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richie tozier always had a talent for running his mouth until someone decided to punch his face in.
tonight, someone finally did.
the bar’s parking lot already smelled like adrenaline and bad decisions by the time eddie arrived. he’d gotten the call from mike — frantic, half-shouting — and dropped everything, sprinting the whole way.
richie didn’t remember the punch landing as clearly as he remembered the sound it made — a sick, wet crack that echoed in his skull. his ears rang for minutes afterward, the world a blur of color and static. he remembered stumbling, tasting metal, someone yelling, but everything else was fog.
but he remembered eddie’s voice. sharp. panicked. cutting through the noise.
“move. move — let me see him.”
and then eddie was there. right in front of him — because eddie always showed up.
there was blood dripping from richie’s nose. the side of his face was bruised and his shirt was ripped. his knuckles raw, but he was still smiling like an idiot.
“what the fuck happened?” eddie snapped, breathless as he reached him.
richie wiped his nose with the back of his hand — smearing more red across his cheek. “hey, eds,” he croaked. “i might’ve… said something. to the wrong guy.”
“when do you not say something to the wrong guy?” eddie shot back.
“good point,” richie wheezed, then winced when the pain hit.
eddie rolled his eyes but dropped down beside him, eyes scanning over his face frantically. “come on. let me get you home.”
—
the bathroom was too bright. the tile too cold. richie’s hands shook where they rested on his knees, the dried blood making his knuckles sting when he moved them.
he kept his eyes down. partly because the light hurt. partly because he didn’t want to see the look on eddie’s face.
eddie was rummaging through the little first aid kit like he hated every object in it. his movements were tense, trembling. he didn’t say anything at first — and that scared richie more than the blood dripping from his nose onto his shirt.
finally, eddie muttered, “sit still.”
his voice cracked on the last word.
richie swallowed hard. “i am.”
eddie didn’t answer. he crouched in front of richie, who was sitting on the edge of the tub. he soaked a washcloth in warm water, squeezing it out with fingers that shook a little. then — with a breath he tried and failed to steady — he lifted the cloth to richie’s face.
the first touch made richie flinch.
eddie paused instantly. “does it hurt?”
richie let out a tiny, humorless laugh. “yeah, but the punch hurt more.”
eddie exhaled through his nose, and something in his face softened — not much, but enough to make richie’s chest ache.
“look at me,” eddie said quietly, hooking his finger under his chin and pressed it up softly. gently.
richie forced himself to lift his eyes.
eddie’s brows were drawn tight, his jaw clenched hard enough to cut. his eyes scanned richie’s face like he was cataloging every injury, every bruise, every streak of blood that came from his nose.
eddie’s thumb brushed his cheek, wiping away a drop of dried blood. he muttered something under his breath — definitely cursing — but his touch was soft.
he moved his hand up to richie’s cheekbone lightly, testing for swelling. then his thumb brushed a streak of dried blood near richie’s mouth, and richie’s breath hitched — not from pain.
eddie froze at the sound.
neither spoke.
the washcloth passed over his skin again, slow and careful. richie winced at the sting, but he leaned into the touch anyway — barely, just enough for eddie to notice.
there was silence for a couple seconds, then: “you’re an idiot,” eddie croaked out, voice barely above a whisper. “you know that right?”
richie tried to smile, but it faltered halfway. “yeah. i know.”
eddie dabbed at a cut near his lip, gentler than anyone had ever touched him. richie’s head tipped slightly forward before he could stop it, like his body was answering to eddie’s touch.
eddie’s hand hesitated — lingering near richie’s mouth a second too long.
“sit on the ground,” eddie murmured. “so i can clean your nose easier.”
richie obeyed and dropped down to the floor, his back leaning against the side of the tub.
eddie brought a hand to the back of richie’s head, angling it up just so he could clean under his nose. his fingers threaded into richie’s hair for balance — and richie almost forgot how to breathe.
“y’know, you’re really gentle when you want to be eds.”
“shut up,” eddie said, cheeks pink, refusing to meet his eyes, instead focusing on richie’s nose.
richie’s mouth curled up into a smile despite himself. “you like taking care of me. admit it.”
