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He was sitting on the playground when Eddie first saw the new kid in school.
Due to the buddy system, Stan and Bill had gone inside to go to the bathroom, and, in turn, had abandoned Eddie. Whilst waiting for them, he aimlessly picks at the wood chips on the ground and frowns. He hates when they leave. He hates being alone, even though his mommy always says that a good son only needs his mom and God. Call him selfish, (and his mommy sometimes does), but Eddie also needs his friends.
He frowns deeper and waits for the next glimpse of Stan or Bill. They’re both in the first kindergarten class, while he’s in the second, so the only time he gets to see them during school is recess. During class he keeps to himself, just like his mommy says he should. He’s frightened of how dirty all the other kids are- how they have no mind for germs or sickness or, or… anything! At least Stan and Bill are more considerate. And they’re kinder. Most importantly, they’re losers just like him.
Eddie pushes his mouth into a further caricature of a sad face and pushes the wood chips that are gathered at his feet to the side. His legs feel awkward pressed against the wood, and he just knows that when he stands up, the prints will be able to be seen against his thighs.
Eddie spends a lot of time listening. Whenever he’s not with Stan and Bill, he doesn’t have much else to do. He often listens to grown ups when they think he can’t hear. That’s how he knows about important and mature things like Sex and Divorce and the Big C from which his father died a year ago. He also listens to the other kids, but he doesn’t learn much from that. Undoubtedly most importantly, he listens to his mom on the phone with her friends and her sisters. That’s how he knows the most about all of his sicknesses and the dangers of the world that he’s been born into. She tells him a lot of it, but she also loves to whisper the more pressing and scary matters in a low voice to her friends, which he can most certainly hear if he strains his ears a bit. Unless he’s with his friends. Everything fades away when he’s actually having fun with his friends.
He hears the new kid, before he sees him, actually.
Spanish is what he hears. While he didn’t know it at the time, Eddie heard the new kid and his mom speaking Spanish to each other. He honestly thought it was gibberish for the first few seconds and risked a quick glance to the direction that the talking was coming from. But from the gestures of the mom and her, (frankly, quite annoying sounding), son, he can tell that they’re actually talking. Eddie just knows that it’s not English. They seem to be bickering a little, with the son gesturing wildly around. The principal of Eddie’s elementary school also is looking upon the two, waiting patiently for them to finish their conversation.
After another minute of squabbling, the mother says a stern word to her son and Eddie studies the way his mouth snaps shut and he crosses his arms. The mother turns to Principal Mitchell and smiles.
“Thank you so much, sir,” she says with an accent, placably not American, “I feel my son will learn well in your school.” Principal Mitchell smiles, nodding and holding out his hand for the mother to shake, which she does graciously.
“I quite agree, Mrs. Tozier,” he responds.
“Please. I’m Maggie,” she returns.
He nods. “In that case, you can call me John. Just not around the kiddy, you see,” he stage-whispers, so hypothetically the son would be able to hear, but he makes no reactions to the Principal’s words either way. The mother, however, laughs.
Eddie almost smiles at her. She seems nice- almost like Stan’s mom in the way she treats her son with stern love. Eddie adores seeing mother’s who act like that. Not that he doesn’t love his own mom, of course he does! It’s just that she’s… different. Too much, maybe. But that’s just how she protects him, so Eddie isn’t too upset about it. He obviously doesn’t dream about his few sleepovers at Stan’s house. No. He wouldn’t. He loves his mommy. He gazes at his feet. He loves his mommy.
“Your son will be in the second kindergarten class,” the Principal continues. “Ah- he’ll be with Eddie over there! Why doesn’t he go say hi!”
Eddie perks up at the sound of his own name and throws his head around to look at the group of two adults and the child, wood chips still between his fingers. What? He thinks with alarm and furrows his eyebrows.
The mother, Mrs. Tozier, Eddie rapidly remembers, leans down to her son and mutters some words in the other language, pointing to Eddie. The son smiles upon spotting the other boy and rushes to him, standing in front of and studying him like a scientist spotting a rare species. The Principal and Mrs. Tozier continue their conversation while the son leaves, but Eddie isn’t paying them any attention anymore.
“¡Hola!” He greets, with an abrasive voice. “Me llamo Ricardo. Pero- pero mi mamá me dijo que mi nombre en Inglés es ‘Richie,’” he grins wide and toothy, (as toothy as you can get with one incisor and one canine missing), and the fact that his pearly whites are crooked is obvious as he sounds out the last word and points to himself.
“I- uhm… don’t understand you,” Eddie responds, carefully.
He looks thoughtful for a moment and cocks his head, reminiscent of a dog. “¿No me entiendes? ¡Tampoco te entiendo!” He laughs with a full belly. He points to himself once again and carefully enunciates: “Rich-ie.”
Okay, so his name is Richie. Eddie glances back down at his pile of wood chips and yearns for them, only for a split second.
“¿Cómo te llamas?” Richie points at Eddie, almost forcefully, but not in an unkind way.
Eddie blinks. “Oh, uhm… ‘te llama’- uh, Eddie,” he points at himself with a short uncomfortable cough, “I’m Eddie.”
“Ed-die,” Richie repeats, but he pronounces it wrong, almost like “Ee-dee,” instead of Eddie. Eddie frowns at that.
“No,” Eddie shakes his head, “Eh-dee,” he sounds out very carefully and gestures for Richie to repeat him. And, this time, when the other boy says his name, he says it right. Eddie nods with satisfaction and Richie grins with that full face smile from earlier once again. Richie plops himself down right in front of Eddie too, and gratefully starts contributing to his humble wood chip pile with vigor. He even starts building a sort of wood chip moat! Eddie has to work double time to keep up with him.
Within a few minutes, they’ve built a whole woodchip castle, equipped with some fences, a moat, an odd assortment of something that you could possibly call rooms, and a flag that was really a stick that Richie found. Richie also even made some pretty convincing horse sounds and mimed a knight falling into their moat. Eddie almost laughed but stopped himself, ending in a barely contained smile and a weird noise from the bottom of his throat. Richie beamed at that and sent Eddie a gracious nod of his head.
Mrs. Tozier comes over right after that, crouching down and placing a loving hand on Richie’s shoulder. “¿Tienes un amigo?” She asks, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.
“Sí, mamá,” Richie responds. “Eh-die es muy amable.”
“Muy bien.” she smiles at Eddie, then points at him. “Friend. Fr-end. Es ‘amigo.’”
Richie repeats obediently, and smiles when he succeeds at his pronunciation. Eddie smiles too, in some odd support of him.
