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Richie is unexpectedly nervous as he walks into his apartment.
“Here it is,” he says, flinging an arm out. “Me casa es your casa.”
“I don’t think that’s how you say it,” Eddie says. He immediately places their suitcases on the ground - he’d carried all of them, since Richie is still recovering from getting stabbed. He insisted on it, but he also bitched about it the whole way from the airport.
It’s music to Richie’s ears. Not that he’s gonna tell Eddie that.
Eddie keeps looking around, walking around the lounge, not saying anything. Richie pockets his hands and waits.
“It’s roomy,” Eddie says finally.
Well, that’s something.
“Yep,” Richie says. “I got it ‘cause it looked like all those apartments people had in movies growing up. You know, the big city apartment.”
“I can tell,” Eddie says. He walks over to a shelf and picks up a knick-knack, one of those drinking birds. The bird is wearing a KFC sweater. “This is more the kind of thing that I’d expect to find in your apartment. Less, uh-”
He looks around at the room. Richie gets it - he hasn’t put a lot of effort into making his home particularly homey. He has stuff, but most of it is just stuff that people said would look good - expensive, modern paintings, walls painted to match the carpets. Other than the bird, there’s not a lot of stuff around. It’s pretty sparse. It doesn’t have a lot of personality, which Richie has in tons .
“Yeah,” Richie says. “You should’ve seen the place I lived in before this. Lived there all through my twenties. It looked more what like you’re expecting. There was a hole in the roof that we covered with a purple tarp. I miss it sometimes.”
Eddie brightens. “Can I see a picture? Not right now-”
“Sure. Totally.” Richie tries to remember if he has any photos. Maybe on an old phone? He’s kept a few of those in his Big Drawers of Crap. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour of this place. It’s pretty good, even if it doesn’t meet your standards of being Richie-y enough.”
Eddie mouths Richie-y enough, but follows Richie through to the kitchen, then the hallway, where there’s some more rooms and an office. There’s also a piano room, which Richie admits he only got because of, again, a movie. He can’t actually remember what movie at this point.
“Do you play,” Eddie asks, looking very doubtful.
“Nope,” Richie says. “But sometimes I pretend I can.”
“Oh god,” Eddie says. “I can imagine.”
Richie grins. Claps him on the shoulder. “Onwards!”
They don’t spend long in Richie’s bedroom. It’s messy, which Eddie seems to look both comforted and unsettled by in equal measure. As things go, it’s probably the Richie-est room in the house: books stacked haphazardly on the bookshelf, clothes more or less in a cupboard. There’s a shoe hanger, but all the shoes are mismatched and shoved in wherever they fit. The walls have posters, though they’re framed. Glass and everything. Richie’s an adult .
“And this is where the magic happens,” Richie says.
It immediately makes things awkward, even if they both valiantly pretend that it doesn’t. Richie gives Eddie a grace period to look around the room, which he does with a glance, and then Richie claps his hands like that’ll ward off the panic.
“Anyway,” he says. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll hit the guest room. You can pitch your tent there.”
Eddie pauses, but Richie thinks he hears a bit of relief when Eddie says, “Alright.”
We really should’ve talked about the sleeping arrangements before we got here , Richie thinks as he walks them to the next room over. He’d only thought about it as they were heading here from the airport, and by then it felt too late to go hey so are we sleeping in the same bed or what?
“The sheets have been changed,” Richie says, instead of nobody ever sleeps here and the cleaning guy comes in and turns everything down like a hotel room once a month . “Everything’s, uh, clean.”
Eddie gives him a look that Richie can’t figure out. It’s not the first time and Richie assumes it won’t be the last. From what he can remember about growing up - which is a significant amount more than the last 27 years, but still not everything - he spent a hell of a lot of time trying to parse out what each individual thing about Eddie meant. He said a thing, he made an expression, but what did it mean ? What were all the layers underneath?
Don’t turn into a teenager , Richie thinks. Going through that once was bad enough.
“Okay,” Eddie says. “Thanks. I’ll, uh, grab our stuff-”
“I’ll help you out,” Richie says, and when Eddie gives a warning glare: “I’ll carry something light! I-”
They both pause when the front door opens and closes in the lounge.
“Probably my agent,” Richie says, just as his agent, Liam, yells, “Rich, you back yet? You better be back, I’m about to raid your fridge. Want anything?”
“7-up on the rocks,” Richie says as he emerges into the lounge, Eddie in tow.
Liam jumps. “Shit! You are back.”
He comes forwards and goes in for a hug, and three things happen at once:
Liam starts asking about the flight.
Eddie says, “Hey, hold up-”
Richie remembers the stab wound as Liam’s arms come around him. He hisses and jolts back, swearing at the pressure.
Liam steps back as well, but that might be half due to Eddie putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back.
“Careful,” Eddie snaps at him.
Liam blinks. He frowns at Richie, points in Eddie’s direction. “Who’s this guy? And what’s wrong, you hurt?”
“Yeah, I told you last week,” Richie says. He reaches up and ghosts his hand over his shirt where the bandages are wrapped around his chest.
Liam’s eyes go wide. “You - oh fuck, you actually got stabbed ? I thought you were fucking with me!”
“ Why would I fuck with you about getting stabbed?”
“Oh, shit.” Liam covers his mouth, then makes a move like he’s going to touch Richie’s chest and then drops his hand when Eddie says, “Hey,” and slaps it away.
“What about getting stabbed did you not get,” Eddie says. “Don’t play touchy feely with the fucking stab wound! What are you, crazy?”
“I wasn’t gonna touch it touch it,” Liam says. “I just - wait, so that psycho bully who broke out of the mental institution. Don’t tell me that was true.”
“It is,” Richie says. He pulls the neck of his shirt down to flash the bandages. “He stabbed Eddie, too. There’s articles about it. Look it up.”
“Wh…” Liam stares at him. Then he stares at Eddie, looking at the bandage on his cheek with new horror. “What the fuck , Rich? Also, uh, hi. I’m Liam Holt.”
Eddie shakes his hand, but in that way that hints to Richie that he’s gonna get the hand sanitizer out as soon as Liam is out of range. Richie doesn’t think Eddie notices, but he does it more when the touch is with someone he doesn’t like, and so far, Liam hasn’t been raking up the hit points with Eddie.
“Eddie Kasprack,” Eddie says. “I’m, uh. I’m...”
He looks over at Richie like what do I say and Richie has a brief crisis where he remembers he hasn’t come out to anyone outside of the Losers.
“He’s my new roomie,” Richie says.
“Yep,” Eddie says, very fast, and Richie fights down a smile as he gets a sudden flash of memories from when Richie used to drag Eddie into his lies to adults. He has a particularly fond memory of Eddie distracting a teacher as Richie stole a projector from school, Eddie talking a mile a minute in blind panic.
