Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stan, Ben and Eddie were on Bill duty this afternoon. Ben had managed to smuggle some beer out of the fridge in his basement, and Stan had a tupperware of home baked goods. Eddie brought nothing other than his company, which, until about an hour ago, had promised to be nothing but pleasant and enjoyable, as always.

But now, after a brief encounter in the clubhouse, Eddie’s sunny disposition was clouded by an absolute hatred of the lanky, bespectacled, greasy-haired disaster of a boy known to most as Richie Tozier.

“He’s been a huge fucking asshole to me all summer, and now, what?” he said, waving his beer bottle around in front of him. They were in Bill’s backyard, each of them sitting on lawn chairs and passing around their loot in the shade of the old oak tree that had been there for as long as Eddie could remember. Eddie had opened his beverage, but had yet to drink any of it, which meant his gesticulating caused a few stray drops to spill onto Stan’s shorts. “Sorry. But he just says, ‘hi’? ‘Hi, Eddie.’ Like we’re okay? How fucking dare he? It’s just unbelievable to me.”

From Bill’s other side, Ben gave him a wide-eyed, insistent look that probably meant, We’re supposed to be comforting Bill . Eddie ignored him.

“Like, I finally find a girl who’s willing to go out with me – who asked to go out with me – and he’s just a complete fucking fuckwad about it. And the weirdest part is: why can’t he just apologize ? It’s been weeks already. I’m not even mad about it anymore. At this point, I’m more mad about how he doesn’t have the balls to own up to the fact that he was totally out of line.” This wasn’t true, per se, but none of the other boys dared challenge him. Bill was nodding along, hung on his every word.

“Maybe he’s embarrassed,” Stan suggested lightly. Eddie turned on him, gripping onto the armrest of his chair. 

“What do you mean, he’s embarrassed? Richie’s never been embarrassed by anything in his life. And, god, you know the weirdest fucking part… The other day, in town, I saw him. And Betty. Walking. Together . Like they were friends! He stole my goddamn girlfriend from me!”

“Betty was your girlfriend?” Bill asked, eyebrows shooting up. “It was that serious?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie waved his hand. “Maybe.” He turned to his right, the beer sloshing onto Stan’s sandals this time. “Stan, he has to have said something to you about it.”

“Oh, geez, dude, put that thing down!” Stan said, wrestling the bottle away from him and putting it on the fold-out table they’d set up between them.

“Well?” Eddie insisted. “Has he? Said something to you?”

“What would he say to me?” Stan replied, blinking very quickly all of a sudden. “I mean, why?”

“You’re best friends,” Eddie reminded him.

“Oh, yeah,” Stan said, as if suddenly remembering. “No, he’s not… nope. He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“God, Stan. You’re such a fucking liar. What’s it like being so far up Richie’s asshole all the time?”

Stan’s clueless facade dropped, his mouth falling open. “ I’m up Richie’s–”

“Whatever,” Eddie cut him off. “Like I said, I don’t care. I’m over it.”

“Really,” Stan said, folding his arms across his chest. Eddie had no idea how Stan could make polo shirts look so much better than he did. Stan’s chest was broader, that was true. His arms were slightly bigger, too. It wasn’t that the shirt was too tight, it just fit him properly. Even if Eddie could get his mom to stop buying him clothes two sizes too small, he doubted he could look like Stan.

“Bill’s over his break-up, right?” he said, flinging his hand at his best friend since childhood. “And Richie and I fought before he and Bev– before they broke up. How weird would it be if Bill was over his thing, but I wasn’t over…? You know.”

Stan levelled him with a look. “Maybe you should go talk to him.”

“Maybe I should…” Eddie repeated, “Stan, whose fucking team are you on, man?”

“I’m not on anyone’s team!” Stan shouted, and Ben jumped. “Holy shit! You’re so annoying! And you’re driving the rest of us crazy! You both are.”

“That’s not–” Eddie began, then stopped when he caught Ben’s eye. “Okay. Okay. Fuck you, too, then.”

“You really should just talk to him,” Ben piped up. “Telling us about it won’t solve anything.”

“Fine, it’s fine!” Eddie said, fidgeting in his seat. “I’ll shut the fuck up then, I guess!” He slouched in the deck chair, his legs wide apart, his arms folded.

“ Thank you ,” Stan whispered, his eyes closed.

“ Fuck you ,” Eddie whispered in a mimicing tone. Stanley seemed unbothered by the offense.

“Guys,” Bill spoke up suddenly. Both Eddie and Stan turned to look at him. “I want to shave my head.”

Eddie didn’t get too involved in the whole head-shaving thing. He didn’t want to be finding strands of Bill’s grunge-hair phase in his clothes years from now, thank you very much, so he stayed in the bathroom doorway and watched Ben snip the better part of Bill’s locks away before Stan passed him the clippers. Ben’s tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he worked, the handheld machine humming as he ran it over Bill’s scalp until Bill was sporting a neat buzzcut.

“How does it feel?” Ben asked, sitting back looking worried.

“Lighter,” Bill replied, pushing himself up from his seat at the edge of the bathtub to look at himself in the mirror.

“Dude, you’re totally bald,” Eddie laughed. Bill cast him a glance before turning back to the mirror. “You can see the whole shape of your skull! Gross!”

“It doesn’t look bad, right?” Bill asked, tilting his head this way and that, inspecting Ben’s handiwork nervously. “Tell me it doesn’t look b-bad.”

“It looks pretty fucking cool, actually,” Stan said, leaning over to rub his hand over Bill’s head playfully.

“I’d do you,” Eddie added.

All three boys fell silent. Eddie frowned back at them.

“It was a joke. Jeez.”

While Ben and Bill shrugged and began sweeping up what was left, Stan’s gaze lingered on Eddie much too long for comfort. 

What a weirdo.

So, on the way home Eddie walked past Richie’s house. Was it on the way? Not necessarily. But while he was there, he decided to climb the steps of the front porch and, after a deep breath, ring the doorbell.