“i like preventing infections,” eddie snapped, but his hand was still tangled in richie’s hair.
richie just blinked and didn’t say anymore. because eddie’s was right there. he could smell the faint scent of antiseptic soap mixed with the metallic taste of his own blood in his mouth and a smell that he couldn’t find the word for. eddie, he settled on. it smelled like eddie.
richie’s voice came out strained. “you’re… really good at this.”
eddie huffed, shaking his head once, a bitter sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “yeah, well. i’ve had a lot of practice cleaning up after you.”
the words landed heavier than he meant.
richie blinked, looking down again, ashamed in a way he didn’t know how to fight. “sorry.”
eddie’s hands stilled.
he set the cloth aside, then reached out — slower this time — and cupped richie’s jaw with both hands, tilting it so richie had to look at him.
“don’t apologize,” eddie said, and his voice was quiet but fierce. “just— don’t make me watch you get hurt like that again. you scared the hell out of me, richie.”
richie’s chest tightened painfully. he swallowed, but it didn’t help. “i didn’t think— he would knock me out.”
eddie leaned in a fraction, eyes burning. “but he did.”
richie blinked, breath shaky. he couldn’t look away.
eddie was so close he could see the way his lashes trembled. the way his eyes were fully of worry. the way his eyebrows were furrowed just slightly.
“you keep doing this,” eddie whispered, “and one day i’m— i’m not gonna make it in time. or i won’t even be there at all, richie.”
richie’s jaw clenched. “ed—”
“don’t,” eddie breathed, and richie could feel it — actually feel the warmth of it — against his mouth. “i’m being serious.”
richie’s heart pounded so hard it hurt.
eddie didn’t move. richie didn’t either.
their knees brushed. the tiny spark of contact shot straight through richie’s nerves. eddie’s thumb lifted, brushing one last streak of blood from the corner of richie’s mouth — slow. lingering. too intimate to ignore.
richie’s breath hitched.
eddie’s eyes flicked down. once — to his lips. then straight back up, like it burned. richie felt it like a blow to the ribs, clearer than he felt all those punches from earlier.
but neither leaned in.
they just stayed there, breathing each other in, trembling in a silence that felt like a scream. richie swallowed hard. “eds,” he whispered out, like a secret.
eddie shut his eyes, just for half a second — like the sound of his name hurt. like it cracked him open down the middle.
richie watched him, breath caught in his throat, not daring to move. he could feel every tiny shift in the air between them. he could feel the heat radiating from eddie’s hands still cupping his jaw.
“eddie…” richie said again, softer this time. almost fragile.
eddie’s eyes opened slowly.
and whatever richie expected to see — anger, fear, annoyance — wasn’t there at all.
eddie looked wrecked.
probably from the fact that richie was quite literally injured right now. that’s definitely what it was was. that’s what richie told himself over and over in his head.
“don’t—” eddie whispered, voice thin. his fingers loosened just slightly on richie’s cheeks. “don’t say my name like that.” he finished.
richie’s brows pulled together. “like what?”
eddie swallowed hard. his eyes flicked down to richie’s mouth again, quick and uncontrollable, then snapped back up like it physically hurt him to look anywhere else. “like… like you want something from me.”
richie blinked. “what if i do?”
eddie inhaled sharply.
his fingers tightened on richie’s jaw without meaning to. not enough to hurt, but enough to make richie’s stomach flip, to push a shaky breath out of his chest.
“richie,” eddie said, firmer now, like he was trying to pull himself together. “you’re bleeding. you’re— you’re concussed, probably. you’re not— not thinking straight.”
richie let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “i’m thinking really fucking straight right now,” he murmured. “probably the straightest i’ve ever been.”
eddie made a wounded sound — like a strangled exhale mixed with a curse — and looked away for only half a second before dragging his gaze right back to richie like he couldn’t help it.
“stop joking,” eddie whispered.
“i’m not,” richie said. and god, for once, he wasn’t.
eddie’s breath shook. “you scared me,” eddie said again, voice cracking. “you really— you really scared me.”
richie’s chest tightened. “i know.”
“no, you don’t,” eddie snapped — too loud, too emotional — then immediately pulled back, lowering his voice. eddie’s clammy hands were gone from his face, and it sort of felt like eddie did too. even though it was still right there. “you don’t. you always act like nothing touches you, like everything’s a joke.” his voice caught, and that’s the moment richie realized eddie was tearing up. “and then something like this happens and i— i don’t know what to do, rich.”
richie stared at him.
eddie never talked like this. never let his guard slip this much. never even really cried in front of him. never cried for him. never let the fear seep through the edges.
richie didn’t know what to do with it. except… reach.
his hand lifted hesitantly, fingers brushing eddie’s forearm. “i’m here,” richie murmured. “i’m right here, okay?”
eddie’s eyes shut again and his breath stuttered. richie could feel how the room continued to just feel smaller. continued to feel hotter.
