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“Oh god, Richie, please.”
“I got you, Eds.”
“Next!”
Richie jolts from his thoughts, shaken from his reverie. For a moment, he just stares at the barista in front of him who stares expectantly back at him. His surroundings come back into focus; he’s at the café a couple blocks over from the arts building where his film theory class is in a half hour.
They raise an eyebrow at him, and it finally prompts Richie to step forward, giving his drink order and paying before heading over to the long counter off to the side to wait for his coffee.
He’s feeling like a coward. The previous night, after pining after his best friend since middle school for years, Richie Tozier finally hooked up with Eddie Kaspbrak, albeit they were both somewhat drunk off of a bottle of shitty wine and a couple of vodka shots at the time.
It had been amazing. And then Richie bolted.
He had dozed for a couple hours, and then startled awake around three in the morning, feeling like he hadn’t slept at all but then he tasted the stale saliva on his tongue that suggested otherwise.
Richie had found Eddie at his side, curled against him like a cat, his face hidden where it was pressed to Richie’s chest. He’d thought the pounding of his heart that began upon the recollection of the events leading up to their embrace might be able to wake Eddie up, and that had just lit up his nerves even more.
Carefully – and like an absolute asshole – Richie had retrieved his arm from where it was cradling Eddie’s waist and slithered out of his grasp, slipping back into his clothes and the dark of the night.
It had been too easy. Much easier, Richie imagines, than waking up and facing the music – probably sitting there like a dumb child and listening while Eddie listed off all the reasons why what they had done was a mistake. That would have broken Richie’s heart, he thinks, to hear how much Eddie probably regretted it – and not even because it had been a drunk hookup since Richie knows that Eddie’s participated in a few of those without complaints, but because it had been Richie.
He couldn’t do that to himself – he wouldn’t be able to take it. Richie just wants to forget about it somehow, pretend it never happened, but he knows he won’t be able to. Maybe he should just hope that Eddie does that instead.
At least he had managed to avoid any sort of proclamation of his love in the throes of passion, Richie thinks, so Eddie doesn’t have that to hold against him as well.
He hears his name called from the counter and again has to refocus on his whereabouts, taking his drink and thanking the barista. Richie turns around and heads over to the table Bill is stationed at with stupid sunglasses on – in the middle of a fucking café like a prick.
“Christ, Bill, what the fuck am I gonna do?” Richie asks, skipping any small talk, as if Bill has been listening in on Richie’s thoughts the whole time. God, can you imagine, Richie thinks.
“About what?” Bill asks, hardly looking up at him and instead focusing on the swirls of white on the surface of his latte. He’s hungover too, probably more than Richie is, but due to different circumstances – as a frat boy, Richie imagines he’s almost obligated to get wasted with his brothers whenever possible.
“I slept with Eddie.”
“You idiot.” Bill doesn’t seem entirely surprised, carefully sipping at his mug.
“I know. And then I left in the middle of the night.”
“You idiot.”
“I know.” Richie dramatically slumps his head down onto the table.
“So now what?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“How the fuck would I know? You’ll have to talk to him.” Bill shrugs, like it’s no big deal. He has no idea.
“Please, for the love of God, Bill, you have to help me stop that conversation from happening.” Richie lifts his head, his face a cross between a pout and a grimace.
“I’m not gonna help you with this. You made your bed – “
“And got laid in it, I know,” Richie finishes his sentence, remorsefully.
“That’s not the expression – “
“Whatever. I just need an out. Give me an out. Come on, Bill, I’ll do whatever you want.” Richie flattens his palms together in a prayer position.
“Then perish,” Bill says darkly.
“That’s so 2017 of you,” Richie complains, but realizes he’s lost this battle.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” Bill says, and it makes Richie’s blood pressure spike.
He looks up to see Eddie walking past the windows of the café, clearly intending to come in.
Richie’s chair screeches as it scrapes across the tiled floor when Richie dives under the table, his fight or flight response kicking in, and the rest of the customers throughout the café all seem to turn in their chairs at the sound to stare.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bill asks, but he sounds impervious to Richie’s behaviour.
“I’m not ready – cover for me!” Richie insists, tucking his knees against his chest as if that would make him any less visible.