“Thank you for talking with him,” Mrs. Tozier directs towards him, “And, I would be so happy, too, if you kept talking with him in school. Thank you.” She smiles with such a pleasant face that Eddie feels a flower of warmth bloom inside his stomach like cherry blossom trees in the beginning of spring.
“Yeah, I like him. We’re friends,” Eddie grins. “Of course I’ll keep talking to him.”
Mrs. Tozier simply beams. “Richie, tenemos que ir con Director Mitchell,” she says to Richie and tugs at his shoulder. He complies with her urges to continue on walking easily, but tosses a smile and a wave over his shoulder before he leaves. Eddie feels his face warm in a way that it never has before.
Stan asks, critically, “Who was that?” He seems to materialize at Eddie’s side, or maybe Eddie was just too concentrated on Richie to notice anything else. Eddie knows that Stan isn’t trying to be mean. He’s just critical of any type of change. Especially new people, because a lot of the other kids in school aren’t always the best to him. Eddie understands.
“Yuh-yeah,” Bill nods in agreement with Stan’s question. “Not a luh-lot of new kids in Duh-Derry.”
“Nope,” Stan frowns and pops the “p” of his simple word.
“He’s some new kid,” Eddie responds, standing up and wiping the wood chips off of his shorts. “Richie. He seems nice. And he doesn’t speak any English.” Eddie throws on the last part of his thought after a slight pause, almost forgetting what should be the most interesting aspect of this new character in his life. But Eddie can’t bring himself to be intrigued by any new language. He’s more intrigued by the boy himself. The way he smiles.
“Hm,” Stan grunts and turns away as the whistle for recess ending is blown.
Despite his moaning and groaning, Stan quickly becomes not only accustomed to Richie, but close to him too. Both he and Bill do. Stan also started to trust the new boy more once he realized that his mom was friends with Richie’s mom, from some restaurant odd-job in New York. But unlike Billy and Stan, Richie and Eddie don’t become close. They become inseparable. Not only spending all their time in class together, but having play dates almost every day, and spending all recess together. Eddie has never felt this close to anyone but his mommy before. He especially can’t believe how much he likes Richie because the boy is, all in all, insufferable! He’s like every annoying person Eddie has ever met combined into one hyperactive five year old. Every new English word that Richie learns is put to some new sinister use. (He recently learned the word “fart” and cannot stop using it.)
Eddie’s mom calls Richie a lot of things, though, things that seem mean enough that Eddie can’t repeat them. He knows his mommy knows best about pretty much, like, everything, but something about calling Richie “dirty,” makes Eddie feel dirty! Which is insane! (Eddie’s never been dirty.) Anyways, he feels awkward every time his mom says something like that and just twists his thumbs together so that he doesn’t have to respond. She seems upset that Eddie is spending so much with someone that she doesn’t like, but she usually lets him. But not without some type of lecture on how he “can’t let himself be influenced by that boy!”
But Richie is the best. He is so bright in ways that Eddie can’t ever anticipate or explain. He might be the best person that Eddie’s ever met.
Richie knows English fluently by the time he’s seven. A quick learner, all the adults say with pride, and Eddie is just glad that he can communicate with him well now. And even before he spoke English, Richie was the smartest in their whole grade in every subject except for reading and writing.
The Losers Club is assembled years later.
---
“RICHIE!” Eddie screams, when the boy still hasn’t woken up.
Mrs. Tozier always lets Eddie into their house, no matter the circumstances. Even if Richie’s not awake. He thinks that she sees Eddie as a tool to wake her son up so that she doesn’t have to spend the energy on it. (To be fair, it is exceptionally difficult to get the loudmouth out of bed. Eddie understands why she doesn’t want to do it.) And, either way, Eddie knows where the spare key is, so he luckily never has to wait outside of their house if Mrs. Tozier calls to tell him to let himself in when Richie inevitably wakes up late for another Loser’s hangout. Eddie always starts by being amicable to Richie and trying to lightly shake him awake. But when that obviously and naturally doesn’t work, he resorts to more violent shaking and yelling until Richie jerks awake from another one of his endlessly insane dreams.
Eddie glares at the sleeping lump of a teenager where he lays, still and motionless. Stupid. Richie is so fucking stupid.
Eddie leans over Richie’s body, preparing to grab both of his arms again to shake him even more violently, but he gets… distracted. Richie maybe looks… pretty? Or, or something. No. No, that’s not right. Peaceful. He looks peaceful for once, which just throws Eddie off. He can’t believe that he’s never noticed this before. The way that Richie’s eyes are shut calmly during his slumber, and how his eyelashes lightly flutter with each breath he takes. And, especially how his eyebrows occasionally twitch in accordance with his dream. Eddie wants to smooth them out and crawl into bed with him, like they did when they were little. (Like they still do, late at night, when they don't have time to talk about it.)
Eddie takes a deep gulp of breath and leans down closer to Richie, in need of some sort of further investigation into his face, the chunk of flesh almost foreign at this distance. His skin, although not smooth, and quite imperfect, looks so tangible, that Eddie just wants to run his fingers across it. What’s happening? Fuck, Eddie feels his heart flutter just by gazing at Richie. What is happening?
Sure, Eddie has awkwardly felt his stomach flip when Richie laughs, and has the need to be glued by Richie’s side, but this is different. This is warmer. So much warmer. Huh.
As Eddie leans slightly more into Richie’s face, just to breathe the same air he’s breathing, he suddenly feels a sharp burning pain in his forehead and jerks his head back, as Richie gasps loudly and jerks his head forward.
“¡CARAJO!” Richie yelps, holding his forehead. Eddie quickly sorts out that the cause of the pain in his head was a collision, Richie slamming his head into Eddie, caused from the sleeping boy abruptly waking up. Eddie quickly berates himself, because he got carried away, even though he knows Richie wakes up like this sometimes. Suddenly, that is. It mostly happens with his nightmares, but he doesn’t like to talk about them. None of the Losers really do.
“¡Oye, Richie, mide tus palabras!” Mrs. Tozier rigidly shouts from down the stairs. Eddie hears her curse every once in a while, but she still is against how often Richie curses. Especially in their native language.
Eddie snickers. “Yeah, shut up, Richie.”
Richie groans and rubs his forehead once more. “That’s not what she said,” he pouts and shouts in response to his mom, “¡Lo siento, mamá!”
His mom “hmphs” loudly from down the stairs and Richie groans loudly in response, nudging at Eddie’s arm. “See, now look at what you’ve done! She’s mad at me,” Richie frowns, and throws the blankets off of himself, stepping onto the wooden floor of his room.