“And, uh.” Richie crosses his arms. Glances over at Eddie with a look he hopes communicates are we telling people?
Eddie looks back at him like he’s waiting for Richie to take the lead. Damn.
“Also we’re - boyfriends. Or something. Partners?” Richie makes a face. “I never liked partners , but boyfriends make us sound like we’re in sixth grade. Thoughts?”
Eddie pauses. He doesn’t look upset that Richie’s said anything, which is good.
“Same, I guess. But - I don’t hate the word boyfriend.”
This fills Richie with butterflies, which is the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to him in ages. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling like an idiot, but it only half works.
“Oh,” he says, trying for casual and probably missing it by a mile. “Cool. Boyfriends, then.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches. If anything, it seems like he’s also fighting a smile, even if his seems more derived from watching Richie act like an idiot.
When Richie looks back to Liam, the guy’s watching them both like he’s trying to find the deeper meaning in a skit.
“Is this a bit,” he asks.
Richie sighs. Why does everyone think that anything important he says is a bit? He - okay, people might have a point. He’ll give them this one. He does do a lot of bits.
“Not a bit,” he says. “I’m, uh. I’m. Gay.”
He holds his breath. Crosses his arms tighter and then purposely loosens them, like that’ll add to the casual-ness of it all. God, he’s bombing at this.
Liam says, “What, really?”
“Yeah.”
Liam steeples his fingers and presses them into his forehead. “Don’t fuck with me, Richie. Really- ”
“I wouldn’t fuck with you about this, okay, I really got stabbed and I’m really , actually, truly gay.”
Liam stares. His mouth opens and closes, and then he lets out a laugh. It’s not a bad laugh, though, just a little incredulous.
“Okay,” he says. He blows out a breath. “So, you - you had a hell of a time back home, huh?”
“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“Sounds like it.” Liam lets go of the steeple and rubs a hand over his face. “Jesus. So you’re - you really got stabbed, are you okay? Do you need-”
“I’ll be fine,” Richie says. “Got my - my, uh, Eddie here to change bandages. I change his, he changes mine. Tit for tat. If anything looks even vaguely funky he’ll drag me to the hospital. Seriously, I’m expecting to be dragged on at least three false alarms.”
Richie wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “You should’ve seen this guy when I was still in the hospital, he’d lean over the nurse’s shoulder when she was changing the bandages and critique her bandage-wrapping technique. Didn’t you, babe?”
The babe is mostly for fun, and it works: Eddie glowers. Richie grins, shakes him a little.
“She wasn’t using the proper method,” Eddie says. “And she wrapped them too loose. If you wrap them too loose, bacteria gets in.”
“Oh, I know. You told her every time she changed the bandages.”
Eddie twists so he’s facing Richie some more. He doesn’t move out from under Richie’s arm as he continues, “And she never wrapped them tighter! You really should’ve let me-”
“What was I supposed to do, tell the trained professional, step back, please, my boyfriend has done a lot of readings on this .”
“Medical professionals can believe they’re right due to their training when in actuality they’ve just tricked themselves into thinking they know best because-”
“She was a nurse! I wasn’t about to tell her to-”
“You could’ve at least read those articles I told you to read!”
“What would be the point in that, you read out all the important bits!”
“Um,” Liam says.
Richie and Eddie both say, “What?”
Liam’s face does a series of twitches. “Nothing! Uh. So you’re - Richie, you don’t need me for anything?”
“Nope, I’m all good. I’ll call you later to talk about the notes for my next show, though. I’m thinking I mights start writing my own jokes.”
“You’re-” Liam’s face keeps twitching. He laughs again. “Okay! You really had a big time in Derry.”
“I sure did, Liam.”
Liam looks him over. “Well - okay, then. I’m glad you’re okay, man. And that you’re - uh, discovering new stuff about yourself. You seem…”
He trails off and then doesn’t find his way back. Richie doesn’t blame him. If he was trying to find words for how he is after going home, he probably couldn’t do it either.
After Liam leaves, bewildered but happy for Richie - giving him the world’s most careful hug while Eddie glares at Liam and glances at Richie’s chest the whole time, as if it’s going to start spurting blood on contact with Liam - Eddie and Richie take the suitcases to their rooms. Or, Eddie carries the suitcases while Richie follows and tells a story about Liam, a drunk night ten years ago, and a live flamingo.
Eddie drops Richie’s stuff off first, then Eddie’s stuff. He sets it down in the guest room - or Eddie’s room, now, which is a weird thing to think. Richie leans on the wall and watches Eddie look around the room.
“You can move things around,” Richie says. “The whole apartment, not just your room. Since it’s - you’re paying half the rent. So.”
“Right,” Eddie says. He toys with the handle of his suitcase. “Hey-”
“Yeah?”
Eddie hesitates, but only for a second, before he comes over to where Richie’s leaning on the wall and stands close enough to make Richie sweat. He meets Richie’s eyes like is this okay and Richie nods.
Eddie kisses him. It’s an uncertain kiss, but it gets firmer when Richie kisses back properly instead of standing there like whaaaaat , which does tend to happen when it comes to kissing Eddie. Each time is a surprise. He still can’t quite believe it’s happening. It’s Eddie . Richie’s not supposed to be allowed this. He still doesn’t fully believe he is allowed this, the same way he doesn’t fully, truly believe the time loop isn’t gonna come around and bite him in the ass. Logically he knows it’s over, but that doesn’t stop him waking up every day with a huge amount of relief that floods over him so intensely he usually has to gasp a few sobs before settling into the new normal. Which has been very embarrassing considering the fact he’s spent the last couple weeks in the hospital, where at least one of his friends have been present whenever he woke up. Each one of them have now seen him cry like a baby in his hospital bed, but Eddie especially - Eddie, the fucker, barley left his side for those couple of weeks. Even when they got into agurments over stupid shit, like what tic tac flavour is best, which somehow turned into them yelling at each other, Eddie would storm right back in after he stormed out.
They bounce back. Richie had worried that was something else they left to their childhood - and teenagehood - but even now, their arguments will die as soon as they’re born. They’ll bicker and scream but none of it will hurt, not really, and then when it does they still come back from it as strong as ever. That had faded a little in their teenage years, but it never went away completely.
Pulling back from the kiss, Eddie says, “We should probably change our bandages.”
Richie blinks. Right. Injuries.
“I don’t own a first aid kit,” he says. “You have one in your bag, right?”
He does. Good old Eddie.
They head to the bathroom. They wash their hands very thoroughly, on Eddie’s request, and for the first time Eddie gets to tie the bandages as tight as he wants.
“Ow,” Richie says, mostly to get a reaction.
“This is how you’re supposed to do it,” Eddie says. He pulls at the bandage.
“Ow,” Richie says again, and grins when Eddie glares.
