Archive of Our Own

When Richie woke up, it was with a red mark on his cheek, phone squished to his face, hands and legs askew in his tangled mess of sheets. He groaned, plucking the sticky from sweat— which ew, even he found that a bit gross— phone from his face. It was hot, clearly from running all night, and glowing with Eddie's profile. The top of the screen told him it was currently 10:17 am, so his best friend had probably ended their call hours ago, when he got up for his morning run. Richie thought he was crazy, getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to exercise before his morning classes, because of course Eddie Kaspbrack was insane enough to have not one but two of his classes in the morning, but each to their own.

Richie, now he had a system. He knew if he was actually going to attend his classes, he couldn't register for anything before 10:30. So far, that had worked pretty well. This morning, though, he had… 13 minutes to get out of class, grab his bag and scattered notebooks, and arrive at his classroom. It was for his honors class too, and the professor that taught it was as drab and boring as the title of the class itself: "Introduction to Ethics: Public Speaking and Interpersonal Connections."

Normally, he'd rather be chased through the fucking abandoned section of the parking lot for their dorms by a fraternity than take an Ethics class, but it was kind of required if he wanted a scholarship, which he kind of did, and if he wanted a better chance at interning with a real radio station eventually, which he definitely did.

The thing was, the class usually wasn't that bad. His professor, Dr. Rowland, just had very strict rules. Like his tardy policy, which Richie already had… two strikes for. If he was late today, it'd be his third tardy, and every tardy after that would start affecting his grade. As much as he acted like he didn't care about school, Richie wanted to do well in this honors course. He wanted to show that he could, to be able to prove himself in some small way. See, I can pay attention. See, I can do well, honest. I'm more than a bundle of jokes, if only barely. He felt pathetic even thinking it, but it was true.

The problem was, Eddie had his first day as a teacher's assistant today, and he had been stressing about it all of yesterday. So he'd called Richie. Richard Tozier, for his part, was happy to answer, was happy to stay on the phone until one am when Eddie finally peeled himself from his lesson reviewing, and then keep talking until two thirty, taking his mind off everything. Richie made a promise to Eddie, you see.

"You ever need something, just call me, okay? I can always make time for you, Spaghetti," he'd said. It had taken a while for that to really sink for Eddie, for him to trust that he wasn't a burden, that he was allowed to complain and sigh and blabber on without scolding or reprimands or just a dismissive wave from Richie— not because of anything the bespectacled boy had done of course, but because of his mother. His mother who had a knack for doing one of two things at all times: exacerbating Eddie's problems, or dismissing them entirely.

It didn't matter if Eddie had an emergency or if he was just bored or anything in-between, if he called, or texted, or so much as thought about Richie too hard, Richie would be there.

It wasn't his fault Richie had overslept; Richie loved talking to Eddie. He dragged on their calls, did his best to get the boy on the other end of the line to let out a huffed laugh and loved when they fell asleep mid-sentence, almost as if— well, it didn't matter. Eddie was Richie's gravity, and his chest swelled whenever he knew it was him Eddie wanted to talk to. When it was clear it was him Eddie trusted. It was no one's fault they both lost track of time, and Eddie ran like a well-oiled machine while Richie lagged until he had to scramble to finger-comb his hair, throwing on yesterday's button up over some jeans as he ran down the hallway to his class.

He was panting as he took his seat, ignoring the pointed look from his professor at the clock in the back of the class. Whatever. He'd tell himself he'd set another alarm or something, though it'd never happen. It didn't matter.

Except that Dr. Rowland was clearly already in a sour mood, leaving him far from forgiving today. He ended up calling Richie in front of the class, which Richie tried to play off with a joke, even though inside he burned hot with embarrassment. If that wasn't bad enough, he then gave the entire class two weeks worth of homework, because he was going to undergo a minor surgery the next week, or something. Or his dog was undergoing surgery? Richie wasn't sure, he was kind of distracted thinking about how the new homework would eat into the time he had allotted to prepare himself for his slot on the student-run radio station.

Normally, he would wing most of what he said, but with all the guidelines on what they could and couldn't say, and the set list of songs he could play, he tried to at least have bullet points crumpled in his front pocket for his air-time every other week.

Shit. It was okay, though, because he would have lunch with Stan after his class like they always did, and Stan always looked over his homework, shaking his head as he sorted it into neat sections for Richie, telling him that it could be worse, that he could be doing a computer science degree like he was, doing math and other horrifying subjects, which always gave Richie a laugh and made him feel much better about whatever speech or essay he'd been assigned.

Except, when Richie got out of his class it was to find that Stan had cancelled today, and Eddie was staying behind to speak to the professor he was helping, and Bev was on the other side of campus, and Mike and Ben were in class… so Richie was alone, terribly grumpy from his rushed morning and catastrophising about homework he refused to start, and knowing he'd be more than able to work on it if Stan was right here, or Eddie was on the phone, even if they weren't talking, because having someone there always helped Richie. He probably had codependency issues, or something, but he never really bothered to look too closely into it; in fact, most days he tried to hide from anything remotely honest about himself.

He wished Eddie would text him, askingdemanding for company while he filed essays or sorted… whatever it was they did in his Human Geography class. But his phone remained painfully silent while his inner monologue made up for the difference in volume tenfold. A thousand thoughts bounced around in his head, only quieted slightly by the thunderous music he turned on, walking grumpily back to his dorm to nap for an hour before his evening class.

The hour passed in a blink of an eye, and Richie felt, if possible, even groggier than before as he trudged to his Audio Engineering class. It's twenty minutes, that's the sweet spot, he heard Eddie's voice admonishing him in his head. Because you fall into REM, Richie, it's a real thing! Twenty minutes is all you need during the day, because when you're sleeping at night you should be getting at least seven hours of sleep. I'm serious— you're whole "four hours and a coffee is all I need" deal is really concerning, Rich!

