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The earth under Eddie’s feet seems to shift as he puts his phone back in the pocket of his tuxedo. His fingertips almost burn from typing out the fact that he’s going back to Derry. The place he would’ve rather died than returning to. Eddie did everything possible to never even have to set foot in Maine. And now he’s going there on his own volition.
The iron band around his lungs tightens. Eddie musters the strength to lift his head and look over the hill the reception venue rests atop of, into the sprawling expanse of evergreen trees surrounding them, to the full moon illuminating everything with a silver glow. Even the warm yellow of the string lights behind Eddie have a pale hue to them.
The line of trees begin to bend as Eddie’s vision begins to waver. The ground beneath him sways.
Oh, so it’s hitting me now, Eddie faintly realizes.
His steps backward are deliberate until the backs of his knees hit the low ledge of a brick planter. Eddie lets gravity take him downwards, he sits and he tries not to hyperventilate.
Just like in New Orleans, Eddie should know better. It’s a death sentence, walking back into a town that has been intent on dragging him into the shadows since he was old enough to know something wasn’t quite right. The countless missing person flyers hung across town have been ingrained into Eddie’s mind, the words fading from wind and rain, and with them the memory of another life lost to the unknown. Or, not necessarily the unknown, but rather people only pretending not to know. No one could bear to admit just exactly what was responsible for the terror that haunted Derry for decades. Centuries, even.
It was the same thing that had taken Georgie from Bill, and it was the same thing that had attempted to sink its claws into Eddie.
Even though there are hundreds of miles between California and Maine, Eddie feels like they’re still latched onto him. Those claws seem to be dug into Eddie’s skin and holding his lungs in a tight fist, watching as he tries to breathe evenly.
For years he’s felt stuck in the space between the inhale and the exhale. All Eddie wants is to breathe. And Richie makes Eddie feel like he’s just below the surface, centimeters away from breaking through and finally taking that breath he’s been waiting for for so long.
And, well, that’s a whole other thing. Richie.
Who is probably waiting for him.
Over his shoulder, Eddie looks into the open venue. Even from here he can hear the music, chatter and laughter. All these people who are there to celebrate Ben and Bev’s marriage, not sitting alone outside having an existential crisis.
It’s absurd how many times Eddie falls back into this spot, no matter when or where. So he stands despite the weakness of his knees, walks up the steps and back inside.
No one pays Eddie much attention as he works his way through the crowd. It’s definitely thinner than it was at the start of the reception, people beginning to depart as the hour gets later. Last time Eddie checked it was a little past one in the morning.
From the other end of the dance floor, Eddie meets Stan’s gaze. He’s in a small circle with Patty, Kay and Audra, as they all sway in time with the tempo of the music and from slight intoxication. Despite that, though, Stan’s gaze is piercing. For a moment Eddie thinks he might be pissed, but Stan just nods. Of course he understands, he always does.
Patty follows Stan’s line of sight and notices Eddie. Her expression doesn’t shift, and Eddie’s thankful as Kay and Audra carry on the conversation. They don’t seem to notice as Patty juts her head to the side towards the wedding cake table. Eddie glances over and finds Richie standing there, back turned. Eddie musters a smile and goes.
Despite everything, Eddie still allows himself to take in the broad, sharp line of Richie’s shoulders in his forest green tuxedo. As always, it strains against how large Richie is, and Eddie wonders if he does that on purpose. Like he knows it drives Eddie insane. Richie’s curls are neatly swept back and gathered at the delicate nape of his neck. His shoulders aren’t hunched like they usually are, and Richie looks… steady. Grounded. And Eddie wants. He wants more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life. He didn’t think it was possible to want someone this much.
It terrifies him. But Eddie couldn’t imagine a life of knowing Richie and not loving him.
Eddie sneaks a hand through the open space of Richie’s arm and lets his fingers wrap around Richie’s bicep. As soon as his fingertips press into the warmth of Richie’s skin, even through the layers of clothing, they burn for a whole other reason.