“She’s always mad at you,” Eddie shoots back, and tries to shake off the scare he had just a moment before. Richie looks normal again, as he slips on his glasses, and Eddie is struck with nausea and stumbles back slightly at the normalcy of the situation. He had thought that he had never felt like he had as he stared at Richie’s sleeping body, but he had. He is feeling it right now. He feels it all the time when he sees Richie. He suddenly wishes for his inhaler, just to dispel the nausea, even though he hasn’t used his inhaler in years.
“Yoohoo, Eds,” Richie absentmindedly waves a hand in front of Eddie’s face, before using the same hand to comb out his bedhead. The curly abomination probably hasn’t been washed or brushed in weeks, because Richie just runs that way. He hasn’t been able to find his hairbrush in months. “Are we gonna head out or what?”
Eddie takes a breath and nods. “Yeah dickwad, why do you even think I’m here?”
“Youch, Eddie-Spaghetti, no need to get all harsh! You were just getting all spacey that’s all,” Richie laughs and ruffles Eddie’s hair. Eddie, of course, violently slaps his hands away from his perfectly manicured hair. “Is nothing allowed to touch this gelled masterpiece?”
“I don’t use gel, and you know that! I just condition, like a normal fucking person,” Eddie spits, furrowing his eyebrows at Richie. “Are you even gonna change your clothes? You slept in that shit, it’s gross to go out in it.” Currently the boy is wearing a Billy Idol shirt with too many holes to count, but is still somehow a regular in the rotation of Richie’s clothes.
“Despótico,” Richie mutters and flicks Eddie in the forehead, before turning away from the other boy in order to take his shirt off. Eddie glances at his back, before religiously turning to face the floor, as he always does. He never realized that the thing that drew his eyes to the ground was just resistance to the much more oppressive urge to look.
Just a few moments later, Richie is done changing. And then, they’re off, Eddie promising Richie to buy him a Coke before they head off to the Quarry, as he always does.
The Quarry is an odd place to be with the Losers. They’re all seventeen, (or almost there), and yet they still strip down to their underwear in order to swim in the water. At least they aren’t wearing tighty-whities anymore. But it’s still… odd. The only thing similar to when they were kids is the fact that they’re all Losers. Whenever they’ve ever been together, it’s so easy to throw away any other insecurities or worries about the rest of the world, as it’s been since they met each other.
Richie and Eddie, late as always, throw off their clothes as quickly as possible, and take each other’s hands to jump into the green water, a routine that’s stayed intact throughout the years, weathered with time, but strong nonetheless. Five Losers cheer as two pairs of feet hit the water with a splash.
The sun moves through the sky and Eddie tries not to look at Richie.
The seven friends retire from the water in early afternoon, when the heat of the sun and the dampness of the air becomes too much for them. They sit on the rocks as they always have to dry off, and they talk. Richie and Bev share a few cigarettes while they’re at it, with Bill taking a puff every few minutes.
“And, well, simply put, I told her to fuck off,” Stan finishes, explaining how a girl was trying to ask him out whilst trying to shit talk Beverly. A chorus of excited “oohs” circulate around the group.
“YOWZA, Stan the man!” Richie cheers, patting Stan on the back and exhaling smoke in his face, to which Stan coughs and punches Richie in the shoulder. “I mean, I knew you had it in you, but I didn’t know you had it in you!”
Bev just shrugs. “Honestly, you should have punched her,” she responds, with ease.
“You’re biased,” Mike points out. “But I would have too. If it wouldn’t have cost me, like, jail or something.”
“Okay, so maybe I am biased,” Bev replies, “But that doesn’t stop the fact that a stuck up fucking bitch thought that she could date our Stan.” She hmphs with a slight huff and crosses her arms.
“Yeah!” Richie slings his arm around Bev and shoves his cigarette into her mouth as she rolls her eyes. “Our Stan!”
“I’m my own person,” Stan grunts, spine straight with superior poise.
Eddie shakes his head, realizing he’s been staring at Richie’s collarbones again, so he stops. He looks at something else- anything else. “I dunno this might have been poor Stan’s only shot at love,” Eddie jokes with his signature stern frown.
Richie reacts first and quickly at that, “HA!” He jolts forward. “Eddie Spaghetti gets off a good one!”
Eddie shoots a glare at Richie, but secretly thrives under the praise.
As Stan scowls, obviously lightheartedly, Ben sympathetically pats the boy on his back. “Don’t worry, Stan,” Ben comforts, “Of course you’ll find someone else. You’re the best of all of us,” he continues, but tacks on, “Except for…” Ben quickly glances at Bev, and the both of them immediately turn red and turn away from each other.
The whole group groans in response. “Guh-get a room!” Bill gripes. “You guys are disgusting.”
“You’re acting as if you and Bev weren’t the exact same way when we were thirteen.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Lovesick puppies.”
Bill sticks his tongue out at the other boy and crosses his arms like a child. “At least I don’t stuh-still act like that.”
“Shut up guys,” Bev coughs out, hand covering her lower face to conceal the blushing. “You guys are just jealous.”
“Jealous?!” Richie screeches. “Of you guys?!” He lets out a short bark of laughter just to prove his point and winks at Eddie, and continues to stare at the smaller boy.
Eddie, stuck on that moment, lets the conversation drag on without him. He can feel the world turning underneath his feet. Richie winked at him. Richie winked at him and then kept looking at him with those stupid, beautiful, brown lovestruck eyes.
Oh, his eyes. Eddie could go on about his eyes for days. Most of the time Eddie is observing them as a visitor, as someone on the sidelines, just watching to see what he can find. They light up when Richie makes a joke or when he gets excited. They light up when he looks at Eddie. But, then, sometimes, Eddie is welcomed. Eddie is at the forefront of Richie’s mind, receiving a window into his soul through those loving windows. Richie and Eddie often just… look at each other. Sometimes, when they’re silently reading comics together, Richie will pause, triggering a chain reaction in which Eddie pauses just a split second later. Then they look at each other. Neither of them really smile, they just regard each other with reckless solicitous abandon. Then they return to their lives, unaware of the ways that they know each other further, and how they’ve changed each other.
Anyways.
Eddie keeps trying not to stare at Richie.