On and on Doctor K went in Richie's head like a broken record, wearing him down until he finally made it to his class, sharing a knowing look with the girl he had started sitting next to, Emily. They were sort of friends now, Richie was pretty sure. She gave him one glance and huffed in a way that was somehow both condensing and sympathetic.

"Mid-semester slump already? You're a little early, Tozier."

"Have to be early to something, can't always be the last one in a room," he retorted with a tired smile. She just shook her head, bemused, and handed him a pen. Richie always forgot he needed one for this class, and she always remembered that he would forget. Emily was his audio engineering angel. He told her as much, and she just rolled her eyes.

"No need to brown-nose, I don't need your boyfriend to jump me."

It didn't matter how many times Richie insisted he and Eddie were just friends— because they were! Amazing friends, actually, and trauma bonded to boot— she never believed him.

"Whatever," Richie said, having long since given up on fighting her about the title and just shooting a glare before he pressed on, "And besides, he's busy today. Just started as a TA, so I haven't heard from him yet."

"You know you can… text him first, right? Especially considering how… long you've known each other."

Richie stilled at that. He knew he could text Eddie. Of course he texted Eddie. He sent him a "Getting coffee, want anything?" or maybe a "Look, it's you," when he walked past the pasta aisle grocery shopping. He texted him "See you in five," when they met up after each other's classes, and sometimes "Good morning" well past noon when he knew it would piss him off.

But… wanting to talk to Eddie, or calling him just because? That was— he just didn't do that. Eddie wanted to often enough, and they talked a lot because of that. If he needed Richie, he'd just say so. Why would Richie text him? He said something along those lines, and Emily's jaw dropped practically to the floor.

"So he doesn't care about when you need anything?" she asked, unable to keep an accusatory edge from creeping into her tone.

"No, no! It's nothing like that," Richie rushed to reassure her. "It's just— we talk all the time anyway. I don't need to text him over every little thing."

"…But you love when he does that with you?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course I do," Richie responded, well-aware where this conversation was going and not liking a single second of it.

Their professor was pretty chill, she had already assigned next week's work and was just demonstrating it— she also sent a pre-recorded instructional video that Richie would review later. She didn't care whether they talked or listened or both— she just got paid to teach, she said, not babysit. Which usually was a blessing but today meant that Richie had no easy escape from… this.

"Right," Emily went on, slowly, as if introducing a complicated topic to a child for the first time. "So, if Eddie is as good of a friend as you say he is—"

"He is," Richie interrupted.

"Sure. So, if he is, he won't care if you message him about your shitty day. Or call him just because. That's… that's what friends are for. You clearly know that, dude. Why wouldn't it apply to you?"

Why wouldn't it apply to him?

He called Stan all the time when he was bored, bothered Mike or Bill when he was stressed. He was always blowing Bev's phone to gossip or complain, or showed up at Ben's to do homework together. And he did call Eddie sometimes, he certainly swung by his apartment all the time unannounced, but when he needed Eds, really craved support or an open ear, well most of the time that was when he withdrew. He pulled away, because he worried he'd be too much, dump too much on his friend, or smother him when he got in one of his moods, or he'd be too needy and Eddie would know. He'd know exactly how Richie felt about him, had always felt about him, and it would ruin their friendship. Not that he could give Emily the satisfaction of that answer.

"Dunno, whassa chap like me to do? Can't run about making assumptions and the like, can I lassie? No ma'am, not at all," he insisted, really laying his British Voice on thick, laughing as she cringed at the inaccuracies.

Something else of note about Emily? She was a foreign exchange student from England.

"God, I hate when you try and do the British guy. I don't sound like that!" she protested, nose scrunching and accusations fading from her mind exactly the way Richie had hoped they would.

"Well, there's accents all over Britain, aint there? Never said I was cop'in you now, eh? 'S pretty conceited, lassie."

Emily groaned around a muffled laugh, and that was that. But for the rest of the day in the back of Richie's mind came the whisper: Why wouldn't it apply to you?

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Richie's day got, if possible, only worse from there. Spilt coffee after his classes left his laptop keys sticky, and his dead headphones meant about half of his brainpower was wasted just trying to stay focused. Who knew your own mind could be so damn exhausting?

He ended up spending almost half an hour in the shower to make up for his crappy day, humming tiredly under his breath and letting the steam make him borderline dizzy as he tried to wash off all the sticky coffee and stickier thoughts that Emily had dredged up from the dark, cobwebbed parts of Richie's mess of a brain that he usually tried his best to hide with a curtain and a smile.

Why wouldn't it apply to him?

Why wouldn't it apply to him?

Eddie had so much going on in his own life— actually shitty parents, actually stressful jobs, the kind of classes you needed to pay attention in, not just show up to. Real-world problems, not the type of bullshit Richie went through because he was in his twenties and still didn't know how to have his life together.

Why should Richie bother him? What reason did he have that could justify demanding his friend's presence?

Your best friend, his brain supplied unhelpfully. That voice sounded awfully like Emily's, somehow. You shouldn't need a reason. You don't need one; you're just being a coward for no reason.

All he really wanted was Eddie here with him, in his dorm, on his bed shooting Richie annoyed glares and turning away where he thought he could actually hide his poorly suppressed grins. Richie felt so stupid, because Eddie did care about him, and probably would come over if he asked. He just had to ask, which was, of course, the hard part. Richie wished, unrealistic as it was, that Eddie would just know, that he would materialize in Richie's dorm and sit with him, hold him, without Richie ever having to open his dumb mouth to spit out anything even remotely vulnerable.