He hears the heavy front doors opening and the gust of cold air that comes in alongside the new customer, and Richie holds his breath, watching Eddie’s sneakers get closer and closer to the table.
“Hey, Bill.”
“Hey, Eddie.”
“What the fuck is Richie doing?”
Damn, Richie curses to himself. He imagines Bill just shrugs in response to Eddie’s question, because all of a sudden, Eddie is crouched down across from Richie, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“Oh, hi – fancy meeting you here,” Richie says, breathlessly, pretending like he had no idea Eddie had even entered the building.
“Hi, Richie,” Eddie responds, and Richie wants to cry.
The man of his affections looks as gorgeous as ever, only his hair is more tousled than usual and he’s even wearing a wrinkled blue shirt, as if he woke up late and had to rush to get ready. But he still has that glow to his skin and his eyes look bright – he probably slept much easier than Richie did.
“Um, I was just looking for a pen,” Richie lies, arranging his limbs to stand up again now that he’s been caught. As he tries to rise to his feet, the top of his head bangs into the bottom of the table. “Fuck!”
Bill laughs at his pain and the customers at the café are staring at him again from their plush, black chairs, and Eddie’s eyes are soft with sympathy, but Richie can see how his lips are crooked like he’s forcing back a grin.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah I – damn, that hurt,” Richie groans, finally registering the pain that’s rocketing across his skull.
“You’re such a dumbass,” Bill says, leaning back in his chair with a smile like he’s watching a good show.
“Hey,” Eddie turns to scold him, as if to say be nice, and Richie’s chest flutters.
Eddie and Bill talk for a minute while Richie massages the spot on his head, but after Richie stops sucking air through his teeth, hissing at the ache that’s developed, Eddie turns back to him.
“So where is it?” he asks.
“Where’s what?”
“The pen. That you were looking for,” Eddie says, a teasing smile on his lips.
That’s when Richie notices that the collar of Eddie’s shirt has shifted, revealing a blossoming pink mark in the junction between his shoulder and the column of his neck. Oh, fuck, did he do that?
A brief, fading memory of attaching his mouth to that spot and pulling the skin taut between his teeth, then lathing gently at the area with his tongue – all set to the background noise of Eddie’s whining – passes through Richie’s mind’s eye.
So, there was physical evidence. It wasn’t some bizarrely detailed dream. Not that Richie thought it was a dream, but he didn’t expect to come face to face with real, tangible proof of what happened between them. He felt like his throat was closing up.
“Uh – I gotta go,” Richie says, pointing to his wrist as if there was a watch there. “Got class. Gonna be late – bye.”
“Richie, you left your coffee!” he hears Bill call just as he’s passing through the café doors.
~ ~ ~ ~
That evening, Bev and Ben had a party planned. Sort of a housewarming party, as it was the first time that they had more than their small group of friends visiting since they moved in a month ago.
Ben’s architecture diploma program was only two years long, and over the summer he had landed a solid job with amazing pay for someone his age, so by the end of the season, he was ready to put a down payment on a house. It was incredible for a twenty-year-old, and Richie would guess that Ben’s initiative as a young teen to work construction jobs to get a feel for the industry as well as to build a whole fucking clubhouse all on his own had probably helped him land a position much higher than entry level.
Either way, the house they had gotten required some renovations that Ben was excited to sink his teeth into which helped with the price – one of the areas that needed sprucing up was the loft, so it was off-limits to most of the guests that evening.
That’s where Richie found himself confessing everything to Bev, sat together with her on the threadbare, brown couch in the room.
“As soon as I’m alone with him, he’s just gonna reject me,” Richie concludes. “He’s gonna say, ‘sorry, Rich, it was a mistake. We’re better as friends. Also, you’re bad in bed.’”
Beverly laughs a little at the nasal voice Richie adopted to impersonate their mutual friend, but quickly returns back to seriousness.
“Come on, Richie, that won’t happen,” she tries to assure him.
“How do you know? It could.”
“I don’t really know, it’s just a hunch,” Beverly admits. She reaches over to pat Richie’s jean-clad knee. “It’s a strong hunch though, one I’ve had for awhile.”
“What hunch?” Richie asks, skeptically, his chin slumped into the palm of his hand.
