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“He's not,” Eddie disagreed, mindlessly wiping down a table.
Bev, who was sitting at a nearby table, drinking a pink lemonade, rolled her eyes, “You're blind.”
“I'm not fucking blind,” Eddie turned to her -swiftly on his rollerblades, “-You're not making any fucking sense.”
They were at Eddie's job, a diner, and Eddie was currently on shift. Bev had decided to pitstop, and they usually chatted about a lot of shit, but this time, she was stuck on something in particular.
“He totally treats you differently,” Bev echoed, sipping, “-Seriously. Think about it-”
“I don't think you're fucking… thinking,” Eddie leveled, leaving the rag on the table for a moment.
“Eddie,” Bev groaned, “-Just hear me out.”
Eddie pursed his lips, he really didn't want to do that.
He and Richie were totally and completely normal. Or well… not fucking normal. They were both fucking freaks, but it was just their dynamic. It wasn't… It wasn't fucking different in the way Bev was portraying.
They were… friends. Just because they were both gay doesn't mean-
“He picked you up Saturday, right?” Bev asked, tilting her head.
Right, shitshow date #25. Eddie wanted to die just thinking about it. Every date he went on was disastrous, and he kinda (at this point) felt like he might be the problem. There was just… There was something off. There was something missing-
He shook his head. Not now, Kaspbrak.
“Yeah,” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, “-What the fuck does this have to do with… Richie giving me ‘special treatment’?”
“He took you out after, yeah?” Bev continued -pointedly.
Eddie paused.
“Not-” he flushed, defensive, “-Not like that.”
She raised her eyebrows, blue eyes twinkling curiously, “Are you sure about that, Kaspbrak?”
“Yeah, fucking yeah,” Eddie sighed out, moving to another table (totally not to just get out of that situation, “-He was just… trying to make me feel better. He's a shithead but not an asshole.”
“So,” Bev tsked, “-he took you out on a make-up date?”
“No,” Eddie hissed back, eyes shooting to her again, “-it wasn't a fucking date.”
“Have you ever wondered what Richie was doing?” Bev hummed, stirring her drink with her straw, “-Before he came to get you?”
“I don't,” Eddie huffed, defensive, “-I don't fucking know-”
“He was working,” Bev added, nonchalantly, “-He was in the middle of a shift.”
Eddie blinked. What?
“That's-” he pursed his lips, “-no-”
“Bill did him a favor,” Bev continued, “-That's why Richie's working today.”
Eddie was really curious about that. He'd known Richie's schedule like the back of his hand, but Richie had told him that he could call. He'd just thought he'd called off, but-
What the fuck?
Bev seemed to be satisfied with that response, and spoke simply then, “Next time you see him-”
Eddie was speechless.
“-maybe just pay a little more attention than usual.”
“How is that-” Eddie started, screwing up his face.
“Just… trust me, honey,” Bev finished her drink, dropping off the exact change for it (she was there pretty often).
She put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed once, “And maybe think about what your dates have been missing? For me?”
Her blue eyes leveled with his, sharp and pointed, and it was saying… She was saying…
Bev leaned forward, and kissed his cheek, “See you at the apartment. I'm going to dinner with Ben so it might be a little late when I do.”
And then, she was gone.
Eddie blinked. Once, and then twice.
He mindlessly went through the rest of his shift, not really there. So, his tips were considerably lackluster because he wasn't fucking rude but he wasn't exactly pleasant either. Which meant he'd have to be super fucking chipper some other day and Eddie fucking hated that-
He pulled off his apron, wadding it up in his hands and tossing it into his bag (he naturally washed everything after every shift). Nodding his head to his favorite supervisor, Ethel (affectionately called ‘E’), Eddie pushed open the front door to the setting sun.
It was a pretty setting orange, one that made the street kinda light up in a soft, fuzzy kind of way. It was fucking beautiful, honestly-
“Eds!”
Eddie blinked, and shot to the noise -a bit in disbelief. There was no fucking way-
Richie was waving enthusiastically, moving to get up from a bench right in front of the diner. Like he was waiting.
“Richie?” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, but still made his way to him, naturally, “-What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I uh-” Richie scratched the back of his neck, “-I got off my shift, and just decided to wait it out. For you. If that's-”
He was still wearing his uniform (if you could call a branded t-shirt a uniform), hair tied back because it was getting long enough to bother him when he worked.
But the issue was Eddie got off now, at 5:30 (moreso 5:45 at the moment), Richie got off at 3. And Eddie knew that because Richie had told him, because they tell each other fucking everything.
2 and ½ hours.
Normally Richie couldn't wait fucking 5 minutes for someone to get their shoes on before he was out the fucking door. Or well, he could, but he'd be whiny as shit about it. So, what the fuck-
Eddie blinked. He totally treats you differently.
“-cool with you,” Richie finished -nervously. Eddie had somehow never clocked that he was nervous, but the look felt familiar now. What the fuck?
“You think I'm just gonna tell you no?” Eddie quirked a brow, and wordlessly started walking in the direction of their apartments, “-I'm not that much of a fucking asshole.”
He heard more than saw Richie scamper up to his side, the scrape of his tennis shoes against the pavement as Eddie kept a consistent pace. (Maybe slowed down a smidgen for Richie to catch up, but he'd never admit to it.)
“Awe, I knew ya couldn't resist me, Spaghetti,” Richie chimed with his crooked ass grin, and popped a hand over to pinch Eddie's cheek.
Eddie scowled and shoved him off, “You're such a dickhead.”
