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Fuck this. Fuck his classes and his professors and fuck this entire fucking establishment.
Eddie had not had a good day.
He had, in fact, had a shit day. Anything that might have gone wrong in a day at university, had gone to complete and utter shit. His bus? Missed. His coffee? A puddle still vaguely squishing in his shoes. The paper he had turned in last week? Big fat fucking failure. And as a lovely little bonus round to top it all off, his Queer Club meeting had been canceled this evening due to the co-hosts both coming down with mono. Suspicious and disappointing.
Needless to say, Eddie was feeling moody - no, downright pissed - as he walked from main campus back to the apartment he shared with Richie. The last thing he fucking needed today was Richie’s inevitable shit-eating grin and annoying-at-best jokes after the day he’d had, but that was what he had to go home to. It definitely wasn’t that he regretted the decision to move in with his best friend for their second year at University of California, San Diego. But ever since Rich had switched to mostly online courses and started staying home more often, Eddie’s returns to the apartment had become a Whole Thing. Richie had been acting, unbelievably, like he missed him during the days when he was on campus all day. As if they didn’t see each other every other waking hour of every goddamn day. Eddie guessed it was endearing, but he just wasn’t up for it today.
He stomped up the two flights of stairs to their place, once again wishing the building had an elevator (like honestly, where’s the fucking accessibility), and kicked off his shoes just outside their door. No sense tracking mud in when he did his best every morning to maintain some standard of cleanliness. The sound of Richie’s record player wafted from their shared bedroom, along with the mild stink of marijuana. Fuck. He stomped some more. At the end of the hall, he swung open the door dramatically to reveal exactly what he had expected: Richie, in a hoodie and boxers, on his back on his bed, eyes closed and mouth quirked into a dimpled smirk, bobbing his head to the music and clearly a little stoned.
“Richard,” Eddie said in a voice he hoped was stern. “How many fucking times do I have to ask you not to smoke in--”
“SPAGHETTI!” Richie shouted, grinning ear to ear now and jumping up to greet Eddie with a bear hug. Eddie wiggled out of the embrace and grimaced. “Welcome home, Edward,” Richie continued, walking backwards back to the bed. He tripped over a shirt or a sock or maybe his own foot and fell unceremoniously back onto his mattress. “How was your day, oh Studious One?”
“It was shit, Rich, and the last thing I wanted was to come home to the entire apartment stinking of weed especially in the bedroom and I just--”
“Whoa whoa whoa Eds, slow down a second. Breathe. Do I need to knock someone’s teeth out? Why was your day such shit?” Richie’s face was one of genuine concern and the overwhelming exhaustion and frustration of the day caught up to Eddie and made him slump onto his own bed, parallel to Richie’s.
“Among other things, I got my grade back on that paper today,” Eddie said, sounding defeated even to his own ears.
“The one that kept you up for like three nights last week?”
“The very same.”
“Not good?”
“Really not good, Rich. An F.”
“No fucking way. So I DO need to knock someone’s teeth out. Jesus. I’ll just march on over to Professor Dickhead’s office right now.” Richie actually started to get up again, but he must have already been pretty high because his head only came off the pillow for a second before it came flopping right back down. He turned his head to face Eddie across the divide between their beds. “Will he at least let you make it up somehow, maybe?”
“I don’t know and honestly, I really don’t want to talk about it anymore right now.”
“Fair.”
They heaved a sigh in unison. On the inhale, Eddie was reminded of the cloud of smoke in which he was currently existing. And on the exhale, he got a stupid idea.
“Y’know what, fuck it. You didn’t finish that whole joint by yourself, did you?”
Richie successfully sat up all the way this time to look Eddie directly in the eyes. He was probably going for intensity but it wasn’t very convincing. “No…” he replied, skeptical but with an unmistakable gleam in his eye, “why?”
“Hand it over,” Eddie said, sitting up as well and extending his arm toward Richie, hoping he sounded confident and unfazed. Richie reached behind himself and grabbed the joint and his lighter, but didn’t hand it over like Eddie had asked.
“Are you sure, Eds? Y'know just because you had one bad day doesn’t mean you need to turn to drugs now. Your mother and I actually had a conversation about this very thing last night in bed--”
“Shut the fuck up, shithead, and give me the fucking drugs.”
“Okayyy…” Richie said with an audible shrug in his tone, and placed the lighter and the tightly rolled joint into Eddie’s open palm. Eddie pretended to know what he was doing. He had watched Richie do this enough times up to this point that it seemed like something he should innately know how to do. He placed the joint between his lips and raised the lighter, entirely too aware of Richie’s eyes on him. He flicked off the lighter and watched the embers glow as he inhaled, then immediately knew he had already done something horribly wrong. He only just had time to snatch the joint from his mouth before the coughing started.
It was nothing like the “asthma attacks” of his childhood. His throat burned and it only got worse with every inhale. He thought he might genuinely be dying. “Fuck,” he choked out, handing the joint back to Richie and doubling over.