“Don’t be a baby,” Eddie says.
He finishes up. Richie puts his shirt back on and then returns the favour.
“I still think you should’ve let it heal as a hole,” Richie says as he places the new bandage over the stitches. “You could do tricks!”
“It wouldn’t be a hole, it’d be a slit,” Eddie says flatly. “And water would run out of my mouth when I drank it.”
“Yeah, it’d be hilarious.”
“I don’t want a slit in my cheek, Richie.”
Richie shrugs. “Just saying,” he says, smoothing tape down one side of the bandage down carefully. “Not everyone gets this opportunity. You could give really weird blowjobs.”
Eddie gives him a dry look. “Oh, sure . Guys go crazy for that crap. Oh baby, let me stick my dick through your cheek slit- ”
Richie doubles over in laughter.
“ Cheek slit ,” he chokes. “Oh my god-”
“Don’t,” Eddie warns as Richie gears up for a Voice. “It was bad enough that you’ve rubbed off on me. Hope you enjoyed that, ‘cause I’m never doing a Voice again. Asshole.”
Richie thinks about making a ‘rubbing off’ joke, but decides against it. He’s surprised that Eddie even made a gay joke about himself - even now, he’s pretty squirrely about the whole thing.
“Come on, finish the job,” Eddie says, tilting his cheek Richie’s way again.
Richie finishes taping the bandage and steps back and admires his work. “Perfect.”
Eddie rolls his eyes again. They both know that Eddie could be changing his own bandage - it’s on his cheek, for fuck’s sake - but they’d decided early on that this would be the living arrangement up until Eddie didn’t have to wear a bandage anymore, after which Eddie would keep changing Richie’s bandages anyway, because Richie is gonna take a lot longer to heal.
Richie pats Eddie on the cheek, under the bandage. He expects another eyeroll, but Eddie just gives him a look.
“How’d I do,” Richie asks. “Up to standard?”
He moves out of the way so Eddie can examine it in the mirror.
“You managed not to screw up taping a bandage on,” Eddie says. “Well done.”
Richie puts on a Voice. “Thank you, thank you. I’m here every night.”
“Jesus.” Eddie lets his head drop back. “I can’t believe I willingly signed up to this.”
“Too late to back out, babe. Lease has been signed.”
Eddie turns to face him. “So you’re gonna start calling me babe? That’s a thing now?”
“It was always a thing. I called you all sorts when we were kids.”
“I know, but-” Eddie stops, but Richie hears it anyway: it’s real now.
“If it helps,” Richie says, “I mean it ironically.”
“Oh, that’s alright then,” Eddie says dryly.
They grin at each other: Richie first, then Eddie after trying to keep a stern look and failing. Richie gets a flash of a feeling that he’s been getting increasingly since he woke up in the hospital: maybe things are actually going to be okay.
Then a toothbrush clatters into the sink and the shock of sound makes them both leap away from it, clutching each other’s shirts. Eddie, luckily, grabs the side of his shirt that isn’t over the wound so Richie doesn’t have to flinch away.
The fear only lasts a second, and then they’re left staring at the toothbrush sitting innocently in the sink, feeling like dumbasses.
Alright , Richie thinks. Maybe ‘okay’ will take a while.
Eddie clears his throat. “How long did it take us to stop jumping at strange noises the first time we killed IT?”
Richie thinks. “A while. Sometimes we’d be fine for ages and then something would happen even years after and one of us would freak out, remember?”
“Yeah.” Eddie touches the bandage over his cheek lightly. “Shit. I kind of miss having my memory erased.”
“I feel that,” Richie says. His heart is still pounding. He looks over at Eddie to find Eddie already looking at him and Richie wonders if they’re thinking the same thing: even with them living together, are they going to forget? Will they be able to keep each other this time?
The rest of the day passes slowly. Richie makes some calls, convinces people that he’s actually been stabbed, yes really, he’s not fucking around, why does everyone think he's fucking around. He sends some emails, plays some Solitaire, calls Bev - and by extension, Ben. Then him and Eddie get takeout after a half-hour debate on Chinese versus Thai, after which they end up getting Indian, and then they watch a movie.
They watch When Harry Met Sally, which Richie starts regretting once he thinks about the plot for more than five seconds. He eats palak paneer and curses his past self as he sits beside Eddie on the couch, determinedly not looking at him as the movie begins to wind down with Harry and Sally giving an interview.
-The first time we met, we hated each other.
-No, you didn't hate me, I hated you. And the second time we met, you didn't even remember me.
-I did too, I remembered you. ...
-We were friends for a long time.
-And then we weren't.
-And then we fell in love.
Richie is suddenly overly aware of how every limb is placed on this couch. He’s holding the long-empty container of takeout just so he has something to do with his hands, and Eddie is maybe an inch away from him on the couch. Damn Richie for buying such a small couch and damn the store person for assuring him how hip it was to have a small couch.
As the end credits start to roll, Richie wonders if it’d be weird if he blurted out I love you . He’s pretty sure they’re on the same page, feelings-wise, but when they’d met again in Derry they’d lapsed right back into how their friendship was when they were kids, and they hadn’t been able to get out of the habit. It was just so automatic that changing the way they acted and talked around each other felt weird, even if they wanted to be doing the new things. Weird , but not bad-weird. Good weird. Very good weird.
But still weird.
Richie thinks about saying it, but instead he says, “Well, I’m gonna hit the sack. Night, Eddie-Spaghetti.”
“Night,” Eddie says.
Richie takes Eddie’s takeout container on the way around the couch, then bins them both. He’s heading for the hallway when Eddie says, “Hey - let me know if you need anything.”
Richie turns around.
Eddie seems to be struggling for the words. “Like - reaching for things,” he says finally.
Richie nods. “Will do. Would it be weird if we kissed goodnight?”
Eddie pauses. He’d just started getting up off the couch and now he freezes in mid-motion.
“Uh,” he says. “Sure? I mean - no, it wouldn’t be weird. We can - do that.”
He straightens up. Then they just stand there looking at each other until Richie takes initiative and walks close enough to kiss him, and then he does. He means for it to be quick, as goodnight kisses tend to be, but he gets distracted once they’re actually kissing. A quick kiss turns into maybe half a minute of kissing, and it hits Richie in a way that no other kisses have - or, no other kisses that didn’t involve Eddie, anyway. Kissing Eddie is different from kissing the women he’s gone out with, or that one guy he made out with at a party when he was 18, high out of his mind and running the fuck away afterwards.
“Right,” Richie says when he pulls away. His breath is thin. “Uh. Night.”
Eddie seems to take a second to register it. “Yeah - night.”
Richie pats his cheek, because he’s a coward and a loser, lower-case-l. Then he goes to bed and lies there until he hears Eddie’s bedroom door open and close.