Once the Losers are finally completely dry, they move to the Clubhouse. Bev and Ben leave the group in order to walk home together. Apparently Bev is spending dinner with Ben’s family once again. The group gagged upon hearing that, but Eddie is mostly sure that everyone’s happy for them. Even Bill, who obviously previously had a thing for Bev let go of it when the group was about fourteen, both Bev and Bill exclaiming that the infatuation was nothing but puppy love. Eddie believes them completely because now Bev is infatuated with Ben and Bill jumps from crush to crush within their school without ever really dating someone. The rest of the Losers are simply annoyed by how lovey dovey Bev and Ben are.
Richie and Eddie lay in the hammock together in the Clubhouse as they always do. Richie slips Eddie’s hand into his own as he always does when no one else can see. Eddie revels in the way Richie’s clammy hands feel in his own, and when he’s pressed up against the line of Richie’s body, Eddie can feel his body fill with warmth in anticipation. But he doesn’t say anything. And he pretends like he hates it.
Usually the Losers wait until the summer sun gets colder with the dusk in order for them to head home. Today is no exception. They talk, play games, read, and rest until it’s time to head home, and whilst the absence of Ben and Bev is felt, they revel in the feeling of being with each other anyways.
When Richie and Eddie walk home together again, this time with Bill and Stanley tagging along before the latter two break off to go to their respective streets, Richie stands close enough to Eddie that their sides brush together when they laugh. And of course, when the two of them are hanging out, they laugh a lot.
When Richie and Eddie stop in front of Eddie’s house, Eddie feels an awkward beating of his heart. He’s never felt this awkward parting from Richie. He never wants to leave the other boy, yeah, but it feels extra concentrated tonight, whilst the last grasps of sunlight clinging to their backs. Richie leans over to Eddie like he’s going to whisper something in his ears, and to a passerby, it probably looks like that exactly, but in reality, Richie plants a short kiss right next to Eddie’s left ear.
That’s not… too out of the ordinary. Richie loves kissing his friends; especially Eddie.
As Richie is saying, “Bye, Eds,” and turning to leave, Eddie instinctually catches his hand, for reasons unbeknownst to him.
Richie, confused, turns around, his hand still in Eddie’s grasp, and smiles at the other boy. “What’s up?”
Eddie gapes at him, searching his dark brown eyes for anything. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for—maybe that loving expression that he sometimes adopts while looking at Eddie?—but his mouth is open and moving before he can even find it. “Can you come up to my room for a second?”
“Yes,” Richie responds, clearly not thinking before he replies either. He has a confused, but glad, look on his face and lets the arm that Eddie’s holding go limp.
On another rabid fucking instinct, Eddie grabs Richie’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and starts to lead Richie through the front door and into his house. Richie’s hands are warm, nervous with sweat, and much bigger than his own. Of course he knew that already—Richie is larger than him in every aspect—but this odd confirmation and demonstration of the fact makes Eddie’s heart beat even more erratically.
“Eddie-bear?” Eddie’s mom calls from the kitchen. “Who’s with you?”
“Just Richie!” Eddie calls back, shoving off his shoes with one finger, without letting go of Richie’s hand, and Richie mimics the motion, using his heels to remove the clothing instead. “He needs to grab something from my room!”
“Hmph,” Mrs. Kaspbrak grumbles, “Be quick!”
“Of course, Ma!” Eddie replies and is already rushing up the stairs as he does so. For once, Richie doesn’t make any lewd or offensive comments. He just obediently follows Eddie as he runs up the stairs, both of them going at full speed despite the floor being wooden and having only socks on. (Richie’s socks are mismatched and that’s so him, oh God-)
As soon as the door to Eddie’s room shuts, Eddie’s hands are in Richie’s messy hair, and their lips are on each other. Eddie isn’t sure who even initiated, but it happened quite suddenly, and oh Lord, it’s happening all right.
Richie’s lips are rough and he keeps nipping at Eddie’s lips as if he can’t even stop. His glasses and nose keep bumping against Eddie’s nose, and both of the boy’s cheeks are burning with almost misplaced passion. Richie is riding up Eddie’s t-shirt, only slightly, in order to grip Eddie’s hips firmly, and Eddie’s stomach simply burns because he can feel Richie’s hands so close to his skin. So close to his stomach, to his chest, to him. Eddie almost collapses when Richie pulls their hips closer together and the both of them stumble backwards, into the door. Lips drag against each other, and Eddie is sure that it would look vicious and violent to anyone else, but it only feels loving to him, because he and Richie are always fighting. Why would their kissing be any other way?
Richie inches his fingers up slightly more, so that Eddie’s shirt officially falls over his hands, and the pads of his fingers making their way up the side of the smaller boy’s body. Eddie shivers with the way Richie ghosts over his body, ever so slightly rubbing the edge of his ribcage. Richie’s spidery fucking fingers make Eddie unable to breathe, and he gasps into their kiss. Richie generally takes over from this point, because Eddie can barely move his own hands, and, frankly, he’s gripping onto Richie for dear life. Richie, to his credit, is supporting Eddie quite well. Their bodies are pressed together, chest against chest, and Eddie is close enough to Richie that he can feel the outline of the silver cross that Richie always wears beneath his shirt, even though he and his mom don’t go to church anymore. Everything is damp, slick with spit and smooth, and sweaty with the summer heat. Richie tastes good, and Eddie never thought he would enjoy the faint taste of cigarettes.
Suddenly, they both break from the kiss at the same time, while Richie is still caressing Eddie ever so softly. Eddie can’t even see the other boy, can only feel his hot breath against his neck. Richie keeps rubbing his cheek (and consequently, his glasses) against Eddie’s checks, and Eddie can only hold onto him, in a daze.
“Oh, Eds, eres perfecto,” Richie murmurs so affectionately. “Te amo, te amo, eres mi cielo, mi lindo pecas. Te amo nena-”
“Richie, I don’t speak Spanish-”
And, following that quiet comment, they fall into silence. They’re still holding each other, but it now seems rigid. They’ve been brought back into their bodies and their minds, and Eddie knows that both of their faces are now flushed with shame and not passion.
Richie awkwardly disconnects the two of them, and leaves the room, then the house, without speaking. Eddie walks him out, avoiding physical touch at all costs. His mouth still feels weird. When Richie and Eddie brush against each other as Richie slides his shoes on, they both shudder. Shit.
Eddie and his mother eat dinner in silence, and Eddie is still thinking about Richie. Thinking about the kiss. How it was so right and so wrong, and so, so overwhelming. Eddie feels so dirty, but he can't help but want it to happen again.
Everything is back to normal between Richie and Eddie by the next day.
---
It was the second week of school the first time one of the notes appeared in Eddie’s locker.
It’s senior year, and this is the first time Eddie has ever gotten a note of this caliber. The weird thing is that Eddie can immediately tell that it's from Richie. Because it’s in complete, perfect Spanish.
