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The hollow silence which seemed to follow stretched even further than the endless reign of Jupiter’s crashing storms. In fact, it wasn’t silent at all, not remotely, but Munchausen syndrome by proxy seemed to fuck with a person worse than you could even begin to comprehend. He couldn’t think of his mother the same. He could never think of her the same. Never again. Not after he’d found out the awful truth. The sickening truth. The truth which he even now, refuses to come to terms with. He remembers the way he lashed out at her that day, screaming “They’re gazebos! They’re bullshit!” until the shrill voice rang throughout his ears and he couldn’t even hear her calling out to him one last time.
Only later would he realise that a ‘gazebo’ was in fact, a lot different from a ‘placebo’.
As if on cue, a croaky echo cut through clouded thoughts. “Afternoon, fuckwits.”
Eddie’s head snapped comically fast towards the sound, ears perking up at the all-too familiar voice. The silence was swallowed whole again, and just like that, the trance was gone. The nightmares had melted away, dripping midsummer ooze, and Eddie’s vision finally could focus on the smug fourteen year old, all undershirts and glasses and with so much life ahead of him.
The ice had shattered.
Richie seemed to have an effect like that.
The other losers however, remained unfazed, continuing their hurried game of what Eddie had assumed was go-fish in the grassy patches of the Barrens. He didn’t even realise they were still here until now actually, let alone actually doing something. The only one who showed any sign of acknowledgement at all was Stan, who simply nodded his head toward the sound in response.
Richie, seeing Eddie’s reaction, wasted no time gravitating toward the boy in question, crashing down dramatically on the grass next to him. In good-natured Richie fashion, he accompanied the scene with an exaggerated ‘aaaaaaaaaah’, stretching his arms out over his head like a basking cat. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and released a breath in anticipation. Anything that came out of that asswipe’s mouth was not gonna be tolerable.
“What’s up my main man Eds, Eddie, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie started, oblivious to the way Eddie rolled his eyes dramatically in response. A look that practically screamed ‘Why am I friends with you again?’
“You look weirder than usual Eds, like more phased out and shit. Your mom die or something? Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t already, I mean just lo-”
“Not fucking funny you dickwat, and stop calling me that!”
Really, he hoped Richie wouldn’t stop calling him that.
“Awwhh, little Eddie’s all flustered. Cute, cute, cute–!”
Richie decided to test the waters and made a hasty attempt to pinch at Eddie’s cheeks, before realising the hard way that, ‘that was stupid’, and he,‘should never try that again’, finding himself victim to a series of jabbing punches straight to the gut.
Mike, the lone voice of reason, hurried to defend the raven-haired boy from further harm, despite the fact that he—most likely—deserved it.
“Will you lovebirds cut it out already?” Mike interjected, making a prompt yet unsuccessful attempt to separate the two, who were practically attached like super-glue.
Eddie knew it was just a joke. He was used to jokes; his life was one of them for fuck’s sake. But why did it have to be? Why didn’t he want it to be, was the question. Why was there that burning feeling in the depths of his stomach whenever the younger boy called him cute; a feeling which swirled and twisted inside his guts until it was practically suffocating him.
It’s painful because it’s not right. Eddie told himself, You’re not supposed to think about your best friend like that.
With a final triumphant shove from Richie, Eddie came crashing to the soft grass below, the impact enunciated greatly with a dramatic ‘thump’.
“Richie! You fucking asshole!” Eddie started, flailing uselessly under Richie’s firm hold. “Y-you know how many bugs could be in here? Crawling all over my fucking skin? They could be breeding on my skin right now Richie,”
Richie couldn’t help but interrupt him with a belching laugh, one that reckoned through his nimble frame, shaking him animatedly.
“No, what the hell is so fucking funny dickface? You know how many people die each year from spider bites? Six. In the U.S. ALONE. And considering you’re like- I dunno, six times more likely to die in Derry than anywhere else in the world, that brings the number up to like,” he stopped and thought for a second, “thirty-six. THIRTY-SIX. Are you listening to me right now?”