Through the foggy glass door, he could make out that the shape who was about to greet him was one of Richie’s parents. At a speed he himself found quite impressive, he put on his best smile in time for Richie’s dad.

“Hi, there, Mr. Tozier. Is Richie in?”

Richie’s dad really was balding. Poor Richie. “Good evening, Eddie,” the balding man said. “No, I don’t think he is. He might be at Stanley’s.”

Eddie knew that wasn't true, and Mike was out of town for the day running errands for the farm. Beverly, according to Bill, was back, so that’s probably where Richie was. He spent a lot of time at Beverly’s.

Eddie bid Richie’s father goodbye and wondered if Beverly would forgive Richie his betrayal at the clubhouse last week. Eddie hadn’t posited this aloud, but he did have a theory that they had plotted the whole debacle together. This theory was then replaced by the question of why Richie would jumpstart the breakup like that.  Like, what would he have to gain from Bill and Beverly splitting up? It was a fucking disastrous affair, on the whole, what with Bill listening to fucking Joy Division and being too moody to make the hike out to the clubhouse – or anywhere, really.

But now Richie was at Beverly’s house.

He could be at the arcade, or at the clubhouse again, but Eddie just knew he was at Beverly’s house. He was apologizing to Beverly, saying who-knows-what, and all Eddie had gotten for his troubles was the fucking silent treatment. That just seemed fine. Fantastic even. Great! 

Wonderful .

Eddie kicked a stone as he walked. It bounced against the opposite sidewalk. He knew that everyone in the group, at one point or another, had liked Beverly. Heck, she was the first (and only) girl to ever willingly interact with any of them, so who could blame them?

She had history with Bill, though. A play in the third grade, couldn’t fake that kind of passion, ya-da, ya-da. And Bill was objectively the better-looking out of all of them, so it made sense.

Richie sure stayed over at Beverly’s a lot. Bill had never seemed worried about it, and Eddie hadn’t given it much thought, either. But after seeing Richie chumming around with Betty , of all people, Eddie had to wonder… 

“Eddie?”

Eddie froze in his tracks. He had been looking at the floor, scouting out stray pebbles, when sure enough, there he was, wearing jogging shorts and a green T-shirt with a Sonic the Hedgehog knock-off on the front. It was getting dark and Richie was a few feet away, so Eddie couldn’t read it too well, but it seemed to read simply ‘Sonc’. God, he hated Richie’s stupid clothes.

“Richie?” he said, his hand shooting up to scratch behind his own ear. “Weird. Seeing you here.”

“This is my street,” Richie said.

“Oh,” Eddie said, looking around. “So it is.”

He was no fucking better than Stanley.

Richie frowned.

“You okay?” he had the gall to ask then.

“Yes, I’m okay,” Eddie snapped in response. His hands curled into fists, he marched right past him, ignoring the way Richie’s eyes were boring into him.

As soon as he was around the corner and well out of view, he felt an odd smile tug at his lips.

Richie wasn’t at Beverly’s anymore.

iii

It was Friday, and Bill’s parents were going out of town on a romantic getaway. Bill didn’t say that his parents were going to go bone in an expensive hotel room, but it was obvious to Richie that’s what they planned to do.

“Are you sure you can’t come?” he asked Beverly, his head in her lap as she braided his hair. This activity had been going on long before he had told her he was gay, so it wasn’t stereotypical as far as he was concerned. “Bald Bill’s been looking better lately, and you said you’ve talked…”

“I’ll come to the quarry tomorrow, I just don’t feel like spending the night at my ex-boyfriend’s house.”

Richie sighed heavily. “That’s fair, and you’re right.”

“Of course it is and of course I am,” Beverly said, picking a small rubber band out of the bag at her side and tying it around the end of a braid. This one was bright orange. “You want another one?”

She held up handheld mirror over him. He had two on either side of his head and one at the back, which she lifted so he could see.

“I think I’m all set,” Richie said, and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the sofa. “Thank you, Miss Marsh. I’m sure to turn many a head at the county ball tonight.”

Beverly smiled, placing the mirror back on the coffee table, and Richie heaved himself to his feet and began the search for his shoes.

“Speaking of turning heads…” Beverly began.

“It was a joke,” Richie said. His shoes were in the kitchen area, by aunt Lucy’s pot brownies. Made sense. “No heads are being turned.”

“Have you talked to him?” Beverly asked, flopping back down upon the sofa, her feet on the arm rest.

“Not really. Everytime I try, it seems to piss him off. Apparently I just can’t say the right thing. Even ‘hello’ seems to make him mad. And to make things clear: I’m not looking to turn Eddie’s head. I just want to be friends again. That’s it.”

“I know, I know,” Beverly said, raising her hands in surrender. “That’s what I meant.”

Richie finished tying his shoe and levelled her with a look.

“No it’s not, but I forgive you.” 

Beverly grinned.

“Okay. I’m leaving.” He bounced over to his friend and planted a loud kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll miss you!”

“Go on, get out of here,” Beverly shooed him, and Richie did just that.

The past few days, everything seemed to be going well: Bill seemed less depressed (albeit a lot balder), Richie had fixed things with Beverly, and now that she and Stan both knew… it felt like air had been let out of the ugly red balloon caught in his chest.

“Cool hair,” Stan greeted upon answering the doorbell. Music was playing and Richie knew in an instant that it was not Joy Division.

“Thanks,” Richie said, shimmying past him and showing off his tiny braids. “Bev’s handiwork.”

“Of course.”

Through his quick assessment of the house, he found Bill and Mike coming downstairs and then Eddie glaring at him from the living room sofa. Jeez. Bev really shouldn’t hold her breath.

Stan told him that Bill’s dad had bought them all beer for the night, and sure enough, there it was, on the kitchen table. Legally obtained booze. They weren’t allowed to tell Bill’s mom about the little arrangement, and they had to get rid of all evidence that there had been anything akin to underage drinking going on in the house before the parents got back.

Mr. Denbrough was so getting laid.

Good for him, Richie thought. He knows his own parents had believed they’d split up after Georgie… and they had, for a while. But look at them now: leaving the house to their son and his weirdo friends so that they could fuck in peace. Good for them. Good for them.

