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“I used to have the biggest crush on you.”
Richie is tipsy enough when he says it to Eddie for it to sound much more casual than it really is. To his credit, Eddie doesn’t choke on his drink, or his spit, or the pure indignation, or whatever; just raises his eyebrow disbelievingly while sucking on his colourful cocktail through his colourful straw. It’s good, Richie thinks, good timing, all things considered. It’s been long enough since Richie came out for it not to sound like something he’d say to prove it. A-ha, yes! I am a big fat gay, and to prove it, behold: my big fat gay crush on my childhood best friend! No, they’re way past that. It’s also been long enough since Eddie came out for it not put any unnecessary pressure on either of them. Richie would rather go back to Derry circa 2016 than spring that information on Eddie, who’s just mustered enough courage to admit something so important to himself and others. Could you imagine such a thing? I’m gay, Richie. What a coincidence, Eduardo, I used to be specifically gay for you when we were thirteen. And now. I’m still gay for you now. Always have been and probably always will be. But that’s beside the point. Mazel-tov! He’s not expecting anything, never has.
“Is this a-propos-nothing confession my clowniversary present?” Eddie prods.
Richie loves that clowniversary is a thing. Loves that tragedy, plus time, inevitably equals comedy, so they can joke about it now. That they spend a week bending over and backwards trying to spend as much time together as possible in as many places as possible that are not Derry. Loves that he’s here with Eddie, knowing that Ben and Bev are going to join them in the morning, that Bill is already snoring in his hotel room upstairs, and that Mike is waiting for them in fucking Florida . It’s been a long time coming.
“Depends. Did you get me anything?”
Eddie hums around a smile, eyelids heavy. “Maybe… Tell me more about your crush first though.”
Richie can’t help but laugh. It should be mortifying, the way Eddie seems to make light of Richie’s feelings, but it isn’t like that at all. Richie knows Eddie would never deliberately hurt him, or make fun of him about something important, and it’s not like Richie wasn’t aiming for exactly that - a casual admission of some old news from thirty years ago. When they were kids, Richie had a crush on Eddie. Eddie, who never really felt loved in a good and healthy way except by the Losers, is flattered and curious. Nothing more, and nothing less. Good timing.
“Those short shorts, man… Little Richie was crazy about them.”
Eddie blushes and snorts, hiding his face behind his empty glass, and yeah, Richie is still in love with him. He loves Eddie, and wants to make him smile, wants to make him feel good about himself, wants to share something intimate to remind him that they’re friends again, and that nothing will tear them apart ever again. He rests his chin on his open palm, elbow skidding on the slightly sticky table, and looks at Eddie fondly. He doesn’t want to get into any of the self-deprecating, internally homophobic reasons why he never said anything before. They both know by now, intricately. He just wants to say nice things, stick to the nice memories.
“I was obsessed with you, Spaghetti, seriously. I couldn’t stand the thought of you ignoring me, so I made it my personal mission to be the biggest pain in your ass for as long as I could. Prepubescent boys are so dumb, I have no idea why I thought being a dick would make you like me, but I guess it did, cause you were a prepubescent boy too and, as previously established, dumb. And then, you know. Puberty. That was bad. You’d never get into that hammock if you knew what it saw.”
Now Eddie splutters indignantly, but there is that wild and amused disbelief in his eyes that makes Richie grin.
“Just once. Don’t laugh, it’s fucking embarrassing! I skipped school, and was bored waiting for you guys to join, so I picked up a comic book you and I shared like once, which made me think about your sorry-ass skinny ankles brushing against my legs or my arms, or whatever, and I just had to! I was a hormonal teenager with a crush on his best friend, that it happened just once is a miracle!”
“Jesus, Rich… I’m… We handled the situation very differently.”
“What do you mean?”
It doesn't come out completely perplexed, more like innocently curious, sincere even, so Richie does not appreciate Eddie raising his eyebrows pointedly. He loves that they normally can put across so much, but he doesn’t get what they are trying to say at all at the moment. Because if Eddie is implying Richie wasn’t the only one defiling the hammock in the early nineties, he is going to have an aneurysm. He’s about to ask when Eddie clears his throat, suddenly serious and shy all at once; Richie doesn’t really like it, that was not the point of this at all.