It reads as such:
Querido, Eddie-
Yo sé que la primera semana de la escuela fue difícil para ti, porque de tu clase de cálculo, pero estoy orgulloso de ti, como siempre. Eres muy inteligente, y yo siempre sabía. Pero si estuviera diciendo esto en voz alta, por supuesto, te insultaría. Pero, te amo. Sabes esto.
No sé por qué escribí esta carta. Solo sé que te amo mucho, y deseo que nosotros seamos novios. Mierda, esto es cursi. Y peligroso. Amarte es peligroso, lo que jodidamente apesta. Solo deseo que me amas, ¿es mucho pedir? Probablemente lo sea. No me amas. Y eso es OK. Solo deseo.
Lo siento por escribir esta carta, pero necesité sacar mis pensamientos. Y nunca sabrás lo que esto significa de todos modos.
Con amor, adiós. Te hablaré la próxima vez.
And, that’s it.
Just seeing Richie’s slanted, longhand writing makes Eddie’s heart swing in his chest. He doesn’t even know why, but for some reason this writing feels different than Richie’s normal confident writing. Almost like he was nervous when he was writing it, or something along those lines. And although Eddie can’t tell a word of what it says, he knows that it's something important.
So, of course, he asks Richie about it, after school, when the two of them are walking home. And of course he asks in a typical Eddie fashion.
“What the fuck is this?” Eddie asks, pulling the paper out of the extra folder in his backpack. (He couldn’t risk wrinkling it.) “Did you leave your fucking English notes in my locker, or something?”
Richie’s eyes widen as he recognizes the loose leaf, and shakes his head furiously. “No- no. I- I just… need to practice my Spanish! Obviously.”
“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, suspicious, as he slips his backpack back onto his shoulder from where it had previously been ransacked by his own hands. “You are a fluent Spanish speaker.”
“Yeah, but I,” Richie starts and takes a pause, “I never practice it with anyone. I, like, can’t, you know? No one here speaks Spanish except for my parents! So, I thought I could use some extra practice, and, uh, why not pretend I was just writing a letter to someone!” He nods, trying to justify his excuse to not only Eddie but himself too, it seems.
Eddie doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t press. If Richie’s not going to tell him, he’s not going to tell him. And that’s that.
That first letter was probably the longest one of them all. Eddie has spent hours staring at it, trying to figure out just one sentence of it. He never really does. He can only infer a word or two from all around the letter. Richie’s handwriting is mesmerizing enough, but adding the aspect of a puzzle on top of it is just too much for Eddie. Way too much. After staring at the letter for a few minutes, his heart always speeds up, and he freaks out. He always has to take a break. And he still doesn’t understand why.
Sometimes, when he spends his time staring at the letter, he remembers his shared kiss with Richie. He remembers it much more than he’d like to. Truthfully, it was a mistake. At least, it was definitely supposed to be a mistake. It was… supposed to be. But it doesn’t… it doesn’t feel like a mistake. The summertime flowers that bloomed on his hands, and in his stomach, and on his cheeks felt so good. The soft drag of fingers, and lips, and stomachs lit a wonderful firework off in Eddie’s brain every time a new sensation came over his body. And Richie’s sweet words—oh, Richie’s sweet words—haunt Eddie’s dreams every night. How could something that felt so good, so wonderful and life changing, be so horrible?
Oh, Lord, there’s something so, so wrong with him.
Eddie feels like he’s going to throw up.
Regardless, the rest of the letters come once or twice a week for the entire semester. Most of them are one or two sentences:
Eds-
Te extraño, incluso cuando solo hemos estado separados por poco tiempo. Siempre te esperaré.
Te amo, y adiós.
Others are a little bit longer than that:
Querido, Eddie-
Me gustaría que estuvieras aquí conmigo. ¿Por qué no puedes vivir conmigo? ¿O dormir en mi casa todos las noches? No comprendo esto. Quiero estar contigo todo el tiempo. Es un problema.
-Richie
But, none of the letters surpass the length of the first one- meaning none of them are long at all. The first one wasn’t even long. Eddie hates to ruminate on it for too long, or come up with too many theories, (they simply make him upset), but he almost gets the feeling that Richie can’t stand to write anymore once he’s done with his letters. Like it's too much for him. God knows that it's too much for Eddie, and he doesn’t even know what the letters say. It’s all so confusing and Eddie has no idea what to do about it.
The confusion and curiosity gets the best of him sometimes.
Aside from all of that sappy shit, the real question of the matter is, why must the curiosity get the best of him whilst he’s being held in Richie’s arms, in his own bed, cuddled up against the sleeping boy’s chest? Fuck him, he just wants a normal night of sleep. Why can’t he have anything normal with Richie?
(Who the fuck is he kidding, he loves the insanity that comes along with being with Richie.)
Curse Eddie’s need to place the crown of his head against Richie’s collarbone. Curse Richie for always eventually kicking off his pants while he’s sleeping. He hates and loves how well he can feel the hair on Richie’s legs against his own. He hates Richie, he hates Richie. The hate burns an annoying hole straight through his chest, his heart and soul, and out the back of his body. It warms him all the way through, and makes him want to push himself even closer into Richie’s body. His need to be closer to Richie increases like an exponential function with every second he spends near the other boy. It’s unbearable.
Eddie untucks his head from Richie’s chest in order to glare up at his face, which is only a few inches from his own. Shit, why is he so close? Why does he keep writing those stupid fucking letters, with his stupid fucking adorable handwriting, with-
Eddie shoots up in his spot, out of Richie’s arms and untangling himself from Richie’s body. What the fuck is happening to him?
Richie groans at the sudden movement and loss of touch and temperature, and his eyes flitter open. “Whas- what’s happenin’?” Richie rubs his eyes and sits up on his left elbow. “Are-ya’ okay?”
Eddie almost doesn’t answer, but, after a moment, he thinks of a very simple answer. “No.”
Richie, in response to this, places his right hand on Eddie’s upper thigh, way too fucking close to his hip for comfort. Way too close to his hip for Eddie’s heart to beat even remotely normally. Eddie takes a deep, shaky breath and can’t resist putting his own hand on top of Richie’s. Richie’s hand is so big, even compared to Eddie’s thigh, it makes his heart flutter just thinking about it.
“Eds? Wanna talk about it?” Richie asks with a yawn and a comforting smile. He squeezes Eddie’s thigh lightly, and Eddie fucking hisses. “Or you wanna come back to sleep?”