It was good like this, he thought. Using petty insults and jokes as a method to deflect the agonizing burden of his feelings, deep down. It was better they stayed that way.
“Nah not really,” Richie replied truthfully, smug written across every stretch of his dumb face, “you lost me at ‘breeding’, cause I was too busy thinking about how fucking good I bred your mom last night!” He couldn’t help but raise his hand off of Eddie’s chest for a brief moment, expecting Stan to high-five at his lame joke. He didn’t.
“Oh yeah? Well it couldn’t have been as good as the absolutely insane blowjob I got from your sister last night, man, tell her to keep using whatever the fuck chapstick she’s us—”
“Guys, please shut up for a second.” Ben interjected, evidently annoyed. From the way he was sitting and fidgeting on the rock he’d adopted, he looked anxious. Ben was sweet. You just had to listen in.
“I bought three tickets for ‘Back to the Future Part III’ this afternoon.” He nervously scratched at the back of his neck, “Sorry, It’s all I could afford.”
“I’ll come.” Bev rushed to assure him, voice effortlessly sweet like melting cranberry rain fused with a crimson-red sunrise. Yeah, that seemed to be the perfect way to describe it. She had an effect like that. Hair like winter fire and Janurary embers or whatever the fuck sappy shit Ben had said. Eddie could picture himself falling for her. No, he wanted to fall for her, just like the others did. But, he wasn’t wired that way. Why couldn’t he be wired that way?
Bill, feeling slightly self-conscious, wasted no time reminding the other boy where he stood.
“I-I’ll c-come too.”
Eddie didn't miss the way Ben’s eyes sneered into a thin line, a look that screamed ‘I know what you’re up to.’
“Okay, good,” he half-grumbled, “because this shit starts in half an hour so we better get going, like, right now.”
“A-are you s-s-serious?!”
——————————
“Riccchhhh, where the fuck are we goinngggg?”
After the group had disbanded—Bill, Ben and Bev to the theater and Mike and Stan to the library—Richie and Eddie had decided to ride their bikes side-by-side to the arcade. It was rare moments like those, where the two were solely connected by an overflowing abundance of comfort and carelessness, where it didn’t matter what they were doing or who saw, because it was always RichieAndEddie, R + E, and neither of them wanted to change that.
Well, Eddie did. Deep down, but he knew thinking like that was disgusting, stupid and ultimately, dangerous too. The slurs he’d heard across the years directed toward people like that, was nothing he ever wanted directed at him.
And why should Richie, no, why would Richie reciprocate dumb, queer feelings like that. It was fucking hopeless. He prayed that one day, they’d vanish. One fucking day.
But now, with Richie’s hand wrapped firmly around his wrist—circulation-cutting—as he dragged him down the busy streets of Derry, all he could think about was how beautiful Richie looked like this. He was cloaked, from head to toe, in honeysuckle rays; dawn’s forgiving births of light. And it wasn’t just him, but Derry was also gorgeous like this, no matter how problematic and truly fucked up the place was. At these hours the tender, golden sun painted each wall and crevice with ultimate care, illuminating the space in a soothing, gentle paste of caramel honey.
Richie gazed behind his shoulder briefly. “You’ll see, dipshit, don’t have to be so impatient all the time.”
“Yeah but, you’re hurting meeeee, Richie.” Eddie whined.
“Calm down, we’ll be there soon.”
They were there soon, in fact.
It was a frail, abandoned building, which was laced beautifully with endless stretches of vines and flowers which seamlessly seeped into every crack. Eddie couldn’t help but feel nauseous being near it. It reminded him all-too much of the Well House on Neibolt street. Literal chills shivered through his body at the sight.
Eddie choked over his own words. “R-R-Richie I-I can’t do this.”