Richie snorted, and Eddie felt his heart skip a beat.
Wait. That's… no. No-
“What were you-” Eddie scrambles for a moment (pushing the thought far, far away), “-What were you doing? While you were… waiting?”
Richie furrowed his eyebrows at his reaction, maybe trying to read him, but Eddie kept his cool as much as he could. Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me-
“Uh,” Richie paused, “-Lots of shit, honestly. I was wandering around mostly. Which, I actually found a cute little Chinese place that we fucking have to go to someday-”
Eddie looked at him for a moment, watching the waving motion hands. His buck teeth he's had for as long as Eddie can remember, the frizz of his curls, the disproportionate amount of freckles on the bridge of his bumpy nose. God.
Something in Eddie clicked. But he couldn't face it then, not now. But what he could do-
“Friday?” Eddie interrupted Richie's words, “-We could go Friday?”
Richie blinked for a moment, a little in disbelief. The whole thing made Eddie wanna fucking squirm.
“You work Friday, right?” Eddie asked, staring straight forward now, “-Well, I'm on a lunch shift so-”
“I know,” Richie exhaled.
Right. They tell each other everything.
“I mean,” Eddie started, maybe a little nervously himself, “-unless you have shit to do-”
“No,” Richie answered, too seriously, before adding (only half joking, Eddie noted), “-Nothing is more important than my precious Spaghetti man~”
“Don't fucking call me that, asshole.”
“Oh, you know you love it-”
And just like that, they were back to normal.
Eddie was doing a lot of thinking. A lot. Too much maybe. Mike would probably say that it was too much, because he was reasonable and emotionally intelligent like that.
But he couldn't fucking help it.
This was… That's Richie. His best friend Richie. And he was feeling shit, and it didn't even feel like it was new. It felt normal, like it always happened but he was just now noticing.
So, no, Eddie could not stop thinking.
They were at a little burger joint, all the Losers, in one booth. 3 squished together in each of the booth seats, and 1 in a chair at the end of the table. (Starting from the wall, it went Eddie, Richie, and Bill on one seat, Ben, Bev, and Mike on the other. Leaving Stanley in the end seat.)
They met up once a week, so they all stayed in touch in the grand scheme of things. This was that meeting.
Eddie was remarkably broke, so when he found out they were going out, he got one of the cheapest meals on the menu -a salad. (Plus, his whole health freak thing. Which he was working on, but still.) The problem with this, however, was that Eddie had an incredible sweet tooth and they had milkshakes. So… he was a little pissed about it.
“So, what are you up to, Bill?” Mike asked, kindly, “-Any news on the book?”
Bill grinned, and started answering, “It's ab-bout h-halfway th-through actually-”
Eddie was genuinely trying to listen, but he was kinda lost in thought (figures) like he always fucking was recently -picking at his salad. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he did. He just had a lot of shit going on right now. Thanks to fucking Bev-
He felt a pinch on his arm. And his eyes shot to Richie, who was grinning at him -crookedly.
“Ow,” Eddie hissed, shoving at his shoulder, “-your fingers are all fucking greasy, dickhead-”
“Haven't you heard, Eds? Grease is good for the pores-” Richie started, in a ‘nerd’ impression, for lack of a better word.
Eddie rolled his eyes, and grabbed a napkin, wiping at his arm -uselessly, “Shut the fuck up.”
Richie raised an eyebrow, “You don't believe me? I'll pull up the medical journal by Mr. Ben Do-”
Eddie yanked at his earlobe, and Richie's words transitioned into a yelp.
“Ow,” Richie repeated, rubbing his earlobe (Eddie felt guilt but only for a second), before he questioned, “-Why the fuck did you get a salad anyway?”
“I don't want clogged artieries, fucking moron,” Eddie retorted back -instantly.
“One burger isn't gonna clog your arteries, Spaghetti,” Richie pointed out, “-and you're not even eating your fucking salad anyway.”
“I'm being healthy, asswipe,” Eddie bit back, “-Ever heard of it?”
“Healthy?” Richie questioned, “-Eds, you're healthy like everyday. You can have one fucking burger.”
Eddie pressed his lips into a thin line, and huffed out, “Fine, my tips were shit this week, asshole. You happy?”
Richie blinked, something crossing over his face, before it was washed into something else -something more familiar.
“Uh, yeah,” Richie grinned, “-its like a fucking orgasm when I win against the Eddie Kaspbrak-”
“Oh my god,” Eddie groaned -throwing his head down on the table (maybe hiding a smile), “-shut up.”
After a few minutes, Richie was animatedly in a conversation -full hand gestures and impressions. Eddie thinks it was currently trying to throw character ideas at Bill. He hated how warm he felt about fucking Richie Tozier-
So, instead of focusing on it, he kept picking at his salad (which was about halfway full at this point). The idea of a burger did sound really fucking good honestly. But, he'd already made a fucking point-
Then, there was a tiny little scrape. Too quiet for anyone else but Eddie to notice it.
Eddie peeked up, and saw (although Richie had kept talking) Richie's plate inched closer. His hands were still on it, as he moved it even closer to Eddie’s.
Eddie furrowed his eyebrows.
At first, he thought maybe he was moving it to motion more wildly. Get it out of the way.
But the more he ignored it, the more it creeped over. Specifically the fries. That was the side of the plate he was creeping over.
Eddie eyed the side of his head, curiously. Richie did not turn to him at all.
But, he… kinda understood.
Hesitantly, Eddie picked a french fry off Richie's plate -bringing it to his mouth in a bite. He guessed maybe Richie heard it because-
Richie took his hands off the plate and started motioning widely again in the conversation. Like it was nothing.