“I-” Eddie stammers. His heart is beating so fast. He feels the way his blood is pumping around his body, and he hates it. He hates how fast his breath is moving, and how fast his thoughts are moving. From Richie just putting his hand on Eddie’s thigh, Eddie has no idea how that would elicit such a reaction from him. His whole leg is growing excessively warm under the weight of Richie’s hand. “Fuck- I-”
“Eds?” Richie prompts again, so comforting that Eddie hates it. He wants Richie to be an asshole like he always is. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like the letters.
“What the fuck are those letters?!” Eddie bursts out, holding Richie’s hand in a death grip. “What is up with that, Rich?” Eddie spits.
Richie’s mouth falls open, and he continuously opens and closes it like a fish. He looks so pathetic, so lost. He doesn’t want to answer. Belatedly, Eddie realizes he doesn’t want him to either.
“I fucking hate you,” Eddie mutters, leans down to Richie, and puts both hands on Richie’s face to kiss him. Richie to his credit, only hesitates for a moment before he returns the favor and lets the bruising kiss consume them both. Richie’s hand removes itself from Eddie’s thigh in a split second and instead plants itself on Eddie’s cheek. That’s somehow worse.
A few moments later—Eddie has no idea how he got here, how did he get here?—Richie has grabbed a small portion of skin on Eddie’s collarbone and is sucking on it. He repeats this pattern.
They end off the night with more gentle kisses, Eddie doesn’t even know how they got so calm, he just knows that it happened. Richie’s lips are pressed against Eddie’s forehead as the two fall asleep again.
Richie is gone before Eddie wakes up, with the lovebites as the only sign that he was ever there at all.
---
Eddie exhales hot air onto his hands whenever the late fall air blows on him. The orange and red leaves crunch beneath his every step, satisfying him in the way that only autumn can. He’s always loved the way fall takes over the heat and turns it away, rejecting it with every new day. He loves the temperature drop and how everybody misses summer, except for Eddie himself. He loves fall. He always has.
Richie loves summer though. Eddie has never been able to figure out why.
(Richie had explained it once, but only in Spanish, and refused to translate it for poor Eddie; “Me encanto el verano, porque es cuando puedo pasar más tiempo contigo. También eres muy lindo en tus shorts.”)
The only downside to the latter side of fall is that for some reason Richie has stopped slipping his once frequent letters into Eddie’s locker.
Once Eddie reaches Richie’s house, he knocks on the door. He knows he doesn’t have to—everybody in the Tozier family always says he’s welcome to simply enter—but, he’s been raised too polite to actually take them up on that offer. He always waits for some confirmation that he's allowed inside. His parents were from South Carolina, originally, and those stubborn Southern manners refuse to leave his genes. Eddie also knows that no one else is home except for Richie. His father is at work, and his mother is at her book club. Eddie doesn’t really care. He still waits patiently for Richie to answer the door.
Richie opens the door, smiles, and lets Eddie in the house.
It’s simple like this- Eddie doesn’t have to worry about their shared kisses and what they mean. He doesn’t have to worry about the letters that have stopped coming.
Richie smokes a cigarette out of the kitchen window while Eddie finishes the hot chocolate that the other boy made for him. It’s warm and directly opposes the cold air that is welcomed into the room by the window. Eddie hates that Richie smokes, but he ironically loves the way that Richie smells like smoke all of the time. It’s been an integral part of his being since he was eleven or so, and Eddie can’t imagine him without it.
“You done, Eds?” Richie asks, still faced out into his backyard.
“Yup,” Eddie responds. “I’m all ready.”
Richie places Eddie’s mug in the sink, snuffs out his cigarette, and takes Eddie’s hand. They spend the next hour as they usually do, reading comics side by side in Richie’s room. Richie has always read a tiny bit quicker than Eddie has, but he always waits for Eddie.
Halfway through a new Gambit comic that Richie got, he puts his hand on Eddie’s lower back. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he says and gets out of his bed. “I’ll be back in a moment. Wait for me to read.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”
Richie blows raspberry at the other boy. “Just making sure, assface.”
“Bitch.”
Richie flips Eddie the bird as he walks out of the room.
Eddie flips on his back to rest his head on Richie’s pillow while he waits for his best friend.
Richie’s room has always been much more comfortable and homey than Eddie’s room. Eddie’s room felt more sterile than Richie’s, of course, and that made it feel more similar to a hospital room than anything resembling a bedroom. Richie’s room holds posters, and mess, and photos, and comic books- everything that Richie Tozier loves. It’s so gross but Richie still doesn’t want to clean it because he loves the disorganization. He calls it a happy mess, (or “feliz disastre” when he’s talking to his mother), because he knows that all of his belongings enjoy being strewn about and free to “experience the world.” He always says this with a grin. Of course, Eddie thinks it’s bullshit that he made up in order to excuse his laziness, but it's endearing nonetheless. Richie’s room always feels warm and, despite its obvious germs, Eddie wants to be in it. Eddie’s room, however, only feels warm when Richie is in it.
Eddie rolls onto his side and stares at the mess that’s on Richie’s desk. There’s papers distributed about, both little doodles and drawings, and school assignments. There’s pencils, pens, markers- just about anything that Richie could write with is on his desk. As Eddie looks at Richie’s handwriting, he’s easily reminded of the letters that have stopped arriving, just as suddenly as they had started. Maybe it was a phase, or something, but Eddie hated it. And he misses it. And shit, maybe that’s why he absolutely leaped out of his own skin when he realized that there was a piece of paper with Eddie’s name distinctly written on it that was sticking out of the drawer of Richie’s desk.
Eddie jerks into an upright position, heart sinking in anticipation and anxiety, and stares at the horrible, wonderful piece of paper. What the fuck?
Did Richie leave it out so he would find that? Would he be intruding if he looked? Does he even care? Is he hallucinating? (Nope- no, he’s definitely not. He’s rubbing his eyes, over and over, and his name is still there, in something close to chicken scratch.) Why? Why is this happening? Why is his name there? Is it another letter? Is it another letter?
Unable to contain his curiosity for even a moment longer, Eddie leaps out of the bed and throws the desk drawer open.
And, holy shit the sight that Eddie is greeted with is gloriously horrid.
Around twenty handwritten notes, addressed to Eddie, all meticulously written out in Spanish.
Eddie can’t breathe. He frantically shuffles through the various pieces of loose leaf, searching for any single word that’s familiar to him, fuck, anything-
Quickly, quickly so he can breathe again, Eddie lays all the pieces of paper out on Richie’s bed and scans over them. It’s definitely Richie’s stupid handwriting, his stupid Spanish- and it’s definitely Eddie’s name at the top of each of them. Why are there so many of them?! Why didn’t Richie give any of them to Eddie?! Fuck, he-
“Eds?”