“That Eddie likes you back.”
“You’re just saying that,” Richie argues, almost frustrated that Bev feels the need to lie to him just to make him feel better.
Richie would know if that were true. If Eddie liked him back, he wouldn’t fight him on every little thing. Eddie wouldn’t snap at him every time Richie called him one of his infamous nicknames and he wouldn’t shrug out of Richie’s grasp every time he tried to latch onto him, tried to show him a little bit of physical affection that Eddie would accept from every one of their other friends. That, in particular, hurts.
So, he’s not going to give himself false hope. Besides, he doesn’t have many redeeming characteristics that could attract Eddie to him even if he tried.
“He would never want me – I’m an obnoxious prick,” Richie sneers, directing the distaste in his tone toward himself.
“That’s why he would want you.”
They laugh at that together, easing the tension in Richie’s chest a little, driving him a little away from wanting to erupt in tears.
“I’m serious – nobody gets Eddie fired up like you do. I think he likes it,” Beverly says and she looks thoughtful, recalling memories. “Like, when you tease him by flirting with him, by calling him cute and those pet names of yours. When you act all sweet on him, even if it’s half-joking, you must be able to see his expression; how he gets all shy and pink – but he hides it by snapping at you.”
“Yeah, he didn’t seem to mind my pet names last night,” Richie mutters bitterly.
“Okay, gross. Don’t need that mental image, thanks,” Bev complains but laughs through it.
“Sorry. But I don’t know. I’m like, gross and lazy and annoying – those are all things that he’s called me, by the way. Even if he did like me, he would deserve better.”
“Please don’t do that to yourself,” Bev says, sadly. “You’re also funny and smart and care way too much about your friends. I can see that, and I know Eddie can see that too.”
“Stop, you’ll make me cry,” Richie protests, leaning over as she reaches out so that she can pull him into her arms.
“I mean it,” Bev replies with certainty, cooing into his ear as she brushes his hair from his face.
“I don’t know what to do,” Richie sighs, looping his arms around her waist.
“Yes, you do. The only thing to do is to be honest with him.”
“I’m not – I can’t face it. It’s going to break my heart.”
“You can’t avoid him forever.”
“Maybe I can,” Richie says and pulls away, his face brightening a little at the idea. “I’ll get a new identity, move to Canada or something. Do you think I would look good with a moustache?”
“No, you’re not allowed to leave me, or any of us for that matter!” Bev disagrees, frowning at him for even joking about it.
Richie takes a deep breath, chewing on his lip as he contemplates how he’s going to deal with this whole situation. Beverly sends him a sympathetic look and interlocks their fingers between them on the couch.
“Hey, there’s someone up there!”
It’s Eddie’s voice – Richie nearly leaps out of his skin. He turns to Beverly, wide-eyed, and she just returns the expression.
“No, man – this is my friend’s – my friend’s new house and nobody is allowed up there,” Eddie is saying at the bottom of the stairs to someone else they can’t hear, and Richie can hear the alcohol dripping off his words. “But the door is open a little – I gotta go check.”
“Oh fuck, I’m not doing this shit right now,” Richie whispers to Bev in a rush as they hear Eddie’s footfalls coming up the stairs. Richie promptly vaults himself over the back of the couch.
“Are you kidding me?” Beverly hisses at him, leaning up so he can see her eyes over the top of the couch, but she’s being quiet, so he knows she’ll go along with it. “This is ridiculous!”
Richie brings a finger to his lips, widening his eyes insistently at her from where he’s crouched like a kid playing hide-and-seek, as if she’s going to take him seriously at all like that.
“Oh, Bev, it’s just you,” Richie hears Eddie say just after the door creaks open all the way.
“Helloo, Eddie,” Beverly greets him, far too cheerfully, and Richie cringes.
“I thought someone might have snuck up here – wait, were you talking to someone?”
“What? No, no, just. Rambling to myself. You know, how you do when there’s no one around.”
Richie would have expected Beverly to be a better liar – she went all through middle school deceiving her dad into thinking she wasn’t hanging out with an entire group of boys before he died.
“Okay, I guess.” Richie imagines Eddie shrugging based on his tone. “Listen, have you – have you seen Richie tonight?”
“Our Richie?”
