, slips twice before finally getting it right. He gets to the home, quickly finding his camera, and then finally, clicking it.
It lags.
“Of-fucking-course!” Bev whisper screams and Ben almost cries.
She’s smacking his hands out of pure pressure, gritting her teeth the way she does when she’s anxious and then cheers silently when it finally loads. He extends his hand through the shelf, chest pressing forward to get the right angle, and then captures the scene in front of deeper into Richie’s arm (and holy hell, that hand, Richie! Up, up, up, please!).
His phone is one of the older models and it lags as he holds his finger on the shutter, so they don’t miss a shot. As he does, his phone makes the loudest, longest shutter sound that jolts the fuck out of Richie and Eddie, and in turn, Bev and Ben.
In fact, it surprises Bev so much that she latches on to Ben, who is already precariously balancing over the shelves. When she does, her body pushes Ben forward, chest pressing on the shelf hard enough that it starts teetering dangerously.
Bev’s stomach drops.
The tower of books follows.
It takes him a second to feel it, the horrifying sensation of their body falling forward, and then he thinks, crystal clear in his mind:
Ah, fuck.
The shelves fall and Ben hears Eddie shriek. It topples, books falling and getting stuck in various precarious positions, dust making Ben cough. He is still nursing his bruising elbow when he catches Bev check Richie and Eddie. Ben follows her line of sight and doesn’t see them where they would have been lying, which means they escaped. He doesn’t get to think far into it when he hears the shrill voice of the head librarian, “What in God’s name happened here?!”
Ben and Bev have never run so fast in their lives.
--
They are both panting, hands on their knees, red-faced with adrenaline pumping in their systems. Heart beating fast, and for Ben, for two entirely different reasons. They’ve run far away from the library, finding recluse in the park. He’s lucky his shift ended swiftly right after, but he’ll probably go back to help the volunteer after him to ease his guilt.
After a few minutes, Bev whips her head to look at him, a smile brightening her whole face and under the afternoon light, she looks like an angel. A particularly scheming angel, but beautiful nonetheless. She offers her hand to him, palm up and he feels warm all over. In a daze, Ben rests his palms down to Bev’s, holding her hand.
However, Bev looks at him, brows furrowed. He looks down at their entwined hands, looks up again at Bev who has an amused smile, and when she says, “Your phone?” Ben blushes as impressively as, what Richie would say, “winter fire, right Ben?”
He snatches his hand away as quick as lightning and then digs through his pocket for his phone. He hands it to Bev without looking at her, feet idly kicking at the gravel when he hears her incredulous exclaim, “What?!”
Ben rushes to her side, looks over her shoulder, and then deflates into his own shame. Bev keeps swiping back and forth, only to see nothing but the blurry figures of Richie and Eddie, the color of their clothes more seen than the detail of their faces or positions. A few of the pictures has Ben’s fingers covering most of Richie’s body. Stan will not accept this.
The next barrage of pictures Ben got by holding on to the screen is but a few other depressing pictures of objects falling—smudged and distorted by the unstable camera.
Ben goes to apologize but Bev beats him too it with a sigh, “I’m sorry Ben. This whole mission is starting to stink but I won’t rest easy unless I prove it to Stan,” she says, looking beyond him and into the sky. After a moment, Bev looks down and catches his eye. When she smiles, he knew in his heart he will do whatever she wants if it made her happy, and wonders how he could feel something so true and not have the courage to share it to her, like he always did with other truths of life.
“Come on,” she says, “I’ll help you with the library.”
They spend the rest of the afternoon and the early evening cleaning up the library.
--
MISSION: LOSERS ARE LOVER BOYS
Thu. 4:00 pm
Bev: I changed the name so mike won’t think it’s the other group chat again and jeopardize our hard work
Mike: Again, I’m sorryyy
Mike: I won’t do it again, I promise
Bev: Ya better not
--
Thu. 6:00 pm
Bill: im on my laptop
Bev: o..kay?
