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Homosexuality is a sickness.
Richie’s dad told him that once, certain. And ever since, those words echo deeply in his bones.
His heart racing when Eddie Kaspbrack cheekily clapped back at his jokes? That was merely a symptom. The way his eyes lingered on his flush cheeks, crooked smile and his very, very likely soft jet-black hair? This was all a sign, a manifestation of his deteriorating condition.
It’s not that his breath catches when their knees bump under the table in the library. It’s that the jolt reminds him of his condition, like a twinge of pain from an old wound. He’s not storing these moments away in a secret, sacred part of his memory; he’s just… cataloging the symptoms. For later review. So he can better understand the illness.
Eddie Kaspbrak hates anything related to diseases, Richie knows that all too well. Richie also knows that if he were ever to tell dear Eddie about this particular sickness, the boy would never talk to him again.
And so, Richie learns to hide his own sickness. Because that’s all it is. An illness. And as long as he never, ever speaks its name, he can keep it contained. He can keep his best friend.
“Richie Tozier!” Eddie squeaked, “I swear to God, if you didn’t listen to at least fifty percent of what I just said I will never speak to you ever again!”
Richie blinked, dragging himself back to the present — Back to the clubhouse, to the sight of Eddie sitting on the floor across him, arms crossed, lips pursed, and eyes piercing through his skull before opening his mouth to speak, “Richie…?”
“Sorry, Eds,” he said, flashing a grin, “got distracted trying to think of how to confess to you that I did your mom the other night.” Eddie groaned at this, but a slight smile formed in his lips, “you are disgusting!”
Richie scoffed, “not as disgusting as your taste in ice cream”
The other boy raised a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. “Excuse me? Chocolate chip is classic!”
“Classic? Eds, that’s the ice cream flavor equivalent of beige wallpaper,” Richie grinned, “If you’re gonna rot your teeth, at least do it with style.”
“Yeah, because bubblegum and sour cherry are such refined choices,” Eddie shot back, rolling his eyes. “You’d eat actual dirt if someone told you it was a limited edition.”
“Depends,” Richie said. “Is it mint flavored dirt?”
That earned him a laugh, bright and real.
oh, how Richie wanted to bottle that sound, keep it somewhere safe, where it couldn’t remind him of everything he couldn’t have
“You truly are one of a kind, Rich.” Eddie sighed.
Richie’s heart sank. One of a kind? Sure, he knows he's an outsider, i mean, his friend group is made of a bunch of self proclaimed losers. He also knew he was sick. But this was different. This was the kind of “different” that didn’t wash off. He is sick enough that Henry Bowers had sniffed it out before Richie even understood it himself. He could still hear it sometimes, Henry’s voice echoing off the walls inside his mind, “Get the fuck out of here, faggot!”
The memory hit hard and fast, and for a second, he wasn’t sitting across from Eddie anymore. He was in the arcade again, heart pounding, and scared for his life.
“Rich?” Eddie placed his hand on the knee of the boy sitting across from him, “are you okay?”
Richie flinched at the touch before he could stop himself. He forced a shaky laugh and leaned back, putting space between them, space that he immediately hated.
“yeah, yeah im fine,” Richie waved his hand dismissively, "I'm as okay as anyone who ever had to survive the claws of a blood thirsty clown would be.”
Eddie raised a brow, “you sure? you’ve been acting quite weird since…” the boy trailed off.
Richie’s brow rose, “since…?” the boy asked, already dreading the answer.
The boy sighed softly, fiddling with his hands, “I mean, of course after facing an eldritch horror I didn't expect you, me or anyone really to remain fine n’ dandy but…” he stopped himself, gaze dropping, “sorry…forget i said anything.”
Richie’s heart dropped at the sound of Eddie’s voice. He was so soft all of a sudden. Eddie might be small, sure, but he never lets himself be small—not like this. He was curled inward, shrinking, refusing to take up space, and the sight terrified Richie more than any clown ever had.
“Why are you acting like this?” Richie asks, exasperation slipping through the cracks in his voice.
Eddie blinked up at him, startled. “Acting like what?”
“Like…!” Richie threw his hands up, the word catching in his throat. “Like you’re afraid to even look at me.”
At those words, Eddie's expression twisted somewhere between offended and compassionate, “Me? Afraid of you?”
Before Richie could back away or make a joke out of it, Eddie scooted forward on his knees, closing the space Richie had put between them. In one small, decisive motion, he cupped Richie’s face in both hands, his palms warm against Richie’s cheeks.
Eddie wasn’t gripping hard, but firmly enough that Richie couldn’t look anywhere else; not at the floor, nor at the shadows where the memories lived. Only at him.
“Richie,” Eddie whispered, "I'm not afraid of you.”
Richie’s lip shakily parted, but no words came out. Having been left speechless, Eddie took the opportunity to speak again.
He continued, thumb brushing the corner of Richie’s jaw with unintentional tenderness, “I just don’t want to push you.”
The words were spoken softly, but landed heavy on Richie’s heart as he placed his hands carefully over Eddie’s, a light but present touch. Studying Eddie’s face, he didn’t look scared.
