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It’s late. Everyone’s winding down in Ben’s huge living room, and Richie's gone out for a smoke.
Eddie can see his silhouette hunched over the railing, his back to the house and lit by the balcony light and the moon, and he’s all alone. And it’s chilly out, Eddie noted earlier when they all arrived, as Ben was giving them a tour so they stepped out to see the view from the balcony. It’s probably even chillier now that it’s past eleven. And, Eddie thinks more insistently, getting up from where he’s been perched on the edge of his chair for the past half hour, they haven’t really caught up in a while, just the two of them, have they? Not since that phone call last week when he told Richie his divorce had been finalized, and Richie barely said a thing in response, which Eddie attributed to the bomb he’d just dropped. Or rather, Richie had said a lot of words, congratulating him and making fun of him immediately—but none of the words had been of any substance.
It’s weird, the haunted way Richie’s been acting. And Eddie, who’s only had him back for less than a year—Eddie misses him.
So he grabs his coat and Richie's, and tugs the sliding door open.
He glances back through the glass when he shuts it again. Their friends are spread along the couches and armchairs around the fireplace’s crackling warmth, talking, half of them with steaming mugs. Maybe when they get back in, he can cajole Richie into staying up even later with some hot cocoa of their own, the way he always wished his mom let him do as kids.
He walks up and drops Richie's coat over his shoulders—Richie jolts, wide-eyed.
“Jesus.” He straightens. Grabs at the coat with his free hand, and flashes Eddie a small smile. “Scared the crap outta me, man.”
Eddie laughs under his breath, tugging his own coat on before leaning on the railing next to him. “Sorry.”
Richie shrugs, and takes a drag. He turns his face away from Eddie when he blows the smoke out, a slow trailing stream carried away by the breeze.
Pretty considerate, even though Eddie isn’t asthmatic anymore, maybe never was. The whole time it’d just been a bunch of good ol’ panic attacks.
Against his will, he flushes. Also against his will, he clenches his jaw, annoyed at himself for being so affected by such a small thing. On one hand, it’s literally the least anyone could do for a supposedly asthmatic friend. On the other hand, Richie’s worn his asshole badge with pride since their teenage years. He doesn’t have to accommodate Eddie—but he still does. Nothing’s been able to beat Maggie and Wentworth Tozier’s kindness out of him. It’s what makes his spikiness as of late so damn confusing.
Eddie tries to rub some feeling back into his hands. A rustle of clothes—their arms rubbing together as Richie flicks his cigarette. A barrel of ash splits off the end, dropping on the polished wooden guardrail, embers going from orange to nothing.
“Um,” Eddie says, and doesn’t know what else to say. Feels awkward, unsure in a way he never felt around Richie before. “Uh. If you wanted to be alone, I can…”
He juts a thumb back at the house with a half-smile. Richie shakes his head twice, shoulders shifting in a silent laugh.
“Nah, it's cool,” he says. “I like having you around.”
He bumps Eddie's shoulder. It’s just a simple touch, and a simple sentiment, but Eddie warms nonetheless. It's… Nice, hearing it. Reassuring. He likes being around Richie too, he really does—but something at the back of his mind itches, uncomfortable, completely unrelated to Richie’s words. Because, he frowns, shoving his hands in his pockets, it's kind of a rarity, for Richie to speak in that quiet, earnest way. Not unless he’s overwhelmed—like, very much so—and Eddie remembers, then, when they were kids. Spending the whole day together, all 7 of them, Richie the loudest, until they had one too many encounters with Henry, or he did one too many voices in succession and he’d shut down and have to get away, hunker down with a comic, although back then it manifested along with grumpiness. Now, he's just… quiet. Tired-looking. Very adult of him.
Inside, the music’s still playing, muffled through the door and walls. Tears For Fears’ “Broken” gives way to “Head Over Heels”. It dons the night a surreal ambiance. Eddie watches Richie out the corner of his eye, the bob of his throat as he swallows. How his lashes come down when he closes his eyes to feel the autumn breeze. A complicated feeling nestles in Eddie’s chest; a disquiet thing, uninterpretable for now.
He shivers. Good thing he brought his coat.
The night sky is clear, the stars bright and beautiful. Out the corner of his eye, he watches Richie instead. He seems to be mulling over something. His shoulders are tight, almost all the way to his ears. Only when the song fades to an end does he catch Eddie looking.
“Hey, Eddie?”
Eddie straightens, turns his whole body to face him, leaving a single gripping hand on the railing. Richie watches him do this. He looks like he’s holding his breath, the way he does when he’s building up to something, and Eddie's chest is buzzing in anticipation, waiting, God, finally...
Richie opens his mouth.
“I, uh…”
His tongue darts out to lick at his lips. Eddie’s eyes flick down to follow the movement. By the time he looks back up, Richie looks pale, his gaze fleeing. Eddie waits, and waits. The breeze rustles through the trees, slow, an eerie little shuffle in the stifling quiet—and Richie deflates, barks out a strained laugh.
“Never mind.” His voice has the slightest quiver. He shakes his head. “Forgot what I was gonna say.”
His eyes seem shuttered, now, cemented to the trees shifting below in the darkness. The buzzing in Eddie’s chest leaks to his stomach, slow and ice-cold. Like when he’s disappointed, he would say, except that’s a very specific feeling, disappointment. Disappointment about what?
He tightens his coat around himself.
“Oh,” he says. “Okay.”
Richie smiles wanly. Between his fingers, the cigarette's been reduced to a smoldering stub. He puts it out on the guardrail and shrugs. He doesn't say anything else; just heads inside.
A distance away, Eddie trails after him.
The hot cocoa stays on his mind while he says his goodnights to their friends and heads straight to bed. Maybe tomorrow…
Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow he’ll ask.