Chapter Text
Richie could hit his head against the car window.
He didn't know why his parents were so stuck on the idea of Richie visiting his cousins for the summer.
He did know that he managed to be convinced when his mom told him she had made arrangements so Eddie could come along.
Hawkins was everything Derry wasn't.
It wasn't home.
Richie drummed his fingers against the dashboard, tapping out a rhythm that only he could hear—like a warning to the universe: chaos incoming. Eddie’s knuckles were white on the wheel, eyes darting from the road to Richie like he might spontaneously disappear into traffic if Richie said one wrong word. That tiny bubble of panic? That was love. And yeah… he hated that. Loved it. Hated loving it. Definitely didn’t want Eddie knowing he was watching him, cataloging every detail.
“Hey, Eds,” Richie said, voice low, leaning back in his seat like a king surveying his kingdom. “You know what’s funny? If you ever tried to drive down Main Street with me yelling at you the entire time, you’d probably crash into a mailbox. Or a cat. Or both. Comedy gold.”
Eddie didn’t even glance at him. “Richie. Seriously.”
Richie grinned. “Seriously funny, you mean. Admit it—you love a little chaos.”
“I do not love it,” Eddie hissed, though his hands twitched on the wheel. That little twitch. God, Richie wanted to reach over and grab them, just to see if he could calm them. Or maybe… maybe just feel them. Yeah, definitely just feel them.
Richie laughed, loud, unapologetic. “Come on, Eds! Admit it. Admit you love my voice, my terrible, disgusting, brilliant voice!”
Eddie groaned. “You are unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably in love with you?” Richie offered, too fast, heart hammering. He grinned, like that could cover it up. Eddie didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. He never answered anything real when Richie actually meant it.
Richie let his mind wander as the tires crunched over cracked asphalt, thinking about how Eddie’s hair caught the light when it fell into his eyes. How he chewed his bottom lip when he was nervous. How he muttered under his breath when Richie said something stupid. Every little detail piled into Richie’s chest like bricks he couldn’t lift off. And the jokes. Oh, the jokes. That’s all anyone saw. That’s all Eddie got. “Oh, Richie’s funny. Silly. Loud. Gross. Always gross.” Perfect disguise.
“You know,” Richie said, leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees, “if we hit a deer, I call dibs on being eaten last. Or first. I haven’t decided. Either way, you’re driving us straight into legendary status.”
Eddie’s jaw tightened. “Beep Beep Richie.”
“Nope. Can’t. Not legally allowed. My lawyer said—oh wait, I don’t have a lawyer. Guess that means I get to talk endlessly while you panic behind the wheel. Lucky you!” Richie snorted. “You know, Eds… your knuckles? White as a ghost. Perfect for me to… doodle on later. Messy, disgusting doodles of… uh, whatever I’m thinking. Genius. Art.”
Eddie groaned and muttered something he probably thought was mean, but Richie caught it anyway. That little hiss, that barely audible curse—he loved it. Loved it so much it hurt. And here he was, cracking more jokes, laughing too loud, trying to cover it all up like a professional clown hiding in plain sight.
He thought about the month waiting for them. Hawkins. A big house. Empty enough for chaos. Perfect for… this. For him and Eddie. Just the two of them. No one else to notice. No one else to complicate it. Just Eddie, and Richie, and all the things he could never say out loud.
No one would know the truth. He'd give them a truth covered by a lie. That’s what Eddie would see. What no one would ever see was how tight his chest felt whenever Eddie’s hand twitched on the wheel. How his stomach did a little flip when Eddie muttered a curse. How he’d give anything—anything—for just one second of Eddie noticing him the way Richie noticed him.
And he laughed. Loud, obnoxious, messy. Because that’s all he could do. All he ever could do. Hide the feelings behind the chaos. Hide the love behind the filthy jokes.
Richie Tozier, king of comedy, master of chaos, hopelessly, ridiculously, absurdly in love with Eddie Kaspbrak.
***
Richie kicked at the gravel under his boots as he and Eddie approached the Wheeler house. Eddie stayed close, shoulders tight, fingers clutching the straps of his backpack. Richie noticed the little twitch in Eddie’s jaw, the way his eyes flicked around the house like he was half afraid of breaking something. Fuck, Richie’s chest tightened. He cursed under his breath. Goddammit, I’m already obsessing over him.