“Push me?” Richie laughed nervously, though the sound cracked in the middle. “Into what?”
“Into talking,” Eddie said quietly. “Into… whatever the fuck is happening in that head of yours.”
Richie stared at him, dumbfounded, too paralyzed to move, his hands remained on Eddie’s.
“You’ve been different,” Eddie continued, the words spilling out now, raw and unfiltered. “Quieter. Jumpy. And whenever we play around—” he hesitated, eyes flicking away for half a second before returning to Richie’s, “sometimes even when I just touch your shoulder, it’s like you’re… somewhere else.”
”I’m sorry,” Richie managed to rasp out, “I don’t know why I—”
“Hey,” Eddie murmured, thumbs shifting just enough to steady him. “Richie, I’m not asking for an explanation you don’t have. I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide from me...not from me.”
Richie’s breath stuttered. Because he wasn’t okay. Not even close. And Eddie looking at him like that, made it harder to pretend. “I hate seeing you like this,” Eddie whispered, almost as if confessing a secret. “Like something’s eating you alive and you won’t let anyone help you.”
“Eds…” Richie whispered, tears forming. He wasn’t sure what he intended to say next. Or if he could say anything at all.
Eddie’s breath hitched when he saw the tear gather in the corner of Richie’s eye. His hands froze where they rested against Richie’s cheeks, as if afraid that moving would break him entirely. “Rich…” he said again, softer this time—barely sound, more like breath. “Hey, look at me.” But Richie already was. He couldn’t look anywhere else. Eddie had him anchored in place, held by warm palms and warmer eyes.
The tears finally slipped free. Richie startled at it, his shoulders jerking with the effort to hold the rest back. “I don’t—” Richie tried again, voice cracking apart on the edges. “I don’t wanna be like this.”
Eddie’s expression crumpled, but not with pity, never pity. “What are you even saying? you don’t need to be ‘like’ anything…” Eddie murmured.
A shivering breath left Richie, half-laugh, half-sob. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” he whispered, the words spilling out before he could catch them. “I’m supposed to be… y’know, the funny one. The loud one. Not whatever the fuck this…” His voice broke, collapsing into another small cry.
Silence settled between them, the kind of quiet people fall into when they need space to gather the pieces of themselves.
“Rich…” Eddie spoke up, “remember when that Pennywise fucker broke my arm?”
Richie’s breath hitched, the memory a sharp, painful intrusion. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Of course I remember.”
“It hurt like a bitch,” Eddie said, his voice low and steady. “And it was scary. But you… you were there. You got me out. You didn’t tell me to stop crying or to man up. You just… helped.” Eddie’s thumbs swept gently over Richie’s tear-streaked skin. “So let me help you with whatever this is. Even if it’s just… this. Let me be here.”
The sickness inside Richie recoiled, hissing its old warnings. He’ll hate you. He’ll leave. You’re contaminated.
Those words, they are in his mind, possibly fabricated and exaggerated versions of what reality truly holds. But Eddie’s hands however…they are real. They are more real than any ghost or clown or even his father’s voice echoing from the past.
“You can be loud,” Eddie murmured. “You can be quiet. You can be a total mess. I don’t care.” He leaned in just enough that their foreheads nearly touched. “I just want you.”
“I’m scared, Eds,” he whispered. It wasn’t everything, but it was the truest piece he had ever managed to give.
“Of course you’re scared. After everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve been carrying around?” Eddie’s hands stayed on Richie’s cheeks, steady, like he was anchoring him in place. “I’d be scared too.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” Richie confessed before he could stop himself. The words slipped out raw, scraped straight out of his chest. “I don’t wanna—fuck, Eds, if you knew what was in my head you’d—”
“If I knew,” Eddie echoed softly, “I’d still be right here.”
Richie’s eyes darted away for a split second, but Eddie gently guided his face back, not forcing, just asking.
“Look at me,” Eddie whispered.
Richie did. God, he did. And it made everything inside him ache.
Richie’s breath trembled, a sob caught somewhere between his lungs and throat. “You don’t get it,” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “There’s something wrong with me, Eds. Something really—”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Eddie’s answer came fast, instinctive
“Eddie…” he murmured, “I—”
The word caught. It refused. His chest seized around it. He didn’t say it. He couldn’t.
But when Richie leaned forward—just enough for their foreheads to touch at last, “Since when did you become a fucking therapist?”
Eddie giggled at his words, his eyes sparkling as he gazed softly at the boy in front of him, “well, after facing an interdimensional being, someone in this fucking group had to pick up a book or two about how to cope with the horrors of life.”
Richie smiled, a real smile, a smile that Eddie gladly returned.
Eventually the boy pulled away as he spoke up, “So to get this straight, Eddie Spaghetti misses good ol’ Richie Toizer?”
Eddie sighed at this, and Richie expected the boy to blow off some steam, but he got something else instead.
Richie felt a weight and a push, and suddenly with the force of it all, his head softly met the floor. Eddie was on top of him, clinging to him with trembling hands.
Before the boy could properly react, he felt a few warm droplets on his neck. Eddie was crying, he was really crying.
“I'm scared too, Rich,” Eddie whispered, burying his head further into his neck, “but I have you with me…and maybe that makes this fear worth it.”