Richie wants to slap a hand to his face but he manages to refrain.
“Well, duh. I just – I’ve been looking for him, haven’t been able to find him at all.”
Richie hears the shuffling of Eddie’s feet and then the fabric shifts against Richie’s back as Eddie plops down onto the couch in the same spot Richie was in only minutes ago. Richie prays that Eddie won’t sense his body heat.
“I think he’s avoiding me,” Eddie continues.
“You don’t say,” Beverly replies, feigning ignorance – badly. “Maybe he’s just, I don’t know, blending in with everyone else and you missed him.”
“No,” Eddie states, matter-of-factly. “I’ve looked for him and asked everyone where he is, and nobody knows. And you don’t even know? Maybe something’s wrong – what if he’s hurt?”
Richie’s heart swells in both affection and guilt as he hears Eddie’s voice pick up, beginning to panic a little.
“No, no, I have seen him, he is here,” Bev quickly assures him. “I – I think he went to the bathroom.”
“But that doesn’t...,” Eddie trails off and Richie thinks he’s finally picked up on the lying, how Beverly is not making sense. “Listen, Bev, can I tell you something? It can’t leave this room.”
Richie feels like his ribcage might collapse with the amount of anxiety rushing up from his stomach to his throat. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he prepares himself to hear Eddie recount their evening together – possibly just to voice his regret about it in the end.
“Uhhmm, sure,” Beverly says, hesitantly. “Of course, Eddie.”
There’s silence for a couple of beats and Richie is incredibly worried that Eddie will hear him breathing or the blood rushing through his veins or his body shedding its dead skin cells.
“I hooked up with Riche.” Eddie rushes the words out so fast it sounds like wind in Richie’s ears.
“Wow,” Beverly drawls, and it is almost painful to have to listen to her pretend to be surprised yet again, but Richie is too focused on whatever Eddie is going to say next.
“Yeah,” Eddie says on an exhale. “We haven’t talked about it, so. I just need to find him. Let him know that I – “
“Wait, don’t tell me,” Beverly urges and Richie can see Eddie’s adorable, confused expression in his imagination. “Don’t you – you should say whatever you have to say to him, you know? Save all those words for the right moment.”
She sounds ridiculous and Richie is almost mad at her for stopping Eddie. He has to think it would at least make him more prepared for facing Eddie – to know what to expect. But at the same time, crying behind the couch after receiving a second-hand rejection would probably give him away.
“I guess so,” Eddie says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Why don’t you go look for him again – I’ll be down in a few minutes to help, okay?” Beverly says and it might be the first half-sane thing she’s said so far.
“Alright,” Eddie sighs and Richie hates how defeated he sounds, even knowing that Eddie probably just wants to get the conversation over with and is annoyed with Richie for prolonging the issue.
Richie waits till he hears Eddie’s steps fade down the stairs and Beverly peeks over the top of the couch at him again.
“You’re all clear,” she says, rolling her eyes.
Richie stands and doesn’t realize how cramped he really was down there until he stretches all of his limbs out, moaning a little as they creak in protest.
“Are you happy now?” Bev asks, referring to Eddie’s distress at not being able to locate Richie.
“No, why didn’t you let him tell you what he’s going to tell me?”
Beverly gapes at him.
“Are you kidding? You had no right to overhear that conversation – imagine if he knew you were there the whole time!”
“It’s not my fault he started talking about it,” Richie defends himself.
“It’s your fault that he felt the need to come to me about it in the first place – you guys could have had this all figured out hours ago!”
It’s true. Richie has been brutally ignoring all three of Eddie’s messages since they started coming in after their encounter in the café. They were all painfully casual, however.
12:44pm Is your head alright? Hope you didn’t lose your only brain cell.
4:12pm Stan wants to watch a couple episodes of Glee before we head out. Send help.
8:23pm Are you at Bev’s?
The last one was two hours ago now, so Richie is not surprised that Eddie correctly guessed that he’s avoiding him. But waiting so long has only ramped up his anxiety, knowing that once he talks to Eddie, even if he manages to steer them away from any meaningful conversation, he’ll have to come up with some sort of excuse for all the ignored messages.