Bill: dropped my phone in cookie batter yesterday so its kinda ruined right now
Ben: I can check it out if you want Bill
Bill: Oh! Thanks Ben. Eddie cleaned it already, and tried to fix it but the screen is really damaged…
Ben: I think I can do something about it. does tomorrow sound good? You can drop it off at the library
Bill: I will, thanks a lot ben
Bill: my arm hurts, we baked cookies the whole day
Bill: BUT ALSO
Bill: tomorrow
Bill: tomorrow night, reddie will meet
Mike: so its reddie, huh?
Bev: WHAT ELSE DO YOU KNOW
Bill: that’s all I got out from eddie
Bill: well, that’s all he told me, we were making cookies for Richie apparently
Bev: DID YOU GET RECORDING OF THAT
Bev: CAUSE THAT’LL PROVE TO THE BASTARD STAN
Bill: I think you’re forgetting that I dropped my phone in the cookie batter
Mike: which battered your phone
Ben: hahaha that’s so witty Mike
Bev: the funny thing is, I know ben isn’t being sarcastic here
Bev: mike honey I love you but please keep your puns to your dearly beloved stan ok
Bill: no one’s gonna say it cause youre all too nice but without stan, richie or eddie, bev has become the Meanest
Bev: I prefer “honest” bill
Bev: but anyway
Bev: WHERE WILL THEY BE GOING TO TOMORROW NIGHT
Mike: I think the quarry?
Mike: I accidentally sent that to the loser gc
Mike: that’s why i also deleted it
Bev: Oh so all for a good cause then
Bev: still doesn’t excuse you for deleting our almost three year-old group chat
Mike: im sorry
Bill: Mike if it helps, I don’t think anyone is really going to need to read that, other than maybe Richie for the selfies he deleted on his phone for and “saved” in the group chat for storage
Bev: nah, its probably in eddie’s chat
Bev: and,,, more
Mike: BEV!
Ben: Bev! :o
Bill: bev is manifesting richie and stan at the same time, worry when she starts manifesting them along with eddie
--
So, the plan goes like this.
They’re going to the quarry at six, with their phones fully charged, on silent and tucked safely in their pockets. They’re going to find Richie and Eddie and take a picture of them. As soon as they get them in a hug or something… that would irrevocably mean they’re dating, (Bev refused to lay the parameters explicitly—“Just, anything sweeter than they already are!) they’ll bolt out of the forest and then show it to Stan the next day.
There are many ways it goes wrong, but let’s start with Stan.
--
The house is silent other than the pitter patter of Stan’s footfalls. He is deft and efficient with his movements, sure of where he hides his equipment with all the years that he’s used them.
The bad thing about being a bird enthusiast in Derry is that no one else shares the same interest as him in this small town (other than, well, Mike, but that’s because he’s Mike). But the good thing about it is that the biodiversity of birds here is more than he will ever get in other cities, given the nature that surrounds them. Admittedly, it’ll be one of the few things he’ll miss about Derry.
He straps his binoculars in his neck, the high spec-camera he got from his aunt and his phone. He’s going to be in the forest well into the night, so he gets an emergency flashlight too. Just in case. His Facebook group alerted him of some rare birds migrating into the area, and if he didn’t find them, he could always enjoy a night with the fireflies by the quarry.
Maybe one day he’ll invite the other Losers, when they moved on from their ‘mission’. And when Richie started talking to him like before. He huffs, refusing to sour his mood and then walks on.
--
“Just one tiny picture,” Bev repeats.
The sun is going down now, an orange brand in the sky, coating them all in warm tones. This does not mask the mischief and excitement in Bev’s eyes, and the complete fear in the rest of the boys.
Ben shuffles on his feet, hesitates before making up his mind to ask, “We’re not going to walk in on them having sex, right?”
Which is followed by a stilted silence that only exposes that this was their exact fear.
Bev doesn’t let it deter her and smiles, “Maybe if we find them soon enough, Ben. Maybe we won’t have to.”
They all laugh. She is not kidding.
--
It takes them longer than usual to get deeper into the woods, opting to leave their bikes so they could hide better. Bev is enthusiastic as she trudges on, boots crushing the crunchy leaves on the forest floor. It’s starting to get darker when Mike sees it first.