Turning the shower off and not even bothering to wipe his fogged up mirror to see what was likely a haggard reflection, Richie just brushed his teeth with downcast eyes and slipped on his pajamas as he prepared for a night of doomscrolling until he couldn't keep his eyes open.

He hated feeling so sorry for himself, but he'd allow himself this one bad day and slap the mask back on tomorrow. Scratch that— he'd fucking actually enjoy tomorrow if it killed him. Or, at least he'd be productive. Whatever. Anything was better than whatever today had been.

When he finally crashed on his bed, digging his phone out of the tangled sheets he'd thrown them on before his shower, he saw he had three missed calls from Eddie. Shit.

Scrambling to plug his phone in— it was at 20% battery— he pressed the notification and waited with held breath as the call started to go through. It only rang once before being declined.

Confused, Richie told himself not to worry. The call had hung up so quickly, it must have been a failed dial. That was all. Trying again, he thought he heard a familiar ringtone in his hallway, but then Eddie's voice crackled through his phone, distracting him.

"Open the door, Rich."

"Wha—" Richie started, but Eddie's commanding tone always had an irresistible effect on him, and he found himself already on his feet, hand on the doorknob.

"I said open the door, asswipe" a very annoyed, flushed, Eddie Kaspbrack said into his phone, standing with one arm waving wildly in Richie's doorway.

"Well, sir, yes sir," Richie replied, and the echo their proximity caused both of their speakers to spit out was ear splitting. Hanging up with a huff, Eddie walked straight into Richie's apartment without an invitation, as was long since custom for both of them to do with the other by now, staying standing by Richie's bed. Normally he'd plop himself right on Richie's bed or a his desk— he was pissed. Or annoyed, maybe? Actually, he almost look worried. What for? Maybe something went wrong with his first day of his job.

Running his hands through still-wet hair, Richie shot Eddie a concerned glance.

"Eddie my love, what's wrong? Sorry I missed your calls, I was showering. Did everything go okay with the TA job?"

"Did— yes, Richie it was fine. Are you okay? You didn't answer my calls, which is fine, sometimes you're busy I know that, but I didn't hear from you all day either. And that girl from your class, I ran into her earlier and she said you were stressed? That'd you'd had a bad day and you were exhausted. I don't know— it's not like you have to tell me when you're having a shit time, just, I always come to you when I need comfort so I guess I thought— " Eddie was speaking quickly, words tumbling out of him like rocks down a landslide, and at the last sentence his eyes widened impossibly large. He shook his head as if to dislodge the thought before pushing on. "Whatever, it's not about me, I'm here to check on you. You're hair's all wet." That last sentence he added almost as an afterthought, displeased but not exactly accusatory. Just… noticing.

Eddie did that a lot, taking note of everyone's allergies, what they all needed when the losers went out— Bev always asked for hair ties, Mike always wanted gum, you know— and he kept all of that information for later use.

It was a comforting familiarity as Richie struggled to process what his friend was saying.

"You're… checking up on me?"

"Yes, dickwad, I'm trying to. You're wet and you look exhausted."

"You guess you thought what?"

"Huh?" Eddie asked, clearly all huffed and puffed out as he collapsed and sat on the edge of Richie's bed. "What are you talking about, Rich?"

"You said you always come to me when you need comfort and you guess you thought…" Richie trailed off, hoping Eddie would fill in the blank. Eds, for his part, who was already flushed when he barged in, now sported cheeks and ears that were flushed an adorable deep maroon.

"It doesn't matter," he mumbled, somehow managing to make even that soundaggressivee, even though he was clearly embarrassed.

"No, come on Spaghetti, tell me. It's clearly bothering you."

"I'm here for you, moron," Eddie started. He sighed, looking at Richie in way that he couldn't quite explain but that made him want to kiss the small, exasperated boy before him. "I guess I just… feel like I can always tell you when something is bothering me. And I know you're not as vocal about it when you get upset! But I thought if you were… and you were going to tell anyone… it'd be me? Whatever, I'm being stupid, and also selfish. This is about—"

"I wanted to call you all day," Richie confessed, his own insecurities forgotten as he took in Eddie's confession. He had spent all day fighting the urge to reach out to his best friend only to find out that… Eddie wanted Richie to come to him when he felt like shit. "I thought— you had your new job, and I was kind of a mess. It was, like, The Bad Day of All Bad Days. I wasn't going to be any fun." He yelped as Eddie smacked his arm.

"What was that for!"

"You don't have to be fun, Rich. I wasn't fun last night when I had a freakout over lesson plans, was I? But you stayed on the phone."

Richie found it hard for speak, an odd lump forming in his throat at Eddie's aggressive affection. He nodded, swallowing before he continued.

"I was a total dumbass. Emily— she told me to talk to you. I don't know why I didn't."

"I know you feel like you have to be, like, perpetually okay or something but I actually care about you regardless, so. I'm not some douche bag that only wants to be friends with Happy Richie."

Richie and Eddie— they didn't say those kinds of things directly, not very often anyway. Sure, they hung out all the time and fell asleep on the phone and had been through hell and back together, but verbal affirmation? It wasn't exactly their thing. It took Richie by surprise, but he was embarrassingly grateful for it. He didn't realize it was exactly what he needed until Eddie gave it to him, and he felt warmed all over.

"Eddie," he said, voice far softer than he'd usually allow it to get, gentle fondness seeping through every word as he reached out to ruffle Eddie's hair in a way he hated, "I know you're not."

Eddie, for his part, didn't protest Richie's hand in his hair. Instead, he sighed, clearly gearing up to make a point. "Does it— do I annoy you when I call all the time?"

