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If you aren’t working a minimum wage day job in your mid-twenties, then you clearly aren’t a very serious actor.
Or at least that's what Richie Tozier told himself.
Because it was 2007 and he was twenty-six now, and he had hoped (at least as an even younger adult) that by the latter half of this decade he would be a hot shot comedian in hot shot movies with hot shot A-list actors and massive paychecks.
But as the decade came to a sad close and he was less than a month out from his twenty-seventh birthday, he began to realize that many of the big dreams he had once had for himself were maybe not exactly possible.
Look, it wasn’t that he wasn’t trying very hard. He was. He was auditioning all the time, he was doing underground comedy sets and open mics almost four days a week, but it just wasn’t paying the bills. Plus there had been a few major upsets in the last few years that had caused him to go for long periods of time without any income, which left him in a teensy bit of debt that he’d only recently scraped out of. And that was all thanks to waiting tables thirty hours a week and his recently promoted recurring character on an NBC sitcom. But still- Los Angeles wasn’t so cheap and he was a single man. Which is why he was working an extra shift at the restaurant on Valentine’s Day.
Of course, the lack of money didn’t explain the lack of Valentine's Day plans.
Truth was, Richie Tozier had not been in a serious relationship since college. And he only clarified “serious” when he talked to people about it because that made it seem like he had any action going on whatsoever, which was the opposite of the truth. It had been a dry four years, filled with one date a year or less, usually set up by one of his friends who looked at him with shame when they found out it had either ended in disaster or a one night stand. (“It’s always one or the other with you,” they’d say. “No in between.”) He felt like love was not in his cards though- he’d been considerably unlucky so far- his college boyfriend had tossed him in a lake with nothing but a cinder block tied to his ankle.
Metaphorically, of course. But it felt like it was physical. Very much so. Richie’s chest had ached, and he’d sobbed and heaved so ridiculously hard that he could no longer breathe. His sister said she’d never seen anyone cry so hard.
So, all this on top of his everlasting fear of his own homosexuality, he felt pretty confident in saying that his Valentine’s Days would be freed up for the next decade at least.
A few hours into his shift, around eight p.m, he approached a table of two- dressed up all nice for their date. The woman was a brunette with a round face and narrow eyes and hair that emerged straight from the eighties. He tried not to pay too much attention to customers. He’d gotten in a bit too much trouble at this job for cracking inappropriate jokes or doing a crappy Bush impression, so he opted to check out just enough to still get the order right and maybe a tip. Which is how it came to be that Richie didn’t even realize what was happening until it was completely unavoidable and right up in his face.
He was asking the man if he wanted anything to drink when he realized just who he was.
Their eyes met, and Richie couldn’t quite believe it for a second. And Richie knew that he couldn’t believe it either.
“Are you alright?” The date asked Richie, eyes narrowing. It snapped him out of his fear and that sense of dread hanging over him as his eyes moved away from Eddie.
“Yes, sorry,” Richie muttered. He loosened his tight grip on his notepad and asked again, “Anything to drink?”
“I’m okay with water for now,” she replied, then squeezed the hand she was holding. It was almost as if she was purposefully flashing her diamond engagement ring at him. “What about you, Eddiebear?”
“Americano,” Eddie muttered quickly. A bead of sweat dripped off his strained forehead.
“Honey, it’s past four, you shouldn’t be drinking coffee.”
“It’s fine,” Eddie bit back. Richie bit his tongue.
“I’ll be right back with that,” Richie said, and practically ran away from the table.
He felt like he was going to throw up. Yak. Spew. Fucking chuck his guts and heart right up and onto the restaurant floor.
He didn’t know when Eddie had moved to LA, or if he was on vacation, but in any case, he was expecting to go the rest of his life never seeing that face again. That’s likely what he wished would’ve happened. But there he was. Eddie Kaspbrak. In a navy suit with his hair combed, sitting across from his pretty wife who lectured him as if she were his mother.
