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Richie stares at his phone screen, then up at his open bedroom door. It’s dark, with Richie only able to see the vague outline of his bed and the body currently inhabiting it. He leans over a little further, the armrest of his couch digging painfully into the small of his back. The only source of light is Eddie’s phone screen, held inches away from Eddie’s face. It illuminates the slope of his nose, the small dimple that peeks out when he frowns. His brow is furrowed as he stares at the screen expectantly.
Richie slides back down, the worn cushions sagging underneath his weight. Since last night Eddie’s been a shadow behind Richie. He doesn’t hesitate to press in close to Richie when they’re on the couch watching a movie, the firm lines of their bodies blending and growing hazy. If Richie passes him a cup of coffee, or a plate of food, Eddie will let their fingers brush as he looks up at Richie with a tired, but grateful smile.
His phone buzzes in his lap. Well I want you to sleep here.
He looks back up and sees Eddie shift under the blankets. The small form of Daisy follows, resettling against his chest. Richie can hear her purring from his spot in the living room.
Richie sends a quick reply back before heaving himself up to his feet. His tailbone aches at the sudden movement and he has to roll his left shoulder so it can pop back into place. Eddie was right, the couch has fucked him up.
When he patters into the room, footsteps careful against the cool, hardwood floor, four small heads perk up. Daisy has curled herself into a tight ball in the center of Eddie’s chest with only one paw stretching forward to press against an arm tucked underneath a pillow. Baby peeks out from the space behind Eddie’s head with a small, tired meow at Richie. Meanwhile Swazey and Mazie are sprawled at the foot of the bed, Mazie immediately jumping to her feet.
She steps towards Richie, head leaning out to bump against his side. He laughs softly and runs a hand down her back.
“Hi,” he whispers, then looks up at Eddie, who’s watching him carefully. Even in the dark Richie can see the worry etched into his face, eyes rimmed with dark circles. All the lively energy has been seeped out of him, leaving him limp in Richie’s bed with the blankets pulled up to his chin.
“Hey,” Eddie answers instead. His voice is soft and raspy from disuse. “Just brushing your teeth, right?”
Richie pauses at the side of the bed. The bathroom door is right behind him and he knows he should be responsible enough to brush his teeth before bed. Wentworth Tozier has never been a very stern man, but he drilled in the “ brush and floss twice a day” regimen into Richie’s brain at a young age. But Eddie’s silent pleas for another body next to him are coming in waves, hitting Richie harder with each one. The feeling of Eddie in his arms has been burned into his skin and it itches for that weight again.
“Unless you can handle my cilantro-smelling breath, Eds,” Richie manages.
A sliver of moonlight peeks through the curtains, just enough to capture the small smile that flickers across Eddie’s face, short-lived but still there. “Absolutely not. Won’t your dad be disappointed?”
Richie waves a hand nonchalantly, brushing off the twinge of disappointment in his chest. “He’s half-way across the country, he wouldn’t know.”
“Sure, sure,” Eddie replies to Richie’s back, as he turns the knob to the bathroom door and flicks on the light. Richie carefully avoids glancing back. He knows if he could fully see Eddie in his own bed with the help of some light, he wouldn’t be able to walk away from it.
As soon as the door clicks shut, Richie lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His body sways forward, hands catching himself on the edges of the sink. Richie didn’t think this would ever happen. Or, rather, in this context. They’ve slept in the same hotel room two times now and even that was… a lot. To hear Eddie’s breath become slow and steady, to watch the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He always had his back to Richie and maybe that was for good reason. If he had seen the way Eddie probably looks so peaceful when he sleeps, that dark brow smoothed out―
Richie yanks the faucet on, resolutely letting the water drown out his thoughts before he can spiral any further. He carefully avoids looking at his own reflection, too, afraid he’ll see nothing but the bags under his eyes and stubble that’s grown way past a meticulous five o’clock shadow.
If it’s dark he can’t see you, Richie tells the dark cloud forming in the back of his head. It doesn’t really do much to keep it at bay. He sighs, mouth overwhelmed by artificial mint flavor and cleaner than it was two minutes ago.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he mutters. “He just needs some comfort. His mom died, come on.”
Richie doesn’t allow his brain to have a comeback, just opens the door and turns the bathroom light off in one, swift movement.
The shadowed outline of Eddie reels back slightly. “Jesus, you don’t need to be so flashy about it.”
“Doctor Tozier is here to fill a prescription for cuddles,” Richie blurts out, far too loud even in his own ears. Way to be chill about it.
“Wrong Doctor Tozier,” Eddie bites back without much heat. It’s lukewarm at best.
“Eh,” Richie shrugs. “My dad doesn’t really prescribe medication that often.”