Suddenly, Richie was up and swiping something from the bedside drawer. And just as suddenly, he was sitting at Eddie’s side on his bed, knees bumping into Eddie’s own and eyes wide with concern. The thing he had grabbed from the drawer, Eddie realized, was his inhaler.
He reassured Richie between coughs. “I’m fine, Rich.” Cough. “Really, I swear.” Cough. “I just fucked it up somehow.”
“No kidding, you fucker! You scared the shit outta me!” Eddie looked up at Richie, still struggling to return his breathing to normal but getting there. The intensity he had been trying for moments earlier had returned in genuine full force now. He was seriously worried. There was a flash of some other form of intensity in his eyes, there and gone in a split second but enough to cause a flutter of confusion and heat to occur somewhere below Eddie’s stomach. Nope, he was not going to process that right now. Especially since Richie was now leaning back with his palms on the mattress, his ultra-relaxed grin having returned now, even if it seemed a little forced.
Eddie scowled at him and reached again for the joint, even more determined than before to get the same relief and relaxation he knew it gave Richie when his anxiety was at its worst.
“Are you sure, dude?” Richie said, raising an impish eyebrow. “Don’t want you dyin’ on me, now.”
“Fuck off. I’m sure. Hand it over, dickhead.”
Something Eddie didn’t quite understand happened on Richie’s face, then, and he leaned forward and said in a low voice, “There’s actually a way to make it go down smoother, if you want.” There was a suggestiveness to his voice that made Eddie squirm unexpectedly, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. Not one from Richie, anyway.
Eddie assumed a nonchalant stance that didn’t actually feel nonchalant at all. “Yeah? And what would that be? You gonna blow the smoke into my mouth for me or somethin’?”
Richie sputtered and immediately lost any semblance of cool he had been maintaining. He actually coughed for a second as if he had just inhaled incorrectly and not Eddie. “Uh. Y-yeah. That’s pretty much it.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Um.”
“It’s called shotgunning.”
“Uh-huh. Hm. Okay. What does that uh… actually entail?” Images of their mouths being millimeters away from each other, of the two of them sharing one breath, made Eddie’s head go all fuzzy as if he was already starting to get high. Maybe he was.
“So basically um. I’ll inhale the smoke, hold it in my mouth, put my hand up like this,” Richie brought a loose fist to his lips, “and you’ll put your mouth up to my hand and I’ll blow the smoke for you.” He paused, uncertain. “ Yeah. It was a bad idea. Probably too many germs and shit for your pussy ass anyway. It’s whatever.”
“Fuck you,” Eddie said as he felt himself scoot closer to Richie on the bed. It was mostly involuntary, but the movement made something in Richie’s face shift again. He still wasn’t “cool” by any stretch of the imagination, but he was definitely game for this. His reddened and half-lidded eyes stared directly into Eddie’s and Eddie felt blood rushing both up toward his cheeks and down toward something else. What the fuck were they doing?
Rich picked up the joint and lighter from where they had gotten dumped on the table in his mad dash for the inhaler. He started to bring it to his lips and then stopped, saying, “You have to take it pretty quick, otherwise I’ll start choking too. You sure you’re okay with this?”
“Yeah. Mhm. Yes. I’m sure.”
“Okay, loser. Ready?”
Eddie nodded and swallowed hard. He watched again as Richie brought the joint to his lips, lit it, and inhaled in one fluid motion that was so normal but suddenly felt so charged. He almost forgot his role in this crazy fucking plan until Richie’s eyes met his again, and he signaled with his eyebrows that it was time for him to join in. Eddie aligned his own lips with the curve of Richie’s pinkie finger, trying not to think too hard about any of what was happening, but especially this new brand of closeness they hadn’t really explored before.
Then Richie exhaled, and any spark of thought happening in Eddie’s brain came to a screeching halt as all his focus zeroed in on the sensation. Breath, surprisingly gentle and sweet, mingled with the smoke as it passed his lips and went straight to his throat. It still burned, still wasn’t exactly an enjoyable feeling, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either. Eddie felt his eyelids slip closed as the last bit of smoke was transferred between them.
He didn’t cough. Hell, he barely fucking breathed. He wouldn’t dare open his eyes for fear Richie might be… what? Embarrassed? Mocking? He didn’t know. Jesus fuck he had to get a hold of himself.
“So? Uh, how was that?” Richie asked, sounding as nervous as Eddie felt.
“It was, uh,” Eddie started, but still couldn’t really think straight. “I don’t really know.” He opened his eyes to find Richie with his eyebrows knitted together as if he thought he might need to grab the inhaler again at any moment. “I’m fine though, it was good. I’m not going to cough myself to death this time.”
Richie audibly exhaled, and just the sound made Eddie’s memory spasm and his heart skip. Fuck. What the fuck? What was this? Fuck that, he knew what this was. It was the same feeling he’d had since he and Richie were kids. The same feeling that kept him up some nights even when he wasn’t cramming for a test or working furiously on some bullshit paper. This was the ridiculous, against-all-odds crush that had kept him aching for his best friend for years now. Stupid. Stupid.