Karen Wheeler stepped onto the porch just as Richie strode up. “Richie! It’s so good to see you!”
Richie waved. “ Aunt Karen! Good to see you too. And this,” he gestured to Eddie, stepping forward and jabbing him lightly in the ribs, “is Eddie. My best friend. Don’t worry—he’s harmless.”
Eddie shifted, frowning. “Richie… your hands aren’t clean.”
Richie grinned, wiggling his fingers. “Relax, Eds. I know you don’t care when it’s me.”
Ted Wheeler smiled politely from behind Karen. “Mike will show you guys around, alright?”
From the side of the porch, Mike appeared. Calm. Patient. Slightly uncomfortable. Richie froze. The resemblance hit him immediately. Same sharp features, same restless energy hiding under a more controlled exterior.
Eddie’s jaw dropped, and as soon as Karen and Ted turned away, he burst out laughing. “Oh my god… you two look so similar!”
Richie glanced at Mike, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Mike’s eyes widened. Both of them blurted at the same time: “We don’t!”
Eddie laughed harder, shaking his head. “Alright, alright… I get it.”
Richie elbowed Eddie lightly. “See that? I told you, Eds… chaos is already winning.”
Mike cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll… show you guys around?”
Richie followed, leaning over to whisper in Eddie’s ear. “Ohhh, this is gonna be good. He’s calm. He’s boring. And I’m gonna push every button.”
Eddie groaned softly. “Beep beep, Richie.”
Richie chuckled and leaned back, scanning the house. “Ohhh, I love it. I love that tiny little sound, Eds. Perfect.”
They went upstairs. Mike led them to his room first. Richie lingered in the doorway, smirking. “Off limits, huh? Cute. I like arbitrary rules.”
Then they reached Nancy’s old room. Mike pushed the door open. “This is your room. My mom put a mattress here. Whoever wants it can take it. Bed’s yours, or you can—uh—share, whatever.”
Eddie’s decision was immediate. “Richie, you take the mattress.”
Richie dropped his bag on the floor and, without hesitation, flopped onto the bed, shoes on, sprawled like he owned the place. Eddie’s face immediately scrunched. “Ew! That’s fucking disgusting! Never mind. I’m taking the mattress.”
Richie rolled onto his side, smirk curling across his face. He watched Eddie flop down, muttering, and couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. Every twitch, every sigh, every little flicker in his eyes… goddammit, I notice it all.
Swinging his legs off the bed, Richie glanced at Mike. “So… Mikey, how’s the girlfriend?”
Mike froze. “…Jane?”
Richie’s grin widened. “Yeah. Her. That one.”
Mike shifted awkwardly. “We… broke up.”
“No shit,” Richie said, raising an eyebrow. “Way too suspicious when you suddenly got a girlfriend. Tiny Mikey playing house.”
Mike scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Fuck you. We broke up a few months ago. And… we’ve known each other since eighth grade so we decided to stay friends.”
Richie leaned back, eyes glinting. “Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Mikey.”
He glanced at Eddie again, who was still settling onto the mattress, smirking faintly. “See that? He’s terrified of me. You see it too, right?”
Eddie’s stomach flipped. “Stop it,” he muttered quietly.
Richie’s grin only widened, lazy and wicked. “Stop me? Eds… you know I never stop.”
Mike shifted awkwardly near the doorway, hands in his pockets. “Uh… anyways… my friends are supposed to come over later, and… Mom kinda forced me to ask if you guys… maybe wanted to come with us, but… I mean, you can stay here if you’d rather. I wouldn’t mind.” He paused. "At all."
Richie grinned, leaning toward Eddie. “Of course we’re going, right, Eds?”
Eddie hesitated, then gave a faint, wry smile. “Yeah… I mean… sure.”
Mike blinked, a little relieved. “Right… okay. I guess I’ll… see you later.” He nodded, then stepped out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Richie watched him go, smirk curling. “Perfect. Just us now. Finally. No Mikey… no rules. Just chaos.”
Eddie groaned softly and flopped onto the mattress, muttering, “How did my mom ever agree to this...”
Richie chuckled, eyes lingering on him. “Oh, Eds… you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”
Richie wasn't lying. He would make this time in Hawkins matter.
After all, it was nothing like home.
***
Richie took one look at the basement and let out a sharp laugh.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Mike froze halfway down the stairs like he’d just been personally attacked. Which, yeah. He had.