“It’s going to be okay, Rich,” Bev’s voice breezes through Richie’s ears – she must have recognized his devolution into a state of panic.
“I just – I can’t do it today,” Richie replies, softly – sadly.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Bev concedes, finally taking pity on him. Her eyes are blue and warm and gentle as they gaze back at him, brightening her expression to feign ease toward the situation. “Just stick with me. If he can’t get you alone, you won’t have to talk about it.”
“Thank you, Bev,” Richie says, sincerely, as he sighs in relief.
“Now, come on, you’ve been wallowing in depression up here long enough.”
~ ~ ~ ~
After they had descended the stairs – grateful that Eddie didn’t spot Richie coming down as well – Richie managed to stick to people or groups of people most of the time, refusing to be alone in case Eddie approached him. Richie moved carefully around Eddie the whole night, tending to try and subtly leave the room if he saw Eddie entering and arranging for there to be several people between the two of them should they stay in the same room.
They participated in the same conversations but didn’t speak directly to each other. Richie watched Eddie become increasingly detached from the party and the people attending – his face seemed to fall more and more by the hour. It made Richie feel bad – he assumed that it was because of him, after all. But it wasn’t enough to psych himself up to face reality and the harsh truth he wasn’t prepared to accept.
There was only one time that they ended up alone, for a brief moment. Richie was leaving one of the bathrooms after washing his hands and fixing his hair a little bit in the mirror, and when he tugged the door open, Eddie was on the other side.
He looked sheepish in his loose, pink short sleeve and bright blue jeans, like maybe he had purposefully followed Richie in order to corner him there. He also seemed like he had sobered up, a lot.
“Hey, Eds,” Richie had said brightly, probably overcompensating for the distance he had kept from Eddie up until now. He moved to go around him in the doorway. “Sorry, I’ll just – “
Eddie pressed forward a bit, making Richie back up into the bathroom, and he closed the door again behind him.
“Um, what’s up?” Richie asked, hoping the shakiness of his voice would go undetected. He had already wiped his hands on his jeans after washing them, but he was wiping them again as his palms coated themselves in nervous sweat.
“Are you – are you having a good time tonight?” Eddie asked, remaining glued to his spot in front of the door. The shorter boy tried for a friendly smile, but Richie saw how it didn’t reach his sweet, syrupy eyes.
“Uh, sure,” Richie attempted an awkward chuckle. “Are you?”
“Not really,” Eddie said, honestly, and his shoulders seemed to drop a little.
“Oh, I’m – I’m sorry about that,” Richie replied, his own face falling.
“Haven’t seen you much.”
“I’ve been around.”
“Right. I just think it’s funny that I have to trap you in the bathroom like a fucking stalker to get you to talk to me.”
Okay, so Eddie was mad.
“Yeah, this is – it is a little creepy, Eds,” Richie tried to joke, huffing out a pathetic laugh.
Eddie’s face creased even further as his frown deepened. Richie wanted to reach out and slide a thumb over Eddie’s lips to smooth out his displeasure, or maybe he wanted to kiss it away. But that would have probably just made it worse.
“Please don’t – I’m annoyed with you,” Eddie said, his exasperation bleeding into his voice a little.
“When aren’t you annoyed with me?” Richie countered, immediately wishing he hadn’t asked because they had a very recent encounter that didn’t seem to annoy Eddie at all – quite the opposite, in fact.
The realization seemed to cross Eddie’s face as well and he switched his weight to lean on one foot and stare at the ground determinedly.
“Whatever,” Eddie said hotly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Richie had one of those odd moments that people often get around someone they have feelings for – those random, sudden urges to wrap Eddie up in his arms and squeeze and just be close to him. He almost did and later, he almost wishes he had.
“Okay,” Richie had said softly, choosing to maneuver around Eddie. Once again, he left him, and Eddie didn’t stop him.
Right away, Richie had searched for Beverly, seeking comfort. He found her in the kitchen where she was checking on the jello shots in the fridge. She had been smiling when she looked up at him, but it quickly faded when she gauged his expression.
“He – he stopped me in the bathroom,” Richie explained, not quite meeting Beverly’s gaze. “I – he’s pretty upset with me. For avoiding him.”