"No! No, I love it. I love talking to you. Topic doesn't matter as long as my spaghetti's on the line," he couldn't help himself from adding with a lopsided grin.

Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. "Good," he said, "because I feel the same way. Just let me be a good friend and call me when you need me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Richie agreed. "Thanks, Eds."

"Don't call me that," Eddie insisted, "And don't thank me. Jesus, that's what I'm for."

Richie knew he was hearing it wrong, knew Eddie meant that's what friends are for, and that he was forming a deeper meaning where there was none, but God if that's what I'm for didn't do something violent to his chest, constricting his heart with an almost painful wave of affection. It sounded an awful lot like I was made for you which was, of course, exactly how Richie felt. He was custom built for Eddie Kaspbrack, but he knew this wasn't Eddie saying he was the same. Richie couldn't bring himself to care though, not tonight when Eddie was here with him, being one of the best friends Richie could ask for.

When Eddie pulled him into his side, allowing them both to lean against Richie's headboard as Richie lamented his unfair professor, and his laptop, and everything else that had gone wrong that day, he decided that the shitstorm of a day he'd had was worth it, if it meant that right now he could lay his head on Eddie's shoulder, and know that tomorrow they could sit together again, whether with their shoulders pressed together or talking through their phone. All Richie had to do was call. And he would.

If Richie and Eddie had been inseparable before Richie's disaster of a day two weeks ago, well, now they were much worse. It was like after their conversation (or as Richie thought of it, Eddie's loving ambush) a damn had broken, pulling out all of his inhibitions. Richie called Eddie constantly. When he was driving to the store at night and didn't want to be alone, while he waited for his laundry to dry, basically any time he got the urge to. Eddie, for his part, would usually answer with a huff and a "Yes, Richie?" or a "What did you do now?" like he hadn't just sent five texts in a row or called Richie after an afternoon run.

They still had their regular hangouts with all of the Losers. Richie still met with Stan for their lunches three days a week, and Eddie still worked out with Bill and Mike far too early in the mornings to be considered sane whenever their schedules aligned, but when they were left to their own devices? Richie constantly had his phone in hand, smiling like a fool as he sent Eddie pictures of weird graffiti in the bathrooms or dumb comments about his classes. When they weren't texting, they'd often get together, driving for food and eating at the park or seeing some movie in theaters or just being general menaces to campus society.

That was why, when Richie put his phone away outside of his Audio Engineering class, Emily just rolled her eyes.

"You're always on your phone now. I'm glad you're not acting constipated around Eddie anymore, but gosh, give your boyfriend a second to breathe."

Emily, bless her well-intentioned soul, had never actually met Eddie. Which meant she didn't see him barrelling down the hallway toward them. Richie opened his mouth uselessly; a sort of strained voice made it's way out before he closed it and tried again.

"Hey, Eds, this is my classmate Emily," he eventually let out. Hos words were strangled and when he turned to Emily he shot her a look that fell somewhere between Kill me now please and I'm going to strangle you. "Emily, this is Eds," he continued.

For her part, Emily shot him an apologetic look before turning around. "Oh, hi! You're Richie's friend. He and I go to class together, obviously. Nice to meet you, Eddie."

She had chosen the ignore it route, okay, that was fine. Richie could do that, even if, going off Eddie's face right now, he had most definitely heard her earlier comment.

"Uh, yeah. Hi, Emily. Great to meet you."

Richie studied Eddie's face carefully. He wasn't sure what he saw there. His cheeks were a dark red, and he was surprised, obviously, but he didn't seem… mad? He knew Richie was gay, Emily was just teasing him. But would he be upset by her implying the same about him? Richie tried not to think about what that might mean. Eddie had been nothing but supportive since Richie came out, and he'd never been the type to harp on and stress his own heterosexuality like most straight guys did, but… what if he was uncomfortable?

There was also the matter of Eddie not being an idiot, what if he figured out Richie liked him, and that he was pathetic and obvious enough about it that even his classmate he only saw twice a week knew about it?

That possibly started seeming more and more likely as Eddie and Emily made light conversation beside him. He nodded and laughed when he was supposed to, but if someone were to press a pause button and ask Richie for a recap, he'd be useless. Their chatter droned in the back of his mind like white noise while he catastrophized, running through worst-case scenarios at a rate that would make an average person dizzy.

"— better get going. Yeah, it was great meeting you! We'll do that sometime for sure."

Richie heard the tail end of Eddie's goodbye and suddenly his arm was being grabbed, brining him back to the present and dragging him down the hall. Emily waved and mouthed "Sorry!" behind them both.

"Chatty classmate," Eddie commented as they walked away. His arm was still on Richie's bicep.

"Uh huh."

"She's nice, though, I see why you two get along."

"Oh, she's great." Richie agreed, and as much as he was worrying about her comment, he meant it. He loved Emily, even if he wanted to strangle her. That must be how Eds feels about me half the time, he thought dryly.

"Okay, this is stupid," Eddie said when they finally got in Richie's car. "I thought we got past this, what's bothering you?"

"Huh? Nothing's bothering me, S'pagheds. Nae, 'sa perfectly sunny day ae'nit?" His Scottish Voice was, all things considered, awful, but it was also his newest one; he was working on it.

Eddie didn't even bat an eye at the accent. A beat passed and something crossed his face Richie couldn't quite place.

"Is it cause of the boyfriends comment? Because you know I—"

"When she—"

They started at the same time and froze. Richie was, naturally, the first to break, bursting into laughter with Eddie following not long after.

"Pardon me, pardon me, good sir. Please, enter stage right." Richie prattled on.