his breath came uneven now, shaky in a way richie hadn’t heard from him. not even when he rambled and spiraled and panicked over germs or stepping in a puddle or bev doing something stupid.
eddie opened his eyes slowly. they were glassy, rimmed red, like he was fighting the burn and losing. he didn’t move away from richie’s hand on his arm. in fact, he leaned the smallest bit closer, like he couldn’t help it.
richie swallowed thickly. the familiar metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue, but it was overshadowed by the warm, dizzying closeness of the boy in front of him — furious and scared and trembling for him, something richie doesn’t think he could get enough of even if he tried.
eddie’s voice finally broke. just cracked right down the middle.
“you could’ve gotten hurt worse,” he whispered, and that whisper hurt more than the punch had. “you could’ve been— jesus, richie— you could’ve been on the ground not moving, or— or bleeding more than this, or—” he stopped, pressing his mouth shut like he’d said too much.
richie had never seen eddie like this. not once in his entire loud, chaotic life.
slowly — terrified he’d be pushed away — richie lifted his hand a little higher, fingers brushing eddie’s cheekbone. a tiny touch. barely there.
eddie didn’t flinch. richie’s hand cupped his cheek fully and eddie breathed out like he’d been hit.
“i’m sorry. i really am.” richie said softly and as sincerely as he could.
eddie blinked, and a tear slipped before he could stop it. he swore under his breath and wiped it quickly, embarrassed, angry at himself, angry at richie, angry at the entire damn world. he kept his head down and didn’t dare to look up.
richie’s heart cracked clean in half.
“hey,” richie said, thumb brushing the spot where the tear had been, pushing eddie’s face up. “don’t do that. don’t hide from me right now.”
eddie made a tiny, broken sound in his throat, like a breath he’d been holding for years finally escaped.
richie leaned the slightest bit closer, close enough to see the flecks of brown in his eyes that he had never even noticed before.
eddie didn’t move away. he didn’t move closer, either. he was trembling — his whole body was. the silence was thick enough to drown in. maybe that’s what richie was doing right now. drowning. drowning in whatever this was.
richie’s forehead brushed his so lightly richie barely registered the contact until eddie’s nose brushed his because of their closeness. when did they even get that close?
“richie…” eddie whispered. richie hummed, not pulling back.
there were inches between their mouths. maybe even less than inches. maybe barely even a breath.
eddie’s fingers curled a little on richie’s jaw (when did his hands even get back there?) — like he didn’t realize he was doing it.
his voice barely existed when he spoke. “this is a bad idea.”
richie’s lips ghosted against his, not quite touching. “the worst.”
eddie’s breath hitched — a tiny, fractured sound — like saying it out loud made the gravity of the moment collapse around them.
“the worst,” richie repeated, even softer, even closer.
eddie’s eyes flicked down to richie’s mouth, and that was it. that was the moment everything fell apart.
“fuck,” eddie whispered — so quiet it was almost a thought instead of a word — and closed the space between them in one sharp, breathless movement before richie could even comprehend that it was happening.
the kiss wasn’t soft like richie thought their first kiss would be. even though he was usually a desperate, aggressive kisser — he wanted his first kiss with eddie to be special. soft. gentle.
but this kiss? was far from that. it was harsh, all teeth and desperation. the kind of kiss that came from too many emotions being shoved down for too long.
richie inhaled sharply through his nose, hand sliding from eddie’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls there. eddie’s hand curled tighter against richie’s jaw, pulling him in because he physically couldn’t stay away.
eddie kissed him like he was furious about it. like he hated how much he wanted it. like he’d been holding back for years.
richie kissed him back like he’d been waiting just as long.
the taste of his own blood flowed through the kiss, and richie vaguely wondered if eddie could taste it too. probably.
eddie didn’t flinch at the taste — didn’t even pause.
if anything, the metallic tang only made him kiss harder. maybe he was trying to erase every trace of hurt on richie’s mouth with his own. that thought turned richie on.
their teeth clacked once, sloppy and uncoordinated, and eddie let out a soft, frustrated sound that went straight to richie’s spine. his fingers tightened in richie’s hair, pulling him closer, closer, like he couldn’t get enough. like he was trying to make up for every moment they almost crossed this line and didn’t.
richie felt the world tilt — actually tilt — when eddie shifted forward, pressing their chests together. richie’s back was now really pressed up against the cold tub, and he swallowed a gasp against eddie’s mouth.