“I see,” Bev replied, closing the fridge door. She grabbed Richie’s arm and directed him to sit on one of the barstools at the island counter. “Well, you can’t blame him. I sort of expected it, even.”
“Yeah.” Richie nodded before promptly dropping his face into his hands, his elbows balanced on the surface of the counter.
“Oh, baby, what have you gotten yourself into?” Beverly had asked good-naturedly, rubbing a soothing hand over his back.
The party was ending now, around two in the morning. Beverly announced that there was no booze left and people subsequently began to shuffle out. Richie remained, and Ben decided to go to bed once the house was mostly vacated, leaving Beverly with him in the living room.
“Alright if I sleep on the couch, Red?” Richie asks, already grabbing a fluffy blanket from the hidden storage space within the ottoman. He’s not even drunk, but he would rather sleep here than at his dorm – having Beverly nearby made him feel less alone.
“You got it, dude,” Bev agrees easily, getting up to go to the kitchen to get a head start on cleaning up.
Richie can hear her humming to herself as he pulls out his phone, staring at the unread text messages again. He wonders if he had just answered and pretended nothing had happened that Eddie might have done the same. He wouldn’t have offended Eddie that way, and maybe neither of them would have brought it up. Richie might have had a much better evening if he thought they were just going to move past it together and not even talk about it, really.
Richie is regretting a lot of things at the moment. But he can’t find himself regretting his night with Eddie.
It had just been the two of them drinking together – they wanted to have a Scary Movie marathon and nobody else was interested, so Richie went over to Eddie’s apartment with greasy pizza and cheesy snacks and that shitty wine he forgot he had until he cleaned his room the day before.
During the third movie, while Cindy was at the lighthouse to learn the truth about the girl on the tape, Eddie brought out the vodka. Things had escalated quite rapidly after that.
Richie managed to start the fourth movie, but by a quarter through, his teasing and flirting with Eddie was suddenly being far more reciprocated than it usually was.
“Aw, can’t Eddie-baby hold his liquor?” Richie had teased Eddie who stumbled over his feet getting back to the couch after a bathroom break.
Eddie had laughed and swiftly fallen onto the couch cushions, sidling up near Richie’s side in dark shorts that always drew Richie's eyes toward him. Richie could have sworn he felt their arm hairs touching, which was hardly anything but it was still all he could focus on.
“’M fine, Rich – just having a good - a really good time,” Eddie tried to allay Richie’s mocking of him, but it was when his eyes, lidded and sultry, met Richie’s that he was actually knocked temporarily speechless.
“Oh really?” Richie asked, not intending for his voice to get as deep and raspy as it did.
“Mm-hm,” Eddie nodded with a smirk, and then he squirmed around a bit, adjusting his position so that he was fully pressed to Richie’s side and crossed his legs, and letting one of his feet fall against Richie’s shin.
“I think that’s the wine talking,” Richie laughed, trying to quell the rippling of nerves in his gut.
“I don’t think so,” Eddie had disagreed, and then – that smug demon – he dropped one of his hands to rest on Richie’s thigh.
Richie hoped Eddie didn’t hear the slight gasp he produced or feel the way he jolted at the touch, especially if Eddie didn’t mean anything by it.
“No?” Richie asked, hoping to carry on like nothing was happening – like Richie wasn’t trying to calculate his next move and finding it difficult due to his slightly inebriated state.
“No, I think it’s you,” Eddie had said boldly. “You make it a good time.”
Richie gulped.
“I can give you an even better time, baby,” Richie laughed through an Austin Powers impression, almost hoping Eddie would react to the innuendo the same way he usually does (with disgust) so that they could lighten the mood a little bit – Richie felt like he was suffocating under the beguiling look that Eddie was giving him.
“Maybe you should,” Eddie leaned up to nearly whisper, mostly into Richie’s neck, causing a shiver to flow across Richie’s shoulders.
“Eds, are you – what is happening right now?” Richie finally asked, his voice trembling when Eddie’s hand began travelling up and up Richie’s leg. He reached out, placing his own hand over it to stop him from moving any further. “You’re way too drunk.”
“I’m not, Richie, I swear.” Eddie pulled away a little and Richie turned to look at him, finding a little more clarity in Eddie’s eyes than he expected. “I just – I just want to – “
“You want to what?” Richie had prompted him, although he was not sure if he really wanted the answer to that.