Eddie pursed his lips together, still eyeing Richie's unkempt curls, the frizzy swirls that were relatively well clarified (when Eddie knew for a fact that Richie used 2 in 1). And then, then… he had the thought that it just might be soft. Would his hair be soft? He could-
Eddie blinked, Get a fucking grip, Kaspbrak.
Before he could snap his eyes away, he caught onto a pair of blue ones -Bev. Her ginger eyebrows raised expectantly, See.
Eddie stared right back at her, defiantly.
She rolled her eyes, before seeming to start moving. Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, confused as fuck. Until…
Her delicate hand reacted forward, and just as she started to grab at one of Richie's fries-
“‘Ey, Marsh,” Richie imitated a New Yorker's accent, and swatted her hand away, “-Get ya own.”
Eddie blinked.
Bev rolled her eyes, as if to keep ‘in character’.
And before he could stop himself, Eddie grabbed a fry -right when Richie should have noticed it. Because he was paying attention to Bev, it would've been in his peripheral vision. But Richie was undisturbed.
Just him. Just Eddie was allowed.
Something in his stomach flipped.
Bev, after Richie's attention was diverted (which was not a second later), raised an eyebrow -triumphantly.
Eddie didn't dignify her with a response. (And maybe blushed all the way up to his hairline. But that was for him to know.)
And then, with the paid checks, everyone started navigating out of the restaurant. Eddie was no exception, until he realized that Richie was not on the sidewalk. Just as he was about to say something, the very man swung past the open doors.
Before Eddie could ask him why, his eyes caught on a cup in his hand. Not a drink though. That's… It was a milkshake.
Eddie frowned. What a dick. Fucking bragging-
Richie pushed it into Eddie's hands. And he promptly almost dropped it, what the fuck.
Eddie blinked, once and then twice, as Richie wrapped an arm around his shoulder and followed along the group. Like it was nothing. Again.
Fucking again.
Eddie didn't know what to do. So, instead of doing anything, he took a sip of his milkshake and let Richie guide him. Maybe even leaning into his touch a little more than usual (and if he felt Richie falter a little at the motion, he'd think about it later).
He was at home, it had been about a week since that first conversation and he and Richie had gone to that hole-in-the-wall place. It was exactly like a date. Eddie could recognize that, but was it easy to process? No. Fuck no. But he could recognize it.
Bev was at work, a bridal assistant until her own business got off the ground (which Eddie knew would inevitably happen). But, Mike. Mike was home.
Plus, Bev would never fucking drop it if he went to her so-
Eddie pulled himself off his bed, and patted his way to the kitchen -where Mike was meal prepping something that smelt like fucking heaven. He watched him for a few seconds, before his mouth moved unwillingly.
“Is Richie like… into me?”
Mike was relatively unphased, flattening what he'd made into the container (so it would fit). He took a few seconds, after that, sealing the container before giving him his full attention.
“‘We finally talking about this?” He posed, like he'd been waiting.
Fuck, have they all-
“C'mon over, Eddie,” Mike motioned, turning back to food (some sort of rice), “-you can help while we talk.”
Eddie moved to stand beside him, as Mike motioned for him to close the containers as he filled them.
Mike hummed, “What was it that got you?”
“What the fuck do you mean ‘what was it’?” Eddie snapped a lid onto a container, “-How long has this been going on for-”
“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” Mike asked, genuinely (he was the kinda friend to ask what you needed before he responded).
Eddie pursed his lips, thinking and watching Mike smooth it down with the utensil, “Yes. Yeah. Tell me.”
“I wasn't there, but-” Mike spoke with a gentle sort of calm tone, unshakeable, “-apparently since the beginning.”
Eddie's eyes bugged out of his head, “What? What do you mean… How?”
“You hear things,” Mike shrugged, elusive, “-Even as the last one in the club, it was passed onto me pretty quickly.”
“That Richie-” Eddie started, before flushing and cutting himself off.
“That you guys were different,” Mike corrected, softly (effectively smoothing the embarrassment out of Eddie's body), “-different than everybody else's… uh, connection.”
Eddie paused, “But the whole… ‘into me’ thing… that's… He's-”
Mike waited a second, enough for Eddie to understand what he was trying to say without saying it (yes), “That's something you should ask Richie.”
Eddie blinked, swallowing once -turning his attention to snap on the next lid. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the-
“Or,” Mike weighed for a moment, “-the rest of the Losers.”
So, that's what Eddie did.
He already knew Bev's opinion, and Mike's. So he spoke to the three he didn't -obviously excluding Richie. Ben (“I can't say much, but we hung out a lot when I was yearning for Bev. If that… If that means anything.”), and Bill (“I ha-have b-b-been s-swore t-t-to s-secrecy.”). And then, then… it was the big guns. Stanley Uris.
Richie's best friend before anyone else. The Tozier's and Uris' were practically family at this point. They'd come as a pair to the baby Losers Club (just like Eddie and Bill had founded it). So, if anyone was in the know about… about Richie, it was Stanley.
“I'm gonna hang up now,” he deadpanned.
“Fuck you, Stan,” Eddie rolled his eyes -outside on his break at the diner, “-I'm just trying to figure this shit out-”
“You wanna ‘figure it out’?” Stan repeated, exasperated -in a rush of words, “-It would be so fucking easy to just talk to each other, but, if this is what I have to do to get Richie out of my fucking hair-”
Eddie could barely follow his words.
“-Then, fucking fine. What do you wanna know?”