"Oh my God, beep beep," Eddie said, though he was still smiling. "Look, I know you. If you're worried about your friend calling us boyfriends, don't be. I don't care, so unless it bothers you…" he trailed off.

"You… don't care?" Richie asked.

"No? Why would I?"

Richie felt everything in him exhale at Eddie's words even as he insisted, "She's kind of calling you gay. You know that right?"

The look that Eddie shot him in that moment was incredulous at best. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and, after opening them on his exhale, went, "I'm kind of gay, asswipe!"

"What? Kind of— Are you bisexual or something?"

"That's what you're focusing on right now, really?"

"Right, right, sorry. Thanks for telling me, Spaghetti, really."

"Whatever. I thought it was kind of obvious until two minutes ago when you started treating me like I was a homophobe."

"Hey, I'm sorry. That wasn't about you. I still get— you know, after Bowers, and—"

Eddie's eyes softened at that, and he sighed softly. "No, I know. It's okay."

They sat in the car in a comfortable silence for a minute as an understanding passed between them. There wasn't anything either of them had to say, really. Richie had come out their freshman year, drunk as all hell in Bill's room, and now, he supposed, this was Eddie's turn.

Never one to let an emotional moment linger, Richie waggled his eyebrows, sporting a teasing grin. "You don't actually have to answer, but are you bi, or….?"

"Dickwad. No, I just like guys I'm pretty sure."

"Cool. I mean, me too."

Eddie looked at Richie like he'd grown a second head. Which was fair enough, considering how awkard he'd managed this whole thing. He and Eddie rarely had moments like these, vulnerable and open, and he was just making it worse and worse every time he opened his mouth.

"I know," Eddie said, an odd twitch in the corner of his mouth. He looked very confused, and a little bit like he was trying not to laugh.

"Oh my god," Richie replied, dropping his head on the steering wheel with a groan. "Can we just start over? This is so bad. I am bombing this so badly."

"Nope," Eddie laughed, "You're stuck with this shitty response to my coming out. Forever and ever. So you'd better come out of that little shell over there, Trashmouth."

Richie laughed too, so hard his eyes started to water, and just like that, the tension melted away again, and they were two best friends sitting in a car going nowhere, feeling slightly closer to each other than they had just a minute ago.

"No, no, I'm going to wipe your brain," Richie said, finally sitting up and reversing out of the parking lot. "Men in Black style, I'll wear a suit and everything."

"Where are you going to find a suit?" Eddie teased.

Richie paused, pretending to consider his answer. "I'd steal one from Mike. I think he's the closest to my size."

"Oh, sweet lord above," Eddie groaned. "I have to warn him now."

Cackling, Richie shook his head. "Nope, it's too late. Accept your fate."

It didn't take long for them to get their favorite spot on the edge of campus, a small cafe that doubled as a board game store.

It was dimly lit with an assortment of unique lamps and string lights, and the exposed brick walls gave it a very comforting feeling. A few students sat around a table in the back playing Magic the Gathering, and one mom sat with her son by the window at the front, but besides that it was empty. On quiet afternoons like these, the space felt like theirs and theirs alone.

Eddie pointed to the bathroom and walked off. Richie didn't bother to ask him what he wanted; both he and the baristas had Eddie's order memorized by now.

When Eddie came out to see Richie reaching for both of their drinks at the counter, clearly already paid for, he opened his mouth as if to protest. Something must have changed his mind, though, because today he let it be, pressing his lips together to stifle whatever he had been about to say.

"Thanks, man," he landed on, taking his lavender matcha with satisfied hum. "What did they give you?" They walked to their spot by the wall, old leather couches swallowing them as they sat down together.

Richie turned his cup around to get a look at the label as he took a sip. "Looks like a caramel mocha. Good stuff." He let Eddie take it from him and try it for himself, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he was the only person Eddie ever shared food or drinks with. And also that Eddie was gay, and they were in a cafe, with drinks Richie had paid for, on what any reasonable outsider would see as a date. He was not thinking about that in the slightest, thank you very much.

Eddie, seemingly unbothered by Richie's inner turmoil, scrunched his nose as took a sip. "This drink could be good with like, maybe, half the amount in syrup in here. It's a heart attack waiting to happen."

Richie took it back with a smirk. "I drink what they give me and don't ask questions, you know that." It was true. The baristas in there knew both Richie and Eddie by now, and always had a surprise drink ready for Richie. He loved letting them try out new flavors on him, or hearing that they'd been waiting all week for his thoughts on a syrup combo they made up. He made a mental note to remember the combination for later, thinking that Mike would really like it.

It was almost painful how normal the rest of their hangout was. All Richie could do was second-guess everything he had previously dismissed as solely platonic. How had he not realized Eddie liked guys? He wasn't stupid, he knew that didn't guarantee Eddie liked him, but…

But Eddie's ankle had been resting comfortably against his for the better part of the past hour, and when Richie got up to throw away their drinks, leaning down to ruffle Eddie's hair, Eddie grabbed his wrist as he batted Richie's hand away. His fingers curled loosely around Richie's pulse point and he hoped his racing heartbeat wasn't too obvious. When they left, Eddie held the door open for him, and though he bickered with Richie the entire time Richie smoked, bemoaning the dangers of it, he also sat with him outside regardless, shoulders pressed together the way they always were.

"Do the others know?" Richie asked as he stubbed out his smoke on the bottom of his shoe. He didn't have to clarify.

Eddie knocked their shoulders together as he hummed thoughtfully. "Ben, probably. I told Stan, and Mike."

"Okay. I won't mention anything around Bev and Mike."

