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“You’re being kind of a pussy about it.”
Richie frowns at his phone. “Isn’t that sexist?”
Bev shrugs. “Not if I say it, probably,” she replies through a bite of her apple. “Listen, we both know I’m right. What’s the worst that could happen?”
What’s the worst that could happen? he silently mimics, his Brain-Bev voice loud in his head. Seriously?
“Okay, well first off, that’s pretty fuckin’ rich coming from you, Miss Beverly Marsh,” he says, pointing at her and ignoring the obvious Rich joke (because he’s just that good of a person).
“Oh, right, I forgot — I already confessed to my love of 27 years, and now we’re living our happily ever after in the middle of nowhere.” Bev grins smugly at the camera. Ignoring Richie’s drawn-out groan (he already knows what’s coming), she flips her video to show Ben, in all of his big beefy glory, fucking — Christ, he's chopping literal wood in their backyard.
The jokes make themselves, honestly.
Jesus, those fucking biceps. That’s ridiculous, and Richie can see his mouth drop open in the corner of his screen.
(What? Ben is an attractive man, okay?)
“Alright, Marsh, put that shit away,” he grumbles, and her cackling laughter echoes in his living room as the camera wobbles in her hand. The video switches back to Bev, her riotous hair shaking as she giggles into her other hand.
Richie smiles reflexively at the sight of her — it’s hard to stay mad at any of the Losers, really. “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he says, and her laughter tapers off into a sympathetic grin. “I’m being kind of a pussy about it, aren’t I?”
Bev huffs out a soft laugh. “Kind of, yeah. Just — listen, Richie, I don’t know how many times I can tell you that Eddie’s in love with you before it really kicks in, y’know?”
“Yeah, well, you know this ol’ noggin,” he drawls, knocking a fist to his forehead in Old Man Whiskey’s voice.
“Unfortunately,” Bev replies snootily. She’s rolling her eyes, but upturns in the corners of her mouth say otherwise and Richie delights in the warmth he feels in her smile.
Something makes Bev look up — maybe a squirrel or something, because Richie didn’t hear Ben say anything — for a second, and when she looks back down her face is apologetic. “Alright, Richie, I-”
“You gotta go, yeah, I hear you. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Tell Ben I say hi.”
“Okay, I will. Love you-”
“Yeah, love you too, bye-”
“Bye, bye, love you-” and she’s gone, Richie’s last I love you gone with the wind.
(Gone with the wind ? What the fuck is happening to him? Love is a fucking curse.)
Richie rubs his face with his hand, groaning into it.
Well, now or never.
“Hi, Richie, wasn’t expecting to hear from you at two o’clock in the afternoon, in the middle of a workday, how’s it going?” Eddie says, snippy and lightly irritated in the way Richie’s never quite been able to do a Voice for.
“Oh, I’m sorry, those of us with actual lives can call our best friends whenever we want. It’s called free time, you heard of it?” Richie bounces back, grinning to himself as he settles into his couch.
It’s easy for Richie to get all in his head about calling Eddie — what if it’s awkward, what if Richie’s too gay, what if Eddie finds out — but Eddie’s voice has a way of making him forget about everything he worries about.
Well, almost everything.
“Haha, very funny Richie, good one. I don’t even know why you complain about not being able to talk to me, honestly, because it’s not like you don’t call me whenever you want.”
Richie snorts, his eyes crinkling with the force of his stupid smile. “C’mon, you know you love it.”
The phone goes quiet for a long second, enough that Richie resists the urge to check and make sure Eddie’s still on the line. Eddie speaks eventually, though, and his voice is noticeably softer. “Yeah, guess I do. Anyways, how’s everything going?”
“Good! Good, just got off the phone, she says hi-”
“Oh, that’s so nice! How is she, is she good, I haven’t-”
“Yeah, yeah she’s doing great,” he says, grinning at Eddie’s eagerness. God, he’s adorable. “She’s with Ben, he’s ruggedly handsome, they’re having a good time.”
