Chapter Text
Though 1989 was long gone, Eddie felt like he was stuck there. The gross scent of sewer contents that wafted around him as he passed the barrens, baking in the hot July air, wrapped around his wrists and dragged him there. The red balloons that seemed to be everywhere carried his mind to that summer, leaving his body a vacant shell.
Sometimes, Richie was there to shake him out of his trance-like state with a hand on his shoulder.
Eddie would trace the veins of Richie's hands with his eyes, moving up from his arms to his shoulders and collarbones. He'd look at Richie's worrisome face just a bit longer than he needed to (Eddie always thought Richie was particularly easy to look at. As long as he's known him, he's loved the thick, black hair that curled around his cheekbones, framing his face perfectly. He loved the way his eyelids crinkled when he smiled, screwed shut when he laughed. But he's changed a bit since he was 13; after two years, he still wears goofy-looking magnifying glasses over his eyes and bright undone button-ups that flap around his newly-broadened frame. The jutting of his bones became more prominent as he grew taller, thinning out; his voice had grown deep and soft as opposed to his previous whiny, high-pitched tone--a tone that Eddie loved even if he acted otherwise; he loved to hear that voice, low or high-pitched, crack raunchy and inherently bad jokes.) before smiling and silently telling him that he was alright.
Though that cycle calmed him, the panic was still there. He'd still find his mind wandering and his heart racing.
Eddie's hand moved from where he gripped the edge of the wooden seat to where his fanny pack sat in his lap. He tugged at the zipper, scrambling for his inhaler once he was inside.
"You alright, Eds?" Richie peered out from the top of his comic book.
Eddie skittishly glanced where Richie swung in the hammock. Eddie inhaled the bitter medicine and said, "Yeah. It's late, I should go home,"
"I'll go with you," Richie swung his legs sideways and stepped down from the suspended seat. He folded a dogear into the page he was on.
Beverly waved at them, cigarette pinned between her fingers, smoke curling out of her mouth as it formed into a smile.
Bill raised his hand to wave, hesitated when he realized his fingers were intertwined with Stan's.
Mike laughed at them from where he sat on the swing. "Bye," He said.
Eddie made his way up the ladder, following Richie, muscles and lungs straining as he did so. He seated himself on his bike, the hard, bumpily textured plastic digging into the sensitive skin of his thighs. He kicked down the stand and began pedaling over dirt and leaves. He gripped the rubber handles of his bike as he tried to hear the world around him: it seemed as if he was underwater, but instead of splashing, all he heard was the gurgling laughter of a clown. He was hyperaware of the gross, thick air that stuck to his skin as it passed him by, waiting for a gloved hand to grip his shoulder. He forced his head to turn, ignoring the way he could almost feel every individual muscle in his neck move.
Instead of how his brain was too loud, and he could feel his skin way more than he needed to, Eddie focused on Richie, outgrown bowl-cut flow like water, the sides of his mouth quirk up as he relished in the feeling of-- to him, at least-- soothing warm air, his body bobbing up and down as he crouched above his bike.
The ride is silent aside from the creaking of the rusty old bike chains and the rubber wheels against gravel. The air starts to cool as the moon rises and takes its spot in the sky. In the corner of his eye, Eddie sees a little bug flutter towards his bike handle. It lands on his hand flickering its light at the same moment Richie calls his name.
Eddie extends his leg and brings his bike to a halt, "This is me,"
"Yeah," Richie says, unmoving.
"Do you want to sleep over, maybe?"
"Sure," Richie parted his lips as he looked at the house. "Is your beautiful mother going to be okay with this?"
"Honestly," Eddie parked his bike. "I'm not sure I care,"
"You're feisty," Richie said over the clatter of his bike dropping. "I like that."
Eddie rolled his eyes in response. The keys in his hand jingled loudly as he sorted through them, approaching the door. He winced at the crunching noise of his key opening the lock. The heavy door screeched as Eddie pushed it open, dragging it against the floor. Eddie poked his head in, sighing at the sight of his mother sleeping in her recliner, lights flashing over her relaxed face as laughter blared from the TV. Eddie kicked his shoes off and put them on the rack next to the front door, nudging Richie and signaling for him to do the same. They climbed up the stairs, clothed feet almost silent against the finished wood.
They walked into Eddie's room. Eddie's eye got caught on a Polaroid of Richie on the wall next to a group photo with the rest of the losers. He remembered how mad Bev got when Richie stole her cigarettes and put them up his nose, remembered how she smoked them anyway. Gross.
Eddie sat down on the bed and stared at his thighs. The shorts he wore cupped his legs, the red fabric starting to ride upwards.
"You seem distracted lately," Richie says through the quiet. "You feelin' alright?