"You can. I was kind of hoping everyone would…"

"Just know?" Richie supplied. Once, everyone knowing how he really felt was his worst nightmare. He worked hard to keep his sexuality hidden. But once he learned how accepting his friends could be, well, coming out intentionally was another hassle. Though he knew it wouldn't actually be ideal, Richie sometimes used to wish his friends would just assume, that they'd wake up one day asking him about guys instead of girls.

"Exactly," Eddie said with a weak laugh. "But that didn't, uh, happen, obviously. I'll just be less vague about it now I guess. Mentioning it once or twice might help." So Eds didn't want a big coming out. It made sense; it wasn't really his style. It had been Richie's, but only because he was a rip the bandage off, tell everyone right away no matter how horrifying it is kind of guy. It made sense Eddie would prefer subtlety.

Richie laughed. "It might, yeah."

"Whatever," Eddie said, trying so hard to glare as a smile broke out across his face. "Shut up."

"Sir yes sir," Richie called back, already walking backwards to his car. He saluted, and Eddie flipped him off. Richie lowered the hand by his temple and turned it into a middle finger to match Eddie's, letting out a loud whoop as he unlocked his car.

"I hate you," Eddie stated as he got in the passenger's seat.

"Aw, Eds, I love you too," Richie replied. It was the same response he usually gave, but this time he was brave enough to really look at Eddie's reaction instead of … well, he actually looked flushed, eyes wide and pointedly turned out the window, away from Richie.

Was he blushing? Did Richie make him blush? His world was kind of tilting on it's axis as he drove them back to their dorms. He'd been crushing on Eddie for his entire childhood, and he'd let himself hold onto hope for too long, eventually crushing it in his persistent grip. Of course, there had been times… but then something would happen, Eddie would say something in a gentle reminder they were just friends, or someone would make a few too many observant comments and he'd wilt into himself again, willing himself to forget his feelings, or outgrow them, or later, when he realized both were impossible, to just ignore the constant, aching love he felt for Eddie Kaspbrack. He thought, suddenly, that he might throw up if he didn't get to his apartment soon to process everything alone.

Usually, he found himself wishing their drives home took longer, so they'd have more time together, but when pulled into the campus parking lot it was all he could do to keep from sighing in relief. Richie listened to Eddie go on and on about some movie he wanted them to watch together, nodding and trying to ignore the tiny voice in his head that was screaming Date!! That sounds like a date!! because they always watched films together, in theaters or curled up in one of their beds, and admitting that it was date-like behavior meant admitting a lot of other things Richie wasn't sure he was ready to yet.

Stan's voice rang in his mind, accusatory and dry. I told you it might not be as hopeless as you thought, he said. That bastard. Richie was going to have a long, probably partially incoherent conversation with his best friend tomorrow. Tonight, though, he was going to run through every interaction he'd ever had with Eddie on a loop in his mind and try not to give himself an aneurysm.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"I told you to at least consider it," Stan was saying on the phone. His tone had a half exasperated, half smug edge to it that he delivered with ease after years of practice.

"I can't even get mad at you for not telling me, because that would be a horrible violation of his privacy," Richie went on. He'd been on the phone with Stan for about half an hour in full crisis mode, and didn't seem to be on track to winding down anytime soon.

"Yes, Richie, it would be," Stan replied calmly. "Can you two please just kiss and confess already? We're kind of done with all the pining."

"You're done with it? How do you think I— wait," Richie stopped, realized what Stan had just said. He heard a muffled "Shit," on the other end of the line. 

"What do you mean we, Stan?" 

"Uh, slip of the tongue?" Stan offered, though it sounded more like a suggestion than an answer.

"Slip of my ass. It's Bev isn't it. I knew I never should have let her in on my crush—"

"Hey, hey, to be fair it was kind of obvious whether you said anything or not."

"Not helpful, thank you," Richie growled. 

"Look, have you tried some flirting? And then basic communication?"

"I—"

"Actual flirting, Richie, not whatever exaggerated jokester shit you've been hiding behind for years."

"How you wound me, Manley."

"Exhibit A."

Richie closed his eyes, adjusted his glasses. He let out a sigh that held years of pent up frustration, and then, and only then, did he let himself agree with the man who'd been putting up with his crap for the better half of an hour.

"Okay, yeah sure. Fine, whatever. I'll— I'll try. If he runs for the hills, I'm blaming you."

"But if he doesn't, you better be thanking my ass," Stanley countered. "I'm talking bird books, free coffee, some boot licking isn't off the table, give them a nice shine—"

"Thank you, Stan," Richie interrupted him pointedly. "Not happening."

"Bye, Richie, and good luck."

"Ugh, I hate you," Richie lamented. His voice softened as he repeated himself, with sincerity this time. "Thanks, Stan. Bye bye."

The line disconnected and Richie threw his phone across his room, watching as it sunk into his bed sheets. Sighing, he moved to his desk chair and spun around in circles, tilting his head back as he oscillated back and forth. 

He'd only just say down when his phone buzzed, once and then a second time before finally falling silent. Groaning, he scooted his chair forward awkwardly until he was at the foot of his bed, crawling onto it and laying on his back, holding his phone above himself as he read his most recent text. 

Eddie my love

Rich

Richie

Yes, my love?

Richie watched the typing bubble appear on his screen, and then disappear. His heart dropped to his stomach for a second until Eddie started typing again.

Eddie my love

Dumbass

What are you up to

Instinctively, Richie started typing out a joke. You're mother, but she needed a brake so— he sighed, imagining Stan's disappointed head shake as he tried for something more genuine.

nothing much for once

i was missing you actually 

Eddie my love

Hm…

?

Eddie my love

Come over then??

What are you doing missing me when you're barely a building away.

Richie didn't even bother with typing out full sentences, he just sent two saluting emojis and started a voice message to Stan as he scrambled to put his shoes on.