“How does having me make it worth it?” Richie blurted out, not sure what to make of Eddie's sudden outburst.
“Because when you’re here,” Eddie finally murmured, voice uneven, “it doesn’t feel like I’m fighting everything alone. It’s like… like the world can be awful, and I can still get through it if you’re next to me.”
“the other losers…they are amazing, and they are my friends, but you…you are my best friend. And you have been so distant and quiet and so unlike yourself and—"
Richie scoffed at that, the sound sharp and too loud in such a small space. He pushed himself upright, and Eddie came up with him, still clinging on out of instinct more than choice. Richie finally eased Eddie’s grip enough so they were sitting face-to-face, breaths mingling.
“Unlike myself? Richie muttered, looking anywhere but Eddie’s eyes, “just because I shed a few tears or my jokes aren't as funny doesn't mean I'm not here….It's not like I left or something!”
“Yes, you did,” Eddie whispered back, softer but firmer. “You left the second you stopped talking to me the way you used to. You left when you started pretending nothing scared you anymore. You left when you started making everything a joke again.”
Richie looked at Eddie, appalled at the accusation. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked, voice cracking in the middle. “Everything’s changing. I’m changing. And if I say the wrong thing, or feel the wrong thing, or—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to look at me different.”
“Richie, newsflash, but we both are different!” Eddie practically screamed. “And yes, of course it scares me but... maybe it doesn't scare me as much as the concept of facing Pennywise again, or losing you for real!! ”
The words hung in the air, sharp and trembling. Eddie’s chest rose and fell in uneven jerks, like he was surprised by the force of his own voice. Richie blinked at him, the anger draining out of him as fast as it had come.
Eddie continued, quieter now, voice breaking under the weight of honesty. “you don’t have to go through this alone. And I don’t want to go through it without you.”
Richie swallowed, something softening inside him. “Eds…”
Eddie shook his head quickly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Sorry for yelling but god you can be such an asshole sometimes.”
Richie let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. Not mocking—just tired. “Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “I know.”
The other boy sighed, his eyes fixated on his own hands when suddenly a pair of hands came atop his own, Richie’s hands.
“So you don’t hate me?” Richie murmured, causing Eddie to glare at the boy. Richie took note of this, his breath faltering. “I’m really sorry,” he added quickly, “I didn’t mean to make you feel this way.”
Eddie’s glare softened almost instantly—not because he wasn’t frustrated, but because Richie rarely apologized like that. Not without a joke attached. Not without hiding behind something loud and stupid. This was different. Honest.
“Richie…” Eddie sighed, looking down at their hands again—Richie’s still covering his, warm and a little shaky. “You didn’t mean it, and you're smart enough to own up for it, so we're good…also, for the record, I don't hate you.”
Richie’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Yeah?”
Eddie nodded once, his eyes flicking down to their now intertwined hands before looking back up at him. “Yeah.”
Richie swallowed, voice small but sincere. “Good. ‘Cause I… I don’t hate you either. And I don't want you to be scared alone.”
“You don’t have to say stuff like that just to make me feel better,” Eddie murmured, though the warmth in his cheeks betrayed him.
Richie shook his head, tightening his hold on Eddie’s hands by the smallest amount. “I’m not saying it for you,” he said softly. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
For a long moment, they just sat there—knees touching, hands joined, breaths mixing in the quiet. Eddie shifted closer without thinking; Richie didn’t move away.
“Then we'll face this fear head on, the same way we did with that clown,” Eddie said finally, his voice steadying, “together.”
“Right on, Kaspbrack,” Richie grinned at that, eyes locked on Eddie's as he gripped his hands tighter, “together.”
Eddie leaned his head on Richie’s shoulder blade, basking in his scent—soap, sweat, and whatever cheap cologne Richie always overused. It shouldn’t have been comforting, but somehow it was.
Richie went completely still, as if one wrong move would break the moment. Then, slowly, he tilted his head enough that his curls brushed against Eddie’s temple. “You good?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
Eddie nodded against him. “Yeah. Just… don’t move yet.”
Richie let out a tiny, shaky breath that Eddie absolutely caught. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“You know,” Richie murmured after a moment, his voice low and strangely gentle, “I always kinda hoped you’d, uh… stay close like this. At least once.”
Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, but he didn’t lift his head. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Richie admitted, swallowing hard. “Just didn’t think I’d get to…i thought you would despise me for it.”
Eddie squeezed his hand, thumb brushing Richie’s knuckles, “there's a lot of things about you that I find annoying, Rich….but this?”
He paused, lifting his head just enough to look Richie in the eye. His expression was soft, almost shy..
“This isn’t one of them.”
Richie blinked, confusion and hope crashing together on his face. “No?” he whispered, like he was afraid the answer would vanish if he spoke too loud.
Eddie shook his head gently. “Nope. Not even close.”
Richie exhaled shakily, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “So, uh… what now?”
Eddie let his head rest comfortably against him again. “Now? Nothing dramatic.” His voice softened. “Just… stay. With me. Like this.”
Richie nodded, resting his cheek lightly against Eddie’s hair. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I can do that.”