Eddie’s hum is satisfied. “Good, good. I was a little worried about them-”
“Yeah, I know.” Richie grins at the black TV screen — he’s not sure how much Eddie’s aware of himself, but the man spreads gossip like an old white lady with nothing but time on her hands.
Maybe he got it from Sonia.
Or Myra.
(Beep beep, Stan says in his head, and Richie rolls his eyes because he knows Brain-Stan’s right.)
“-but I’m glad things are working out for them, with the divorce and the tabloids and all. I’m calling Ben tomorrow, so I’ll catch up with him then.”
“Yeah, for sure, for sure.”
There’s a long pause, and then- “Richie?”
“Yeah?” Richie replies, holding his breath.
“Everything okay?”
Now’s your chance, Richie, don’t fuck it up, Brain-Ben says, and Richie bites back a retort.
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” he says instead, absolutely not fine and doing a terrible job of hiding it, “totally, I was just thinking — you’re coming by for the Fourth of July, right?”
“... yeah?” Eddie says slowly, obviously confused. “Rich, we’ve been planning this for weeks-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know just -” Richie pauses, catches his breath — why is he out of breath? — and inhales. “Well, I figured — obviously we have the Losers Fourth of July, but you’re staying for a couple of days, right? So maybe — the day after or something, we-” Just say it, Tozier. Thanks, Brain-Bill. “We could go to dinner sometime?”
Eddie’s voice is soft. “Dinner, huh. Like a date.”
Richie blows out a harsh breath. “Like - yeah, um.” He laughs a little. “Like a date.”
“Okay, cool,” Eddie says quickly, and the giddy smile in his voice is fucking audible, and God, Richie loves him. “Just wanted to make sure this wasn’t, like, a Richie and Eddie but also Mike Is Coming And Bev Is In Town We Have Room For One More, Right? kind of situation.”
Richie’s jaw drops in outrage, but he’s laughing too hard to really make it work. “What! I have never done that before-”
“Oh, that’s what you think.”
“-and even if I have it’s because I didn’t realize it was a date!”
Eddie’s laughing too, giggling through his words. “We were wearing suits, Richie!”
“It was a fancy restaurant!” Richie insists, but he’s remembering the night Eddie is talking about (because you remember every time you see him in vivid detail, Brain-Mike reminds him gently) and wincing a little.
Yeah, that night seemed pretty gay even with Bev and Mike there.
“That’s my whole point!” he insists, and Richie can’t help but let out an ohhhh. “Yeah, ‘oh,’ you asshole, there were ROSES on the TABLE! Of course that was a fucking date!”
“Well!” Richie scrambles for something to say, but Eddie’s still laughing into the phone and it’s melting his brain a little bit. “I’m an idiot, okay?”
“You’re not an idiot, Richie, you’re incredibly smart,” Eddie says, in the nonchalant voice he has that means arguing with him is pointless. (Richie’s learned to pick his battles.) “Bev says the word is ‘himbo’.”
Richie cracks up again, which launches Eddie into another round of laughter, and then it’s just the two of them giggling into the phone like a couple of high-school sweethearts.
(Isn’t that what you were? Brain-Bev asks, grinning. Richie sticks out his metaphorical tongue at her.)
“Okay, I really have to go-” and shit, is it really three pm already? “-but I, uh. I’ll text you soon, okay? Once I get home, we can — we can video chat, or something.”
Eddie’s voice is a little soft, almost shy if Richie didn’t know any better, and Richie grins helplessly into the phone. “Yeah, sounds good. Just text me whenever, okay?”
“Okay, I will. Bye, Richie.”
“Bye, Eddie,” he says, and the ding of Eddie hanging up rings in his mind, and he’s still smiling when he lifts his head and almost gets a cramp from how long he’d been sitting with his ear pressed to his shoulder.
He should text Bev. Richie looks down at his hands and - huh. That’s an origami crane. Made from — is that his credit card bill?
Huh. He had forgotten he still knew how to do those.