Richie doesn’t flinch, just turns to look down at Eddie. Behind his clear-framed glasses, his eyes are startlingly blue, glowing with an aching softness. Eddie recognizes that softness. It’s the same softness he feels whenever he meets Richie’s gaze, and it sends a thrill down his spine to know that it’s being mirrored right back at him.
“Hi,” Richie says softly. “You alright?”
“I’m okay,” Eddie answers. He means it, as the iron band around his lungs loosens more and more by the second.
Still, Richie’s other hand crosses over to place itself over Eddie’s. It’s a familiar warmth, Richie’s hand taking Eddie’s, but it’s different this time. As they gaze at each other for a moment, the touch is like a promise. A promise of soon. Not now, but soon.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” Richie asks. “I think Bill and Mike mentioned leaving a couple minutes ago.”
Eddie hums. Past the adrenaline coursing through his veins, there’s an undeniable exhaustion deep in his bones. “Yeah, I think we’re good to go.”
“It’d be a little weird if we were the last ones here, huh?”
The small smile that spreads across Eddie’s mouth startles him. It shouldn’t, he’s used to smiling so much around Richie that it makes his cheeks hurt.
Eddie doesn’t miss the way Richie’s eyes flash down to Eddie’s mouth before refocusing. How many times has Richie done that and Eddie hasn’t noticed? Has Richie noticed when Eddie does the same?
Saying goodbye to everyone is a small affair, since they’ll all see each other back at the hotel. When Richie pulls out of the gravel parking lot of the venue, they’re both quiet. The evergreen trees arch over the backroads and highway, casting long shadows with narrow slivers of moonlight peeking through. The only sound is the rhythm of wheels on concrete, the wind and the occasional, distant animal.
At one point, Eddie looks away from the bay peeking out between the treeline and to Richie. He’s intent on the road ahead of him, but immediately glances over as if he senses Eddie’s eyes on him.
“Your speech was really good earlier,” Eddie says, breaking the silence. “I don’t think I ever told you.”
Richie smiles. It’s a crooked, soft thing. “Probably my finest work, dare I say.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Okay, says the person whose first video at Buzzfeed was dogs watching T.V. for the first time.”
“That’s a good video! But don’t act like you didn’t get misty-eyed, I saw you.”
“I did not!”
“Nope,” Richie laughs. “I saw it with my own eyes. This glasses prescription is fresh, baby, and I saw those Emmy juices flowing.”
Eddie slides down in his seat and presses his knees against the dashboard. “Okay, fine, but I wasn’t the only one.”
“I know the truth.”
Eddie snorts. “And what’s that?”
“I deserve a damn Pulitizer.”
Eddie scoffs out, “Okay.”
It’s the only thing he can manage around the thickness settling in the back of his throat. There’s weight against his tongue. I love you, he wants to say, wants to scream out into the wind for the whole fucking world to know. I love you more than anything.
Instead, he holds his tongue, the only time Eddie has exhibited any sense of restraint, and lets the rest of the drive back simmer in a pleasant silence.
The wedding party is spread out among small cottages on the hotel property, with the main lodging at the top of the hill. The one Richie and Eddie share with Stan and Patty is dark and empty when they pull into the gravel driveway.
Richie turns off the ignition, but leans back and settles his hands on his thighs. A patch of pant fabric gets pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
Eddie’s hand falters on the door handle. “What’s wrong?”
Blue eyes flicker onto Eddie’s face then away to the cottage in front of them. “If you― uh, wanted me to sleep on the couch instead, that’d be fine. Considering… you know.”
Eddie’s reply is immediate. “I don’t want you to.”
Richie looks at him. “You don’t?”
“I don’t,” Eddie confirms, shaking his head for emphasis. “But if you want to, that’s okay. I won’t make you―”
“I don’t want to,” Richie blurts out. The tips of his ears turn pink. “Either. I don’t want to either.”