Eddie blinked, a little taken aback by his tone, “I just… Richie acts differently with me. And I think… I don't fucking know, but I think-”
“Richie's been in love with you since the 2nd grade,” Stanley interrupted, flatly.
Eddie's whole body froze.
“What?!” Eddie screeched, face burning bright pink.
Stanley continued, unphased, “Does that help?”
His head was fucking spinning.
“Will you be the one with the balls to do shit about it? Because Richie is not,” Stanley laughed, exhausted and bitter, “-Trust me.”
“You… He…” Eddie breathed out, “-He fucking loves me?”
“That's what I said,” Stan responded, “-yeah.”
Richie loves me. Richie loves me.
It repeated in his head like a mantra, over and over again. And his brain started to light up with scenes, with memories.
Richie scraping his knees, young with too long limbs, and he let Eddie patch him up. He was chastising him, but even after all that shit-talking, Richie grinned up at him with his huge magnified eyes behind his glasses. (“Thanks for fixin’ me up, Dr. K!”).
Eddie freaking out, asking for his inhaler, and Richie walking him through it. Knowing exactly what to do. (“You don't need it, Eds, you know that. Just look at me, follow my breaths, okay?”).
Ditching prom with Richie, driving around in his piece of shit truck blasting music that Eddie would say he hated but he loved. He thought that was the best day of his life then, it was so freeing. And he was with Richie. But he remembers… he remembers catching his eyes and he was looking at him in a way he couldn't grasp. Not really. He filed it away for later, and later never came. (“This is way better than some shitty dance anyway.”)
Eddie paused.
Richie. What's missing in his dates is Richie. He wants it to be Richie. With his buck teeth, and his frizzy hair and his stupid fucking shirts-
God.
Something pulsed through his head, and suddenly everything made sense.
Fuck. I love Richie. I've always loved Richie.
“Fuck,” Eddie slid a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, “-fuck. How did I never-”
“I don't fucking know, Eddie,” Stanley exhaled, “-I've been trying to figure that shit out for years.”
“Shit, fuck. God-” Eddie groaned, “-Richie? Richie fucking Tozier-”
“As delighted as I am that you're finally fucking queued in, Kaspbrak,” Stan pointed out, “-are you going to make a move? Or do I need to book a flight into the core of the sun-”
Eddie blinked.
And something clawed its way up his chest. Maybe it had gone ignored for too long, but now it was fucking here. He'd shoved the idea of Richie so far away, but now it was right there, and he wanted it so bad that it burned-
“Yes, yeah, fuck-” Eddie breathed out, suddenly scrambling around his room, “-Is he at the apartment with you?”
“You're-” Stanley paused, seemingly shocked, “-I truly regret never telling you. You would've made this shit a lot easier.”
“Stanley,” Eddie hissed, staring at himself in the mirror -wondering if he should change, “-is he there or not?”
“Look, in like an hour,” Stanley seemed much more cooperative now, “-he, Patty, and I were going to go to the fair-”
Ah yes, Richie Tozier. Their surrogate son, certified third wheel-
“-I'll tell him you're coming too. We'll be by to pick you up and then, when we're there, we can split up.”
Stanley wasn't asking, so Eddie just agreed. That led him to now, dressed by one Beverly Marsh -pacing back and forth around the living room.
Step, step, step, step-
“Eddie,” Bev chimed from the doorway, leaning on it, “-breathe. And maybe sit down.”
“They'll be here any fucking moment, Bev,” Eddie continued -pacing.
“You're ready,” Bev pointed out, “-and you look hot. There's no need to be worried.”
“I'm fucking-” Eddie paused in his step, turning to her, “-I'm confessing to Richie! That's big shit. I can be fucking nervous-”
“Okay, fair point, but-” Bev stepped forward, placing her hands on his shoulders, “-he loves you. And you know that.”
Eddie let a breath rattle out of his lungs.
“Because he's been painfully obvious.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Eddie laughed, shoving into her slightly.
And then his phone dinged.
Stan🔎
Tell Bev to answer her phone.
Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, ready to type.
Stan🔎
He can't stop freaking out that you're coming.
I think he's gone through every article of clothing he owns.
Eddie laughed, before flashing Bev the screen.
She rolled her eyes, and went to grab her phone -stalking through the hallway and assumedly to her room. But then, she came back into the living room and held up a finger in a shush motion.
Eddie was about to ask why, when she faced her phone towards herself and a voice-
“Jesus fuck, Bevvy,” Richie hissed out, higher pitched than normal, “-where the fuck have you been?”
“Would you believe me if I said dressing Eddie?” Bev smirked, and Richie let out a noise that Eddie couldn't say he'd ever heard.
“Fuck,” he groaned, crackling through the phone, “-that means he's gonna be unbearably hot and/or cute and/or sexy. Fuck you, Marsh-”
Eddie flushed down his collar, and his brain diluted to a low hum.
“-What the fuck? How am I supposed to handle that?”
“Maybe you could, I dunno, just brainstorming,” Bev remarked, sarcastically, “-make a move, Tozier.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Richie most definitely rolled his eyes, “-I'm having a crisis here.”
“Oh, hush, ya big baby,” Bev rolled her eyes, before listing fluidly, “-your pants don't matter. Your shirt does. Get that black one that's almost too small? It's got some stupid like turtle graphics on it?”
“What do you mean my pants don't matter?” Richie asked, considerably farther away and Eddie could hear the rustle of clothes.
Bev’s eyes glinted in a mischievous way, as she eyed Eddie for a moment, before saying, “Your shoulders, honey. Eddie wants to gnaw on them.”