He didn’t know if the wife part made all of this better or worse. Because the last time he checked, Eddie was gay. As gay as the munchkins when Dorothy killed the witch. Gayer than that, even. Eddie had gone through such an intense journey with his stupid fucking sexuality- Richie had as well- but now look where Eddie was. Straight and happy enough to tie the knot.
Richie couldn’t help but feel jealous. At least a little bit envious of what Eddie had achieved.
Truthfully, he hadn’t felt happy with himself since he’d been with Eddie.
He ran a hand through his hair and realized he never put in the order. He didn’t exactly want to get yelled at by the wife. Or Eddie. Eddie had no shame in sternly speaking to a waiter for forgetting an order or messing something up- but this could only be accomplished if he could actually sustain eye contact with Richie again.
Oh god, he missed him so much.
Richie blinked, looked up at his coworker, grabbed Eddie’s Americano and made his way back to the table. He walked slowly, stomach turning, and tried to will himself not to throw up all over his ex and his ex’s wife.
“Here ya go,” Richie squeaked out, placing the coffee in front of Eddie. He received no gratitude, and instead of harping on it, he pulled out his notepad and pen again like a big boy. “Ready for dinner?”
“This is cold,” Eddie said.
It took Richie a second to realize Eddie wasn’t referring to Richie’s avoidant behavior and instead referring to the Americano that had been warm against Richie’s hands about ten seconds prior. “Is it?” His wife asked. “Can he get another one?”
“It’s not cold,” Richie said. He put a hand against the side of the mug. “Dude, it’s warm. No way.”
“Just get him another one.”
Richie laughed. “There’s just no fucking way it’s cold.”
“Well, it is. So get me another one.”
Richie was met with a gasp from the lady and a slightly dropped jaw from his ex-boyfriend when he stuck a finger in the Americano. Okay, it wasn’t scalding or anything, but was definitely a drinkable temperature. “Just drink it.”
“Well now I can’t anyway!” Eddie said, face turning red and volume rising. There were a few turned heads, and Richie became aware once more that he was at his place of work and this was a customer.
Richie swallowed his anger and grabbed the coffee from off the table and stormed back off to the bar.
He tended to other tables, still trying to be a big boy and breathe through his vicious anger (and jealousy that he refused to name because it had been so fucking long, Richie ) but it was hard not to shoot evil eyes at the both of them each time he had to return to the table.
After he took their food orders, Eddie refused to look him in the eye or speak. Richie could see the sweat on Eddie’s palms and the redness of his face even though Eddie spent the entire forced interaction staring away from him.
It was so immature, it felt like something Richie would have done when they were twenty-one, living together and fighting over dishes.
Richie’s mind kinda felt all over the place. He came to refill their water glasses in what would likely be the last time he checked on their table until they paid him (and likely gave him a zero percent tip), but his hands were so shaky, he spilled a bit onto the lap and dress of Eddie’s wife.
Maybe subconsciously, it had been purposeful.
Richie set down the pitcher in a panic. “ Fucking - I am so sorry.”
He handed her a napkin off the table and she shot him the most vile stare on the planet, looking as if she was about to yell out for a manager when Eddie cut in and said, “Myra, go clean yourself up.”
“But Eddie-”
“ Myra. ”
She blinked twice at him, scooted her chair out, and shimmied her way over to the bathrooms.
Richie sat down in her chair slyly and pushed his chair as far in as possible. Before he could get a word in, Eddie leaned forward and whispered, “Richie, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Oh, so you do remember me and were just purposefully being an asshole.”
“Richie.”
“ Eddie ,” he shot back mockingly.
“What are you doing here?”
“I work here, asshole.”
“I just saw you on TV though.”
“Dude, I still need fucking health insurance.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “But-”
“And what are you doing here? You live in New York.”
“We moved last year, actually.”
Richie nodded, incredulously. “And we is you and the lovely lady?”
“Don’t be an asshole. She’s my fiance.”
“Right, yeah. And is her type gay?”
His face fell. He closed his eyes and breathed in, seething. “Don’t.”
Richie slammed a hand down on the table, then pointed a finger up at Eddie. “That’s what I fucking thought.”
