Work Text:
Eddie doesn’t even realize the bowl that was recently in his hands is now on the ground until he hears Mike on the other end of the phone asking what’s wrong.
“Shit, nothing,” he says quickly, grateful that he had yet to put anything into the bowl, now shattered in pieces at his feet. “We’re going where? ”
“You haven’t looked at the groupchat in a while, have you?” he hears Bill say, muffled in the background. “The Hanlon’s called this morning – it is stomach flu city over there.”
“Eugh,” Eddie says, tiptoeing around shards of ceramic. “So we’re going to, uh. We’re going to Richie’s?”
“Yeah,” Mike says, tentative. “Richie offered, but he and the others do things on Friday.”
Eddie stopped, the hall closet door open as he stares directly at the broom but doesn’t reach for it.
"That's sweet," he says, distant as he finally grabs the broom.
Mike hums, a buzz in Eddie's ear as he presses the phone between his ear and his shoulder.
"We should've called," he says, teetering on an apology that won't be necessary.
It's not Mike's fault his family got sick, or his fault that Richie's kinder than anyone has any right to be.
He sighs, returning to the broken dish on the floor, sweeping it up as best as he can without the full use of both of his arms.
"No, no," he says, tediously brushing the shards onto one linoleum tile. "Guess that just means money where my mouth is on this weekend, huh?"
On the other end, Bill and Mike have both gone silent.
"Unless you two think it's a bad idea, which is really all my lizard brain is hearing with all this quiet happening," Eddie says, cold sweat pricking his hands.
"No!" they both rush to say, but Eddie can hear the sincerity amongst the chaos. "We're still with you no matter what, man."
Eddie smiles despite the pounding against his ribcage.
"Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," he says, leaning against his counter as they say their goodbyes.
Tomorrow, where he'll be in Richie's apartment for the second time under completely different circumstances than the last time. Tomorrow, where he'll have to admit that what's been lingering for months since he was here the last time is more than he's been letting on.
Tomorrow, where he'll finally admit he broke his one rule and fell for Richie Tozier.
/
The day starts off well, sun streaming in through the windows rather than Eddie’s alarm blaring in his ear. It's a welcome change, a sign that today might not be too daunting.
He's got some time before he has to get going – Mike and Bill will be around in a few hours, their place being both two blocks away and in the direction of Richie's a welcome convenience – so he takes time to stretch, letting the morning wash over him in an easy glow.
On the table beside his bed, his phone is dark but he knows Richie's text thread is open behind the skyline of his lock screen, frozen in last night's reassurances that he won't have to bring anything along.
He's going to bring wine anyway.
The bed frame creaks as he rolls to his side, grabbing his phone and unlocking it. He scrolls, just for a second, looking at all the spaces where he almost cut his losses and just texted him.
There were only so many ways Eddie could try to phrase it, only to delete it before Richie called him out on typing for too long.
He goes through his morning pretty efficiently, showering and shaving quickly, opting for the little bottle of product that Bev told him will help the nearly-curls in his hair instead of weighing them down.
By the time he hears Bill and Mike slot their spare key into the door, he’s changed his shirt no less than six times only to go back to his second option before realizing that it’s just Richie .
It’s fucking Richie, who listened to Eddie sleepily slur his way through the woes of his divorce; Richie, who once laughed so hard about Eddie pouting about dropping popcorn on himself that he dropped his phone on his face; Richie, who plays songs Eddie suggests without question, without realizing they’ve been about him all along.
“Who’s in my house?” Eddie calls, letting some of the nerves dissipate as Mike calls back, “a burglar!” as he usually does.
Bill peeks his head into the bedroom, where Eddie is standing in front of the closet mirror.
“Ready?” he says, but it sounds like you’ll be okay.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, when he means here’s hoping, smoothing his shirt out one more time.
/
Richie is an incredible cook, because of course that’s another thing Eddie needs tacked to the board of reasons to fall for Richie Tozier board, as if it’s not overflowing already.
Incredible cook, pinned right next to ‘ ridiculous sense of humor’ and right below ‘caring uncle-soon-to-be-father’ , both of which are nestled in nice and close to ‘tall, broad and handsome’.
“... when he’s done being a space cadet at least,” Eddie hears, followed by a nudge in the shins.
He shakes the fog away and refocuses, only to be met with twin Tozier smirks as they sit elbow to elbow, turned in some kind of inside joke that Eddie has obviously missed.
The table around him is alive with chatter – Mike and Bill on his left; Richie and Leo across from him; Bev on his right, tucked close to Ben still believing she’s the master of subtlety; Stan and Patty to complete the circle. He’s not sure what he missed, but he’d bet the only people listening besides the Toziers were Mike and Bill anyway.
He’ll take that loss if it means he gets to see Richie grin behind a sip of red wine.
Conversation shifts as quickly as the smirk on Richie’s lips fades and before he knows it, plates are cleared and they’re moving to the living room.
Richie’s puttering with the record player, holding an album in one hand as he gestures to his collection, probably giving Bill a run-down of the stacks in front of him. He draws his gaze away, hoping he was subtle enough to not get caught, but he meets Mike’s eye easily, eyebrows quirked.