The group stayed in the living room, spreading out on the sofas and armchairs while MTV played Meatloaf and Duran Duran. Richie was curled up on the armchair at the far end of the room, while Eddie sat to Bill’s right, his arm around his best friend. 

Richie refused to feel jealous of Bill.

“How are things with Ripsom going?” Mike asked. Richie pretended he wasn’t listening, but Stan met his eyes and pulled a face that looked a lot like, you okay bud? as Eddie answered.

“Oh, uh… I don’t know. Going.”

Richie flared his nostrils at Stan in a way he hoped said, cut it out!

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Mike asked.

Bill frowned at Richie, who immediately dropped his attempt at a telepathic conversation with his friend.

“A few weeks ago,” Eddie replied squeamishly. Mike’s eyes widened.

“Weeks?”

“I’ve been busy!”

“You’ve been busy,” Mike repeated. In a moment of clear desperation, Eddie looked for Richie, as if for help. As soon as his eyes found him, however, he quickly looked away. 

So, Richie had fucked that up. He wasn’t even happy about it, about the fact that Eddie was no longer with someone else (a fact that a month ago would have helped him sleep a lot easier). Instead, he just felt like the world's biggest asshole.

He heaved himself out of the armchair and patted his back and front pockets.

“I’m gonna go…” he said, waving his Malboros by way of explanation. Bill nodded, and Mike kept pressing into Eddie.

“You literally don’t do anything,” he was saying as Richie entered the hallway.

“I-I do things!” was Eddie’s retaliation, and it came out of nowhere: Richie’s fondness for Eddie flooded his chest, coloring it bright red so quickly he felt dizzy.

He didn’t hear the bathroom door open as he approached it, and he bumped into Ben, who was coming out.

“Shit, sorry,” Richie said, stepping back to pick up his cigarettes, which had scattered across the hallway rug.

“No worries,” Ben said, crouching down to help him out. After he handed Richie the final cigarette, which Richie slotted back into the packet, neither of them stood up quite yet. Richie fixed the other boy with a look.

“How’d you do it, Benji?” he asked him. “You got through two whole years of it.”

“She doesn’t like me like that,” Ben said without pretense.

“And that doesn’t bum you out?” Richie pressed.

Ben finally stood up and shrugged again. Richie followed suit and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Looking deep into his friend’s eyes, he said, in all earnesty,  “You are the strongest of us all.”

Ben gave him one of those odd little smiles of his. It was like there were two Ben’s, and the truer, deeper one was fighting to get through. Richie loved both Ben’s equally, of course, but it was always exciting when the true Ben shone through (which, through the years, became more and more often). 

We’re not so different, you and I , Richie almost said, but they were. Their differences lay in that Ben was graceful and wise and dignified, whereas Richie was a goddamn tornado.

“You won’t…” Ben said after a moment, “say anything, will you?” 

Richie let go of his shoulder threw his hands up.

“For god’s sake, it was one time! One time! I’m great at keeping secrets. Really,” he insisted at Ben’s arched eyebrow. “Besides, everyone knows,” he added. “Except Beverly. And maybe Bill.”

“Great,” Ben nodded. “Thanks, Richie.”

“No problem,” Richie grinned, and pat him on the back as he went back towards the living room.

Richie himself continued into the kitchen, where he slid open the glass doors and stepped into the back garden. It was a warm night, warmer than most, and he recalled hearing that a heatwave was coming. As if he didn’t sweat enough.

He lit a cigarette and looked up after inhaling. A few stars were visible above past the roof of Bill’s house, and he blew the smoke up into them.

Maybe they could sleep out here tonight.

He heard the door slide open behind him.

“Stan, you have got to be more subtle, man—“ he began, but the words died in his throat when he saw that it wasn’t Stan at all.

“Subtle about what?” Eddie asked.

Richie swallowed. “Oh, nothing. Stupid stuff.”

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffed, and walked until he was standing in front of him, the Denbrough’s old oak tree towering behind him. He had gotten sunburnt sometime this week, and even in the dark of the garden, the odd pink tinge to the bridge of his nose and forehead was visible. Eddie didn’t get tan, he got sunburnt, then freckled. Richie knew this because he was just observant. “What were you talking about?” he asked, then. Richie opened and closed his mouth, then said, “What?”

“With Ben?” Eddie clarified under the guise of patience.

“Oh,” Richie said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing much.”

“Beverly?”

Richie squinted.

“She’s a mutual friend,” he allowed.

“Do you… do you have a crush on Beverly?” He said it so fast it took Richie a moment to decipher it. When he did, he blinked.

“What?”

Eddie’s jaw was set, like he was readying himself for a fight. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, but I think I might have imagined it.” Richie inspected his cigarette in the dim light that was spilling out of the kitchen behind him.

“Do you have a crush on Beverly?” Eddie repeated and fuck, he was serious.

“No!” Richie said, as clearly as he possibly could. “What the fuck?”

“She broke up with Bill.”

Richie shrugged, still deeply confused. “Bill’s boring.”

“You go to her place all the time.”

“Her place is awesome. Her aunt makes pot brownies!”

“You had this whole stupid dance thing–”

“‘Cause we’re awesome .”

“She braided your hair—“

Richie pouted. “You don’t like it?”

Eddie flared his nostrils. “You asked Ben how he did it!”

Richie’s stomach flipped.

“You were eavesdropping?” he asked as he mentally replayed his conversation with Ben in case he’d said something he shouldn’t have. “ You let it slip that she wanted to break up with him,” Eddie continued, ignoring him. “If- if it wasn’t for you, they’d probably still be together.”

“What, you think that was part of my cunning plan to get into her pants?”

Eddie lifted an eyebrow. Richie’s mouth fell open.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“I just think it would be bad for the group’s dynamic—“

“What?”

“—if you and Beverly started dating right after Bill and her broke up. Quite frankly I think that would be selfish of you—“

“I don’t like Bev like that, holy shit,” Richie said, shaking his hands. “I’d tell you if I did, okay? I promise.”