But honestly, was it all that stupid, really? Eddie didn’t think he had made up the significance of the countless glances he had received from Richie over the years, but especially more recently. His mind wandered back to the hammock in the Losers’ clubhouse. To the countless summer days spent laughing together. To every single time Richie had talked him down from a panic attack. To all the times they’d sat together in the dark and silence when Rich’s depression got really bad. To the day they found out they had both been accepted to UCSD. To the day they moved into their apartment. To five minutes ago, when Richie had instinctively leapt into action to take care of him. All of that had to add up to something, right? Ugh. Fuck.
“You okay, Eddie?” The use of his normal name snapped Eddie back into the present. Richie’s face was screwed up in worry. “Is it messing with your head? It does that sometimes, y’know. It works wonders for my anxiety but for some people it makes it worse and oh god I’m so sorry this was a terrible idea I never should have let this happen it’s gonna be okay it’ll wear off in a little while with some food and it--”
“Do it again,” Eddie cut him off.
“Wh- what?”
“I want to try it again.”
“Okay, Eds, if you’re sure.” Eddie nodded in answer and Richie lit up the joint again, closing his eyes and trusting that Eddie knew what to do this time. He put his hand to his mouth, and Eddie leaned in. Before he could think better of it, he moved Richie’s hand out of the way with his own and tentatively moved his own lips closer to Richie’s. To his idiot best friend’s credit, he didn’t laugh or splutter or accidentally blow all the smoke in Eddie’s face at once. He simply snapped his eyes open in surprise, moving them quickly down to where their mouths were nearly touching, and continued to exhale slowly, if somewhat shakily, to share the smoke with Eddie.
They leaned back away from one another. He was definitely some kind of high now. Whether it was from the two and a half pulls of weed or from the rush of feeling that came along with what had just happened, he wasn’t sure. Probably both.
Richie didn’t move except to close his mouth. He wouldn’t meet Eddie’s gaze. He had also notably adjusted the lower part of his hoodie. Eddie was sure he wasn’t making that up. Feeling emboldened, he brought a hand up to Richie’s face and gently nudged his chin upwards to meet his gaze. “You okay?” he asked, barely whispering. Richie nodded and quickly, nervously, licked his lips. Eddie’s thumb gently brushed Richie’s lip where his tongue had just been. “This okay?” Richie nodded again and managed a soft “Mhmm.”
He might be getting a little fuzzy around the edges, but he was certainly coherent enough to know how much he wanted this. He closed the space between their bodies on the bed, pressing close and keeping his hand on Richie’s face, moving it from his lip to his cheek, looked into his eyes and asked once more for confirmation, “Is this okay?”
“Yes, Eds. God,” was Richie’s breathless response.
Eddie moved in as tentatively as before, and they shared another breath, smokeless this time but full of an equally heady desire. Then as a wave on his beloved coastal shores, his lips crashed gently onto those of his best friend. His Richie.
It was messy at first, perfectly imperfect. Noses bumped awkwardly and glasses were knocked askew. A beat, and the glasses were removed and tossed sloppily onto the other bed. Another beat, and the boys curled into each other again. Richie’s lips were softer than Eddie would have imagined, and he used them with such care it almost overwhelmed him. His unbearable want made him press into Richie with more intensity than before. His hand went to Richie’s neck, fingers curled in his hair and pulled, ever so slightly, eliciting a gasp from Richie that took the breath out of Eddie’s already wanting lungs.
Richie’s hand went to Eddie’s chest and pushed him back, just slightly, enough so that they could see one another clearly. “What the fuck, Eds?” Richie said, breathlessly.
Oh, no.
“What?! Oh god, are you okay? Did I do something totally wrong? Oh jesus oh fuck I’ve fucked everything up I’m so sorry Rich--”
“NO, oh my god, Eddie,” Richie ran a hand through his own hair and continued, laughing, “Do you know how fucking long I’ve wished you would do that?”
Oh.
Richie continued giggling, uncontrollably and ridiculously now. Eddie joined him, and they were a mess. They fell back, Eddie slightly on top of Richie at this point, tangled together and laughing at nothing and everything.
“Fuck!” Richie exclaimed and rolled them over so his face was right over Eddie’s. “What the fuck! Oh my god!” Eddie was still laughing when Richie’s lips came back down to his, slow in a way that Eddie could feel every ounce of disbelief Richie was feeling about this whole thing, like he would wake up any minute and none of this would be real.
But it was. They were. Eddie didn’t even care to think about how this might make their living situation weird. He just wanted to kiss Richie forever.
One of Richie’s hands combed up into Eddie’s hair, and he moved his lips down to the base of his throat. He undoubtedly felt the way Eddie’s breath hitched there.
Richie spoke Eddie’s name into his skin.
“I’m here, Rich. I’m here. I’m yours. I’m yours. Fuck, I’m yours.”
The night was haze and closeness and kisses and laughter and promises. It was everything and more. It hadn’t turned out to be such a shit day after all.