eddie froze and pulled back immediately, the realization of what he just did hitting him. “shit, sorr—”
richie didn’t give him time to overthink it. he tugged eddie right back in, lips brushing desperately against his. “don’t,” richie breathed out. “don’t pull away.”
eddie’s exhale trembled through him, richie even felt it on his lips — shaky and betraying and so painfully honest. “i’m not,” he whispered. “i’m not.”
their lips connected once more, slower this time, but heavier. it felt like the weight of the world was between them. richie’s fingers pressed into the back of eddie’s neck, guiding him closer, grounding him. eddie’s other hand slid to richie’s chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt like he needed something to hold onto before he fell apart.
richie’s breath hitched when eddie’s thumb brushed the corner of his mouth — right where the cut from the punch still stung. the touch was gentle. so gentle it made richie shiver.
“eds…” richie whispered, barely a sound.
eddie cut him off with a shaky kiss to the corner of his mouth — softer than before, like the anger had drained out, leaving something rawer behind. “don’t talk.”
so richie didn’t. he closed his mouth like his life depended on it. maybe it did.
the only thing he did was let eddie kiss him — harsh and tender and terrified all at once — until his legs felt weak and the buzzing in his ears finally quieted.
eddie’s hand slid higher on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, anchoring both of them. richie couldn’t help but lean closer into the kiss. he never thought he’d have this. eddie. now that he did, he might as well savor it.
richie’s hands slipped from eddie’s neck to his jaw, thumbs brushing the warm, flushed skin there. eddie leaned into the touch instinctively — a tiny movement, small enough to pretend it didn’t mean anything, but big enough that richie felt it everywhere.
their noses brushed. their breaths tangled. eddie’s lips parted against richie’s, and the softest sound escaped him — almost a sigh, almost a whimper.
richie’s stomach flipped.
richie pulled back only half an inch, eyes flicking up to eddie’s. they were glassy, blown wide, terrified and wanting all at the same time. his fingers were still curled tight in the fabric of richie’s shirt, like letting go wasn’t an option. his lips were parted, flushed, trembling, waiting.
even though richie never thought before he did anything, the rational side of his brain was screaming at him. stop. this is wrong. this is so wrong.
before richie even said anything, eddie shook his head once — small, but frantic — and brought their mouths back together. “don’t—” he murmured between the kiss, his voice breaking in the middle of the word, “don’t stop.”
richie tried to listen to it. he did. that razor-thin shard of logic in the back of his skull was begging him to pull away, to breathe, to think for once in his goddamn life.
but eddie was right there. eddie was telling him not to stop. which one was he supposed to listen to?
“i— uhm…” richie stuttered, barely able to get the words out, “this is a really bad idea.”
eddie let out the smallest, weakest laugh. the kind that wasn’t actually a laugh at all. “i think we established that already.”
“i know.”
“and we still…” eddie swallowed, eyes darting down to richie’s mouth. he didn’t finish his sentence, but richie still knew what he meant.
richie’s pulse thudded so hard it almost hurt. “yeah.”
silence — charged, thick, electric — curled around them.
eddie’s fingers loosened in richie’s shirt, not letting go, just… softening. his eyes scanned over richie’s face, and richie could see the moment realization sunk in for him — like he suddenly realized he was holding something that might disappear.
eddie’s eyes skimmed over richie’s face again — quick, nervous, lingering in t he places he didn’t want to linger. the bruise on his cheek. the cut on his lip. the faint flush spreading across richie’s neck.
and then his gaze darted down to richie’s mouth again, just for a second.
richie felt it like a jolt.
eddie’s fingers loosened in his shirt, then tightened again, like he didn’t know what they were supposed to do. like every instinct in him was pulling in opposite directions.
he swallowed hard. “we… shouldn’t do that again.” he said it like a fact but breathed it like a lie.
richie tried for a laugh — something light, something easy — but it came out thin and shaky. “yeah. definitely. terrible idea.”
their eyes met at the same time. and everything they weren’t saying crashed loud between them, but neither looked away. the moment stretched thin between them — trembling, fragile, ready to snap.
eddie finally pulled back half an inch, blinking too fast, breathing too shallow. “you’re… still bleeding,” he murmured, voice tight. “i should— um— i should clean that.”
richie nodded absentmindedly, but didn’t move. couldn’t move.
but instead of reaching for the cloth, his thumb lifted — almost on instinct — brushing the corner of richie’s mouth where the cut still stung. eddie’s thumb stayed there, warm, gentle, shaking just a little.
richie inhaled sharply and eddie froze at the sound. his thumb just stood there, and as richie scanned over his face, he realized he looked some place else. somewhere stuck in his mind.