Eddie looked at him.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Richie said, relaxing. “Jeez.” He sucked on his cigarette while Eddie’s eyes fluttered around, not remaining on his face for too long. Eddie didn’t like that Richie smoked. He called cigarettes cancer sticks, and normally Richie would put his out when Eddie was around. But this wasn’t really normally, so his cigarette stayed lit.

He blew the smoke to the side. 

“Do you like Betty?”

Eddie seemed to wake up from a daze. “Huh?”

“It’s my turn. Do you like Betty?”

Eddie shrugged. “Not really.”

He said it so quickly, and so easily— Richie immediately felt a thousand pounds lighter.

“Why are you smiling?” Eddie frowned.

“I’m not smiling.”

“You are, you’re smiling! You never liked her, admit it!”

“I won’t admit it,” Richie laughed. Maybe he was smiling. “I think she’s fine!”

“You do not think that!” Eddie was going red in the face — even redder than the sunburn. “You were hateful about it since— since day one!”

“Hateful? And I didn’t think you guys were the best couple, that’s all—“

Eddie snorted, “What? Who made you the expert?”

“No one! I didn’t say I was an expert! Why are you attacking me?”

“I’m not attacking you— I saw you! And Betty! Downtown! You were laughing, and-and- laughing!”

“Oh, you saw us?” Richie asked, rubbing the back of his neck. After their scene in the bathroom, he had walked her home. And Eddie had been somewhere —coming out of the arcade, walking through the town square — and had seen them. But they hadn’t been doing anything wrong, that Richie could remember. Past the destruction of school property, but whatever.

“Yeah, I saw you. Beverly didn’t work out so you had to make a move on Betty?”

Richie was no longer smiling. 

“Oh, you dick,” he said, with so much feeling it stopped Eddie in his tracks.

The other boy stood with his mouth agape, shock written all over his face.

“What?”

“You really think I would—“

Eddie’s face changed, eyes locked on something over Richie’s shoulder. Richie waited a moment before turning to follow his gaze.

“Stan, Mike, hey!” Eddie called. “You don’t have to go back inside, we’re just having a fun conversation! Between friends.”

Stan shook his head, nuh-huh , and began backing up. Mike looked at him, confused, and stepped forward all the same, as amiable as ever.

“What are you talking about?”  he asked good-naturedly. Richie took a drag of his cigarette so that Eddie could answer.

“Fun stuff, right, Rich?”

Rich stared at him.

“Eddie’s a total freak,” he said to Mike instead.

“We knew this,” Mike said, putting his hands up in surrender when Eddie threw him a look. “What’s he done this time?”

“Accused me of shit I didn’t do,” Richie said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“I-“ Eddie said.

“Bill wanted to know what toppings you guys wanted,” Stan blurted out. “On your pizzas.”

“I’ll go tell him,” Richie said, adding, “Pineapple, right?” to Eddie.

After a moment's hesitation, Eddie replied in a quiet voice, “Yeah.” 

Richie swung around on the spot and marched back across the garden, putting his cigarette out on the standing ashtray by the door.

To Richie’s knowledge, most houses had a forbidden room, one that under no circumstances were you (children) supposed to enter. In Bill’s house, it was his dad’s office, which Richie had only ever caught glimpses of when Bill would talk to his dad through a thin gap in the door. But after dinner, Richie was sent in there under Bill’s orders to pick out a few movies for them to watch over the course of the night while the rest of the gang cleared up the empty pizza boxes and beer bottles.

It was a smaller room than Richie had previously thought, a large desk taking up most of the space. Every wall was lined with shelves, and though a lot were full of boring work stuff, there were a few lined with VHS and cassette tapes.

So, with Halloween and Jaws in his hand, he began to peruse Bill’s dad’s music collection, because there were still noises coming from the kitchen and he was a lazy fucker.

The truth was, he didn’t really listen to much music besides what was on the radio, or the stuff Bev liked. He had no interest in New Kids on the Block, and his dad only listened to really old stuff, and jazz, which wasn’t really Richie’s thing, either. Thanks to his mom, he did know every Elvis song ever released, and he definitely saw that as a strength. Then there was the time all the Losers booed him for saying that Love Shack by the B-52s was a genuinely good song.

His index finger ran across the spines as he read through bands that were familiar and bands that were not. He stopped when he found The Cure, the title Wish scrawled onto a red background.

“Found a movie yet?” Stan pulled him out of his reverie, strolling into the office as if it were nothing.

Richie held up his two choices and Stan sighed dramatically.

“You always pick Jaws .”

“Because it’s a fucking fantastic movie.”

“And you know Eddie won’t like Halloween .”

“And?”

Stan looked over his shoulder at the slightly ajar door, then leaned in conspiratorially.

“Dude… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” he licked his lips, then fixed his eyes on Richie’s, “I think Eddie’s game.”

Richie blinked. “Game? What game? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Stan raised his eyebrows in answer.

“No,” Richie shook his head violently, “no way.”

“Think about it!” Stan insisted in a whisper. “He’s being totally weird tonight.”

Eddie had been stealing guilty glances at Richie throughout pizza, and had even begun laughing at his jokes again, but in a really odd way: they were short bursts of nervous giggles. Richie had noticed (pretty much everyone had noticed), but to Stan he dismissed it.

“He’s weird every night,” he shrugged, pushing the movies into Stan’s chest. “All the time, even.”

“I’m telling you,” Stan said, following him towards the door. “Something’s totally up.”

Richie spun on his heel, and Stan stopped a moment short from bumping into him.

“So what do you suggest?” Richie threw his hands up. Stan didn’t flinch. “After he accuses me of stealing his girlfriend, I just declare my everlasting love for him and see if it sticks?”

Stan paused. “Everlasting love?”

“It was a figure of fucking speech, Urine.”

“Okay… Well, I think you should at least tell him… you know. That you’re gay.”

Richie kicked the door shut behind him, prompting Bill to shout, “Watch it!” from a room away.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” he hissed at Stan.

“Because he’s your friend? And at least it would clear up the girlfriend-stealing stuff.”