"Stanley the Manley Uris," he said, hopping around on one foot as he looked for his second shoe, "I would marry you if I didn't have hopes to be a taken man soon. I am going to hang out with Eddie and if you never hear from me again I've either exploded from fear, embarrassment or unbearable joy. I love you." With his shoes on, Richie left what he knew was an annoyingly long pause in his message as he ran his fingers through his hair, scrunching it at its base in what he felt was a hopeless attempt to give it volume. Eventually he decided it was good enough and he made a loud, smacking kiss sound into his receiver. 

"I'm going to kill myself. Tell Bev she can have my CD collection. Bye."

He barely pressed send before shoving his phone in the back pocket of his jeans and running across the hall to the elevator. Eds was right, he was only in the building across from them, so he decided to just jog there, not wanting to bother with getting in the car and finding parking.

When he finally arrived at Eddie's door, flushed and slightly breathless, he raised his fist to knock. Then he remembered that day that had brought them so much closer together, Richie opening his own door, phone still in hand but long forgotten. 

He pulled it out now, dialing Eddie's number.

"Yes?" Eddie's voice rang out. "Don't tell me you got lost."

"Open your door," Richie demanded. A beat passed, but eventually he heard footsteps, and then Eddie was standing before him, talking into his phone but making direct eye contact with Richie. 

"You absolute dumbass, oh my god. Did you run here?"

Richie cringed at the loud crackle, hanging up his phone and smirking at Eddie. 

"It was more of a brisk jog. Nice day and all that."

"Absolutely pleasant, I'm sure," Eddie deadpanned, but he was already heading back into his room and collapsing on his bed. Richie climbed in next to him, pausing mid-wriggle to kick his shoes off.

Eddie let out a scoff. "Really, dickwad? You couldn't have taken them off at the door?"

Richie just shook his head. "God forbid I wanted to sit after coming all this way," he said with a grin.

Eddie fought to keep a straight face, and failed. "All this way, right. That's, what, less than a block of walking? Careful there, wouldn't want to overexert yourself."

"Exactly!" Richie agreed, even though the statement had been dripping in sarcasm, "Thank you, Eds."

Eddie just sighed, rolling his eyes.

"You're so cute when you get all huffy," Richie blurted out. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to bury himself under Eddie's sheets and never emerge, much less look him in the eye again. What exactly had possessed him to voice the thoughts he usually worked to repress, he wasn't sure.

Richie had said similar variations of the same thing plenty of times before, but never without a teasing lilt in his voice. He froze, anticipating the worst, but Eddie just shook his head disbelievingly and repositioned himself to get more comfortable, leaving both of them a few inches closer to each other, their thighs now pressing together.

"I do not, asswipe," Eddie said. 

"Sure ya do," Richie countered, reaching over to punch Eddie's cheeks. 

Swatting him away, Eddie reached for his remote, scrolling through their extensive watch list for the movie he'd been talking about that they apparently needed to see together. He was very clearly avoiding Richie's gaze, but rather than disgusted or repulsed like Richie had so often feared, he seemed… flustered? 

Finally pressing play on the film, Eddie got comfortable, leaning his head on Richie's shoulder. Richie should be used to this by now, it was normal night-in behavior for them, but all he could think was We are acting like such a couple right now. God, I want to kiss him.

He hadn't even realized when his hands found the hem of Eddie's sleeve, twisting it absentmindedly while they watched the film. He just focused better when part of him was doing something else— it quieted the overactive part of his brain, leaving him with just enough energy left for a normal task. Eddie stilled, and then leaned closer into him. Neither of them acknowledged it, but Richie thought he could feel Eddie's smile where he pressed against his shoulder.

Emboldened by his acceptance, Richie used Eddie's sweater sleeve to lift his arm, dropping it into his own lap for better access. 

"Better, is it?" Eddie asked.

Richie felt his face flush, sure it was an embarrassing shade of red. His throat closed up, and, not trusting his own voice, he let out a content, "Mhm," instead. 

"Okay," Eddie said, like it was simple. Richie supposed it was. "Good."

They kept watching, Richie making the occasional comment or joke, until suddenly Eddie sat up. He straightened himself, pulling away from Richie's shoulder in the process as he turned to look right at his best friend. Knowing him well enough to know there was something on his mind, Richie paused the movie.

"You alright, Spaghetti? I hope you're not bored already, you're the one that picked—"

"Shut up," Eddie said, and though it carried his usual sharp tone, Richie thought he felt an undercurrent of nerves to his voice. He watched as Eddie swallowed, eyes darting all over Richie's face. "I have to tell you something, and it's important and I'm really fucking nervous, so just… shut up, please."

"Shutting up," Richie agreed, scooting so he was sitting up straighter too, criss-cross by Eddie. Their knees knocked and Richie bumped him gently with what he hoped was an understanding look on his face. "You can tell me anything, Eds. Always."

Eddie's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Yeah, okay. I know, and, I appreciate that, but that just makes this so much harder. I think— Well, you might feel the same way, I really really think you might but I actually don't know, like, there are no fucking statistics for this, I mean there are but they're not reliable and anyway this is much more real than numbers on a page and I just don't want to lose you, like, in any way ever, so I'm terrified and—"

"Hey," Richie gently interrupted him, trying to prevent what he knew was about to be a full on Kaspbrack Spiral. "Hey," he repeated, putting his hand on Eddie's shoulder, letting his fingers curl just around the base of his neck, always so careful with his touch. He forced Eddie's big, worried, brown eyes to meet his, wanting him to know just how much he meant what he was about to say. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm staying right here, until the end of time if that's what you need, though hopefully you'll have said what you need to by then."