Two hours later, Richie doesn’t know where he is, or that it’s been two hours. He doesn’t know where he is or where he’s been but what he does know is that Eddie’s gonna die in this house on Neibolt Street because that fucking clown is walking towards them. He can’t get Eddie out, Eddie’s arm is fucked and everyone’s screaming and Richie’s trying to get Eddie to look at him, don’t look at IT, just look at me -
They’re kids, they’re small and it feels strange and then normal and then strange again and then they’re adults and Eddie’s arm is still broken and his cheek is slashed open and he’s coughing on his own blood.
IT’s still coming.
“You think you got out,” IT laughs at Richie. “You’re never getting out of this one, Richie. You’ve been running your whole life, but you’ll never leave.”
Eddie’s gone. Richie can’t find him. Where are they? They’re in the lair now and Mike is pulling at Richie’s shoulder and saying we have to kill IT, come on, Richie -
“We’ve done this so many fucking times,” Richie spits at him, even though he knows it’s useless, Mike won’t remember. Mike’s looking at him with confusion and over his shoulder Richie can see the others, Bev and Ben and Bill ducking IT’s claws as IT swipes at them, dodging IT’s legs as they come down -
They’re all gonna die down here. Richie’s gotten everyone killed more than once and now he’s gonna do it again, and again -
He hears himself saying something, it sounds like no no please we killed you no I don’t wanna go back and there’s something else behind it, another voice that’s getting clearer.
“Richie,” Eddie says.
Oh fuck, Eddie . Where is he? Richie’s lost him, he was right here, he’s gotta get to Eddie to hold him while he dies -
“Richie!” Eddie’s voice is urgent now. “Hey, you’re okay - hey, hey, listen to me, you’re-”
There are hands on his shoulders. At first they’re clawed, but that gets flimsy fast and Richie realizes they’re normal, they’re gentle, and then his eyes open and it comes back in stages: he’s lying in a bed, the sheets twisted around him. He’s shaking, covered in sweat; he’s crying, on the tail end of saying something that sounds a lot like pleading.
Eddie’s above him, leaning over the bed. His eyes are big and concerned and he’s got his eyebrows pulled in, all worried and familiar. Richie’s hands are clutching his shirt.
“You’re okay,” Eddie says. “Hey, Trashmouth, you back with me?”
“Yeah,” Richie says. It comes out dry, so he tries again: “Yeah, I’m - I’m good-”
He tries to stop shaking, but it’s a lost cause. He puts a hand over Eddie’s stomach, then his chest, checking, but there’s nothing. Grade A normal torso.
“I’m okay, too,” Eddie says, his voice going softer. “I’m - I’m good, and you’re good, and everyone’s safe, alright? We - we talked to them in the group chat last night when we were watching the movie. Remember the movie?”
“Yeah, yeah, Harry Met Sally. ” Richie drops his hands from Eddie’s shirt and covers his face instead, wiping away the tears. “ Fuck .”
“You’re okay,” Eddie says. “I - I get them too. Move over?”
Muscle memory. That’s what makes Richie shift over, and he’s already thinking about it when Eddie says, “Remember the summer after IT, we all had that sleepover with everyone who was left in town?”
“Yeah. I remember.”
Eddie settles down in the bed, facing him.
Richie closes his eyes.
Eddie says, “You were in your bed. I was on the floor. Then during the night I started freaking out and you woke me up and pulled me into your bed.”
Richie remembers. He’d been in the middle of a growth spurt, and even though Eddie hadn’t hit his yet, it had been hard to fit the two boys into bed. Richie hadn’t cared. Their knees knocked and they had to press up close to stay on the mattress, and Richie had gone back to sleep with his face in Eddie’s hair. He’d thought about that a lot, right up until he left Derry along with all his memories of it.
“You put your arms around me,” Eddie says, and this sounds like it was a bit harder to get out. “I was - I remember feeling really - safe. You made me feel so safe.”
Richie breathes out. It’s shaky. He opens his eyes and Eddie is staring at him with those eyes that have been punching Richie in the heart since he was 10 years old.
Richie isn’t thinking much of anything when he shifts forwards and nudges his head under Eddie’s chin, pressing the line of his body up against Eddie’s.
Eddie doesn’t say anything. His arms circle Richie’s back.
“Does anything hurt,” he asks.
Richie’s stab wound is throbbing, but he shakes his head. Stab wounds throb sometimes. That’s how it goes. He doesn’t want to get up and have Eddie examine him, he wants to stay like this, tucked up against Eddie’s chest, with Eddie’s arms around him. He wants to be allowed to have this.
“Okay,” Eddie says. “That’s good.”
Neither of them speak. Eventually their breathing evens out. When Richie feels himself dragged back into sleep, he thinks they might be breathing in tandem, but he can’t be sure.
Next time Richie wakes up, it’s not dramatic. There’s sun coming through the blinds as he rises groggily to consciousness, after which he lies there and panics distantly about Eddie being in his bed.
Eddie’s next to him, all his limbs tucked in close to his body. His way of sleeping hasn’t changed since he was a kid, Richie realizes fondly. Up til now he’s only seen Adult Eddie sleep in hospital chairs or on a plane. Looks like old habits die hard when he sleeps in a bed.
Richie watches him long enough that the panic fades and then comes back around. Eddie isn’t snoring, and Richie can’t see if his chest is moving. Richie’s nightmare is far off now but his anxiety isn’t, so he holds up a flat hand in front of Eddie’s face.
There’s nothing, then the warmth of breath.
Thank fuck , Richie thinks.
“Are you checking I’m fucking breathing,” Eddie mumbles. His eyes come open, all bleary and adorable as hell.
“What,” Richie says. “No.”
Eddie hmph s. He rolls over so he’s on his back and closes his eyes again. “My mom used to do that.”
Richie makes a face. Bad territory. Don’t enter.
“You still remember everyone,” he asks.
Eddie nods. “You. Ben. Beverly. Bill. Mike. Stan.”
“Day 2 out of Derry,” Richie says. “Still going strong. Want me to get out the group chat?”
Eddie nods.
Richie reaches over to the bedside table and gets his phone. Mike’s already added a morning message: Haven’t forgotten yet! Love you all.
“Mike loves us,” Richie says. He scrolls up to the older messages he hadn’t checked from last night. “And Ben wants us to check in later to tell him if we’re coming to the beach house next summer.”
Eddie makes a noise that Richie interprets as I’m listening, I’m just not fully awake yet.
“Anything you want to say to the group,” Richie asks.
Eddie makes a long, complaining noise and then says, “It’s too early for Mike to be up. Tell him to to bed, the lunatic.”
“You don’t even know what time it is,” Richie says, but he types out the message with a smiley face at the end and presses send.
“What time is it, Richie?”
“10 past 7.”