Too colorful and fresh, out of place on the forest floor in that the flowers do not grow in this space. He kneels, examines it, and in his peripherals, catches sight of a path of petals leading somewhere.
“Richie and Eddie’s mating ritual,” Bev mutters as she follows Mike’s line of eyesight.
Bill lets out a shocked laugh, “C-could have just called it their romance, Bev.”
She ignores him, walking towards the path as the sun disappears behind the trees. Bev directs her phone’s torch light to the path of petals on the ground and then beckons the others to follow.
For a moment, they brace themselves for what is to come.
--
Despite their dramatics, they inevitably settle at a slow pace, the flowers petering out as they go further into the forest. They also dial up their stealth, just in case the terrible two decided to be extra quiet for once in their lives.
Maybe it is the silence or the surrounding darkness that allows Ben to speak his mind.
“I’m actually… excited,” he confesses, “If all of this is true, and we haven’t been making it all up. Cause they’ve been wanting this for so long and they really deserve it.”
Bill nods along.
“I’ll admit, I never really… thought of it as l-like that. But y-yeah, it’s always b-been the two of them. It m-makes suh-sense.”
He smiles at his memory of the two of them, always bickering but also always the first to be there for each other. He remembers Richie learning how to clean wounds for when Eddie got hurt, and all those times Eddie kept calling Bill at two in the morning about how amazing it is that Richie knew exactly how to clean and bandage his wounds. How it was sweet and telling of how smart Richie was.
In hindsight, Bill should have realized that time that Eddie loved Richie more than a friend.
“I wonder where Stan is right now, though,” Mike says after a while.
Bev snorts, “Probably getting ready for bed. It’s like seven already and he’s the type to spend hours on a sleep routine like one of those lifestyle youtubers.”
“Actually, he only takes twenty minutes. Stan’s very efficient with his time.” Mike replies.
“Of course, Mike,” Bev says in a shit-eating grin that makes Ben think twice about Mike and Stan.
Bill scrambles to distract them from any teasing, derailing it before it gets too rowdy, “A-about Stan…” The rest stop bickering to listen, “I th-think Stan’s just upset about the puh-possibility that Richie didn’t t-tell him first. About Eddie. In a w-way, Stan’s always been Richie’s confidant.”
“Yeah, Stan knows more than I do. I always have to weasel it out of my boy Richie,” Bev sighs. She seems to be saying something after that, but Bill interrupts her, his curiosity taking over.
“About that, Bev,” he starts.
“What?” she asks, eyes never leaving the trail.
“Why are you so intent on proving Stan that they’re dating?”
Silence settles once again in the forest as Bev and the others mull it out. They’ve been asking themselves that, as well, and never had the time or opportunity to ask Bev. The crunch of leaves and the sound of distant animals fill the air.
“I… I know how it looks like, alright,” she starts. “Like, even way before they came out to us last year, I was already noticing the thing between them. And at first, I thought they were just scared, you know? But after they came out to us, Eddie a month after Richie did, I thought for sure they were going to get together. But…” the uncertainty in Bev’s voice fades into the night forest before she swallows the lump in her throat and continues.
“I tried to talk to Richie about it, but he had a lot of hang ups about it. And I think he was still scared of it, being… gay. And I spent the whole year after that subtly showing them that it was okay for us, if they were to get together.”
Ben’s mind clicks, remembering how Bev would go out of her way to say that she loves a certain character on TV, especially because she thinks they’re gay. “Don’t you think so too, Richie? Sherlock looks kinda chummy with John, doesn’t he? I wish they’d just fucking kiss already.”
“But fuck, when I saw them and heard from their own mouth that they were dating, I dunno, I got excited? Then I thought about it, and it looked like they were comfortable with each other like that, so they must have been together for a long time, right? And yet they’re still trying to hide it when they’re with us. I don’t know. I just—” Bev groans in frustration and this is the first time Bill realizes how much Bev was taking this seriously.