The basement smelled like old carpet and dust and something vaguely metallic, and there was a table set up in the middle with dice, papers, little figures, and a hand-drawn map that looked like it had taken hours. Hours. Richie squinted at it like it might bite him.
“This,” Richie said slowly, pointing at the table, “is what you do for fun?”
Mike’s ears went red immediately. “It’s D&D.”
“Ohhh,” Richie nodded exaggeratedly. “Sorry. Let me correct myself. This is what you do for fun.” He gestured again, broader this time, like he was presenting an exhibit at a museum. “Jesus Christ, Mikey. I leave town for a few years and you join a cult?”
“It’s not a cult,” Mike snapped. “It’s a game.”
“A game,” Richie echoed. “With rules. And math. And tiny figurines.” He leaned closer to the table, inspecting one. “What is this, a goblin? Why does he look like he pays taxes?”
Eddie snorted despite himself.
Richie turned on him instantly. “Don’t laugh. You’re on my side.”
Eddie raised a brow. “Am I?” He nodded toward the table. “You spend half your life at the arcade. How is this any different?”
Richie scoffed. “Excuse you. The arcade is cool. Flashing lights. Noise. Actual skill. Not—” he waved a hand at the dice, “—whatever medieval nerd shit this is.”
Mike crossed his arms. “You don’t even know how it works.”
“And I never will,” Richie said proudly. “That’s called self-respect.”
Eddie shook his head, amused, eyes flicking between them. Richie clocked it anyway — the way Eddie looked relaxed down here, like he wasn’t trying so hard to be careful. Like this was just… normal. Domestic, almost. And for a split second, Richie felt that weird pull in his chest again. That thing he pretended didn’t exist.
He shoved it down with another joke.
“So,” Richie said, circling Mike like a shark, “you dress like me, you sound like me, and now you roleplay as an elf?”
“I don’t—” Mike stopped himself, jaw tight. “I’m the Dungeon Master.”
Richie burst out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re worse than I thought.”
“Richie,” Eddie warned, though he was smiling.
“I’m just saying,” Richie shot back, “if this is what Hawkins has been doing with him all these years, I deserve financial compensation.”
Mike glared. “You’re not touching anything.”
Richie immediately put his hands up. “Wow. Hostile. Is this how you treat all your guests?”
Karen’s voice suddenly echoed down the stairs.
“Mike! They’re here!”
Richie’s grin sharpened instantly.
Mike turned on him. “Don’t. Touch. Anything.”
Richie pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “I am a guest.”
Mike ignored him and looked at Eddie instead. “Make sure he doesn’t touch anything.”
Eddie nodded, automatic. “Got it.”
Richie leaned toward him, stage-whispering, “Traitor.”
Mike shot him one last look and jogged back up the stairs.
The basement felt quieter without him. Like the air settled.
Richie dropped his hands and exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Wow. He’s wound tight.”
Eddie shrugged. “He’s not wrong about you.”
“Rude,” Richie said. Then, softer, more thoughtful, “But yeah. Fair.”
He wandered back toward the table, stopping just short of touching anything. Eddie watched him, arms crossed, that familiar mix of fondness and exasperation written all over his face. Richie caught it. Always did.
“So,” Richie said casually, “You liking Hawkins so far, Mr.K?”
Eddie shrugged again. “Don't call me that, dick. But, yeah I guess.”
Richie nodded, eyes drifting toward the stairs. He didn’t know why his stomach felt weird. It wasn’t nerves. He didn’t get nervous. He was Richie fucking Tozier.
Still.
New town. New people. Old cousin who looked like a funhouse mirror version of him. Eddie at his side like always — grounding, familiar, dangerous in the quiet way.
They migrated toward the couch in that awkward, familiar way groups do when no one wants to be the first to commit to a spot.
Richie dropped down without thinking, landing near the middle of the couch. It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t a move. It was just… the couch was there. Empty space is empty space.
Will ended up beside him.
Richie didn’t notice at first—he was still half-focused on kicking his shoes off, half-listening to Dustin argue with Lucas about whose turn it was to pick. Then Mike cleared his throat.
Not loud. Not aggressive. Just pointed.
Richie glanced up. “What?”
Mike didn’t look at him right away. His jaw tightened. “I… I always sit next to Will.”
The words hung there.
Richie blinked. Once. Twice.
“Oh,” he said, automatic. “Uh—okay?”