Richie spun around from his position in front of the bolted doors and lowered his glasses at Eddie. Mocking. “Eddie. You defeated a literal demonic clown before you were even fourteen. You’re fucking fifteen now. You’re old. So don’t be a pussy and come explore this place with me. I found it a few days ago. Didn’t wanna explore it without my protector by my side.” Eddie’s eyes sneered into a thin line. Richie continued, “Y’know, cause you’d be the meat shield.”
Eddie rolled his eyes dramatically. “Beep fucking beep Richie!! Wrong timing for this shit, asshole.”
He wasn’t confident, not in the slightest. But this was Richie. He’d protect him, right?
Richie shoved the door open with utmost force, blasting a tsunami of dust across the wooden floor. Man, this place looked fucking old.
“Hey, Mrs. K! I’m home!”
Eddie slapped Richie good-naturedly around the back of the head. “My mom’s house is not that bad.”
“It is when I’m done with it.”
Richie wiggled his eyebrows like he was expecting Eddie to get the joke.
“That literally doesn’t even make sense.”
“I’d like to see you do bett-”
A piercing scream was ripped out of Richie’s throat, causing Eddie to freeze his speech abruptly. There was something, a leper maybe, thin and frail and leaking. An unplugged drain vomiting an endless flowing river of red-and-black ooze. It was spread out across the floor like a welcome mat, smiling a gruesome set of piano key teeth up at the two boys. Then there was Richie—face a bleached sheet of parchment paper, contrasting the curled black claw wrapped delicately around his exposed ankle.
“EDDIE!!!!”
Eddie had wrapped his arms around Richie before he could even process what he was doing, screaming “Fucking COME ON RUN, RUN DIPSHIT!! Don’t just stand there!!”
He tugged at his ankle roughly but the leper only grasped on tighter, tugging the raven-haired boy closer and angling his crooked teeth to bite into the soft flesh. Eddie’s hold on Richie was so tight it must’ve been suffocating, fighting for Richie with all his strength like a back and forth game of tug-of-war.
Then,
he bit down.
——————————
Before he even realised it, the two of them were back at Richie’s house, Eddie puffing and panting as he carried Richie’s entire weight in his arms. The sun had bid its farewell to the stretches of crystal blue, to which extravagant shades of crimson and lavender began to dance and flourish in the evening sky. January embers.
Never again. Eddie remembers thinking. Never a-fucking-gain.
Once the older boy regained his breath, he spoke up, gravelly and breathy.
“What. the fuck. Richie.” Eddie started, staring at Richie’s aching form curled in his arms, “Why would you take me there, asshole!? If it weren’t for me you’d be fucking dead.”
Richie tossed his head back and looked straight at Eddie from underneath, flicking his black nest of curls back against Eddie’s chest in the process. God, he could barely stay mad at Richie for long when he looked like that. Looked at him like that.
“Guess, you’re.. hah.. a little more than a meat shield for a protector.” He breathed out.
Annoyed but desperate for a change of subject, Eddie stood Richie up straight and wrapped his arm around Richie’s lanky frame. He blushed, face hot at the mere intimacy of the contact. God, why was he like this.
Eddie cleared his throat. “So. You sure they won’t mind?”
Richie groaned something that could’ve been annoyance or pain. “Of course Eds, they don’t give a fuck when you stay over, they probably like you more than me anyways.”
Eddie quietly twisted the knob open, being careful not to drop Richie, before gently shutting the door behind them.
“Hey dad!” Richie yelled out to the darkened pit of a lounge, covering the traces of pain in his voice. “It cool if Eds stays over?”
Eddie jabbed him lightly in the side and spat out a harsh whisper, “Stop fucking calling me that!”
A groan reverberated throughout the inky cave. The lazy fuck was probably asleep. “Mmm..yeah.. sure, whatever... jus’ don’t stay up too late..” a mumbled reply came back, obviously disinterested.
“Yeah, whatever dad.” Richie grumbled under his breath. Richie had a habit of presenting himself like he stayed up until dawn, when most of the time he’d actually pass out before midnight listening to his mixtape. Eddie’s mixtape. Eddie liked that about him. It was cute.