Eddie, who had inhaled sharply as soon as Richie's hand had landed on him, exhaled with a sharp laugh, shaking his head, "You, Richie Tozier, are the world's biggest idiot." Then, in the same breath, eyes locked directly with Richie's blue ones, he said the words that took the apartment and flipped it upside down, a full 180 leaving poor Richie to scramble in its wake.

"I love you."

What?

"What?" was all Richie could get himself to choke out. "You— huh?"

"Oh my god, there's no way I spent all night psyching myself up to say that for you to ask me to repeat myself, you fucking dickwad. You shit. I love you."

I love you.

Edward fucking Kaspbrack, Eds, Eddie, Spaghetti, light of Richie's life since he could fucking walk, basically, loved him.

Richie's eyes forcibly blinked into focus, and he saw Eddie before him, his own hand still wrapped around his neck, Eddie's hand resting hesitantly on Richie's arm between them.

"You… wow," he managed to let out under his breath. He felt a grin split across his face, felt his hand shift so it cupped all the way around Eddie's neck, any pretense of a friendly shoulder-grab dissipating on the spot. He pulled Eddie in closer, just half an inch or so, and looked at the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the anxious tugging at his lips, felt the way his nails were digging painfully into Richie's arm. He was nervous.

Eddie was nervous. As if a single universe existed where Richard Tozier didn't love Eddie Kaspbrack. Yet here he was, doubting that. Richie decided that had to be fixed. Soon, preferably.

"Oh, Eddie. I was never teasing when I called you my love," he confessed, smiling softly like a damned fool. "I was just waiting for you to let me mean it."

"Jesus, you fucking sap," Eddie muttered. The words had hardly left his mouth before he grabbed a fistful of Richie's shirt, pressing their lips together hungrily. Eddie kissed like he spoke— forcefully, with the determined air of someone who knew what they believed in and wouldn't let go of it without a fight.

Richie practically melted into it, into him. He tried to be oh so careful not to loose himself to the kiss before he knew what Eddie's boundaries were, until Eddie's tongue pressed demandingly at the seam of his lips. His mouth fell open instantly, inviting him in and exploring Eddie's lips with his own tongue. He'd barely let his teeth scrape the bottom lip before Eddie's hands were in his hair and tugging insistingly, demanding more.

Breathing a little harder than he'd prefer to admit, Richie reluctantly pulled away. Now that he knew what it felt like, he loved kissing Eddie, and given the chance, he'd do so forever, but not until they finished their conversation. Eddie let out a sound that was insanely and unfairly attractive, a mix between a whine and a growl, and Richie tried to ignore the way it went straight to his dick. He would bottle that sound if he could, record it to play on loop for hours, but not before he pressed another soft, quick kiss to the corner of Eddie's mouth.

"I love you," he said there, into the edge of those lips he'd wanted for so long, the lips that Richie could feel fighting not to curl into a smile under his own.

"I'd sure hope so, after that," Eddie replied, but he was a little breathless and his eyes were sort of wide.

"Cannnnn you say it again?" Richie asked. Eddie paused, feigning innocence.

"Say what again?"

"Eds, please," Richie asked, leaning forward to tuck his head on Eddie's shoulder like a puppy, turning to mumble against his Adam's apple, "Wanna hear you say it again."

He couldn't fight the pride that shot through him when Eddie shuddered under him, mumbling something about him having an "unfair advantage acting all hot," that Richie was absolutely going to look into later, before leaning his head against Richie's mop of hair and—

"I love you, Richie."

Richie pulled pack, grinning from ear to ear, head cocked to side in his overwhelming affection. He danced a little while seated, wriggling happily as he demanded, "Again. Please?"

His request was punctuated with a kiss right under the crease of Eddie's eye, and how could he refuse that?

Saying it slowly, trying to fill the phrase with his adoration, Eddie let his fingers fall back into Richie's hair and tugged lightly to emphasize each word. "Richie Trashmouth Tozier, I have loved you since before Stan gave you that fucking nickname."

A laugh bubbled out of Richie at that, and he dipped down to kiss the junction of Eddie's neck and chest. "I've loved you since you yelled at me for bringing snails into the classroom in second grade."

"Because that was gross, and unsanitary," Eddie huffed.

Richie kissed him again, going for his cheek until Eddie turned to meet his lips.

"I love you, Rich," he said again. Richie's chest felt warm, and if it expanded anymore he thought he might combust. Putting both of his hands on Eddie's chest, Richie pushed himself away, shaking his head insistently.

"Stop, stop you're gonna kill me Eds. I'm going to explode; it'll be on the news. Local college student found dead after being too gay made him combust on the spot." Richie said it with his game show host Voice, delighting in the laugh it got out of Eddie.

"You idiot. You asked me to say it."

"Mhm, yup. Sure did," Richie agreed. "I've made my bed, now I have to explode in it." As he spoke, he leaned back so he was slouching on the headrest again, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him.

"That's not how the saying go- Oh!" Eddie started, but as he spoke Richie curled an arm around his waist, pulling him onto a heap half on top of him in the bed. "If you wanted to cuddle, you could have just asked. Jesus Christ."

"I could have," Richie agreed, "But that was way more entertaining."

"I hate you," Eddie shot back, the sharp edge to his words only slightly overshadowed by the fact that he was slipping one of his legs between Richie's, fitting his head under one of his arms that had been raised invitingly.

Reaching over Eddie, Richie grabbed for the remote, kissing the top of Eddie's head as he pressed play so they could finish their movie.

"I love you too," he said, and the grin that broke out on his face stayed firmly planted there for the rest of the night, only easing when they eventually fell asleep, tangled together like they used to be in Ben's hammock all those years ago. The only difference was that now, they didn't have find excuses to touch each other.