With that, he pulls back a corner of the blankets and joins the other body in his bed. It’s been longer than Richie cares to admit since he’s had another person in it for any reason. Him and Stan primarily stay on the couch whenever he’s over and that’s where the list stops for people who come to his apartment. Los Angeles gays aren’t exactly lining up to get with whatever Richie Tozier is.
Eddie watches as Richie settles, so still that he almost falls back into the pockets of darkness in Richie’s room. But Richie can hear his breathing, and his own labored breaths roaring in his ears. He’s careful to keep himself on the edge of the bed, to the point that if he scooted back even a millimeter he’d be toppling onto the floor.
Richie ignores the way his skin screams for the person only inches away from him. It aches, a persistent throb thrumming in his bones. He wants to close the distance between them, feel even a semblance of how it felt to hold Eddie tight the night before or maybe even feel something more. Richie forces his joints to lock up and buries the want.
“Is this better?” Eddie whispers. He’s still carefully poised in place.
“My back is rejoicing,” Richie answers. “Angels are singing, the light is shining down on me―”
“Shut up,” Eddie interjects, before moving across the small expanse of blankets between them.
Richie’s heart immediately leaps in his throat, gaze unable to break away from Eddie slowly sliding towards him. It happens in slow motion: Eddie’s hand presses against Richie’s shoulder like a searing brand, their calves brush under the sheets, and Eddie’s cheek rests on top of Richie’s chest.
His pulse quickens to the point that Richie can physically feel it thumping in his chest. The ache inside him only grows in intensity. Richie feels like his body has been set aflame, a path of gasoline ran across the skin where it’s currently pressed to Eddie’s, and someone flicked a burning match down onto it.
Eddie nestles in, letting out a small sigh. His arm drapes itself across Richie’s torso, fingers digging into the thin, cotton material next to Richie’s hipbone. As easy as breathing, Eddie slings a leg on top of Richie’s, his foot hooking itself to Richie’s calf. He’s a warm, wonderfully alive weight against Richie.
Eddie peeks up. His eyes shine in the dark. “This okay?”
Richie nods, giving himself a spare moment to swallow the lump in his throat back down. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”
“Okay,” Eddie whispers like a secret. “Good.”
With the movements settled, Daisy follows after Eddie, purring the whole time despite her annoyance. She plops back behind him, firmly against his back. Baby lets out a disappointed meow but still slinks over. He climbs over Eddie’s waist towards the pocket of flat space between Richie and Eddie’s entangled legs. Richie can feel gentle kneading through the layers of blankets. Swazey is the only one who moves from the foot of the bed. His movements are careful as he walks up to Richie’s face, so he doesn’t fall off the edge of the bed. When he curls up on Richie’s shoulder, Richie reaches up to scratch behind his ears. Mazie simply watches for a moment before her eyes slide back shut.
Eddie lets out another sigh, thick with exhaustion. “You feel really nice,” he mumbles, seconds from falling asleep.
Still, Richie’s heart skips a couple beats. “T-Thanks?”
The only response he receives is a quiet inhale and exhale. Richie finds himself smiling at it. He lets his arm wind across Eddie’s shoulder and pull him closer, the burning fire raging inside him only growing. Richie could wrap himself completely around Eddie, if he wanted to. Tie himself like a nice bow around him. Or act like a protective bubble so that nothing could ever hurt him again.
The last thing Richie thinks about before he falls asleep is the absurd image of Eddie covered head-to-toe in bubble wrap.
Two small paws knead into the side of Richie’s neck. One presses so deeply into his throat that Richie startles awake, head flying up. Swazey immediately flees from his spot and onto the floor. He stares up at Richie as he walks in a small circle, then lets out a quiet meow.
Richie’s head falls back onto the pillow. “Jesus,” he croaks.
His limbs attempt to move in order to stretch, but a weight keeps Richie pinned down. Then it hits him, the last moments of consciousness Richie had before falling asleep with Eddie fully spooning him. Richie’s stomach lurches violently.
He stares at the popcorn-textured ceiling above him, struggling to control the demanding urge to throw up. Outside there’s already cars honking at each other. Someone walks across the floor in the apartment above him. Even though the curtains are drawn, bright sunlight sneaks its way through in a sharp arc. A new day, and people have already started it.
Richie manages to glance downwards. They haven’t moved very much, only closer to the middle of the bed. Somehow Eddie has scooted closer to Richie, a significant part of his upper body resting on top of Richie. His cheek is smushed against Richie’s chest and his lips are parted slightly. Eddie’s features are smoothed out and free of any worry or exasperation. For the first time Richie can describe Eddie as looking content.
Something deep in Richie’s chest slots into place like it’s finally found the piece it needed. As Eddie’s chest rises and falls, all Richie can think is Oh.