“Let me – “ Eddie huffed as he rearranged his limbs once again, ending up on his knees beside Richie, a hand gently resting on Richie’s chest now.
“Let you what?”
The hand on his chest moved, cupping his jawline instead and turning Richie’s head to face Eddie better. Richie saw the determination there, in Eddie’s gaze, but below it, in the walnut colour of his irises, Richie saw an unspoken question.
They were close – Richie could feel Eddie’s breath on his upper lip, and he could see every one of his freckles so clearly – his speckled cheeks were dusted pink from the alcohol in his system and maybe something else. He saw the way Eddie’s eyes were dancing all over his own face just as he was doing to Eddie.
Richie lifted his own hand and cradled Eddie’s neck in his palm, and with a surge of confidence produced by the searching look Eddie was giving him, he had pulled him forward into a kiss.
Now, Richie finds himself replaying every moment leading up to the kiss, the kiss – or kisses, rather – itself, and every moment that came afterward. Some of it makes him cringe – the things he said (Eds, you’re so good, oh my God) and when he fumbled trying to take his own shirt off, even though Eddie had just laughed amiably with him. But some of it he wants to seal away into his memory banks forever, like in some sort of secure vault (Richie, please, I want you so bad).
Richie wishes now that he had been brave enough to stay; to wake up to sun rays that were filtered through the blinds but still bright and warm, to let Eddie sleep for a bit and watch his face – to smile at the way it twitches a little as he dreams, and to see Eddie wake up next to him with a sleepy grin on his beautiful face. Maybe they would have even gone again with Eddie glowing on the bed sheets in the morning light so that Richie could see every one of his expressions on full display.
Richie feels a little queasy after reminiscing, here in the dark in Bev and Ben’s living room. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there for, but Beverly is still in the kitchen, tidying up, so it couldn’t have been too bad.
He’s contemplating how he’s going to fall asleep with his mind running like a little hamster in a wheel when he hears a second voice in the kitchen.
“Hey, what happened to everyone?”
Richie’s chest goes cold and his head spins just a little. Instinctively, he falls into a prone position on the couch and pulls the blanket to cover his head.
“Eddie, you scared me!”
He hears them laugh for a moment and can’t help how he smiles at the sound.
“Sorry, sorry. When did everyone leave, though?”
“Uh, maybe like fifteen minutes ago. Where have you been?”
“Oh. Upstairs. In the – in the loft.”
“What were you doing up there?” Bev asks, but it’s not interrogative.
“Nothing, nothing. Just. Sitting.”
There’s silence and then Richie hears Beverly sigh.
“Are you okay, hon?”
“Not really. I just – I thought he might have liked me.”
And then, oh God, Richie hears Eddie gasping because he’s started fucking crying. If Richie thought Eddie’s rejection would break his heart, he doubts it would be at all close to how it feels to hear the love of his life muffle his hushed sobbing into Beverly’s shirt.
“Eddie – “ Bev starts to interrupt.
“But he won’t talk to me – won’t even look at me. What did I do?”
“Eddie, wait – “
“Whatever, I just hope he’s happy with whoever he ends up with. He deserves someone good, you know? Someone that’ll appreciate him because he means so much to me, I won’t be able to stand it if they don’t love every part of him that makes him Richie.”
It suddenly strikes Richie why Bev was trying to interrupt him – it’s because Eddie is talking about him, because Richie is right here. Eddie is crying about him. Nothing has made Richie feel worse.
Abandoning his plan of pretending to sleep, Richie gets up from the couch and carefully enters the kitchen, bare feet cold on the tiles. Eddie sees him over Beverly’s shoulder, his eyes widening, and he immediately pulls away from her and turns his back to him, probably not wanting Richie to see him with his face tear-streaked and broken.
“What is he doing here?” Eddie asks, his tone entirely exhausted.
Beverly turns and finds Richie standing there, and he looks at her helplessly, not sure how to make this better – only knowing that he has to. Bev gives him some combination of both an urgent and a supportive look, and then she moves past him, leaving them alone in the kitchen.
Richie looks back at Eddie’s back, how he’s curled in on himself and rooted in place, refusing to face him. He wonders where to start.