Eddie flushed red, and just as he went to flip her off-
Crash. An assortment of hangers falling, if Eddie had to guess.
“What?” Richie squeaked out, and something like affection smoothed the frustration out of Eddie's bones.
God. I fucking love the fuck out of this idiot.
Bev snorted, “Did you just eat shit?”
“Maybe,” Richie spoke, softer, before there was a scrambling sound, “-I mean you can't just tell a guy that the guy whose he's pretty sure is the love of his life-”
Eddie blinked, his stomach swooped. There it is. Right there. He loves me.
“-wants to gnaw on his shoulders.”
“I'm just telling you what I heard,” Bev hummed, nonchalantly -looking at her nails, “-Don't shoot the messenger.”
“This one?” Richie asked, much closer and maybe even eager (fuck, Eddie wanted to jump him), “-But like seriously did he-”
“That's the one,” she hummed, “-and would you believe me if I said yes?”
“Uh, honestly?” Richie hummed, a little awkwardly, “-Maybe…? Eddie's been… He's been acting…”
Bev raised an eyebrow.
“-I don't fucking know, Bevvy. Just… There's something.”
Eddie felt his heart flip.
“And yet,” Bev tsked, “-You still won't make a move.”
“I'm a dumbass,” Richie sighed out, and Eddie heard the shuffling of fabric (and he turned bright red at the idea of Richie shirtless-), “-I don't… Even if I said something, I don't want to fuck it up.”
Eddie softened, eyebrows pulling together. The nerves were quieter now, as he listened to Richie and how much he cared.
This isn't scary. It's just Richie. It's just Richie.
And fuck, Richie deserves the world-
Something in Eddie steeled.
With a breath, he waved a hand to Bev and her eyes darted to him for a second -her eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Eddie held up one finger, tiptoeing toward the kitchen -right at the doorway. So, it would echo properly because-
“Red, what about-”
“Hey, Bev?” Eddie called from the doorway, schooling his tone.
Bev seemed to process it for a few seconds, before turning to the camera and telling Richie to shush with a finger to her lips. And then, she turned the camera down to the neck of her shirt.
“Yeah?” she called back, amazingly focused.
“Is this fucking-” Eddie let out a sigh, “-Is this fucking stupid?”
Bev raised an eyebrow, “What?”
“You know what,” Eddie replied -pointed.
Bev smirked, before speaking, “Humor me for a second, Kaspbrak.”
“Fucking… confessing,” Eddie answered, still a little distanced, “-to Richie, I mean.”
Eddie heard a little choked-out noise come from the phone. He grinned, maybe a little too bright judging by Bev's fond little reaction.
What a fucking idiot. God.
With a breath, he moved a few steps forward into the room -closer.
“Well?” Eddie asked, pinched, “-Is it? Fucking stupid?”
And then, he paused. Pretending to recognize that she had her phone the way she did.
“What are you doing?”
Bev paused, maybe pretending to try and come up with something -moving her phone as if to show it, “Texting Richie about his outfit.”
“Oh,” Eddie exhaled, swallowing for emphasis, “-You… You better not have told him about the shoulder thing. I'll fucking kill you.”
“Me?” Bev grinned, “-No, never.”
Eddie leveled a look at her, in frustration (genuine from her mentioning it earlier), “I fucking hate you.”
Bev laughed, and Eddie pretended to spin on his heel and walk out of the room. In reality, he stayed right in place.
Bev shot him a wink and with practiced ease, moved the phone to match her face again.
There was a pause for a moment.
“Bev,” Richie’s voice came out lilted. Excited. In disbelief. So fucking happy that Eddie kinda wanted to run to him and kiss the shit out of him, as soon as possible-
She grinned, “Yes?”
“Bev,” Richie repeated.
Bev's grin just turned brighter.
“Holy fuck,” Richie breathed out, shaky, “-Marsh. What the fuck.”
Bev hummed, sing-songy, “I told you.”
“He's…” Richie faltered, quiet and squeaky, “-Tonight? Me? Seriously?”
“I mean,” Bev smiled, “-I think you heard him, Rich.”
“When?” Richie started speaking quickly, “-How? I didn't… I don't-”
“From what I've heard,” Bev hummed, soothingly, “-he figured everything out like… today. Figured you out, figured himself out, and just, well… decided.”
“Today?!” Richie screeched, “-He figured it out today?! And he's already… He's gonna fucking tell me-”
“Okay, well, actually, the past few weeks,” she mended, but pointed out, “-and he told me that he can't wait. You know how impatient Eddie is.”
“I do,” Richie laughed and it was maybe a little teary, “-the little shit. God, I love him. What the fuck-”
Eddie's heart was swelling so fucking big it might break his fucking ribs. God. Richie needs to be here, like fucking… yesterday.
He motioned the best he could to Bev, Tell him to hurry the fuck up.
Bev grinned, “Rich, you need to hurry up. Eddie's about to wear a hole in the floor-”
“Fuck, shit, yeah-” Richie suddenly seemed to scamper, “-I have to fucking go. Now.”
“Yeah you do, Tozier,” she laughed, “-Go get your man. Or maybe… let your man get you?”
Richie laughed, and Eddie could tell he was grinning (his crooked ass grin) -his heart leapt into his throat, “Whatever the fuck he wants, Marsh. I'm free to molding, if ya know what I mean-”
Eddie bit back a response (while his whole body went red at the idea of Richie… like that). Luckily Bev spoke up for him.
“Beep, beep, Richie,” Bev scrunched up her nose.