Eddie’s head whips over to the doorway, and he instinctively knows that he wasn’t supposed to see this. He should have ignored this, he shouldn’t have snooped, and he shouldn’t have let his mind run away from him, like he always does when it comes to Richie. Richie looks so timid in the doorway of his own room which makes Eddie way more uneasy than it should. His stomach squirms with the way that Richie is staring, wide eyed, at him, eyes darting back and forth between the letters and Eddie himself. “Richie, I- It’s not… I didn’t-”
Richie interrupts, moving quickly towards the bed and picking up all the paper, shoving it against his chest. “This is nothing- it’s just more of the Spanish practice, I pro-”
Eddie talks louder and he talks quicker, quickly overcome with his previous intense curiosity about the letters, once again. He needs to know what they are. He feels the need like a burning feeling in his gut. “No, what is this, really?! I- I need to know, Richie, I think you know that it’s driving me fucking insane that I know you’re lying, and these stupid fucking letters are just fucking… around, and I don’t know what to fucking do!” Eddie cries out, while Richie’s cut off words hang in his mouth like an ornament. The letters are still held close against his chest, and that seems to be the only part of his body that’s animated- his hands are trembling with the force that he’s holding, and therefore, crumpling the paper. Eddie takes a deep breath and continues. “Richie, you can just tell me, I’m going to go fucking in-”
Richie cuts in on Eddie’s sentence with an incomprehensible mumble and he turns his gaze to the floor, snapping his mouth shut.
Eddie sighs, in near-defeat and exasperation. “Richie, you have to speak louder-”
“They’re love letters,” Richie says, louder, almost in a shout, but his words still break apart the quiet air in the same way a whisper does. Eddie can almost see the words hanging off of his tongue, dripping to the floor like liquor, and barely able to reach Eddie’s ears. “They’re stupid love letters, dude, ‘cus I’m like… fucking gay and like-like you, asshole!”
Now, it’s Eddie’s turn to stare.
Well, both of them stare.
Love letters. Love letters from Richie to Eddie himself, in Spanish just so that Richie could give them to Eddie without actually giving them to him. Richie has never been poetic, but he put that aside in order to write something to Eddie, something meaningful and raw, even though Richie is the Trashmouth, the jokester, the, the liar! Eddie thinks, and thinks, and starts musing about he and Richie’s shared kisses within the confines of his own mind. It makes sense why Richie kissed Eddie back when Eddie had commenced those fiery attacks, now—Richie is in love with him!!!—but Eddie still doesn’t understand why in the world he, himself, would initiate them in the first place. Did he subconsciously realize that Richie was in love with him? Because Eddie is certainly not gay. He certainly doesn’t want to kiss Richie.
Shit, they’re still staring at each other. So… Eddie kisses Richie. Again. He can’t think—he doesn’t fucking want to think, so, instead, he reverts to one of his only recent defences against the way Richie makes his stomach do flips: kissing him until neither of them can breath anymore. He’s so fucking overwhelmed, and somehow kissing Richie fixes that slightly.
Richie’s lips are so slick, yet so rough with chapped skin, and, after throwing the letters onto the bed without breaking the kiss, his hands gravitate to where they normally go, which is Eddie’s hips. Richie engages in the kiss fully for a few quick moments, but, he seems to rapidly realize what the fuck is happening and pushes Eddie away, by his hips, and their lips snap apart, a small amount of spit shining on both of their lips.
“Eds, you can’t just- this means so much to me, I actually fucking love you, and you’re just- not responding, and I don’t know what to do,” Richie rambles, hands moving idly on the side of Eddie’s stomach.
Eddie, almost instinctively, grabs Richie’s hand to stop them from moving. “Richie… I don’t know…”
“Eds, you have to know. I can’t- I can’t deal with this if you don’t know,” Richie rambles and turns his head away in bitten shame.
Eddie feels crestfallen. He doesn’t want Richie to be upset. That was never his intention. He risks a glance over at the letters that are still on Richie’s bed. The damn things that started it all. The emotion that sparked within Richie, that therefore sparked so much emotion within Eddie. A terrible domino set caused all of this to happen, but an endlessly important fragment of their lives nonetheless. “Hey, can you read me some of the letters? In English?” Eddie prompts, after their awkward minute of silence.
Richie’s head snaps back into Eddie’s direction, and he gives him a confused look, pulling his hands off of Eddie’s hips once he realizes they are still stuck there, and putting them awkwardly in his pockets. “Dude, you know what I said right? They’re love letters. For you. Are you fucking dense?”
“Don’t fucking insult me, dude- I fucking- I asked for this!! Just read one to me. Please,” Eddie finishes pathetically and has to break eye contact with Richie, because it’s just too much. It’s too intense. Looking at Richie’s floorboards, in between both pairs of their socked feet, is better.
“Okay- fuck, dude, fine. Fuck.” Richie takes a deep breath, and chooses a random paper from the pile. Neither of them make any effort to move from their standing positions, despite how awkward it is to just be… there. Both of them are resolutely rigid in their stances.
Finally—it felt like absolutely forever since the moment that Richie picked up the paper to when he actually started reading—Richie clears his throat and begins. “Dear, Eddie: Have I ever told you…fuck, this is so fucking cheesy, lo que mierda está mal conmigo- Have I ever told you how much I love your eyes? They’re honestly and simply beautiful. It’s so hard to explain how they see into my soul, no pun intended. Anyways, I’m missing you like hell, as always. It doesn’t matter how close you are. I feel like I need you here always. Bye, and I love you.”
Eddie carefully examines Richie’s face, and sees only embarrassment in his eyes, and heat in his cheeks. He scrutinizes every crevice of Richie’s face until eventually his coke bottle glasses turn up to face Eddie.
“Shit, dude, stop glaring at me!” Richie bursts out.
“I’m fucking not!!” Eddie protests quickly, albeit, with an easily placed glare.
“You were absolutely giving me the dirtiest look- I mean, it’s okay to be jodidamente... disgusted but please don’t just stare at me like that. I can’t deal with it,” Richie’s voice cracks at the end and he directs his gaze back towards the pile of letters beside them. Finally, he sits down on the bed with his forehead in his hand, and a sigh. “I’m so stupid. I don’t know why I would do something so idiotic.”