“Wait-”
“It was nice to see you,” Richie said, pushing his chair out.
“Wait!” Eddie stood up, matching Richie. “Wait, just- can I see you tonight? Please? Can we talk for real?”
“Your wife.”
“Fiancee.”
“Same thing.”
“Not really.”
Richie felt his stomach turn again. It felt like something bad. Something really bad.
“Where do you live?” Eddie asked. “Is your cell number the same?”
“You saved my number?”
“Yeah.”
Freak, Richie thought, but didn’t say.
Maybe it had been dramatic to delete Eddie’s number from his phone almost five years ago- but even if he hadn’t deleted it, that meant that Eddie had to have transferred his number every time he’d gotten a new phone. Why hadn’t he thought to get rid of it?
“Look,” Eddie said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll text you. Just- before Myra gets back, tell me you’ll see me.”
“This is a horrible idea.”
“It’s not. Why are you saying that?”
“You’re getting married.”
Eddie’s face flushed. “I’m not- I don’t want to see you for that. ”
“Really.”
“Really really.”
Richie’s eyes darted in the direction of the bathroom, and he saw Myra in his periphery. He stood up. “Fine. Fine. My shift is over at ten.”
Eddie mouthed thank you, classic Eddie, not wanting to get caught being grateful publicly.
Richie walked away, not acknowledging Eddie, but he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket just as he reached the back.
When he returned to give them their check, he still hadn’t looked at the text Eddie had sent. But Eddie was making eye contact with him now, which was good. Not only that, but he was seemingly trying to send Richie some telepathic messages- which wasn’t doing anything really.
“What are you still standing there for?” Myra asked. She gestured at the check.
Richie looked at her, snatched Eddie’s card off the table, and left. Eddie got a new credit card, Richie thought, and became instantly disgusted with himself all over again. He went through with the motions. He returned the card. He thanked them. Eddie looked at him like a deer in headlights, telling him telepathically that he would see him later. Or at least that’s what Richie got from it. He lurked away from the table waiting for Eddie to sign and tip. Myra pursed her lips- watching Richie- then scoffed as she walked out, and he heard her mutter that this was the worst service she’d ever had.
He went over to the table to rip off the bandaid, but instead, found that Eddie had tipped him twenty percent.
Richie couldn’t find it in himself to feel delighted at the extra cash. All he could feel was annoyed, used, and manipulated.
Fuck this guy.
Eddie knocked on Richie’s apartment door at 10:52 p.m. It was different from how Eddie used to knock.
“I’m such an idiot,” he muttered to himself as he approached the front door, unlocked it, opened it, and found himself stood up and face to face with the man he was convinced he would spend the rest of his life with.
They stood there for a moment. Awkwardly.
Eddie broke the silence. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie left his shoes at the door (Richie has never once done this in his own home), and walked in, pocketing his hands in his jeans as he took a look around. Richie locked the door and leaned up against it.
“Nice place.”
“Is it?”
“Bachelor pad.”
Richie huffed and raised an eyebrow. “Right.”
“No boyfriend, then?”
Richie’s back straightened. “Oh.”
“Sorry.”
“No. It’s okay.” He walked over to the couch. “Yeah. No boyfriend.”
Eddie followed him. Richie didn’t really want that to happen. Or maybe he did. Now he was confused.
“And no girlfriend,” Richie added.
“I assumed as much.”
“You can never tell these days,” he said.
Eddie inhaled then bit his lip. “Look-”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I feel like I have to.”
Richie bit his tongue. He waited for Eddie to begin. He waited very patiently, in fact, watching Eddie as he gathered the words.
But instead of an explanation, air shot out of Eddie’s nose, and he asked, while still staring at the floor, “So what have you been up to the last few years?”
“Me?”
“Who else?”
“I thought you were gonna tell… Whatever. Um. Not much. I haven’t done- yeah, no, I haven’t done much.”
He knew how much of an idiot he sounded like.
“Just acting, and stand-up. Mostly acting. And the restaurant. I’m poor.”
Eddie nodded. Richie couldn’t read his eyes.