“I mean I, uh… I’m pretty sure I used to have a crush on you too, is all…”
Eddie closes his eyes as if afraid of Richie’s reaction. And the whole thing gets sad real quick. First, because unrequited love sucks, but the idea of his feelings being returned but unconsummated is even worse. Second, that after a year of therapy, knowing full well that Richie would die for him, Eddie is still afraid Richie might reject him for being gay, while being gay himself, is just heartbreaking. Maybe it wasn’t such great timing after all. Maybe it would never be for Eddie. But then Eddie opens one careful eye, bottom lip between his teeth, and Richie realizes it’s not fear of rejection, it’s anticipation of a thorough ribbing he’s expecting from Richie. When it doesn’t come, Eddie laughs in shock, short and beautiful, so fitting.
“Come on, at least you knew you liked me and were going for it, in your own way! I was convinced I was sick when your stupid four-eyed face gave me butterflies, or when I was inexplicably upset you weren’t touching me after I specifically told you not to touch me! I was a disaster!”
And Richie wants to laugh with Eddie, but he’s hung up on why this whole thing got sad. He think about little Eddie as confused and scared as him, as alone in this as him, if not more. He thinks about Sonia talking about AIDS with even more disgust than VDs Eddie could get from girls. He thinks about Eddie surreptitiously wiping his palm on his short shorts after their hands brushed, making Richie feel like a monster, when all he wanted was to be close to his friend, he didn’t mean anything by it, he wasn’t trying to-
He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Eddie reaches across the table to cover his shaking hand with his own. Richie snatches it away and uses it to wipe his face, as if that excuse ever worked for anyone. He barks out a laugh, and it sounds fake even to his own ears.
“I’m sorry, Eds. I don’t know why I’m like this. I’m drunk and tired. That was supposed to be a cute trip down memory lane, but I got emotional. Do men go through menopause? I’m gonna go.”
He gets up, a little unsteady on his feet, and goes up to his room without another word from either of them.
Out of all the Losers, Beverly is his favourite in a crisis, hands down. She never takes any of Richie’s shit, and yet she knows how to be kind to him in a way he’ll respond to. Of course he tells her all about last night, when they drink their coffees and share a cigarette on her balcony while Ben is trying to catch some sleep behind them, pulling the covers against him when they let the crisp morning air into the room. She waits for him to finish, lights another cigarette, waits some more.
“I don’t even know why I got upset with him!” Richie bursts finally.
“You’re not upset with Eddie,” she says levelly. “You’re upset on behalf of two small-town boys who never had a chance to realise they were loved, and I know it’s been a year, Richie, but it’s still a lot to unpack. You keep worrying about Eddie, you never stop to think if you’re okay. You clearly weren’t ready for this conversation, and it’s not because you’re immature, or because you’re still in love with him… Richie, I cannot begin to imagine what it was like growing up gay in Derry, Maine in the eighties, but I’m pretty sure it’s reason enough to break down and cry occasionally. Eddie will understand. You know he will, he went through it too. Please don’t avoid him.”
Richie wants to tell her she’s wise and beautiful and the best and strongest person he’s ever met, but what comes out is a pathetic whine. “What if he thinks it’s because I’m in love with him?”
Beverly snorts into her coffee. “He’ll sooner think you have a terminal diagnosis you didn’t tell us about. I love Eddie, we all do, all of us except Eddie, sadly... You will have to be very clear if you want him to know. I suggest using PowerPoint.”
Richie wants to tell her that he definitely does not want Eddie to know. “You’re the wisest, most beautiful, strongest person I’ve ever met.”
Beverly offers a mock salute and grins mischievously. “Don’t forget it’s not my pants you’re trying to get into.”
Richie can’t help but blush at that, even though he’s not really trying to get into anyone’s pants, especially not Eddie’s. He’s not expecting anything. Never has. Right? The cute trip down memory lane was just that, not some elaborate ploy to test the waters, to see how Eddie would react to the idea of Richie having feelings for him. Last night, Richie wasn’t expecting Eddie to throw himself into his awkward hairy gorilla arms just because they were both gay in the same bar. But he also wasn’t expecting Eddie to admit to having a crush on him when they were kids. The thing about not having any expectations is that all the possible outcomes blindside you in the end, and now Richie is faced with an impossible question: does Eddie still have feelings for him? That is a whole different can of worms that Richie is not prepared to open right now, so he doesn’t.