He shifted, scooting a few inches down the couch without complaint, without a joke. Just moved. Easy. Like it didn’t matter.
Except.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught it—Will’s face heating up, color creeping into his cheeks like he hadn’t meant for that to happen. Like he hadn’t expected it to be said out loud.
Nobody commented.
Not Dustin. Not Lucas. Not Max. Not even Eddie.
But Jane noticed.
Richie saw it in the way her eyes flicked from Mike to Will and then away again, expression careful, unreadable. No jealousy. No anger. Just awareness. Like she already knew the shape of this thing and had decided not to touch it.
Mike settled in close to Will, knee brushing his, shoulder angled protectively without even thinking about it. Will stiffened for half a second—then melted back in, like it was muscle memory. Like this had always been his spot.
Richie stared at the TV a little too hard.
Huh.
That was all. Just a quiet little hitch in his thoughts. No conclusions. No labels. Just something filed away for later.
He shifted again, stretching out, about to open his mouth—
Eddie smacked the back of his head.
“Ow—fuck!” Richie yelped, twisting around. “What was that for?!”
Eddie raised a brow. “Don’t start.”
“I wasn’t starting—”
“Yes, you were.”
Richie huffed, rubbing the back of his head, then looked around the room again. Everyone was settling. Comfortable. Familiar. Mike’s knee angled toward Will’s. Will’s shoulder just barely leaning into Mike’s arm.
Richie swallowed whatever comment had been forming.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Okay. Message received.”
Eddie nudged him with his foot. “So,” he said casually, like nothing had happened at all, “Seems like they're not going to agree on a movie." He said as he sneaked a glance towards Dustin and Lucas. "So what movie are we watching?”
Richie leaned back into the couch, stretching his arms behind his head, eyes flicking once—just once—toward Will before settling back on the screen.
“Surprise me,” he said. “I’m already confused enough.”
And for the first time that night, the jokes came a little slower.
Richie felt like his brain could explode.
***
The movie had been on for a while before Richie realized he wasn’t really watching it.
Something loud and dramatic was happening on-screen—explosions, yelling, some guy definitely dying—but the basement had settled into that late-night hush where everything felt closer. Like the air got heavier once everyone stopped talking.
Dustin was sprawled on the floor, chin on his arms, eyes half-lidded but still stubbornly open. Lucas leaned back against the couch, shoes kicked off. Max had her feet hooked over the armrest, focused, unbothered. Jane sat cross-legged, quiet as ever, gaze fixed forward, but not tense. Just… present.
Mike and Will hadn’t moved.
Not really.
Mike’s arm rested behind Will, not fully around him, just there. Close enough to matter. Will leaned into it without looking, like it wasn’t even a choice anymore. Like gravity did it for him.
Richie noticed because of course he did.
He shifted slightly, stretching his legs out, arms still draped over the back of the couch. Eddie sat beside him, solid and familiar, knee bumping Richie’s every now and then when he laughed at something stupid in the movie.
On-screen, two characters were arguing—voices sharp, emotions boiling over—and then, abruptly, one of them reached out. Pulled the other close. Held on like the world might fall apart otherwise.
Richie felt it in his chest before he could stop himself.
That’s stupid, he thought immediately. It’s just a movie.
Still.
He glanced sideways again.
Mike murmured something under his breath—too quiet for anyone else to hear. Will tilted his head toward him, lips ghosting close to Mike’s ear, responding just as softly. Whatever it was, it made Mike smile. Small. Private.
Richie’s stomach did a weird little flip.
Not jealousy.
Not interest.
Just… recognition.
He’d seen this before. Not here. Not like this. But the shape of it. The way closeness stopped being loud and started being automatic. The way you stopped performing and just existed next to someone.
Eddie shifted beside him, adjusting the blanket over his legs. Richie leaned into him without thinking, shoulder brushing Eddie’s arm. Eddie didn’t comment. Didn’t tease. Just let it happen.
Will shifted beside Mike, adjusting like he’d been tense without realizing it. He lifted one arm and rested it along the back of the couch, stretching his shoulders.
That’s when it happened.
Not intentional. Not careful.
Will’s hand brushed Richie’s.
Just a knuckle. A fingertip. Barely anything.
They both froze.
Richie’s breath hitched before he could stop it. He didn’t pull away—not right away. Neither did Will. The contact lingered, brief and electric in a way Richie refused to put words to.