“I’m sorry, Eds, I didn’t mean to – to overhear, I was in the living room.” Richie says first.
“Thanks, I feel so much better now,” Eddie says sarcastically, and Richie swears that Eddie is rolling his eyes even though he can’t see him.
“Were you – the stuff you said. You were talking about me?” Richie asks, to be sure, even though he knows Eddie is going to be annoyed by it.
“Why, are you going to rub it in my face?” Eddie whirls around, his eyes red and fists clenched. “You gonna make a joke out of it – out of my fucking feelings?”
“I would never do that, Eddie,” Richie tries to assure him, his palms out - placating.
“Of course you would, you asshole.”
“Not with this. I’m serious about this – I’m serious about you.”
“You are not – you mock me all of the time,” Eddie says, aggravated, his hands flying out in front of him as he stares incredulously at Richie.
“Okay, let me rephrase; I’m serious about my feelings for you.”
Eddie’s hands fall back to his sides and he sniffles, blinking at Richie.
“What?” he sounds skeptical, and his face conveys as much as well.
“I wasn’t talking to you because I was scared – because I like you. I’ve always liked you actually - I might even fucking love you - but I thought if we talked today that you would just say what happened between us was a mistake.”
So there it is, out in the air for Eddie to breathe in and out. Richie watches as Eddie takes it in, the cogs churning behind his furrowed eyebrows.
“You’re so stupid,” Eddie concludes, shaking his head in disbelief. He doesn’t look so sad any more though so that’s an improvement.
“Dude, I know,” Richie agrees, raising his eyebrows because even he can’t believe how dumb he can be sometimes.
“Is that why you were hiding under the fucking table at the coffee place too today?”
“What – do you really think I ever have a pen on me?”
“No,” Eddie finally laughs and Richie beams at him, likes watching him light up. “But I like you anyway. I might even love you anyway.”
Richie probably looks like the damn Cheshire cat due to how wide he feels himself grin, and his pulse is racing with nervous energy – but it’s such a different energy than before, like the type of energy a person gets before getting on a rollercoaster or jumping into the quarry. He wants to feel this type of excited, amazing energy forever, and he thinks maybe he could if he has Eddie by his side.
And yet, certain things remain unresolved.
“I’m sorry for making you cry,” Richie says, tamping the adrenaline flowing through his blood momentarily so that he can make things right. “I never want that to happen ever again.”
“I’m a human being, Richie,” Eddie says plainly. “I’m going to cry sometimes.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Richie says and he’s entirely serious.
Eddie looks incredibly fond and for once, Richie isn’t trying to make sense of it – he knows now that Eddie feels the same. Eddie fucking likes him.
Eddie steps forward, crowding into Richie’s space, but Richie doesn’t back away. When Eddie’s hand falls in the same place as the night previous and he pulls him down toward him, Richie falls right into it.
Richie is happy to kiss Eddie for as long as Eddie wants, for as many days or months or years as Eddie wants. Hopefully forever. He’s always imagined having Eddie like this, but he couldn’t really imagine. It was always a distant dream – something he figured might never be tangible. But it is, and Richie will do anything to make sure it stays that way.
“Am I forgiven?” he pulls away to ask.
“That depends,” and there’s a glint of mischief in Eddie’s eyes now. “Were you ever gonna own up to hiding behind the couch?”
“Oh, fuck,” Richie curses, and he drops his forehead into the curve of Eddie’s shoulder and neck in embarrassment. He’s temporarily distracted by how nice he smells, though. “When did you figure it out?”
“Literally two minutes into my conversation with Bev. As soon as I realized, I thought about saying everything, knowing you could hear me, so that I wouldn’t have to pluck up the courage to say it to your face. But Beverly stopped me before I could,” Eddie says, and Richie feels more at ease, knowing that Eddie isn’t really upset about it. He also, selfishly, feels better knowing that Eddie was just as scared as he was, this whole time.
“Okay, so when were you gonna own up to knowing I was behind the couch?” Richie lifts his head and smirks, watching the way Eddie’s flush pinks up his ears under Richie’s gaze.
“I just did, moron,” Eddie fires back and Richie loves how everything has changed and nothing has changed at all.
fin