What if he freaks out on me? Stan didn’t. I don’t have a crush on Stan. Anymore.

“I don’t owe that to anyone, by the way,” Richie said finally, his shoulders relaxing.

“I know, but… you’re going through this alone and… we all love you, Rich.”

“I’m not going through it alone.” Riche put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “I have Stanley Uris and his mysterious gay porn collection.”

“And don’t you feel better?”

Richie opened his mouth, then closed it. “I told Beverly.”

Stan’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? When? What did she say?”

Richie shrugged. 

“Well, that’s great!” Stan continued. “Does Beverly know I know?”

“Yeah… don’t gossip about me.”

“I just want to know where things stand!”

“I’ll be sure to keep you updated,” Richie said sarcastically, finally reaching behind him and turning the doorknob.

“What were you guys doing in there?” Mike asked as they came out into the hallway.

“Oh, we were just going down on each other,” Richie replied immediately. Beside him, Stan covered his face with his free hand.

Mike blinked, then shrugged.

“That’s new,” he said, and grinned at the films in Stan’s hand. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to see this!”

As soon as Mike’s back was turned, Stan glared at Richie. Richie just grinned in response.

The boys fell asleep one by one during Jaws , something Richie took serious offense to. Ben was the only one who didn’t as much as nod off, which meant he was a real, true friend. When it became clear that they were gonna need a bigger boat, Richie and Ben began talking about film at large, as they both had surprisingly similar tastes, while Bill began to snore loudly in Mike’s lap.

Around three AM, the boys managed to wake long enough to move the living room furniture to the side and lay their sleeping bags on the floor. After the lights went out, Richie stared at the shape of Eddie sleeping and wondered how things had gotten so messed up.

The truth of it all was that he missed him sorely, and Stan and his magazines, Beverly and her braids and Ben’s film expertise were no replacement for time spent with Eddie by his side.

A heatwave overtook Maine the last week of July, which for the Losers meant there was little else to do but go to the quarry. The pool was no relief now that water that had been boiling in the sun for the past couple of months; it had become, as Eddie had eloquently put it, people stew, so the gang stuck to the quarry which very rarely played host to anyone other than them. Every day they would leave home early in the morning so they could reach the water just as the sun began to burn in earnest. A different duo was in charge of bringing food each day, and today Ben and Beverly’s now empty baskets sat in the shade beside where Richie lay in the sun drying off from his last dip. His eyes were closed under his sunglasses, and he was tapping his fingers on his chest in time to the music on Ben’s walkman. Oh, you’re spinning me around, you sweep me off the ground , crooned the singer of The Cranberries.

His lesson was interrupted by the strangest feeling he was being watched. He could still hear shouting and laughing from the water past his headphones, but when he opened an eye to look, sure enough, someone was watching him. Eddie sat three towels away, still dripping wet from his swim, and he was staring right at him.

Richie thought back to what Stan said, then quickly pushed it out of his mind, lifting his head just a little and pushing the headphones away from his ear.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Asshole,” Eddie muttered in reply, before lying down himself.

After that interaction, a few minutes passed where they both lay in silence. When it became clear that the rest of the Losers weren’t coming out of the water anytime soon, Richie disregarded the walkman and lifted himself up onto his elbows.

“I listened to the album you mentioned,” he said.

Eddie turned his head towards him, away from the sun. The sound of Beverly’s laughter and loud splashes came from the water.

“What album?”

“Uh, by The Cure,” Richie confessed. So he had stolen it from Bill’s dad. Hopefully Mr. Denbrough would understand and, you know, wasn’t a huge homophobe or something. “I liked A Letter To Elise .”

He had listened to that one over and over again, actually. Twenty seconds into his first listen, he had looked at the case for the track name. He hadn’t known it was a break-up song at first, he just liked the way it sounded, and the line:

Oh, Elise it doesn't matter what you do,
I know I'll never really get inside of you.

“Oh,” said Eddie finally. “That’s… that’s a good one.”

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, trying not to get too excited about having engaged Eddie in civilized conversation. “The rest were a bit slow, though.”

Although Eddie was far away, Richie saw him quirk an eyebrow. “Slow?”

“I mean, they didn’t suck. Just kind of dragged, sometimes.”

“Okay, Mr. Music Critic.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Which is your favorite?”

“My favorite what?”

“Your favorite song. On the album.”

Eddie was quiet.

“That one,” he said finally. “The same one.”

Before Richie could comment on such a coincidence, Eddie rolled onto his side with his back turned to him.

Richie lay his head back onto his towel and smiled.

“Come on, Richie, you got this!” Eddie shouted, shaking the sofa cushion he held by Richie’s head.

“I know I’ve got this,” Richie said, biting his tongue in concentration.

“Just do this one thing for me,” Eddie insisted, clambering across the sofa to sit on Richie’s other side. Out of the corner of his eye, Richie saw Bill watch Eddie with a bewildered expression on his face.

“I’m doing the thing!” Richie snapped.

Instead of saying anything else, Eddie began drumming up a storm on the armrest of the sofa as Richie continued to pummel Mike in Mortal Kombat from his place on the floor. It wasn’t fair that Mike, someone who spent a pitiful amount of hours playing video games, was actually really good at video games. Throughout the course of the evening, Bill, Mike, Eddie and Richie had gotten a tournament going in front of a broken-down air conditioning unit Bill had salvaged from his basement. Two against two, with Bill and Mike on one team and Eddie and Richie on the other, cleverly orchestrated by Bill so that Richie and Eddie wouldn’t actually have to play at the same time at any point during the evening. But this was the final match, and somewhere between the third and twenty-seventh game Eddie had started to take the whole thing very seriously, forgoing his animosity towards Richie, now his teammate, entirely.

“Yes! Suck it, Mikey!” he yelled, falling off of the sofa as Richie dealt the final blow. His head banged against the armchair behind him but he didn’t seem to notice. He scrambled to his feet and addressed Richie: “God bless you and God bless America! I have to go to the bathroom.”

And with that he turned on his heel and head out of Bill’s living room.