He shakes his head once, hopefully saying ‘ not yet’ without any words.
Mike just grins, shakes his head a little as he takes a drink from the bottle in his hands, a silent ‘if you’re sure’.
And that’s the thing – nothing about Richie makes him feel sure .
At ease? Yes. Warm all the way to his toes? Absolutely.
But the fun of it is being sure in all the ways he’s unsure.
Next to him, a throat is cleared and he turns to find Leo, arms crossed as she follows Eddie’s eyes to Richie and Bill by the record player.
“We’ve gotta work on making this less weird, Mr. K,” she says, matter of fact, and Eddie can’t help but laugh.
“You can start by not calling me ‘Mr. K’ when we’re not at school,” he says, nudging her shoulder lightly. “Eddie’s fine.”
She breaks into a smile then.
“Sure thing, Eds,” she says, barely getting the words out before she splits into laughter, and Eddie can’t help but follow.
Like father, like daughter.
“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, bemused. “You said something about kicking my ass at Mario Kart?”
“Oh, you’re on,” Leo says, finger pointing at him as she walks backwards toward the TV to grab controllers.
/
The sky is starting to burn into deeper oranges by the time they’re about to crown a champion of the tournament, a rousing final match set between Leo, Bev, Stan and Mike that has everyone captivated.
Well, almost everyone.
They’re about to start their final course when Eddie notices Richie puttering around the kitchen, packing away leftovers and corking half-finished bottles of wine. He’s got a bit of whipped cream on the corner of his mouth, probably leftover from when he dipped into the mixing bowl as he scraped the rest of the dessert into a container.
Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Eddie’s standing at the kitchen island, picking up tinfoil and helping Richie cover dishes. They’re moving around each other in the kitchen seamlessly, a dance only rehearsed once between chocolate-and-smoke flavored kisses late at night when they were just high enough to justify ice cream at two in the morning.
The way Richie looks at him makes Eddie believe he’s not the only one remembering that right now.
“Hey, no, I’ve got it,” Richie says as Eddie pushes his sleeves up a little further, dipping into the soapy dishwater to start to wipe down some of the plates lining the bottom.
Eddie shrugs. “Least I can do. Adding three people on short notice isn’t easy.”
“What are friends for?” Richie says easily, holding out a hand towel to Eddie.
Rolling his eyes, Eddie moves the washed plates to the empty side of the double sink, accepting the towel and drying his hands a little longer than necessary. He can feel Richie’s eyes on him, can feel his ears burning at the thought of him looking.
Behind them, the tournament rages on, nobody any the wiser to Eddie’s heart making a valiant effort to beat right out of his chest in the middle of the kitchen.
Eddie swallows, sets the towel on the counter and clears his throat.
“Balcony?” he suggests. He’s pretty sure it’s the only word he’s able to get out before he thinks about it for too long.
Richie’s eyebrows furrow for just a second, so short that if Eddie had blinked he would’ve missed it, but his eyes have been on Richie the whole time.
“Sure thing, Eds,” he says, and Eddie snuffs a laugh.
“Leo said the same thing,” Eddie says after Richie tilts his head in question. “You two really are related.”
“That’s what they keep telling me,” Richie says, leading them to the balcony door, “and since I can’t find the receipt, I’m inclined to believe them.”
Eddie actually laughs at that one, a little harder than he anticipated, caught off guard by the deadpan of Richie’s voice before Richie breaks into laughter of his own.
The air is still as Richie shuts the balcony door behind them, the crispness of fall biting at the tip of Eddie’s nose as he leans, resting his forearms against the railing. Richie matches him, still taller even leaned over like this. It’s infuriating as much as it’s captivating, the ways that Richie could just cover him completely, wrap his body around Eddie until he’s not sure where Richie starts or ends.
“You drive me nuts,” says someone who sounds eerily like Eddie, if Eddie had opened his mouth.
Except he did. He did open his mouth and he did say that and now Richie’s looking at him, face twisted somewhere between amused and confused and Eddie just… can’t stop it.
Richie laughs, a little nervous from what Eddie can tell.
“Not too far of a drive if you ask me,” Richie says, voice tight despite the joke.
“No,” Eddie says, softly as he hangs his head for just a second. “No, just let me--”
Richie’s mouth shuts with a click , followed by the miming of him zipping his lips and throwing the key off the balcony.
Eddie laughs lightly, head shaking. “That’s what I mean. Right there.”
Richie stays silent.
“You always get me to break, even when I don’t want to,” Eddie says, picking his head up and looking up to where the sun is setting between high-rises.
“You know I used to hate talking on the phone?” he continues, and Richie shakes his head. “I hated it. After all the assisted living places with my mom, the divorce lawyers with Myra, it just… it sucked the life out of me every time I had to talk on the phone.”
“And then you come along, and suddenly it’s like I never felt like that,” Eddie says, pushing past everything inside him telling him to stop, to breathe, to look away.
He looks at Richie, not surprised to meet his gaze.
“I want to talk to you all the time,” Eddie admits, soft into the warm glow of the sunset, to the warm glow of his own cheeks. “About everything. And I know we basically do that now, but I just--”
Eddie sighs, a sharp exhale. Steels himself.