He felt suicidal.
“How long have you and Myra been together?” He almost pretended to forget Eddie’s fiance’s name. To seem cooler or whatever. But he didn’t.
“Two years,” he said.
“Cool.”
Eddie inhaled. “I… I think I was confused for a really long time.” He paused. “And I think there’s a part of me that still is.”
Richie pulled his legs up to his chest. Eddie seven years ago would have swatted his toes away, but Eddie today darted his eyes around and licked his lips- trying to find the words.
“I missed you.”
Richie’s eyes snapped up. He pushed up his glasses. “Huh?”
“I- yeah. I, uh- I didn’t think I was going to react to seeing you. I always thought if I saw you it would be okay. And I thought that you would be different, too.”
“Different how?”
Eddie shook his head. “I don’t know. Just different. But you’re the same as you always were.”
“So are you.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are, Eddie. Fucking- fucking avoidant.”
“You’re also avoidant.”
“Less so than you.”
Eddie threw a hand up. “You threw water on my fiance!”
“That is not what happened.”
“Whatever,” Eddie sighed. “Just- just whatever, Richie. Maybe I should just go.”
“No,” Richie said frantically, snatching Eddie’s wrist. He instantly let go. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No,” Eddie replied slowly. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. You are different, that’s not what I- I just mean I thought I wouldn’t be thinking about everything that happened, but I am.”
“Me too.”
“And I missed you.”
He said it so simply. And easily. And Richie couldn’t believe his ears. He didn’t have a response, even though he could say I missed you too and it wouldn’t even be a lie, but he just couldn’t find a way to get the words out. They just stared at each other, and Richie watched as Eddie’s eyes dropped to his parted lips, and his stomach began to turn as Eddie slowly leaned in. Eddie slipped a hand onto Richie’s neck as he approached his lips and threaded his hand into Richie’s hair. And Richie let all of this happen.
He let Eddie take off his shirt. Then his belt. Then he let himself fall into the trap of taking off Eddie’s shirt, then belt, then pants, then…
Then Richie blinked and Eddie was lying naked on his chest, panting and sweating against his bare skin.
He reached up and ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair.
Eddie gave a final sigh and rolled off of Richie. He began gathering up his clothes and awkwardly getting dressed, all while turned away from Richie, who suddenly felt very exposed, vulnerable, and freezing cold without Eddie’s heat against his skin.
It was nothing like how Eddie used to be after sex, that was for sure.
Not that sex had ever been a massive thing for them. But still. Eddie used to be so sweet, getting Richie water, and holding him afterwards, or making him dinner. And he used to always give Richie his glasses. But this time, Richie had to reach for his glasses all by himself. He kinda felt like a prostitute.
“Can you grab me my t-shirt?”
Eddie looked around and grabbed Richie’s shirt and threw it at him. Richie thanked him and put it on. In this short amount of time, Eddie had already fully dressed himself and made it to the front door for his shoes. Richie’s stomach turned again.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yeah, I gotta run.”
Richie blinked. “Um. Okay.”
“Richie-” Eddie cut himself off with a hand. “I’ll see you around.”
“Right. Okay. Yeah. Okay.”
Eddie took one last look around the apartment before letting himself out and saying a quick goodnight.
As the door slammed shut, the silence of the apartment became deafening.
And Richie began to laugh. “What the fuck just happened?” He said to himself through pained bounces of the shoulders and stomach. His pharynx tightened and his throat tensed as he continued to laugh, and his heart began to feel a bit like it did the day he and Eddie had said goodbye for the last time.
He had let this happen to himself. This was nobody’s fault but his own.
Eddie was getting married, for fuck’s sake. He was delusional to think Eddie’s self-hatred would suddenly reverse and he would leave his fiance for him . Richie knew he wasn’t worth all that. He couldn’t offer anything more than what he had in college, and clearly, that hadn’t been enough.
He laughed so hard he began to cry.
He cried so hard he thought he might throw up.
But he didn’t.
He just cried and felt so, so, so disappointed in himself. Again.