“We’re gonna go to college and we only have a few precious weeks together. I don’t want them to spend that time thinking they need to hide away from us. I want them to spend time with us being the truest they can be.
“And I thought that if I convinced Stan that they’re dating, maybe Stan could be subtle enough and talk to Richie. Cause he listens to Stan.”
Then, Bev turns to Bill, “I would have asked you Bill, cause’ you are kind of like that with Eddie. But you’re also a bad liar, you can’t be subtle for shit.”
They all laugh at that because it’s true.
--
It takes them a few more minutes of walking, idly chatting, and casually surveilling their surroundings when they hear it.
A giggle.
More than that, it’s the giggle.
The one that’s been haunting Bev for the past few days.
“The mythical giggle of Eddie Kaspbrak—” Bev whips around to look at them and Bill swears he can see the fire in her eyes, “It calls for us.”
Bev follows the faint music and finds a line of bushes. They all usher behind the shrubbery and then peak over it as much as they can without being seen.
There they are.
The Richie and Eddie Show.
Bev, Bill, and Ben fit under a group of bushes, while Mike sits under a large tree, its wide branches having enough leaves to hide them even better. Bev is shaking, her excitement overpowering her previous mood. Mike can feel her anticipation and he shivers as a cool night’s breeze passes by them.
In the dark, the forest is unfamiliar, but it takes them just one sight of the still water they claimed in their youth and the large cliff side a familiar shadow under the moonlight’s gaze, for them to know they’re in the Quarry.
A few meters from them, lay Richie and Eddie. They sit languidly on a large blanket, Eddie’s legs tangled with Richie, grinning at each other as they do, but now with unmasked affection.
Mike looks beyond them, and he realizes with a quiet gasp what Richie was working on yesterday. The wood had been made into square lanterns with different patterned holes, the light inside them creating dancing shadows of orange light.
Oh, that romantic mother fucker.
Bill, on the other hand, focuses on Eddie who is looking at Richie like he will eat him. Like the cookies that hangs from his mouth right now. The cookies that they made in his kitchen. The cookie that he is still nibbling on, never fully consuming, as he moves to lean toward Richie who just looks at Eddie, waiting.
He sees Eddie quirk his brow, face just a few centimeters from Richie. Then, with just enough pause to be unbearably steamy, he nudges Richie’s lips open with the end of the cookie before slotting it into his mouth.
Bill hears Ben’s surprised gasp, and he swears he can hear Bev’s cogs running.
Richie jumps slightly, but accepts the cookie, munching on it with a wide-eyed fluster going on.
Eddie simply leans back and smiles, way too smug for it to be their first time.
Bev is just about praying for the Gods to let her scream. But to protect the sanctity and principles of spying on their two best friends, Bev whisper-screams instead, “Are you getting this—Ben, are you getting this?!” then she turns on the other two, “Why aren’t you taking a video of them?! The more video, the more angle, the more evidence!”
Eddie has stopped teasing Richie, the latter of whom started relaxing afterwards but not without his own sexually charged response.
(God, Bill shudders, ‘sexually charged response.’)
They all settle, phones in hand hidden behind the shrubbery like dirty paparazzi.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Eddie says with a lilt, voice shy but also pleased. They’re playing their game again.
“Like what?” Richie says, as per their well-worn script. Still looking at Eddie like that.
“Like you wanna eat me.”
“Oh, but what if I do?” Richie grins at Eddie with both mischief and intent, and Eddie could only giggle back at him in surprise (and probably arousal too, if they would guess. But they don’t think much further, for their sanity).
Their back and forth is familiar, it’s just like how they act when they’re with the rest of the Losers—but more… honest. Honest in their intent and attraction towards each other, none of the fake fights just for a sliver of a touch.
In front of them, Richie wraps his fingers around Eddie’s ankles, laying them on his lap again. He brushes Eddie’s calves with his knuckle, touching for the sake of touching, looking because he can look.