“Yeah, yeah,” Richie spoke, dismissively, “-I gotta go Bev. I've got Eddie fucking Kaspbrak waiting on me. Holy shit-”
“Go,” Bev laughed again, “-before Eddie kills me in cold blood.”
“Yeah, okay,” Richie responded, and Eddie could hear the grin in his voice -maybe fucking excited, “-yeah. Love you, Bev.”
And just like that, the FaceTime cut off.
Bev looked up at him with a telling smile, mischievous and so fucking… teasing-
“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie puffed up -defensive.
Beverly grinned, “I didn't say anything.”
“You're going to,” Eddie snapped back, “-I'm not fucking stupid.”
“It's just-” Bev let out a genuine smile, moving to him -rubbing her hands down his arms, “-It's cute. Really. Under that being prickly defense is a little soft spot for Richie fucking Tozier-”
“I said shut up,” Eddie repeated, but he was pushing down a smile -shoving at her.
“Okay, okay,” Bev laughed, which smoothed into a soft smile, “-I'm just happy for you. Both of you.”
Eddie grinned a little, and moved to wrap her into a hug. Bev always smelt the same, like a musk but still feminine, like a flower after the rain. It was comforting. Maybe not as comforting as Richie (being around him had a tendency to soothe his nerves), but that was a fucking… situation.
“I love you, Bev,” Eddie murmured into her shoulder.
She hummed, “Love you too, Eddie.”
Eddie did love her, tremendously, and she got him in ways everyone else couldn't, tragic ways. Ones he didn't like to remember. But it was better when he had Bev to talk about it with, better with all the Losers, yeah, but still-
Eddie's phone buzzed.
He squeezed her once, before retracting.
Stan 🔎
Why the fuck did Richie run down the stairs?
He almost ate shit.
Eddie laughed, and Bev peeked over his shoulder at the phone -eyeing the messages.
Stan 🔎
He ran out the door.
5 minutes, maybe less for Richie, to be honest.
“Shit,” Eddie scampered over to the mirror -hands moving frantically to fix any fly aways, “-fuck. Five minutes, Bev. Five minutes, and Richie's… and I-”
“Relax, Eddie,” Bev laughed a little, putting her hands on her shoulders to ground him, “-It's just Richie.”
Eddie let out a breath.
“And he's batshit insane about you.”
Eddie rolled his eyes and shoved at Bev, but not hard enough for it to be seen as genuine. Just Richie. It's just Richie-
Stan 🔎
We're outside.
Richie's jumpier than usual, just fyi.
Eddie laughed, telling Bev bye (which she promptly took a moment to say ‘Tell me fucking everything, Kaspbrak’) and rushing down the stairs. After compulsively rechecking his pockets 3 times in a row -phone, wallet, keys.
Just, as Eddie pulled himself to the front door, though…
“-it,” Richie finished, tone off in a… good way, Eddie thinks.
“Wow,” Stan deadpanned, “-I had no idea.”
“Wait,” Richie's tone fell lower, slightly, “-how do you know? How did you know about… about Eddie, an… and fucking everything-”
“He called me,” Stan responded, flatly, like he wasn't giving anymore than what he said then, “-‘Had some questions. I answered them.”
“With what?” Richie was suddenly attentive, fidgety and curious and anxious, “-What did you tell him-”
Eddie took that his notion to move forward so he did -deliberate shoe scraping and tapping along metal. He was kinda fucking sick and tired of eavesdropping, honestly.
Fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt, he pretended to eye the parking lot. Looking.
“Eds!” Richie chimed, and Eddie's eyes snapped to him in an instant (big crooked grin, and eyes light behind his lenses). He was nearly bouncing on his toes, Eddie thought it could've been the cutest thing in the fucking world if he was. God, he was so entirely fucked-
“I can see your stupid fucking turtles from here, asshole,” Eddie retorted, moving toward them onto the pavement -decidedly paying no attention to the way the shirt stretched along his shoulders. (He totally, totally wasn't.) Fuck you, Marsh-
Richie laughed, and a fiery flame filled Eddie's chest. Love, love, love. He's right there. All you have to do is tell him. Just fucking tell him-
“Wowza, Spaghetti,” Richie hummed, with a only slight wink and a wolf whistle, “-You got a hot date tonight or some shit because-”
Richie pretended to fan at his face, and Eddie wanted to kiss him so badly that his hands were shaking. Itching to yank at the stupid collar of his dumbass shirt, and shut him up. And he was right there, Eddie was only a few steps in front of him. He could-
“Get a room,” Stan deadpanned, but there was something sparkly in his eye (new, happy maybe).
“Hush,” Patty swatted at Stan's chest, “-I think it's cute.”
Eddie's face flushed. Even with everything that he was planning on doing, the whole… realization was fucking fresh. The idea of flirting with Richie as long as he'd known him was still a little earth-shattering. They were friends, yeah, but to realize that subconsciously Eddie shoved and pushed just to touch Richie? Was fucking embarrassing. Would've been more if Richie didn't do the same, but still.
Speaking of-
Eddie glanced at Richie and saw something new for once. He was flushed to the tips of his ears, eyes big behind his glasses, and lips pressed into a thin (embarrassed) line. Eddie felt his heart jolt in his chest, and he almost said something. It was right fucking there. So easy.
Richie, instead, cleared his throat and began to step forward, “Vamos, mi amigos!”
He got all but two steps forward, before pausing, “Wait. Uh-” he turned back to Stan and Patty, “-which way do we go?”
Stan immediately looked at Eddie.
Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, “Why the fuck are you looking at me?”
“You're the navigator,” Stan explained, “-have been since we were kids. So…”
“Wait, so-” Eddie scrambled for a moment, “-you were going somewhere that you don't know how to get to? Who does that shit?”
“We were going to use our phones,” Patty explained, “-but Stan says it would be a waste of charge with you around.”
Eddie was somewhat flattered and appalled, puffing up his cheeks defensively. What the fuck?
“I'm not just some fucking tool-”
Stan's gaze snapped to Richie then, expectantly.
Richie was flabbergasted then, blinking, “What?”
“Convince him,” Stanley spoke like it was Richie's job to do so.
Eddie furrowed his eyebrows.
“What?” Richie repeated.
“You're the only one fucking fluent in Eddie Kaspbrak,” Stan explained further, “-He did stupid shit just because you dared him to, all the time. You obviously have something we don't-”
Richie turned pink, maybe a little in shock. Which Eddie was a little confused about because Richie knew he was different for him. Maybe not a few hours ago, but he knew now-
Eddie rolled his eyes, but pointedly, didn't argue with the point Stanley made (maybe hoping Richie caught that), “Where the fuck is it, Stanley?”
And so, now they were navigating the cold streets of the evening -all on Eddie's personal compass. Emphasis on the cold.
He's not sure if it was a conscious move on Bev's part, but she did not, in fact, give him a jacket to wear. In normal circumstances, Eddie would've pointed that out, but sue him for being fucking distracted-
All that to say, Bev probably expected a Hallmark movie moment where Richie gave him his jacket and it smelt like him or something. What she had forgotten is that Richie was ill-prepared for everything on this fucking planet. So, he was without a jacket too. But, he was a personal heater, and ran hot as fuck, so he was fine. Eddie on the other hand…
He brushed a hand up and down his bicep, casually. It wasn't like he was out in the fucking snow, but he was still fucking cold. And there was a chilly little breeze that hit him, and it made him shiver ever so slightly. He wasn't trying to make a big fucking deal about it-
“Eds-” Richie called out from his side (Eddie hadn't noticed how close he'd gotten at this point) -making grabby hands, “-I'm cold.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. No fucking way, that heater of a shithead is cold.
He eyed him, curiously for a second.
You saw me shiver, didn't you?
Eddie wanted to physically explode.
On instinct, Eddie bit back -defensive, “Maybe you should've gotten a fucking jacket dipshit.”
Richie jutted out his bottom lip (Eddie decidedly was not looking), “Eds.”
“What the fuck do you want me to do?” Eddie asked, but somewhat softer (Jesus fuck, he loved him).
Richie made the grabby hands again. And Eddie felt something warm swallow him whole.
God.
Eddie rolled his eyes but moved over to him -tugging Richie's arm over his shoulder. Letting the fucking Richie of it all soak over his skin, the seep of heat buzzing against his body. It was warm, fucking finally.
Eddie maybe snuggled into him a little more than necessary, but he'd never admit to it. (He thinks the little flush on Richie's face was telling enough.)
And then, they were there.
The flashing lights, the tents, the ticket stands, the smell of popcorn (it reminded him of their trips to the movies together when they were kids, which he kinda thought might’ve been dates in a different light). It was fucking noisy though. So loud.
“Alright,” Stan exhaled -eyeing Eddie particularly, “-we're going to get our tickets. You guys coming?”
An opening.
Eddie stole a glance at Richie. His lips were pushed together and his face was flushed. He mindlessly felt Richie's hand (on the arm thrown over Eddie's shoulder) fidgeting. Maybe he could sense what Stanley was giving too.
Eddie hesitated a moment.
And then, with a bout of confidence, he moved to intertwine his hand with Richie's (the best he could anyway).
It's just me.
Richie somehow both stilled and relaxed at once like Eddie stirred up both in him. Which… actually seemed accurate.
His eyes shot to him again. The side of his face. Richie fucking Tozier. And Eddie felt the nerves quieten.
It's been long enough.
“Actually,” Eddie spoke up -certain, his hand tight on Richie's, “-we're gonna hang back for a little bit.”
Stanley nodded -solidly, something flashing through his eyes. (“Good luck. Not like you need it.”)
Eddie watched the two of them walk to the ticket stand -his heart pounding in his chest. After a moment, he partially expected Richie to say something. But he didn't, maybe because he knew it was coming, and was probably nervous. Hence the fidgeting. Richie couldn't sit still normally, but when he was fucking nervous? Jesus Christ.
Eddie exhaled a heavy breath. Okay, Kaspbrak.
He slowly un-intertwined himself from Richie's grip, turning to face him -missing the warmth nearly immediately. But he needed to be looking at him for this, needed Richie to totally and completely believe it. No question in his stupid fucking brain.
Richie was staring at him, eyes wide and splotchy red climbing up his face.
“Eduardo,” Richie piped up, smiling nervously but in a more playful tone (like he was trying to play it cool), “-to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Eddie’s eyes skipped over his face, his crooked ass grin, his frizzy hair, the bump in his nose, the way he'd always fucking looked at him (that he actually fucking noticed now). Richie fucking Tozier.
God.
He felt like he might die if he waited any longer-
“You're kinda freaking me out, Eds,” Richie nervously laughed, which actually seemed genuine, “-like don't get me wrong, you can keep staring at me with your fucking… doe eyes all you want but like you can't be mad if I bust a-”
Eddie frowned, torn out of his trance (fucking god, what an idiot), “Shut up.”