Will glanced sideways. Richie caught the movement more than the look itself, the way Will seemed to check if Richie had noticed.
Richie lifted his brows slightly, mouth twitching like a joke was coming.
It didn’t.
Will’s fingers curled just a little, then relaxed. He pulled his hand back, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to make it weird.
Richie stared at the screen, pulse loud in his ears.
Okay, he thought, grounding himself. That was… something.
Mike shifted on Will’s other side, oblivious, arm still slung behind him like it belonged there. Eddie bumped Richie’s knee lightly as he adjusted his seat, familiar and solid. Richie leaned into Eddie without thinking, shoulder pressing briefly against his arm.
Eddie didn’t comment. Just stayed.
On the screen, the movie hit its emotional peak—music swelling, characters clinging to each other like the world was ending. Richie swallowed, chest tight in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
He’d made a career out of noticing things. Reading rooms. Reading people.
This, though?
This wasn’t a punchline yet.
Richie exhaled slowly and let the moment pass, filed away with everything else he wasn’t ready to touch.
The movie played on.
The room stayed quiet.
And somewhere between the flicker of the screen and the warmth of Eddie beside him, Richie let the question sit unanswered.
What the fuck was going on with Will Byers?
***
Richie tiptoed upstairs, mostly because he wanted some snacks and partly because he knew Eddie wouldn’t let him raid the kitchen if he made a scene. The basement felt warmer, louder than it actually was, but the quiet upstairs made it feel like a different world.
He opened the fridge like he owned the place and was rifling through leftovers when the bathroom door opened. Jane stepped out, crossing her arms, leaning casually against the counter. She didn’t say a word at first, just tilted her head, eyes narrowing in that sharp, measuring way.
Richie froze mid-reach. “Uh… can I help you?”
“I don’t trust you,” she said, flat, calm.
Richie blinked. “…Excuse me?”
Jane smirked faintly, stepping closer, reaching out a hand to adjust his glasses.
“What the hell?” Richie muttered, holding up his hands.
“You look a lot like Mike,” Jane said, tilting her head.
Richie scoffed, leaning back just enough to keep her fingers off his lenses. “It’s not my fault. Your ex-boyfriend copied my face.”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” Richie shrugged. “Yeah. If anything, you copied his. Told me he was older than you.”
Richie snorted softly, shaking his head. “He can lie.” Mike wasn't lying.
There was a pause, just enough for the hum of the fridge and the quiet upstairs to fill the space. "He doesn't lie. Not to me." She murmured.
Not to her, yet they were broken up.
Why?
Richie had a headache ever since arriving in Hawkins.
Richie tilted his head, trying to figure her out. “So… why did you and Mike break up?” he asked, curiosity creeping under the sarcasm.
Jane glanced at him, expression calm. “We just wanted different things.”
Richie blinked. His mind immediately started spinning. Mike cheated? No… maybe it wasn’t… he didn’t…
Jane caught the glint in his eyes and laughed softly. “Whatever you’re thinking, Richie, you’re probably wrong.”
Richie opened his mouth to argue, but she was already moving.
“I’m gonna go finish the movie downstairs,” she said, casual, smooth, confident. “Try not to break anything while I’m gone.”
Richie watched her leave, pause, trying to piece it all together. Mike never mentioned she and… whatever. And she glanced at Will earlier. That little flicker, that recognition—he hadn’t missed it.
“Oh… shit,” Richie muttered under his breath. But he didn’t jump to conclusions. Not yet. He only knew two things:
-
Will was somehow… involved in whatever Mike was doing.
-
Jane was calm, calculating, and maybe smarter than he gave her credit for.
Richie’s jaw dropped just slightly. His brain didn’t know how to process that, and the silence stretched. Then a small laugh escaped him—stupid, soft, unthinking—and he realized he’d been staring.
Why the fuck was he stressing out so much about this?
Where was Eddie when he needed him?
Oh. Right.
“Right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Movie night it is.”
He turned and crept back down the stairs, stepping lightly, ears straining for the sounds of the basement. That’s when he saw Will—blushing faintly, just the tiniest flush on his cheeks, shoulder angled a little closer to Mike.
And somewhere in the back of Richie’s mind, the pieces started clicking together.
Hmm.
And that’s when the slow, careful, plotting gears started turning.
Maybe Mike and him were similar after all.