“Oh god ,” Eddie moans. He flings an arm over his eyes.
Richie watches him, grinning. God, he’s missed how much of a dramatic little shit Eddie can be.
Without taking his arm away from his eyes, Eddie says, “Quit gawking.”
“I’m not!”
Eddie removes his arm and gives a pointed look.
“This isn’t gawking.”
“No?”
“No. I’m admiring.”
Eddie’s lips twitch. “I’ll allow it.”
“Gee, thanks,” Richie says.
He starts to lean down, then pauses when something flickers over Eddie’s face. “Want me to brush my teeth?”
The uncertainty twists into relief. “Yeah.”
“Got it,” Richie says. He gets out of bed and gives his teeth the fastest brush he’s ever given himself, then returns to bed, where Eddie is now sitting up.
“That was not two minutes,” Eddie says.
“I was quick but thorough,” Richie says. “Gimmie a smooch, Eds.”
“I know I haven’t been around to remind you,” Eddie says, “but dental hygiene is fucking important, Trashmouth.”
“But then how would I live up to the name!” Richie waits for Eddie to start in on a comeback, then cuts him off with a kiss. Eddie makes a noise against his mouth, but kisses back.
They kiss for a while, then Richie is beset with a realization that he has got to address right the fuck now.
“So,” he says, pulling back. “One very important question. You ready?”
“Uh. Sure.”
Richie tugs at the neck of Eddie’s PJs. “What the fuck are these?”
“They’re pyjamas, Richie. People wear-”
“No, children wear pyjamas. Adults wear old shirts and sweatpants. Or underwear. Did no one ever tell you this? Let me see these.”
He pulls the duvet back so he has a better view. Eddie’s pyjamas are grey and striped.
“They’re sensible ,” Eddie says, yanking the duvet back up. “They’re warm, and-”
“They’re something,” Richie says, not bothering to hide how much he’s enjoying this. “ Shit , Eds-”
“What’s your problem with pyjamas! Everybody wears them, you’re just-”
“No, Eds, I think it literally might just be you-”
“Oh, so the pyjama market is being held up by me alone, wow, that’s really impressive-”
“ Pyjama market , oh my god. Do those exist? Do you go to them? Do-”
His phone beeps between them and Richie says, “Hold on.”
He checks it. It’s Mike: Richie pls tell Eds that the only lunatic is one who would waste a day in bed when the whole world is out there waiting.
“Jesus,” Richie says. “He’s really taking this whole ‘travel’ thing seriously. Soon he’ll be telling us that travel is the only thing that makes you richer while you spend money.”
“What’d he say?”
Richie tilts the screen towards him.
Eddie snorts.
“Just wait,” Richie says. “Soon he’ll be sending us pictures of sunrises. What do you want for breakfast? Something sensible, to match your pyjamas?”
Eddie glares, but it’s undercut by such fondness that Richie can’t stop himself from grinning.
“What do you have,” Eddie asks.
Richie thinks it over. “Sugary cereals.”
“Okay, let’s just go out and get-”
“If you brush your teeth extra thoroughly before and after-”
Eddie hits him in the face with a pillow. “We’re going out. Come on, I can’t get back to sleep now. I dibs the shower.”
“There’s a shower in the bathroom off from your room,” Richie says.
Eddie pauses as he gets out of bed. “Right. I’ll - use that. In that case, you’d better be ready when I am.”
“Great, how long do I have?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“You’re such a slave driver, Eddie. How will you ever-”
“Can’t hear you,” Eddie calls back as he heads into the hall. “I’m showering.”
Richie grins to himself, flopping back onto the mattress. He gives himself a few seconds to bask in it, this strange happiness he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to, and then Eddie’s shower starts and Richie suppose he’d better get up.
They eat breakfast at the first cafe they see down the road, then go grocery shopping. Richie watches Eddie pick out Healthy Options (™) and rags on him about it for the whole trip, almost as much as Eddie rags on him for picking Unhealthy Options (™).
It’s probably the most fun Richie has had in 27 years. He should probably feel sadder about that, but for now he’s just happy to be here.
After they get home and put away the groceries, Eddie continues doing what he’d been doing yesterday: putting out feelers with his business contacts to see how he can go about getting a risk analysis job in Beverly Hills.
“I know the move was sudden,” Richie hears him saying. “It was - time for a change. No, I - Myra stayed. We’re actually not together anymore. Yeah. Thanks. Definitely a good thing - oh. Really? I didn’t know you… thought that.”
Richie keeps walking down the hall, telling himself he’s not evesdropping, but that doesn’t stop him from hearing Eddie continue, “Actually, there, uh, is. Someone else. That’s not the reason we broke up, though, that just - happened. It’s a long story.”
Very long , Richie thinks. He goes to the fruit bowl in the kitchen where it’s actually full of fruit for once. He picks an apple that they had stood there talking about for ten minutes, during which Eddie pulled up at least twelve tabs about pesticides and some statistics from the World Health Organization that Richie still doesn’t fully understand.
They fall into a routine, or something resembling one.
Eddie picks up a job, and it turns out that a lot of Risk Analysing - which Richie always makes sure to say in a fancy Voice - can be done from home 60% of the time. This is cool, because Richie’s job involves a lot of one-hour or half-hour stints at night and a whole lot of time in between. He’s filling in more of the time nowadays since he’s actually trying to write his own material, but that still involves a lot of sitting around at home staring at a blank screen, so it’s cool to have someone around the house, even if Eddie has to answer so many emails that some days it seems like that’s his job.
At night they change each other’s bandages and go to sleep in separate beds. More often than not, they end up in the same one. Mostly it’s Eddie coming to help Richie after a nightmare, but sometimes it’s the other way around and sometimes there’s no screaming nightmares, Richie just wakes up with Eddie next to him and doesn’t ask why he’s there.
Every morning, they check the group chat. Everyone sends a message, at first to reassure: Day Whatever, haven’t forgotten yet , until the nerves start to fade and everyone starts sending more updates and actual conversations than ‘I still remember’ messages.
Three weeks out of Derry, Richie gets the feeling that they’ll still be sending the odd I still remember message years from now, if they do end up remembering for good. When the group chat stops updating so regularly and there’s a week or even a month of radio silence, there will be a message coming through from one of them - I still remember you guys .
Just to make sure.
Liam meets him at a coffeeshop and gets out his laptop, because it’s Liam and he can’t be away from a screen for more than five minutes without spontaneously combusting.
“So,” he says. “You wanna add gay stuff to your act? You know that’ll alienate some of your audience.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Richie says. “We don’t need money from homophobes.”
“Money is money, even if it is from homophobes.”
“We’ll live,” Richie says. “Did you get my notes for the next show?”
“Yeah!” Liam brightens. “Man, you should’ve been giving us this shit ages ago! I didn’t know you were actually this funny.”