In their silence, the sweet murmur of music filters through the night air. It is an intimate version of the original, sung in a deeper, almost ethereal tone. Ben knows this music to his bones, and so he mutters it subconsciously, “…and you’ll say, all your dirtiest jokes for me—” blushing when Bev joins him, as quiet as she can.
An owl hoots in the distance.
The crickets and the wind join the chorus.
A gust of air rustles the trees.
They shiver.
The warmth from Richie’s lamps comforts them with its flickering light.
Mike traces R+E on the forest floor and smiles.
In this moment in the night, they are nothing but small flecks in the universe biding their time.
Bill shifts, sneakers streaking an indent from where he moves. He’s stopped taking a video, his phone still unstable. The guilt that creeps through his spine evades his mind for a few seconds before he pushes it back. They won’t show this to anyone other than Stan. Plus, it’s all for a good cause, right?
He suffers in shame before shaking his head and instead watches two of his oldest best friends, fascinated at how different they seem, and yet, still the same.
Beside Eddie is a large basket, presumably of their food, a medical kit and maybe some clothes. Bill watches on as the light from Richie’s lamp cast them in dancing shadows, their eyes twinkling in undeniable young love.
They grin.
“…you’re my, my, my, my…”
“Lover…”
Richie stands up abruptly. Eddie watches him from the ground with a lovesick smile he might not even be aware of. Richie leans down, bows as if in the old days and then extends his hand, “May I?”
And of course, Eddie thinks, as he accepts his hand (and his heart), you may.
The next song plays.
“It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside…”
Richie’s hands rest on Eddie’s waist, the latter laying his head on Richie’s chest where he can feel his heart and his voice ringing through his body.
Richie sings along, “I'm not one of those who can easily hide,” Eddie chuckles, “I don't have much money, but boy, if I did. I'd buy a big house where we both could live…”
Eddie looks up then, hands roaming up to his bicep, and with laughter in his voice, “You gonna buy me a house when you’re a rich and famous comedian, baby?”
And you can tell everybody this is your song
Eddie is teasing, but also kind of not.
It may be quite simple but now that it’s done
“I’d give you more than that, Eddie, my love,” Richie admits, breathlessly.
I hope you don't mind
“I’d give you the world.”
I hope you don’t mind
“I’d give you the universe.”
That I put down in words
“Any future, any reality, any life you’d want.”
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
“If you’d spend it with me.”
Eddie does not wait any second longer as he chases Richie’s lips and they kiss, languid yet charged. Eddie’s hands entwine behind Richie’s neck, and Richie pulls Eddie towards his chest, body flush and hot.
They stay like that, bodies touching toe to forehead, swaying and holding each other as they share a breath.
--
Bev is shaking with tears. Her grip on Ben’s biceps tightening every second as they watch. They stay frozen, so captured by the moment as if they were the ones confessing love for each other. She distantly thinks that this must be what the other girls have felt when they cooed over their tv shows. This is better though.
This is real.
Just a few feet away from them, Eddie stands in his tip toes.
Bev starts shaking Ben in her need to release some tension.
Bill holds his breath.
Mike’s eyes are bulging, watching every step, every move, every flicker.
Ben yearns.
When Eddie leans back, the rest of the Losers wait with bated breath. And then.
He smiles, voice sweet but intentional, “I would,” he admits, like it is a secret and not the inevitability of every reality where they exist together. “Because I love you.”
The words hit the rest of the Losers straight to the heart. Bev is openly weeping (a distant image of only five of them hugging each other in grief, bloodied and bruised, much older, invading her mind, and she knows they’re luckier this time).
Ben’s heart explodes in so much longing. Bill is writing paragraphs upon paragraphs of the first time he thinks he’s seen love this true. And Mike relishes in it. He feels so much younger.
They take their time, the moment, to let the word sink in. Richie is standing stock-still in front of Eddie, looking so enamored. No fear, no doubts, nothing but Eddie.
That’s when it happens.
The seconds of silence, with new music in the night, and Richie watching him with an unfiltered gaze, that’s when Eddie speaks again.
“And I’m not just saying that just because I know you’re all watching.”
That’s when Stan falls from the tree.
--