“If Ben Handsome over there is my competition, I consider myself lucky to be gay.”
Beverly giggles, as if she believes him, and they smoke another cigarette in silence, holding hands while their coffees grow cold. Maybe Richie is a better actor than everyone gives him credit for.
Richie is so fucking grateful to sit next to Bill on their flight to Tampa he doesn’t even make fun of him for the whole two hours. Mostly because he sleeps, seeing as last night didn’t offer him enough of that, but at least with Bill next to him, he’s able to. If it was Eddie, they’d have to talk. Even if they didn’t, he’d be too nervous, too in love. In the baggage reclaim, Eddie approaches him with a pinched expression, and Richie knows it’s mostly the airport, because Eddie hates them with passion, and he can never relax until he has all his things safe and accounted for. Still, almost off-handedly, he asks Richie if he’s alright, eyes fixed on the moving baggage carousel. Richie wants to lie, so he does.
“Peachy keen, Eddie my love! Crying myself to sleep does wonders for my complexion, I make sure to do it at least twice a week! Hope you didn’t lose any sleep over my little drunken breakdown about shared childhood trauma.”
Eddie still doesn’t look at him, and once he has his hands on his suitcases, he calls Richie an asshole under his breath and storms off. Bill shows up out of nowhere behind him, his bag over his shoulder.
“You drooled all over my shirt, man,” he complains. “Not cool.”
“Yes cool! You should sell it on eBay.”
“Asshole.”
There’s no real bite to it, but Richie can’t ignore the fact he’s made two of his best friends walk away from him in varying degrees of annoyance in twenty seconds flat. He’s seriously considering an acting career until he sees Mike waiting for him with literally open arms, and he lets his amazing hug make everything better for a little while.
“If I ever even dare to think anyone else is my favourite, please sucker-punch me. I love you the best.”
Mike laughs good-naturedly. “Sure, Trashmouth. You hungry? I made pie.”
“God, and I thought Stanley would be the one cleaning up with all the grandmas…”
Saying it doesn’t hurt anymore, and they walk to Mike’s massive truck with their arms wrapped around each other. He doesn’t avoid sitting next to Eddie in the car, but he doesn’t know how to apologise for any of it, so he just takes Eddie's hand and squeezes gently until Eddie relaxes next to him and squeezes back. They let go of each other immediately after. Of course they do; Eddie needs both of his hands to gesticulate as he tells Mike how to drive around the city he’s never been to, after all. Riche looks at Beverly whispering sweet nothings into Ben’s flushed ear, looks at Bill smiling at his phone, undoubtedly reading messages from Audra, looks at Mike laughing at Eddie’s backseat driving like it’s the best thing that happened to him in months. Most of all, he looks at Eddie huffing and puffing at other driver, their eyes meeting briefly before Eddie averts his gaze, and whether Richie imagines the blush under Eddie’s ever-present road rage flush, he still lets himself expect something. Just a bit.
“I have it on good authority that I should be very clear about this.”
Eddie is washing, and Richie is drying the dishes, and it’s not completely private, so it doesn’t feel like he’s trapped Eddie, but it’s secluded enough to let them talk without having four other people contribute to the conversation.
“Is it lung cancer?” Eddie asks, dropping the plate into the sink, suds splashing everywhere. “I fucking knew those things were going to kill you, I fucking knew it!”
Richie chuckles and shakes his head before Eddie can start asking for his doctor’s contact details and promising Richie they will fight it. “No, Eds, it’s about my heart.”
“Oh, fucking Christ, it’s the cholesterol, it’s your fucking diet, if you can even call it that! Do the others know? I’m going to pass out, I-”
“Eddie, Eddie, no! Like, feelings. Please chill the fuck out and keep doing the damn dishes. I’m not dying. Unless you kill me, geez. You’re so intense for someone so small. Of average height, sorry.”
Eddie still looks suspicious, but picks up the plate. “What about your feelings?”