“Wow. Thanks, agent .”
Liam waves a hand. Drinks his coffee. “Whatever, believe in you 100%, you know the drill. How’re you healing?”
Richie rubs his chest, where the bandages are stretched under his shirt. “Fine.”
“How’s Eddie’s cheek?”
“Better than my stab wound. He can take the bandage off now but he isn’t doing it. He has this thing about germs.”
Liam blinks at that, like he still doesn’t quite get what the deal is with Eddie and Richie. “How did you guys meet, anyway? Back home?”
“Yeah.” Richie waits as the coffee girl sets his latte down in front of him. “Uh, we were childhood friends.”
“You - fuck.” Liam clasps his chest. “That’s adorable . Like, grade school?”
“Uhhh. We were friends from fourth grade ‘til Junior year.”
Liam clasps his chest more dramatically, like he’s been shot. “Holy shit. You never mentioned him! Did you guys have a thing and reconnect, or-”
“Nah. I mean - kinda. Nothing happened , but there were… Feelings.”
“And you guys ran into each other back home and decided to run away together?”
“Kind of!” Richie stirs his coffee, looks down into it. Eddie always eats the foam off of his coffees first, then drinks it. Weirdo. “Uh, you know in the notes, I mentioned that there was a group of us that made a promise-”
“Yeah. Eddie’s one of them?”
“Yup.”
“So you all… wait, I’m trying to remember your notes.” Liam drinks more of his coffee. “The trauma-bonding group who made a promise at age 13 and then all went their separate ways, didn’t talk for 30 years, then came back immediately, no notice, after that one guy who stayed home made a phonecall?”
“That’s the one.”
Liam stares. He eats a m&m that had come on the spoon with the coffee, and Richie watches and remember how Eddie eats them: shell first, then chocolate. He always noticed these things, even when he was a kid, and always felt weird about noticing.
“You really skirt around it,” Liam says. “In the show. Like - I know a lot of it’s made up, but it sounds like something really bad happened. You got stabbed .”
“Unrelated incident.”
“Sure,” Liam says. “What was it, a cult?”
“Nope. Except for the cult of the Losers. If that counts.”
His phone vibrates. He checks it.
“Speak of the devil,” he says. “One second.”
Beverly had sent a photo of Ben throwing a stick for his dog. Their dog now, Richie guesses. Richie heart-eyes reacts to it, then puts his phone down.
Liam says, “That was one of them?”
“Yep. We keep in touch now.”
“Uh-huh,” Liam says. He’s got that face he used to have when he was trying out journalism and knew the source was hiding something. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime. The real story, not the comedy show version where you skirt around anything concrete actually happening and everything’s a jokey metaphor. I looked up stuff about Derry and I gotta say, the conclusions I’m coming to in my head are… not fun.”
“I bet,” Richie says.
“Kids died .”
“They did.”
“What the fuck , Richie?”
Richie drinks his coffee. Thinks about waking up last night around 3am to find Eddie in bed with him. Richie’s arms had been around him and Eddie had been curled up like a fucking pillbug.
“So you’ll workshop my notes,” he says.
“Sure,” Liam says. “You gonna tell me about-”
“Nope.”
“Not even-”
“Nope.”
“Don’t let me connect the dots, Tozier. I’m coming up with some crazy shit over here.”
“Oooh,” Richie says. “I bet.”
He skulls the rest of his coffee.
“Get back to me with your notes about the show,” he says, and leaves.
When Liam yells, “Fine, don’t tell me about the child murder cult that you and your friends stopped twice ,” at him on the way out, Richie turns around and winks, the bell ringing over his head as he opens the door, then again when he lets it swing shut behind him.
“We’re gonna end up on Buzzfeed Unsolved,” Richie tells the group on their next Facetime.
“ Derry is gonna end up on there,” Mike corrects. “We’re not connected to it.”
Richie makes a I don’t know noise. “Are we not? I feel like Ryan Bugara could sleuth us out.”
Ben lights up. “Do you think he’ll try to get in touch with us?”
Richie snorts at him. “God, Ben, at least try to hide your boner for the guy.”
He twists in his seat when he hears footsteps.
“Who’s Ben got a boner for,” Eddie asks as he bypasses the couch to grab a glass of water from the kitchen.
“Ryan Bugara,” Richie calls.
Bill says, “Is that Eddie?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Get him over here!”
Richie twists again. Eddie’s busy cutting up a red pepper on a chopping board.
“Eds,” Richie says. “The Losers want you to come over and say hi.”
“I’m busy,” Eddie says.
“You’re cutting up vegetables, that can wait. Eddie. Eddie! Love of my life!”
Richie turns back to the phone when all four of the people on the screen make sounds that aren’t unlike laughter.
“Wow,” Bev says. “That’s-”
“It’s ironic,” Richie says hastily. “I called him that when we were kids. It’s ironic,” he repeats when Eddie actually comes into the lounge and sits down on the couch next to him.
“Okay,” Eddie says. He has that same smug look that the others do, but his smile is different and makes Richie want to both kiss him and also hide. Eddie settles closer and Richie shuffles so they can both fit in the screen.
Eddie waves. “Hey, everyone.”
“Hi, Eddie,” they chorus.
“How’s everyone-” Eddie stops, squints. “Mike, where the fuck are you?”
In the small space he has in the splitscreen, Mike spreads his arms. “Grand canyon, baby,” he says. “Look!”
“Oh, only I’m allowed to call him baby,” Richie says as Mike turns the phone around and gives them a scene that would be infinitely more glorious if it wasn’t shoved in the space of two other squares - Bev and Ben in one, Bill in the other.
“He isn’t allowed,” Eddie says when the others start crowing delightedly over that and Richie starts leaning in, pressing an exaggerated kiss to his cheek. “No, quit it, he isn’t- Rich, get off- ”
“Make me, baby- ”
The others haven’t stopped aw- ing over it when Eddie’s phone goes off.
Eddie quits looking equal parts annoyed and fond when he gets out his phone and sees the caller, which is a shame. Annoyed and fond is a good look for Eddie, one that Richie has been wanting to coax out of him since they were 10.
“What’s up,” Richie asks, because Eddie’s looking downright haunted now.
“Hm? Nothing,” Eddie says. He glances at Richie’s phone, says, “I gotta take this, see you guys,” and gets up and walks into the hall.
Richie watches him leave. Eddie’s voice starts floating in from the hall, hushed and oddly on guard and defeated all at once. It’s a very familiar tone and Richie’s heart sinks to hear it. He’d heard it all the time growing up, when Eddie would talk to his mother. He’s heard it only the one time since, when Eddie’s wife had shown up at the hospital while Richie was still there and tried to talk Eddie into coming home and not leaving her.