“That’s easy,” Eddie replies, taking an uncomfortable seat on the other side of the mound of letters, “It’s because you’re an idiot. I’m not disgusted though.” And, he’s weirdly not. He’s oddly calm about this whole situation- isn’t his skin usually crawling at the thought of girls liking him? Doesn’t he usually get grossed out when anybody touches him as intimately as he’s touched Richie? After all, the one time that he kissed a girl, he had to rush to the bushes behind the middle school and throw up.
Richie glances up at him. “You’re not? How are you not disgusted? Do you… do you understand what’s happening? I… I’m gay, dude. And in love with you. That’s disgusting. And that love letter?” Richie mimes gagging. “Fucking gross. There’s something wrong with me. ¡Qué asco!” He makes another “blech” noise, just to spur Eddie on in some way. Eddie simply looks at him.
“I think… I dunno. I think the letter was cute. No one has ever talked about me like that. I didn’t realize that you liked me so much.”
Richie smiles thoughtfully at that. “Pfft- of course I do, Eddie Spaghetti, what’s not to like?”
Eddie hits him lightly in the arm, “Don’t call me that. But, also… if there’s something wrong with you... I think I might have something wrong with me too.” As Eddie says it, he realizes the truth of the statement. Maybe originally he had only meant to sympathize with Richie, or he might not have meant to say anything at all, but, honestly, the fact that kissing Richie elicited more feeling in his gut than any other kiss could have definitely proved something in Eddie’s brain. He guesses it doesn’t help that he’s always thinking about Richie, too. “But I’m not sure. And maybe you should read me more of those letters? Just so I could figure it out?”
Richie’s eyes light up at this development. At the chance that Eddie has just put right in front of him. “Of course, Eds. Anything for you,” he says, and picks up another letter to start reading.
Most of Richie’s letters are adorable references to features of Eddie’s, like his angry demeanor, or the way his hair looks in the morning, but one or two of them are strictly about more lewd things, like Eddie’s ass, which Eddie blushes at especially. He had never even imagined someone would think about him in that kind of way- and, despite it being embarrassing, Eddie distinctly likes it. Especially now that he knows that all of Richie’s perverse comments towards women were only deflections. Eddie can’t help but make fun of some of the things Richie has written, but he knows that both of them understand that it’s because Eddie enjoys the letters extremely.
By the end of Richie’s narration, Eddie has pulled Richie close to him once again, in order to kiss him. This time, though, it’s soft and short. A press of lips, instead of their usual makeout session. Eddie's cheeks burn throughout the whole thing, and Richie’s cheeks are burning too. The letters left them both with a thick fog of embarrassment and appreciation within and throughout their brains, and Eddie struggles to remember how he ever hated corny shit like this.
Eddie pulls away after a moment. “Was that okay?” He asks, carefully.
“Yeah,” Richie responds, dazed. “I can’t believe you don’t hate me.”
“Well, I do,” Eddie responds in a joking tone. “You know I do.”
Richie grins at that. “Of course.”
Comic book long forgotten on Richie’s bed, Richie walks Eddie home along the streets lined with orange and red trees, not before the both of them bid a short farewell to Maggie, who had returned from her book club only a few minutes before. Eddie, not able to part with the lovesick letters that were directed towards him, takes the stack of letters home. After all, they were directed towards him in the first place.
The two of them don’t hold hands on the way home for fear of being seen by their judgy townmates, but their hands brush past each other with every new step they take. And, contrary to the awkward atmosphere within Richie’s room, the nippy weather snaps them quickly back into their usual routine of pushing and pulling. It’s comfortable and just what Eddie needs right after the raw conversation that two of them shared. With his heart beating and within Richie’s grasp, Eddie needs something to bring him back to Earth from the clouds he was previously floating on.
And, though it’s sometimes hard to walk while they're still next to one another, the autumn breeze helps carry them home.
---
The letters directed towards Eddie start up again not long after their discussion in Richie’s room. Most of them are really simple, but Richie still writes them in Spanish. He’ll translate them for Eddie if he asks, though. Which he always does.
Winter storms come and go like the plethora of migrating birds, but the frigid cold sticks around till early April. When the thaw finally arrives, Richie greets it with a warm sigh and a thanks “a la gran primavera.” The flowers bloom and the trees explode with their green complexity once again. School is starting to feel hopeful once again, with summer break just over the horizon. But, for the Losers, this upcoming summer is their last summer together. Some of them are already eighteen, and some of them will be soon, and the thought that they will soon be separated is weighing heavily on each of them, despite the underlying excitement for summer and the start of a new chapter of their lives.
Richie and Eddie, however, are trying not to think too much about that. They have both already chosen their respective colleges, and they might as well be on different planets with how far away from each other they will be, which is terrible for them to think about. Whilst Richie is going to Illinois to pursue a STEM degree, Eddie is going to the East Coast for finance. Now all they have to do is spend as much time as possible with each other and the Losers before the time comes to leave Maine.
For Richie and Eddie this entails Richie sneaking over almost every night to spend time with Eddie in his room. They spend the weekends at Richie’s house, too.
So, of course on a warm Tuesday night, Richie is curled up in Eddie’s bed, waiting for him to return from his late night bathroom break. Eddie had only just finished his last piece of homework for the night even though Richie has been in his room for almost an hour. Richie had offered several times to help to which Eddie denied with a glare. Instead of helping, Richie settles further into Eddie’s pillow and waits patiently.
Eddie returns within the minute, groggy and grumpy. He rubs his eyes aimlessly and slides under the covers. Richie welcomes him in quickly, and it's clear that Eddie revels in the warmth that Richie has been saving under the blankets for him. Richie almost acts as a preheating option on an oven for Eddie sometimes, because Eddie runs cold. Richie pulls him close to prevent him from being too chilly, and holds him tight against his chest.
Richie hums into Eddie’s hair and smiles. “I missed you, nena.” Eddie has quickly learned that most of Richie’s lovey-dovey pet names are in Spanish, whilst the ones in English are the one’s he’s always used to tease Eddie.
“I was right here,” Eddie grunts in response.
“Yeah, but you weren’t paying attention to me. Do you know how much that ruins my day and scorns my heart?” Richie asks with woe and sighs loudly. Despite the dramatics, however, it’s clear that he’s on the edge of sleep. Eddie is too.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Go to bed now, Rich. School tomorrow.”
Richie grunts in annoyance at that fact, but cuddles further into Eddie’s back nonetheless.
The two boys fall asleep while the new spring continues to form around them. Like two flowers blooming in the spring, Eddie and Richie keep each other close while they reach out to the sun to plan for the next segment of their lives.