“you tasted like blood, y’know,” eddie blurted out, like he was thinking it, but didn’t mean to say it. it fell out of him, raw and honest.
richie felt the world tilt on it’s axis. he cleared his throat and tried to ground himself. “oh. um. did you… hate it?”
eddie’s breath shoook — actually shook — and his thumb pressed the tiniest bit harder against richie’s lip, smearing a faint streak of red.
“no,” eddie whispered.
richie’s heart slammed so hard he thought he’d be sick.
eddie blinked like he’d said too much. like the words escaped him before he could catch them. “oh, right. um. first aid. i should— yeah.” he pulled his hand back too fast, turning towards the washcloth that had been discarded next to them. except his hand hovered above it like he couldn’t quite remember what he was doing.
richie watched him for a second, chest tight, heart thudding so loud he swore eddie could hear it.
“eddie,” richie said softly.
eddie didn’t turn towards him. “yeah?”
richie hesitated. the words tangled in his throat. anything he said was going to make this real — too real.
“… we’re not gonna talk about that, are we?” richie finally whispered.
eddie went still. so, so still. he scrambled to grab the washcloth, to have something in his trembling hands now that richie wasn’t under his fingertips. “i— we can’t—” he muttered.
“can’t? or you just don’t want to?” richie supplied quietly.
“both,” eddie said a little too quickly. a little too snippy. “we shouldn’t talk about it. or do it again.”
richie swallowed, throat tight. “right. yeah. we’re not… doing that again.”
they both nodded — barely.
eddie’s fingers twitched against the washcloth in his hands. richie didn’t want to think about what that suggested. even so, richie leaned forward half an inch without meaning to.
eddie noticed. his voice cracked. “richie… don’t.”
“don’t what?” richie murmured, voice almost unsteady. “don’t get close? or don’t stop?”
eddie’s breath hitched at the reminder of his words. “we shouldn’t,” he murmured again.
“i know,” richie said, voice low and breaking.
their foreheads brushed, soft and shaky, neither of them willing to pull away. they weren’t kissing. but they weren’t not kissing.
richie could feel eddie’s breath against his mouth again — warm, uneven, almost scared. eddie’s fingers curled tight around the washcloth, knuckles white.
richie swallowed hard. “eds…”
eddie shut his eyes, jaw clenching. “don’t,” he whispered. “don’t say my name like that.”
“like what?” richie breathed, and even he heard the tremor in it.
“like you want me to—” eddie’s voice cracked before he could finish. he shook his head sharply, moving back an inch, just enough to break the brush of their noses. “just— don’t.”
richie’s throat tightened. the inch between them felt like a mile and a knife all at once.
eddie took one breath. then another. then another — each one shakier than the last. finally, he forced the cloth back into richie’s hand like he needed to put something physical between them before he did something stupid.
richie stared at the cloth, not even blinking. “right,” he murmured. “yeah. sure.”
eddie scrubbed a hand over his face. “this is… this is a lot, rich.”
“you think?” richie laughed once. it was a weak, humorless sound. broken. “i can barely fucking breathe.”
eddie flinched at that. not visibly, not dramatically, but enough that richie saw it. felt it.
“we’re not—” eddie tried again, voice thin, “we’re not doing that again.” the words came back again, almost like they had to say that aloud. maybe to make it feel realer. maybe to make it more believable.
richie didn’t argue. he didn’t trust himself to. he just nodded, slow and small, like maybe if he moved too fast he’d fall right back into eddie. deep inside he knew that’s what he wanted.
eddie’s fingers twitched at his side, betraying him.
for one suspended moment, they just stared — bruised, trembling, wanting, ruined.
richie thought eddie might step close again. eddie thought richie might pull him back in.
but neither of them moved.
eddie exhaled shakily, grabbing at the edge of his sweater just because his hands needed something to hold. “you should be fine now,” he said softly. that was a lie. richie would be anything but fine. “just— keep the cloth on the cut. to slow the bleeding. and— and if your nose starts bleeding again just press the cloth to it.”
richie nodded. he didn’t trust himself to speak.
eddie stood, washed his hands, stared into the sink for a long moment like the porcelain might tell him what to do with the mess between them.
richie watched him with bruised eyes and a bloodied mouth and a heart that suddenly hurt more than his face in the last 40 minutes.
eddie turned back, voice soft. “you okay?”
richie nodded again. lie. he was anything but.