When he looks back at the screen, the others are all looking at him, waiting. He wonders if they can hear Eddie’s tone of voice, too, but mostly he thinks they can recognize the look on Richie’s face.
God, it’s nice to have people who know him this well. Richie had forgotten what this was like.
For a second, Richie misses Stan so bad it hurts. He makes a note to talk about it with the gang later - the conversations do drift to Stan sometimes, even if nowadays it’s less about how much they miss him and more about what Stan would think of things.
“Mike,” he says, “Don’t fall into the grand canyon. And don’t send endless photos like you did of that lake, and those birds-”
“Those were great photos!”
“Sure, but we didn’t need a hundred of them, Mikey.” Richie listens to Eddie’s voice rise and then immediately fall and go apologetic.
“I know,” he’s saying. “I know.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Richie says. “Uh, love you guys.”
“Love you,” they chorus back, with kissing noises from Bev, and Richie clicks out of the call.
Richie goes and stands in the hall across from Eddie, who gives him a tight smile and keeps pacing, avoiding his gaze.
“I understand,” Eddie says. “I - you’ll be okay. You have a good job, you have your friends from book club - no, I know. I - well, I don’t know about that - no, you’re still young, Myra-”
Richie winces, makes a face. Eddie waves at him like go away , but Richie stays.
From the other end of the line, Richie catches something like why can’t you just come home and things will go back to normal-
“Because I can’t, Myra, alright? I - I don’t want to. We’ve talked about this-”
But Eddieeeee -
When Richie winces this time, it’s genuine. Jesus. It’s like Mrs. K back from the dead. Why the hell did Eddie-
He stops that thought before it gets too far, because he knows . Eddie married her the same reason Bev married that guy who beat the crap out of her: because it was toxic, sure, it was awful and restricting and made them feel like crap, and it was familiar . It was what they were used to. The Losers got out of Derry or they didn’t, but they weren’t able to drop their baggage, and for Bev and Eddie, that manifested in marrying people who were carbon-copies of their fucked up parent.
“I’m gay ,” Eddie says, surprising Richie out of his thoughts. “You can’t seriously want to be married to a gay man-”
He goes quiet as the other end of the line is filled with chatter.
Richie whispers, “God, that didn’t shut her up?”
Eddie gives him a look like you have no idea . Then, into the phone: “Myra - Myra, just-”
Richie waits as Eddie tries to get a word in edgewise, but every time Eddie tries to speak Myra shouts him down. Richie watches this for about five seconds before starting to make quiet, pointed static sounds with his mouth.
Eddie glances at him. Richie keeps making the noise and Eddie keeps trying to talk down the phone until he pulls it away from his mouth and whispers, “I’m not gonna Chandler from Friends it, cut it out!”
Richie’s static gets quieter, but doesn’t go away. He keeps his gaze pointed.
Eddie keeps glancing at him. “No, Myra, that’s just-” He pauses. His mouth twitches.
“Actually,” he says. “I heard it too, I think we’re - crshhhh - I think the line’s breaking - crshhhhhhhh- ”
He keeps the static noise up and ends the call.
Richie says, “Do you think she’ll call back,” and isn’t even finished the last word when the phone starts to ring.
Eddie sighs. “This is why I didn’t want to Chandler it.”
“You don’t have to answer it.”
“I know,” Eddie says, looking wearily at his phone.
Richie opens his mouth to say something else, but something steely appears in Eddie’s expression as he puts the phone back to his ear.
“Myra,” he says. “Just - I - MYRA. I’m not coming back this time, this isn’t like five years ago. I’m leaving you. I don’t love you like you need me to, I’m gay . What we had, it was - it was toxic and backward and, and bad . It was bad , Myra, it was me clinging to the past, trying to go backwards, and I don’t want to move backwards anymore. I’m - I’m moving forwards. Goodbye.”
He hangs up, then turns off the phone.
“How much of that did you think she heard,” Richie asks.
Eddie shakes his head. “Probably not much, she was talking for most of it.”
He doesn’t seem that upset about it. Actually, he’s got this new light in his face that reminds Richie of killing IT the first time, Eddie throwing the weapon, Eddie’s excited face in front of him: I think I really did it, Richie -
Richie swerves straight the fuck away from that memory and concentrates on the Eddie that’s in front of him instead. This Eddie is all but bouncing on his fucking toes, looking all proud and flushed and - and -
“What,” Richie says. “What’s that look?”
“I’m not going back,” Eddie says.
“Uhhh,” Richie says. “Yeah? I thought that was established. Was that not established? You signed the paperwork-”
“I’m moving fucking forwards,” Eddie continues, and then bounds forwards, grabbing Richie’s face and dragging him down for a kiss.
Richie makes a surprised noise against his mouth. Eddie kisses him like he’s starving for it, like he’s been wanting something for his whole life and has never been able to have it until now.
Richie knows the feeling. He’s more than a little dazed when Eddie pulls back and pushes their foreheads together hard enough that it almost hurts.
“We’re moving fucking forwards ,” Eddie says.
“Fuck yeah we are,” Richie rasps. “We-”
It dissolves when Eddie pulls him back into a kiss.
Okay then , Richie thinks, as Eddie instigates their most aggressive makeout session yet, much different to their usual cautious kisses that they excuse themselves from before things start to get heavy. This time, Eddie is grabby . Careful with anything around the bandages, but still grabby.
“Do you want me to brush my teeth,” Richie says, but doesn’t actually stop kissing Eddie properly to say it.
Eddie pulls back enough to say, “What?”
“Want me to brush my teeth?”
Eddie blinks at him.
“No,” he says, and pulls them both into Richie’s bedroom.
“Hey, so, uh-” Richie pauses, gets distracted by the kissing, then remembers when Eddie’s hands go up the back of his shirt. “Whoa, uh, what’s on the table here?”
Eddie keeps kissing him. Richie is still thrilled enough that he lets it go on for a couple of seconds before pulling Eddie’s face back with his hands.
“Eds,” he says. “Table! What’s on it!”
Eddie pauses. “Uh.”
There’s a silence long enough to freak Richie out, so he does what he always does and starts talking: “‘Cause my teenage fantasies about you were kinda limited.”
Eddie doesn’t react, and then his whole face creases up. Richie almost wants to laugh.
“I mean-” He backtracks. “Like - I assumed you wouldn’t be a big fan of, uh, fluids?And you wouldn’t want to put your mouth on a dick even with condoms involved. Same with butt stuff. Honestly I just imagined maybe blowing you if you let me, and a lot of handjobs.”
Eddie’s face is still creased, but he now looks less offended and more mortified.
Richie panics. “Which is great, I’m fine with handjobs, I’m cool with living in handjob city forever-”
“I-” Eddie pauses. His hands flex on Richie’s back, but don’t go away.