“The hell is up with him?” Mike murmured, voicing the thoughts each of the remaining boys were having.

“I don’t get it,” said Richie, turning towards Bill and Mike. “Is he still mad at me?”

Mike shrugged, but Bill sighed loudly from the other end of the sofa.

“He wants an apology,” he said, exasperation hanging off his every word. “That’s what he said, anyway. He’s said a lot of things. It’s very annoying.”

Richie blinked in astonishment, climbing up to Bill’s level. “And you couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

Bill simply shrugged. “I thought you’d work it out.”

“When have I ever worked anything out in my life?”

“I mean, the both of you. I thought you’d just stop being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Richie said. 

Mike snorted. “You’re totally being weird.”

“And what even was it?” Bill said. “A shitty date?”

“Double date,” Richie clarified quickly. “And it was pretty bad.”

“A month of not talking bad?” Bill inquired.

Richie flopped backwards into the cushions and threw his arms into the air. “I don’t know! Probably not!”

Of course, if he thought about it, he knew that it wasn’t just the shitty date. It had never been about the shitty date, to Richie at least. And Richie knew that, even if Bill and Mike didn’t.

But to Eddie… Was it just about the shitty date to Eddie?

The three of them heard the bathroom door open, and Richie swallowed, folding his arms across his chest. Whatever. If he had told Bill he was waiting for an apology, well, Richie could give him an apology. He’d given one to Beverly, no problem. He didn’t think Eddie would appreciate a recreation of a scene from Say Anything quite as much, however, and if Richie did try anything grandiose he had a feeling he’d just make everything worse.

“Hey, Eddie,” he said, turning his head to look at his friend reentering the room. “Walk you home?”

Eddie made no attempt to hide his surprise, his eyes suddenly wide as saucers.

“Y-yeah,” he said finally. “That sounds… okay.”

“Alright!” Richie said, rising to his feet. “Now?”

“Sure. Yeah. The game… the game’s finished. It’s dark out…” Eddie listed off the reasons why they could leave now as Bill and Mike looked at them both innocently. They kept up the charade until Eddie was out on the doorstep and Richie leaned in to close the front door behind him: the two of them stood in the hallway giving Richie supportive thumbs up.

Richie gave them the finger in return.

Richie had brought his bicycle but Eddie’s was at home, so they walked together under the streetlamps, Richie wheeling his bike in silence beside him. When they reached the end of Bill’s block, it became increasingly clear that either of them had yet to say anything. Richie cleared his throat, but then the words died in his mouth. Eddie sent him a furtive glance, then went back to staring at the floor.

Fuck this.

“So I was–” Richie began.

“Isn’t it–” began Eddie.

They both fell silent.

“Oh,” Richie said, nodding towards Eddie to speak. Eddie shook his head.

“No, you first.”

“Oh, okay,” Richie said. His hands were beginning to sweat on the handlebars. “I, uh… yeah. There’s something… Something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. It’s…” he lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck, and he momentarily lost control of his bike. “Shit,” he murmured. The pedal had scraped at his ankle pretty badly. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem.”

Richie took a deep breath and looked to Eddie. I’m sorry , he said in his head. Out loud, he said, “Do you know what ADHD is?”

Judging by the way he squinted and then blinked repetitively, this was clearly not what Eddie was expecting. That made two of them.

“Kind of,” Eddie replied once he’d regained his composure. Then he shook his head. “Not really.”

Richie nodded, continuing on. “Mr. Jackson gave me this research on it. I read through it—“

“You can read?” Eddie joked, his smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “Sorry.”

“It just helped me, is all I’m trying to say. Like all the things about me I thought I could… I don’t know, keep in check, fix… change… are actually just the ADHD. Probably. I’m ninety percent sure.” He chanced a look at Eddie to make sure he was still listening, then continued, “Like, fidgeting, not being able to concentrate in class, getting bored fast… all that stuff. I just thought that if I tried harder, I could be better. Less… I don’t know. I thought I was just being lazy or something.”

“Oh,” was Eddie’s response. “What is it, like a mental disorder thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird,” Eddie said. Then he stopped walking. They were leaving Bill’s neighborhood now, a crosswalk away from a kiddie park. Eddie asked, “You want to change things about yourself?”

Richie stopped, too, but didn’t have the guts to look Eddie in the eye. He shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”

Eddie let out a sigh that Richie couldn’t quite read, and he sounded tired when he said, “Richie, we don’t ‘put up with you’. We — the Losers — like you.” He paused. “Oh my god, are you crying?”

It was humiliating, but it was true. Richie’s eyes were burning, and he blinked quickly to clear them up, but soon found it was useless. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I think— Sorry, I can’t do this, right now.”

“Do what?” Eddie asked, taking a step forward. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Richie said, waving his hand, but Eddie was closer now, crouching to meet his eye.

“Your fucking eyes are all red. You don’t look fine to me. Is this an ADHD thing?”

“No!” Richie said, moving away clunkily with his burden of a bike. “No, it’s not— I don’t think so. I just… gotta go, actually. Yeah,” he decided, “I’ll see you later.”

“Richie, what the fuck?” Eddie said, but Richie had already swung his leg over his bike and begun cycling. “Dude!” 

Beverly’s house was closest, so Richie cycled around the block and headed out that way, tossing his bike onto the front lawn when he arrived.

“Stan told me to tell Eddie!” he blurted out by way of explanation as he entered. 

Beverly was sat at the kitchen island, barefoot and sipping orange juice that she almost spilled upon his arrival.

“That’s you’re in love with him?” she asked after swallowing.

Richie closed the front door behind him a bit too harshly.

“That I’m gay!”

“Oh, congratulations, honey!” said aunt Lucy as she came into the room, clipping on one of her clunky wooden earrings.

“You made brownies!” Richie said, eyes catching on the pile in front of Beverly.

“The regular kind,” Lucy said.

“What did Eddie say?” Beverly interrupted.

“I didn’t tell him that,” Richie shook his head, approaching her, “but Bill said Eddie wanted me to apologize.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know!” Richie threw his hands up. “And I freaked out. I told him about the ADHD.”