Eddie’s heart settles. “Okay, then can we get inside? It’s, like, two in the morning and I’m fucking exhausted.”
Richie visibly relaxes. “Aw,” he coos. “Is it Eds’ night-night time?”
“Bye,” Eddie deadpans. He hears Richie’s laughter as he clambers out of the car and heads for the door.
Unfortunately, when Eddie wraps his hand around the doorknob, the door just rattles. Richie lets out another cackle behind him.
“Fuck you,” Eddie snaps, with little heat.
Richie jingles the keyring in his hand as he approaches the front porch. “I could use this against you, you know.”
Eddie feels his mouth twitch. “You wouldn’t.”
Stepping up onto the porch, Richie ducks his head for a moment. Their shoulders brush in the cramped space.
Richie looks back up at Eddie. “You know I wouldn’t.”
Eddie shivers for more than one reason. In northern California, the December air is cooler than Eddie has become acquainted with. But in this small pocket of space him and Richie share, it’s radiating with heat. Richie is always so warm, Eddie remembers. No matter what, Eddie can reach out and feel the warmth even inches above Richie’s skin. He feels it now, but his hands twitch with the need to reach out and check for sure.
Eddie almost goes Fuck it, closes the space between them and kisses Richie like he wanted to back on the dance floor. But, instead, Richie clears his throat and goes, a little strained, “Lemme get the door.”
Even though Richie makes quick work of unlocking the door and rushing inside the cottage, his warmth lingers for a moment. Eddie stands there a little longer than necessary. Is it going to be like this the whole time? He wonders. Am I going to feel suffocated with how much I want you?
“You’re letting in all the cold air, genius!” Richie calls from inside. Eddie pulls himself together and steps inside.
The cottage is small on the outside, but inside there are vaulted ceilings with high, wooden beams. Moonlight pours in through the tall windows, bathing the granite countertops and hardwood floors in silver. It’s quaint and charming, startlingly enough space for four adults.
Richie and Eddie’s room is straight in the back of the cottage, and when Eddie enters he finds Richie in the middle of stripping off his suit. A sock lands at Eddie’s feet.
“Are you seriously not going to pick up after yourself?” Eddie bites. He bends down to pick up the sock instead of staring at the firm muscle of Richie’s thigh, ink curling around the side of it.
Richie just flings his button-down into a corner of the room. “I’ll do it in the morning.”
“I refuse to sleep in the middle of a clothing tornado like this.”
“Edward,” Richie drawls. “Must I remind you, I have done so much today as the best man. Please, I beg of you, allow me this one mercy.”
Eddie looks up from where he’s just picked up the button-down, and his rebuttal dies in the back of his throat. Richie is watching him, dressed down to the white t-shirt he wore underneath his button-down and boxers. The t-shirt is thin enough that Eddie can see another faint outline of ink, and Richie’s biceps strain from how his arms are crossed.
Richie raises an eyebrow. “What say you?”
Eddie swallows. “No.”
The bed creaks as Richie falls onto it with a flourish. The back of his hand drapes across his forehead like a Victorian damsel. “The absolute disrespect. How will I survive?”
Eddie rolls his eyes and sets the pile of Richie’s clothes onto the bed. Richie squirms to get underneath the blankets, glasses slightly askew, and watches Eddie fold them into a neat stack.
“Are you enjoying the show?” Eddie snarks.
Richie sighs into his pillow. “I love it when you act like a housewife.”
“Excuse me, I would never.”
Richie hums. Even in the dark, Eddie can see his eyes begin to droop. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a sigh comes out. Eddie watches, heart tightening in his chest, as Richie falls asleep in a minute flat. Eddie has watched this before, the way Richie tries to fight it by blinking over and over. The outline of his body grows more and more lax, melting into the mattress. Soon, the only sound from Richie is quiet, rhythmic breathing.