Eddie shifted to pull his shorts back over his thighs. "Yeah, I'm okay,"
---
Overcome with the scent of medicine as he left his room, Eddie slowly made his way toward the dining room, slowing his steps as he passed his mother sleeping on the patched sofa. He slipped a little as he transitioned from carpet to linoleum floor. He held onto the wall for balance as he stretched to twist the lamp in the corner of the room, allowing warm light to flood throughout. He made his way towards the dining set, hooking his arms under the backs of the chairs. He heard the chairs squeak as he dragged them from underneath the table, but then he heard something else. A creaking noise coming from somewhere else in the house, maybe the living room. He loosens up, thinking it's just his mom, but when he hears it again, cold dread flows throughout his body, freezing him in place. He breathes in deeply as he turns around, and he's faced with a dark empty kitchen. His eyes land on the sink. The faucet lets out a small driblet of water. He hears something move again. His eyes move towards the other entrance to the kitchen, and his brain is flooded with imagery of It. He can see it moving in slowly, teasing. He anticipates the pounce, the unimaginable pain as it tears him apart. It's the creature, it's the monster, it's..
Richie. It's just Richie.
"I can't find the blanket closet," Richie whispers.
"It's 'the linen closet'," Eddie mumbles, passing the wooden chairs to Richie and walking back towards his room. Still wary of the living room, he walks into the hallway with a narrow wardrobe at the end, grabs a thin, grey blanket and a patched quilt from one of many shelves, and walks back to his room with Richie following close behind him.
In his room, Richie sets the wooden seats down parallel to each other a couple of feet away from the left side of the bed. Eddie puts down the quilt in between the bed and chairs as bedding, and he drapes the other blanket over the ends of the bedframe, hooking it onto the carved blubs at the top of the chairs. He grabs two pillows and two blankets and positions them under the makeshift canopy. Eddie walks towards a bulky wooden dresser and pulls string lights and batteries out of a bottom drawer. He crawls into the fort, soft cushion brushing against his rough knees and palms. He hooks the lights around the chairs once he's inside, dragging his fingertips along the build of the lights to find the battery box. The batteries were inserted with a click, and the relaxing citadel was illuminated with an orangish-yellow light.
"It's kinda small," Richie says as he pokes his head into the pillow fort. "I mean, it should be fine for you but," he grunts as he situates himself. "big boys like me, y'know?"
"Oh shut up, Richie," Eddie pats the floor looking for something to cover himself with.
"Here," Richie drapes a blanket over him.
"Thanks," Eddie sighs. It's been a while since he felt at ease, but the soft lighting is just bright enough that he can see, just dark enough that he can feel safe falling asleep; having the heat and even breathing of another person wedged beside him feels grounding, it's something he can focus on.
Something that's not It.
He pulls the blanket up to his face, nuzzling into it. It blocks some of his vision, but he plans on falling asleep soon anyway. As he rolls over, he sees Richie's big, brown eyes in the dimly lit space in front of him.
"You look cute like that," Richie grins. "all cuddly,"
Eddie smiles, his face veiled by blue fuzz.
Richie's smile slowly melts off his face, and the gleam in his eye grows dull. Before Eddie can ask, Richie blurts, "I'm moving," he sighs. "to Indiana,"
Eddie shoots up like a bullet, "What? When?"
"Next year," he sighs and slides his glasses off his nose. "In March,"
"Why didn't you tell me sooner, you ass-hat?"
"Well, obviously I didn't know, Eds. My sincerest apologies for not traveling through time to deliver the news, my love, I understand that I shall be punished. Perhaps a stoning?" He says in a posh British accent.
"Shut up," Eddie mumbles, plopping back onto his back. "I'm not gonna miss you, you know,"
"Yeah, you will, you little shit,"
Eddie sighs. "Goodnight, Richie," He sees Richie smile before he closes his eyes.
"Goodnight, Eds," Eddie pulls the blanket up to his face and nuzzles into it like before, this time he can hear the shuffling noises of Richie getting situated; he can feel the slight tug of the quilt underneath them. Sleep comes faster than usual, Eddie isn't plagued by any horrifying images of a clown morphing into a diseased man with little skin and no nose. As he feels himself falling asleep, he rolls over, finding solid warmth. It invites him, tucking him under its wing. --- Eddie's alone in the fort when he wakes up. The lights are turned off, and the spot next to him is still warm. He grabs the edge of the blanket draped over him and stretches, pulling it off of him. He sits up, leaning and peeking out of the fort. As he crawls out, he sees Richie, perched in the window like a cat. Sunlight, bright and golden, pours over him in streaks as he turns his head. "Good morning," The corners of his mouth quirk up into a small smile. Eddie crawls onto the bed, looking out the window, admiring the stark contrast of the pale sky and the burning sun. He rests his head against the windowpane, basking in a smear of sunlight. "Your mom shouldn't see me leave," Richie says, "she'll have a bird." He snickers to himself, and Eddie smiles with him, not quite awake enough to laugh yet. "I went to get water a bit ago," Richie explains, his voice low and sleepy. "she's still on the couch, so I'll have to go out the window." Eddie nods and then stops himself. "Richie, you can't go out the fucking window, are you stupid?" "I'm gonna prove you wrong," Richie states matter of factly, opening the window. He shimmies out of the window, placing his foot on the roof, and slowly maneuvers the other out of the window. He slides down the slope of the scratchy tiles, his ass in the dusty gutters. "Richie, I swear to god--" He's interrupted by a soft thud. He quickly pokes his head out the window to see Richie getting on his bike. He starts it up, putting his middle finger in the air as he rides away.