***
Richie felt it coming. The migraine. Low, building behind his eyes like a storm ready to crash. He was lying in Nancy’s bed, staring at the ceiling that had seen too many bodies and too many secrets. Eddie was probably brushing his teeth for the fourth time, meticulously going over every corner like the world might crumble if he didn’t. Richie didn’t care. He just stared up, letting the darkness fill the gaps the ceiling tiles left.
He felt the migraine pulse as thoughts collided in his brain. No way. No. Mike? Straight. There was just no way. Mike was not like him. Confused, sure… maybe. But Mike Wheeler? Protective to the point of obsession, logical, hyperaware… Richie didn’t buy it. He could see it though: the way Mike held himself, the way he moved, the way he looked at Will. Too… careful. Too invested.
The movie had ended hours ago. Everyone had left. And even in the small, almost imperceptible moments, Richie had noticed. The way Mike lingered a second too long when saying goodbye to Will. The half-hug, the quick glance afterward. Will had left like everyone else, but Mike… Mike had stayed just a heartbeat longer, eyes tracking him, just enough to make it awkward but meaningful. And Richie had filed it away immediately.
Huh.
He was piecing it together, trying to make sense of the signals. The protective glances, the subtle touches, the way Will’s shoulder had leaned slightly toward him earlier…
“Richie,” a small voice said from the doorway.
He blinked. Eddie. Standing there, lips pressed together. “You’re not gonna brush your teeth?”
“I already did,” Richie said, not even looking.
Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, but that was before. We got back, we ate popcorn and all the snacks earlier.”
Richie groaned. “Later.”
Eddie crawled in, landing on his mattress on the floor with a careful flop. “You’re disgusting,” he muttered.
“Did you know I kissed your mother with my mouth?” Richie said immediately, and before Eddie could react, he added, “Just so you know.”
“I’m going to fucking punch you,” Eddie hissed.
Richie made fake kissing noises, dramatic and loud. Eddie grabbed his pillow from the mattress and flung it at Richie.
“Okay, okay!” Richie laughed. “Truce!”
Eddie muttered something under his breath, retrieved the pillow, and lay back down. Richie let his eyes wander again, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet fill the room.
Finally, his hand moved almost on its own. He reached down and touched Eddie lightly, brushing his arm. “Hey… Ed,” he said softly.
“Yeah?” Eddie murmured.
“You can come up here,” Richie said, joking but careful.
“I’m fine,” Eddie replied immediately, voice low.
Richie smirked, rolling onto his back. “I hear you suffering down there. Probably thinking there’s a bunch of spiders and shit.”
“Because there is. And probably a lot of bacteria here,” Eddie muttered.
Richie shrugged. “Okay. Come up here, then.”
Silence. Just the soft hum of the old house and Eddie’s breathing.
“Eddie,” Richie said again.
“What?” Eddie murmured.
“Please,” Richie said, quieter this time. The room stayed still.
Then he heard it: a soft groan, Eddie muttering under his breath, and the shuffle of movement. Eddie grabbed his pillow again and climbed up, settling on the bed beside Richie. Just lying there. Not talking. Not moving much.
Richie turned his head slightly, studying him. “You know,” he murmured, “you’re lucky I like you.”
“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie said softly, rolling over so his back faced him.
Richie let him be. He stared at the ceiling again, heartbeat slowing, mind racing in a different direction. He thought about Eddie, sure. But then Will. Will and Mike. That lingering look, the protective gestures, the careful touches. And suddenly it clicked.
Will… loves Mike.
Not a crush. Not a joke. The real thing. The kind you don’t announce, don’t make moves on, don’t even breathe near. And suddenly, the pieces fit together. Mike, careful, protective, hesitant with everyone else. Will, quiet, subtle, flushed with affection he didn’t dare name.
Richie was sure Mike liked Will back.
No.
He was sure Mike loved Will back.
Richie exhaled slowly, letting it sink in.
This was going to be a different summer. He was going to make sure some things… changed.
And maybe, just maybe… there was a way to help. A way to make sure Will got his shot. And also a way to clear his own confusion. And at the same time… Richie realized the thought made his chest squeeze in a way he wasn’t entirely mad about.
So he lay there a little longer, eyes on the ceiling, mind already spinning, heart both heavy and light. He needed a plan. He needed… a cover. And in the quiet dark, it started to form.
Richie Tozier needed to date Will Byers.