Eddie studies the sweep of curls across Richie’s forehead that fought hair gel and Richie’s constant hand brushing them out of his face. Eddie wants to brush them away for him, let his fingertips trace the defined line of Richie’s cheek and jaw. He wants to give the same gentleness Richie gave him on the dance floor as he cupped Eddie’s cheek. Even now, Eddie’s skin still tingles from the touch.
The thing is, Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been touched like that. So reverently. He’s been touched like he’s a fragile, broken thing, but Richie has never touched him like that. Richie touches him like he’s something worth saving. He sees Eddie for everything he is and still touches him like that. It makes Eddie feel almost too exposed, flayed open so every inch of his soul can be seen in brutal clarity. There isn’t a single person in existence Eddie would rather let see that.
And, what hits Eddie far too suddenly, is that he wants Richie to look at him like that every day for the rest of their lives.
He has to steady himself with one hand on the bed. Eddie almost keels over at the way it feels like he got punched directly in the solar plexus, all the air in his lungs gone in a single breath. It’s stupid, Eddie shouldn’t be so shocked by this, by the fact that―
His feet carry him briskly to the small bathroom. Eddie’s fingers clamber for the light switch, completely forgetting to close the door behind him. Fortunately, Richie is in a deep enough sleep and has his back facing the bathroom, so Eddie can catch his breath in peace.
Eddie’s arms bracket both sides of the sink. He focuses on the overhead light bouncing off the silver of the sink drain, breathing in time with the drip of water from the faucet.
This shouldn’t surprise him. There’s a part of Eddie that has, maybe, always known this. From the moment Richie approached him at the Halloween party last year and took every bit of Eddie’s attention, pulling him into his orbit of loud, endearing charisma, a part of Eddie knew. He was too blind to feel that something, something bigger than Eddie had the capacity to understand, had slid back into place. The moment he saw Richie, all that part of Eddie could think was Oh, there you are.
Eddie rushes to loosen his tie and unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt. The lack of restraint around his neck gives Eddie the space he needs to take a deep breath.
He looks over at Richie. From here, with the aid of the bathroom light, Eddie can see how his shoulders rise and fall in time with his breathing. The blankets are pulled up to his chin and one arm is tucked under the pillow. The tension in Eddie’s chest softens at the sight.
That person sleeping in that bed is it for me, Eddie tells himself. I couldn’t love anyone else more than him.
Going back to Derry is one thing, but loving Richie is the next bravest thing Eddie will ever do in his life. And he’ll do it however long Richie will let him, in whatever way he needs. Eddie is just lucky to love him.
Eddie changes as quietly as possible, careful not to wake up Richie. He leaves his clothes folded on the counter, the inevitable creases a worry for the next morning. He slides into bed in pajama pants and one of Richie’s old shirts, hovering mere inches away from the intoxicating heat radiating off of Richie’s skin.
There are risks going back to Derry. Eddie knows this. After fighting so hard to leave, it was a conscious acknowledgment of what would happen if he ever came back. Which was exactly why he fought so hard not to.
Eddie knows he’s running out of time.
His fingertips lightly brush over Richie’s back, over the knobs of his spine through the thin layer separating their skin. It rises and falls under Eddie’s touch. He closes his eyes and memorizes the feeling of Richie beneath him, even though he’s done it countless times. Eddie could recognize Richie through touch alone, the welcoming, safe broadness of his body.
It suddenly shifts underneath him, and Eddie retracts his hand. Richie turns, squinting at Eddie in the darkness.
“Eds?” he croaks. His arm slings across Eddie’s torso and pulls him close with a guiding hand against Eddie’s back. “Are you alright?”
Eddie hesitates. The hand on his back presses in.
“I’m okay,” Eddie finally says. He tucks his nose into the junction between Richie’s shoulder and throat. Take it while you have it.
Richie isn’t awake enough to say anything else, just slides a leg between Eddie’s and makes the lines of their bodies hazy. Eddie doesn’t know where he ends and Richie begins, and that’s fine with him. They fit together in ways Eddie didn’t think two bodies ever could be made to. All Eddie can do is enjoy it while it lasts.