“I don’t know what would’ve happened back when we were teenagers,” he says. “But - like, I’m still - I’m - cautious, but I’m not saying all that other stuff is… off the table. Condoms are a sanitary alternative to… not condoms.”
Richie nods wildly, tries to look understanding and not like he’s having an aneurysm picturing Eddie possibly blowing him.
“We can talk about it later,” Richie says. He stands back enough to take off his shirt. “Handjob city?”
“H - yeah,” Eddie says, eyeing Richie’s bare chest and looking a little lost, but not in a bad way.
It’s gratifying. Richie’s about to move back in for a kiss when he decides to ask, “What about you, did you think about it?”
“About-” Eddie pauses. His hands are resting on Richie’s waist now, his fingers rubbing tiny lines on Richie’s skin. Richie doesn’t think Eddie notices he’s doing it.
“I didn’t let myself,” Eddie says, his eyes focused somewhere behind Richie’s head. “I did - I dreamed about it, sometimes.”
Richie grins. “Aw.”
“Shut up.”
Richie starts cooing, walking Eddie towards the bed. “Let me make your dreams come true, baby.”
Eddie’s obviously trying to be annoyed, but he’s shaking with laughter as he lands back-first on the bed, pulling Richie with him.
“Baby,” Richie says as they settle against the bed, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. “Sweetcheeks. Lover. Love of my life-”
Richie hears Eddie start to tell him to shut up, but he only gets as far as beep before trailing off into a sigh as Richie kisses his neck.
“Richie,” Eddie says instead, soft.
If it’s not a revelation, it sure sounds like one.
Richie is mostly unchained from the passage of time when he finds himself lying on his back, Eddie lying next to him on his stomach, both of them panting and sweating like they’d just finished sprinting from a killer clown.
When Richie is coherent enough to form proper sentences, he says, “We should’ve done that when we were teenagers.”
Eddie wheezes in a way that really shouldn’t be endearing, then says, “We were idiots.”
“We were idiots,” Richie says. He twists his head to look at him. “Did we never even kiss?”
“No,” Eddie says. “Do you remember everything?”
“Almost. Some things are fuzzy. I’d remember if we kissed, though.”
Eddie hums, turns his head so they’re meeting each other’s gaze. For a while there only sound is their breaths, fast and getting slower. Neither of them look away.
“I used to watch your shows,” Eddie says. “I started about ten years ago. I’d watch them and feel - weird. I could never explain it. I thought a lot of your jokes weren’t great but watching you made me feel - I don’t know.”
Richie smiles. There’s sweat drying on Eddie’s forehead. A drop of it inches towards his hairline and Richie watches it move.
“I missed you,” he says. “So - so fucking much. Even though I couldn’t remember you. There was this…”
“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Me, too.”
Richie reaches over and takes Eddie’s hand, mostly for all the times when he wanted to as a kid but didn’t. He used to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching for Eddie.
But he’s allowed now. It’s all allowed.
“We have to change your bandages soon,” Eddie says. His finger runs along the edge of one, along Richie’s chest.
Richie nods, but doesn’t reply.
“Do you think we’re really gonna go to Ben’s beach house every summer,” Eddie asks after another comfortable silence.
“I think we’ll try,” Richie says. “We’re going this year, right?”
Eddie pulls his eyebrows in in determination and Richie decides that he’s gonna start naming all the Eyebrow Centric expressions.
“Definitely,” Eddie says.
“Good,” Richie says. He wants to say more, but he can’t find the words: how much he wants that, all those upcoming years of them all. They’ll sit out on the porch and drink beer and put an empty seat out for Stan. They’ll swim in the ocean and it won’t be like when they were kids, because they don’t have to go back to that now. They can make something new together.
Eight months later, Richie puts on a show.
He hangs around backstage as they introduce him, re-reading his messages. The group chat is full of shit like we promise to laugh with you not at you and can’t wait to see you and good luck Loser , which makes him smile even if he’s already read them a dozen times.
He takes deep, even breaths as he listens to the guy say, “And without further or do-”
“Showtime,” Richie says to himself, and starts out onto the stage.
The lights are the first thing to hit him, along with the rush of cheers. Richie waves, grins, and gets to the microphone without tripping over his feet, which he’s always been irrationally worried about since it happened on his first standup show at age 23.
“Welcome,” he says into the microphone as the cheering dies down. “Welcome to Memories I Repressed . It’s gonna be a good show. Okay, some people aren’t gonna relate to this first part, but we’ll get to you - you know when you’re, ten, maybe twelve, and you start having your sexual awakening, and you realize that you’re fucking gay?”
Another round of cheering. It’s more sparse than the greeting, but it’s fucking enthused .
Richie beams into the crowd. “Any homos in the audience?”
More cheering. Richie waves back at the people who are waving.
“Heeeeey,” he says. “Good to have you here. Anyway, your first reaction, after all the denial, is like - huh! Okay. I guess I’ll deal with this at some point. Right? Anyway, the point of this first story is that I had that revelation and then I ended up forgetting I was gay. Now, I know how that sounds, but let me explain-”
He pauses, mostly for the cheering to die down again. It’s not a long pause, maybe two or three seconds, but Richie feels it expand as he looks into the front row. The Losers, everyone left alive plus an empty seat for Stan, are all grinning up at him. They look good in a way that goes deeper than what they’re wearing - they look good in a way that Richie suspects they might look for the rest of their lives. They look fucking settled . Like sure, they’ve been through shit, but they’ve come out the other side and finally grown into the people they were meant to be.
In this couple-second pause, Richie makes eye contact with Eddie. Eddie’s dressed smartly and modestly, as usual, but Richie had seen him getting dressed so he knows that the undershirt is one that Eddie stole from him months ago.
Richie winks.
Eddie laughs and flips him off. The laugh is lost in the crowd, but Richie can hear it in his mind, Eddie’s laughter, the thing he spent his childhood desperately trying to get. Now Eddie’s here, adult and whole and staying , and looking up at Richie with the kind of adoration they used to hide from each other, even with the middle finger.
After the show they’ll go out to dinner with the Losers and they’ll all make fun of Richie until everyone’s doubled over laughing. They’ll stay at the restaurant until they get kicked out, then they’ll walk the others to a hotel and catch a taxi home. Eddie and Richie will sling their arms around each other’s shoulders and try to trip each other up at random times the whole way home. At home, they’ll get undressed and they’ll get into bed, and Eddie will touch the scars on Richie’s chest like he always does: gentle, then firm, like he’s reminding himself of something. In return, Richie will curl close to whatever of Eddie he can reach, comforted in the knowledge that he’ll wake up tomorrow to the sun streaming in, Eddie beside him, his chest lifting and falling.
But for now they have this: Richie winks. Eddie laughs. They share a look for less than a second and it has a lifetime behind and ahead of it, and then Richie takes a breath and looks away and the show continues.