“The what?” asked Beverly.

“My brother-in-law has that!” said aunt Lucy from the fridge. “I’ll give you his number!” To Beverly she said, “You know, uncle Joe?”

“Lucy, I am in love with you,” Richie said, popping a brownie into his mouth.

“Gay men often are.”

Beverly put her hand on Richie’s wrist, tugging for his attention. “Richie,” she said when he met her eyes, “are you alright?”

The right answer would be no, not at all. I was playing video games and then I almost started crying in the middle of the street for no reason!

Aunt Lucy cleared her throat. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’m late for my meditation workshop anyway.”

“Thanks, Lucy,” Beverly said. Richie nodded but decided to keep his mouth closed. He didn’t want to cry in front of her. He did want to hug her for being the first person to refer to him as a gay man. Even just as a man, actually.

Richie climbed onto the stool beside Beverly’s and let her pour him a glass of milk as he recounted the scene with an incredibly annoying lump in his throat.

“I’m going to be honest,” Beverly said. “I don’t think literally running away was the best thing you could have done.”

“No way,” Richie replied sarcastically. That was when the phone rang.

“It’s probably just Ben or something,” Beverly dismissed, dropping onto the floor and padding towards the living area.

“Oh, has he been calling a lot lately?” Richie asked, surreptitiously wiping under his glasses with the heel of his hand.

Beverly threw him a glance over her shoulder. “Don’t.”

“What?” Richie asked innocently, picking out another slice of brownie.

Beverly picked up the phone, an ugly hot pink thing, then put it to her shoulder.

“It’s Stan,” she said.

“Stan has your number?”

She held the phone out on front of her. “He says it’s important.”

Richie swallowed his brownie and took the phone from Beverly.

“Hullo, this is Richie Tozier’s home office–”

“Richie, Eddie just came over,” Stan interrupted. “He wanted to know what I knew.”

“About what, Vietnam? The price of tea in China?”

“You know what!” Stan snapped. “He said you freaked out on him! What happ—?”

Richie hung up.

“Oh, I fucked up!” he said to Beverly. Her arms were folded across her chest, but her expression was soft.

“You have to talk to Eddie and fix this. For once and for all.”

“I think I’m just gonna move out of Derry,” Richie said, pacing between the sofa and TV. “I’ll run away. I’ll join the fucking circus. God, I hate clowns. But I’ll do it.”

“I think you’re being a little bit dramatic,” Beverly said, reaching out to hold him.

“Oh, I am, am I? It’s not like gay guys get routinely fucking murdered in this shithole of a town or anything!”

Beverly recoiled, her nostrils flaring. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Richie sighed. “I know, I’m being an asshole again. Fuck. I’m scared, Bev.”

“Of Eddie?”

“Yeah, of Eddie! I don’t know what I’d do if–”

He was interrupted by a loud thumping on the door that caused both he and Beverly to freeze on the spot. They looked at each other in surprise, when suddenly an unmistakable voice called out, “ Rich ! I know you’re in there! Your bike is outside!”

“I’m gonna have a heart attack,” Richie gasped.

Eddie thumped the front door some more.

Beverly held his gaze for another couple of seconds, then swooped down to retrieve her sandals from the floor.

“Oh, no. No. You’re not gonna leave me–˝

“Absolutely I’m going to leave you,” Beverly said, pulling her sandals on. “I’m going out the back door.”

“Don’t do this to me, Bev,” Richie begged. In response, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good luck,” she said.

“Where will you go?” he asked after her as she approached the back door, her hand snaking through the beaded curtain.

Beverly shrugged. “To Stan’s. To gossip.”

“You don’t even know where he lives.”

Beverly stuck her tongue out and disappeared through the beaded curtain.

“Fuck,” Richie said to the empty room.

“I’ll- I’ll break this door down, I swear to god!” Eddie continued out front.

“Fuck,” Richie said again, then took a deep breath. “No you fucking won’t,” he called, and Eddie’s knocks subsided.

He took another deep breath before swinging open the front door, unprepared for the absolute feral look in Eddie’s eyes when he did. Eddie was sweating, his hair falling out of place across his forehead, and his hands were balled into fists either side of him. Fuck, he was hot.

“I think I got a fucking splinter,” he muttered, glaring at Richie.

“No you did not,” Richie replied. Then he stepped aside, waving Eddie in.

“Where’s Beverly?” Eddie asked, looking around the empty space.

“She went out.”

Eddie turned towards him, an eyebrow raised. “So it’s just us?”

Richie nodded, his throat thick.

“Okay,” Eddie said, nodding in return. Richie circled him anxiously, unable to stay still. “We have to talk.”

In response to this, Richie threw himself head first onto the sofa and burrowed his face in his arms. He felt Eddie approaching him and could tell when he came to a standstill beside him, but he didn’t dare look up.

“For god’s sakes, can you stop being ridiculous and look at me! Come on, Rich.”

Richie groaned, and Eddie threw one of aunt Lucy’s ugly scratchy cushions at him.

He rolled onto his side, legs too long to fit on the length of the sofa, and peered up at Eddie with his glasses askew. Eddie’s hands were still balled into fists, but he looked tired, too. Richie adjusted his glasses and folded his arms awkwardly over his stomach. Eddie’s shoulders dropped and he sighed loudly, his forehead creasing.

“Can we stop being weird?” he said. “Please?” And all of the fight fell out of him, his voice squeaking like it did when they were younger. He blinked and looked at the ceiling, then back down at Richie, who was frozen in place. “Everything has been totally weird all summer and I don’t like it. I was waiting for you to apologize, I think, but then you didn’t, or wouldn’t, but I don’t even care about that anymore. You and Betty have made up, and I don’t know if you’ve talked to Janice or whatever but I suppose that doesn’t matter if her cousin thinks you’re okay, which she does. I talked to her about it. To Betty, not to Janice. She lives out of town. And I don’t even like her – Betty, not Janice –  not like that, and she said she doesn’t like me anymore, so that’s not even an issue now, and I just want us to be okay again. You and me, I mean. You’re like, one of my best friends, and I don’t like that things are weird between us and I miss you.” He stopped for air, his eyes shining. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I miss you. So… yeah.”