And with that, Eddie carefully transported the taller boy up the stairwell, cradling him gently in his arms. He couldn’t help but notice how pretty Richie’s features looked like this, brows furrowed and eyes clenched in pain while he was attached almost desperately to Eddie’s side as they progressed step-by-step. The flush came back again.
Eddie flicked the bathroom light and a dim caramel light spilled out onto the tiles, solely illuminating Richie’s black-hole of a house. He loosened his grasp and gently propped Richie up on the closed toilet seat, making sure he wouldn’t fall over before moving over to the cabinets.
Eddie peeked behind his shoulder from his position digging through the stash on the cold floor and shot a glance at Richie. He grumbled in a loving sort of way. “You’re lucky I know what all this shit does.”
“Aweee Eddie-bear, you’re so good to me.” Richie mocked, fluttering his eyelashes.
“Shut up before I leave you here for the rest of the night.”
Richie smirked. “Woah, someone's feisty.”
The flush on Eddie’s face darkened significantly, but if anyone asked, it never happened. He also didn’t feel a swarm of butterflies inside his stomach. That never happened either.
Eddie quickly re-emerged with his arms full of bottles covered in medical jargon. It could’ve been chloroform and rat poison for all Richie knew. Eddie didn’t give the taller boy any longer to think before he smeared various liquids onto his leg, causing him to groan and wince as each one met his gaping wound.
——————————
After being plastered up, Richie was ready to manoeuvre to the bedroom. He swung open the door dramatically and opened his arms toward the place, as if his room was suddenly the best thing since the creation of cassette tapes. It wasn’t. Not even close.
“Mi casa, es tu casa!” He exclaimed dramatically, before sinking backwards into the mattress which seemed to swallow his thin frame whole.
“I think you butchered that, like, quite badly.” Eddie sneered, standing frigid in the doorway.
“Fuck off, don’t be such a whiny baby and come sit with me.”
So he did.
Richie seemed to have an effect like that.
He collapsed next to Richie on the bed, stretching his limbs out exaggeratedly—much to Richie’s demise—and earning himself a few hard shoves to the side in retaliation
It was nice like this. The two of them. Without a care in the world. Doing whatever the fuck they wanted because they were EddieandRichie and no one could tell them otherwise.
Rough hands grabbed at soft, endless stretches of cool duvet and they tackled, fought, and clawed at each other until they were practically breathless; sweat of youth and essence leaking out of them endlessly. Midsummer beams of laughter radiated in the air, mixing and wafting like a harmonious, stricken chord. The atmosphere was joyous and free, locked away from the grasps of everyone locked on the other side. The bad side. The side which frankly, neither of them cared about.
Because they were RichieandEddie.
And no one could fucking tell them otherwise.
——————————
Reaching the end of the mixtape, Eddie’s calculated fingers reached down to press ‘stop’, removing his headphones so carefully it was as if he were trespassing through royalty.
Focusing intently, Eddie could decipher quiet snores which radiated through the room. Richie. He must have fallen asleep. From where he had passed out, he looked as though he were 5 years younger; cradled inwards on himself like a toddler in a cot. He still had a fucking comic in his lap for fuck’s sake.
Eddie snickered at the sight. “Who’s the baby now, Trashmouth.” he couldn’t help but murmur under his breath.
Eddie could live like this, watching Richie from the sidelines, never truly getting what he wanted. It hurt, God it hurt. But it was wrong. He knew it was.
And with that, he snuggled up in front of the raven-haired boy, always so close, yet so far. Richie was peaceful like this, graceful. Perhaps it was the fact Richie couldn’t speak like this. Couldn’t mouth off about how well he did Eddie’s mom every 5 minutes. Eddie’s eyes lidded, his breathing laboured, and he began to dream of an alternate life. His hand in Richie’s. Breath leaving soft tickles against Eddie’s flush cheeks. They were free like this, it was right like this.
He needed Richie just like Jupiter needed her thunder.