Now or never.
“I want to be able to kiss the dumb grin off your face when you make a shitty joke, despite the fact that I’ll probably still laugh at it,” Eddie says, all in one whoosh of breath as he looks at Richie. “I want to actually watch movies together, not just over FaceTime. I want to be there for you with everything with Leo, if you’ll have me. Fuck, Richie, I want to listen to the Doors if it means I get to do it with you.”
He takes a breath, composes himself, then continues.
“I’m not sure what this means for us,” he says, looking down at his hands. “Or if you even want it to mean anything. I’m not sure if I’m ready for it to mean everything right away, because I know this involves more than just us, I just--- I needed you to know.”
When Eddie looks at him again, Richie’s eyes are wide open, lips parted in a soft o, like he probably hasn’t even realized it’s open. He probably doesn’t. He looks a little how Eddie feels.
Shellshocked. Winded. Maybe a little delirious.
“W-wait, Eddie, what are you--” Richie says, the fog finally lifting enough in the pause Eddie takes. “Holy shit.”
“ That’s what you have to say?” Eddie says, a little unhinged in the high of everything he just said. “I’m spilling my guts and all you have to say is ‘ holy shit’ ?”
Richie laughs then, high and nervous before melting into his usual laugh, warm and full and a little electrifying. It makes Eddie feel like he’s floating, like he could just join the pink painted clouds above their heads.
Richie makes him feel like that a lot.
They’re still leaning against the railing, but at some point, they moved closer together, leaning into the other’s space and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything better.
“Yeah, Eds,” Richie says, and Eddie swears he can feel the words against his own lips. “Holy shit.”
The slightest gasp makes its way into Eddie’s lungs as his eyes flutter shut. The last thing he sees before they close completely is Richie moving closer and closer until --
“Richie, your phone is --” Bev is saying as the door swings open with a creak. They both stop, eyes snapping open, turning toward her. The space between them gets wider and Eddie’s heart aches, the phantom pain of almost radiating in his chest. “Uh… ringing. It’s Danny.”
“Shit,” Richie says, moving to grab it from Bev where it is, in fact, still ringing.
Bev turns to retreat back inside as he answers, but not before Eddie catches one knowing, wide-eyed look from her as the door shuts behind her.
“Yeah, no, now is fine” Richie is saying into the phone, scratching at the back of his neck, voice completely void of the softness from moments earlier. “What’s up?”
Eddie suddenly feels like he’s intruding, so he motions to Richie that he’s going to head back inside, but he doesn’t get so far as his hand on the doorknob before Richie’s hand is wrapped around his wrist.
‘Stay,’ Richie mouths, punctuating it with a squeeze of his hand around Eddie’s wrist before it slides down to take Eddie’s hand.
“Pretty good late Christmas present if you ask me,” Richie says, after a second, a light laugh at the edge of his words. “Shit, man, that’s incredible… yeah, we can do that. I’ll clear the calendar.”
There’s a bit more silence, not that Eddie’s properly heard anything but static since Richie’s fingers interlocked with his own.
“Yeah,” Richie says. “January 4th. Got it, we’ll be there. Thanks, Danny.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, finally piecing together that Danny is –
“Family courts,” Richie says, once he’s off the phone. He’s smiling. He’s still holding Eddie’s hand. “Leo and I, we… we finally got an adoption trial date.”
“Holy shit!” Eddie says, unsure he could say much else, not with the swell of excitement in his chest. “Richie, that’s --”
“ That’s what you have to say?” Richie parrots, smirk sliding onto his lips easily. “I just got one of the best phone calls of my life and all you have to say is holy shit?”
Eddie barks a laugh, squeezes Richie’s hand. “You’re--”
“Insufferable,” Richie says, stealing the words from Eddie’s mouth. He’s close enough to it again where he could’ve. “I know.”
It doesn’t take much, then, to lean in and close the gap between them.
It’s soft for just a moment before Richie gets a hand along Eddie’s jaw, and Eddie’s lips part just enough to deepen the kiss, a sure and firm press of Richie’s mouth against his own, and it’s nothing short of absolutely fucking intoxicating.
Eddie’s too breathless before very long, reluctantly pulling away and setting their foreheads together.
It’s an easy silence in the way it’s not silent at all -- below them, cars bustle about, most likely en route to their next Black Friday deal. Inside, someone is cheering about a hard-fought tournament win.
But here, right in front of him, all Eddie can hear is the blood rushing in his ears.
Richie brushes his nose against Eddies after a moment.
“I should probably tell them about the call,” he says, softly, “before Bev spills and sends a search party.”
Eddie huffs a nearly-silent laugh, a puff of breath more than anything. “Yeah, probably.”
“We’ll talk later?” Richie says, another squeeze of his hand.
Calm. Reassuring. Grounding.
Richie.
They’re all synonyms, at least they are to Eddie.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, squeezing back. “I’ll be here.”
“Of course you will,” Richie says, grin slipping back onto his face. “Don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a new DILF in town.”
Eddie groans, regretfully lets Richie’s hand go in favor of opening the door, laughing as he shoves him through.