“Eds,” Richie pointed out, rambling nervously (Eddie's lips slipped into a genuine smile, love, love, love-), “-you can't tell me to shut up when you're not talking. I am physically unable to stay quiet for more than 10 minutes unless someone else talks-”
“Richie.”
“-It's just so fucking boring. Just talk. You can shit on my shirt again if you'd like, just something. Talk shit about Clorox and their chemicals, and how Lysol is better, or how Germ-X isn't a good solution-”
“Richie,” Eddie repeated.
“-because for some fucking reason you know that shit. Just anything. Because I can't fucking take your… eyes for that long before I think I might physically fucking launch into the air like a rocket-”
“Richie,” Eddie leveled -stern, hands solid on his shoulders, “-shut. Up.”
“Yeah, okay,” Richie squeaked out, quietly.
Eddie paused for a minute before something in his brain processed what he had said and he started talking before he could stop. Instinctively.
“You think Lysol is better than fucking Clorox?” he asked, pointedly, “-Clorox has a higher portion of the fucking cleaning ingredient, and even though Lysol has a different fucking ingredient, with its own benefits, because chemicals fucking work like that, fuckwad-”
And then-
“I love you.”
Eddie's lips snapped shut, and he blinked -once and then twice.
“Well, I guess maybe I should say I'm in love with you or some shit-” Richie continued, rambling again (Eddie's heart was in his throat), “-because it's not like a fucking friend thing, it's like a cheesy romcom kinda thing with a fucking boom box outside your window and me obnoxiously singing to you until you fucking throw a rock at my head. Because that's what you would do instead of gasp and shit like in the movies-”
Eddie stared at him, mindlessly watching him motion and just kept talking.
“-So, maybe it's not like a romcom thing, because I doubt a romcom would end with me having a fucking concussion. Maybe it’s one that's like heavy on the fucking com part, actually-”
Something in Eddie felt warm all the way down his body, head to toe. Jesus fuck, I love him. But then, it settled. What Richie had said.
Oh my god.
“You, asshole,” Eddie interrupted, shoving at his shoulder.
Richie's lips snapped shut, and his face went through a few different emotions before landing on confused, “What?”
“You take a literal fucking decade and still don’t say shit, and I-” Eddie stabbed his finger into his chest, “-figure this shit out and want to tell you fucking immediately, but you fucking beat me to it-”
Richie was grinning, and Eddie softened ever-so-slightly.
“-You're such a fucking asshole,” Eddie continued, “-you couldn't wait 5 fucking minutes. God-”
Richie kept looking at him in a warm way that made Eddie want to kiss him.
“-I'm going to fucking say it better,” Eddie huffed out a breath, “-because fuck you.”
Richie faltered, “What do you-”
Eddie moved on instinct, hands coming to cradle Richie's face with ease -despite the quick movements, the touch was so fucking gentle. He made sure of it.
Richie's mouth closed so quickly that his jaw clicked, and his face turned a deeper shade of red -eyes blown wide behind his glasses.
God.
“I love you,” Eddie started, certain and unshakeable, “-I didn't fucking realize it because it's always fucking been this way, been different with you, but now, I do. I really fucking do. I love the shit out of you, Richie Tozier-”
“Eds,” Richie was quiet, and his eyes were glossy. But Eddie was on a roll.
“-and your stupid fucking shirts, and your shitty impressions, and your buck teeth you’ve had since we were 7. I just fucking love you. I've always loved you. Even when I didn't fucking know it, I did. I loved you. I-” Eddie took a breath, eyeing Richie carefully (whose eyes were slightly glossy) and dropping his tone to something more gentle, “-I love you.”
Richie was staring at him, tears building up in his eyes, and everything in him softened. Gently, he moved his thumbs under his glasses and brushed them away.
“I love you too,” Richie sniffled, smiling big and bright. Eddie's heart melted in his chest.
“You big fucking baby,” Eddie laughed, but his voice was too soft to truly be judging him, “-I forgot that you cry at shit like this.”
“Fuck you, Kaspbrak,” Richie bit back, defensive but he was still smiling so big (tears falling that Eddie kept wiping away), “-The guy I've loved my whole life loves me back. Give me a break, you little shit-”
Eddie laughed, an actual one, as ‘my whole life’ bubbled under his skin. His eyes flickered along Richie's face, he could see the flecks of different blues in his irises. And it was beautiful. Jesus, Eddie thought Richie fucking Tozier was beautiful-
“Once again, Eds,” Richie interrupted, shooting Eddie out of his head, “-do you want me to cream in my pants? Because if so, keep fucking staring at me like th-”
“Oh my god-” Eddie groaned, “-shut up.”
Before Richie could say another word (and he definitely looked like he wanted to), Eddie pulled him forward and guided his lips to meet his own.
The little ‘hmph’ that Richie made at the click of their lips made Eddie tingly down to his toes, as he pulled him impossibly closer.
It was surprisingly gentle, especially for the two of them, loving if Eddie had to put a word to it. And maybe that was mostly him making sure it was, that Richie knew that Eddie really fucking cared. Because he'd spent a literal decade thinking that he didn't, not in the way Richie did at least.
They parted after a moment, and Eddie watched Richie's eyes flutter open like it had melted his fucking mind and he needed a few seconds to process. It made Eddie's whole body puff up with pride. Me. I did that. Me, Eddie Kaspbrak-
“Update,” Richie broke his thought process again, “-I think I might've done it anyway-”
Oh my god.
Eddie rolled his eyes and broke off his words with the press of his lips.
And you know what, he really liked this method.
He might just use it more often.