Richie mulls the question over while drying what Eddie hands him. What, indeed. It’s not his feelings that are in question, it’s Eddie’s. He knows he’s still carrying a torch for his childhood crush, he knows that as soon as he remembered Eddie Kaspbrak he remembered his feelings for him, and he knows that apparently they never actually went away, not in twenty seven years they didn’t remember each other, not now, and not ever. It’s not an easy sentiment to express, and not an easy thing to just dump on someone who most likely doesn’t feel the same, even if they did thirty years ago. He has no idea even where to begin, but he’s gotta start somewhere.
“Remember when we both admitted to having a crush on each other when we were kids?”
Eddie clicks his tongue, annoyed. “It happened less than twenty hours ago, of course I remember. It was really cute and a bit embarrassing, and then you cried and ran off, letting me think you’re dying.”
“I didn’t let you think anything,” says Richie with an eye roll. “You’re just a fucking freak, Spaghetti. Wait, do you really think it was cute?”
“Don’t you? It’s a bit sad, I guess, all things considered, but what about what happened to us isn’t?”
Richie hums in agreement. “I think I mostly focused on the sad part of things there, hence, you know, the crying.”
“I figured. I mean, I figure now that I know you’re not dying.”
“Jesus Christ, will you let that go!”
“No!” Eddie hisses angrily, and the conversation at the table dies out. “I’d be fucking pissed if you were dying now that we all got each other back!”
“Who’s dying?” asks Bill, shushed gently by Ben.
“Mind your own business, Big Bill!” calls Richie cheerfully, at the same time as Eddie shouts with as much venom as he can muster, “Your career, you hack!”
Richie is so in love with him. It takes Beverly a whole minute to stop laughing. There’s no more dishes to clean but neither of them go back to the group. Eddie waits, of course, and Richie swallows around the lump in his throat. Eddie is looking at him expectantly, but somehow Richie doesn’t feel pressured. No matter how angry his eyebrows try to look, Eddie’s are the gentlest eyes Richie ever did see. He clears his throat and stares at his hands, pruned slightly from the soapy water, before finally nodding to himself and looking back at Eddie. The table is no longer silent, because they all missed each other, and they don’t care about Richie’s theatrics anymore than they did when they were young, so Richie gets right back to it.
“I think I… Well, I know we’re completely different people now, obviously, it’s been nearly three decades, but I think… I, uh… I know that I… still have feelings for you, Eds. Eddie. I don’t want to overwhelm you or anything, but you were my first love, I loved you so much back then and… I still love you. Duh! You’re still my best friend, and I bet you can still rock a pair of short shorts, so what I’m trying to say is… Would you like to go on a date with me sometimes?”
Eddie is staring silently at him, which is better than laughing in his face or drowning him in the dishwater, so Richie counts that as a win. He’s also blushing furiously, so Richie considers retracting the bit about the shorts. Then Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, his eyes going soft, and he tries not to smile, probably because the table is completely silent again, and Eddie can see behind Richie if they all left the dining room, or if they’re just being disgusting creeps. He wants to turn around and check, but if he stops looking at Eddie he might die.
“I would love that, actually.”
Richie’s eyes widen in surprise, and he takes a deep breath, chuckling nervously. Blindsided again, he supposes. There’s no embarrassing whooping from behind him, so he must have better friends than he deserves. Eddie still tries not to smile, and Richie knows how ridiculously goofy his face must look like, so kudos to Eddie.
“You would?” he manages finally, breathless.
“For my sins, yeah,” Eddie confirms with a soft smile, as if he didn’t just rock Richie’s entire world. “I think we owe our younger selves a date. And you’re… I guess you still make me feel sick, Richie Tozier.”
Richie’s face breaks into a delighted grin. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me, Eduardo! Can we high five on this? I think this warrants a high five.”
Eddie shakes his head and walks away. “It really, really doesn’t.”
“I beg to differ!” Richie sing-songs as he follows. “It’s what little Richie would have wanted! Come on! Let’s go ask Mike! His house, his rules! Come on, Eddie! Ed, Eddie, Eds, Lil’ Ed!”
When Eddie turns around to face him, he’s laughing like a kid, trying to swat Richie away, and Richie has never felt happier than he does now, his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, ignoring his token protests, and leading him outside to join the others on the porch. Beverly smiles at them knowingly, but doesn’t comment on their holding hands. Richie squeezes, and Eddie squeezes back, and only uses one hand to gesticulate when he complains about the humid night air.