Richie’s mouth was slightly open. He pulled himself upright, still hugging his middle as he did so, the words he wanted to say fogged by Eddie’s doe eyes. They were so brown and so beautiful and he was so pathetic.

“I’m sorry, Eds,” he managed finally, putting as much feeling as he possibly could into it. “I–I miss you, too.”

Eddie let out a relieved sigh.

“We’re both idiots, then,” he stated.

The corner of Richie’s lips tugged into a smile. “I think so,” he agreed, nodding.

“So... are we good?”

Now, Richie knows, would be the time to confess everything, just how Beverly and Stan told him too. But he knows that after spending so long apart from Eddie, reuniting will make things dicier for him than ever. Sure, maybe Eddie wouldn’t have a problem with Richie’s sexuality, but Richie wasn’t ready for Eddie to know exactly who it was that starred in pretty much all of his sexuality-related fantasies. And if they became close again, like they were before, he did not trust himself not to give himself away.

So Richie would stay in the closet forever. Whatever. What was another few years, anyway? Besides, now he had Stan, and Beverly, so he would have two friends to hold him back for flying off the handle the next time Eddie found a girl. 

“Yeah,” Richie smiled. “We’re good.”

And Eddie kissed him.

His hands cupped Richie’s face and his nose knocked into Richie’s awkwardly. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was warm and bold and unmistakable.

Eddie released his face and stood up straight in a single motion, his eyes wide with shock that mirrored Richie’s own. He felt like he was dropping on a rollercoaster with no end in sight.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice hoarse unrecognizable.

“What do you mean?” Eddie responded immediately. Richie blinked at him.

“You just fucking kissed me, man!”

“Don’t be an asshole about it!” Eddie snapped, and the shock finally set in. Richie’s mouth fell wide open and he clambered up and over the back of the sofa, placing it firmly between them.

“Stan fucking said!” he pointed at Eddie. “He said it!”

“Stan said what?” Eddie demanded, trying to step closer. Instead, his shins hit the sofa and he stared down at it, stunned, as if he couldn’t remember it being there.

“That you were fucking gay for me!”

“I’m not—” Eddie spluttered, going red in the face. “Listen,” he shook his head, “I didn’t mean it, and I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t mean it?” Richie repeated as Eddie circled the sofa with caution. He was moving like he was dizzy, or wary of any other objects that may mysteriously appear in his way.

“I don’t know!” he said, waving his hands around. “I wasn’t really thinking—“

“You weren’t thinking ?”

Eddie dropped his hands in surrender. “What do you want me to say, exactly?”

“I…” Richie began, but the rest of that sentence died in his throat when it dawned on him. Eddie had kissed him and he had not run away after. In fact, he was standing right in front of him, his sneakers on aunt Lucy’s bright green shag carpet directly in front of his own. “Nothing.”

Experimentally, he stepped closer. Eddie watched in silence as Richie pressed the toes of his converse against the tip of Eddie’s vans. He didn’t take his eyes off of Richie’s face as Richie put his hand on the back of Eddie’s neck. His heart hammering in his chest, his pulse was erratic in his wrist. Maybe Eddie could hear it.

He leaned in, craning his neck, and still Eddie didn’t move. He saw Eddie’s eyes flutter to a close, and, on instinct, closed his own before brushing his lips against Eddie’s. The contact was soft and bred butterflies in Richie’s stomach, his every hair standing on edge. Experimentally, he pressed further, and Eddie’s mouth opened under his. His heart leapt to his throat and then they were kissing – he was kissing Eddie – and it was a real kiss, like the kisses Richie had seen in movies. Eddie’s mouth was hot and wet and on his, his nose was rubbing across Eddie’s cheek and his hand was in Eddie’s hair. He smelled of sweat and felt solid, real , and he was kissing him.

Richie pulled away first, because the balloon in his chest was bursting and he had to let the air out.

Eddie looked up at him, pupils blown and lips bright red.

Richie said, “I’m gay.”

Eddie said, “Oh.”

And Richie waited. Waited for Eddie to say the same, or something similar.

When Eddie said nothing, he continued, “I was, uh, jealous. Of Betty. And I was a dick about it.”

“You were jealous?” Eddie’s voice was small.

Richie nodded. “I, uh, like you.” He swallowed. “I have… for a while now.”

Eddie’s brown eyes were huge. He blinked, opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“Me?” he asked then.

Richie’s hand was still on his neck – his spit was still on Eddie’s lips.

“Yeah!” he said. “You!”

Eddie shook his head, his eyes trained on Richie’s face. He was waiting for the punchline.

“I’m serious,” Richie said.

“I need to think,” Eddie replied.

He put his own hand on Richie’s wrist and tugged himself free.

Richie stared at him, stunned. 

“ You kissed me !” he reminded him as Eddie began to turn around.

“I said I wasn’t thinking!”

“But that’s not fair—“

“I’m sorry, okay?” Eddie squeaked. Richie’s shoulders slumped, and Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, and although he clearly meant it, it still felt like a knife to the Richie’s stomach. “I gotta— I gotta go clear my head. And you just did this, so you can’t— you can’t fucking say anything.”

Richie wanted to point out that he didn't kiss him before running off to Beverly’s, but he couldn't. He found that for once in his life, he couldn’t say anything at all.

When he presented no further argument, Eddie did something odd: he smiled. It was soft, and didn’t mean much, but also somehow meant a lot. He then nodded and headed back towards the front door. He hovered with his hand on the handle, but only for a moment.

“See you later,” he said awkwardly.

Richie didn’t reply.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Richie collapsed back onto the sofa, covered his face with a pillow and screamed.

The weekend had come and gone and Eddie still hadn’t finished thinking. Richie had thoroughly considered never showing his face in the clubhouse again, but Stan and Beverly had assured him that he deserved to hang out with the rest of the losers, no matter how confusing things were with Eddie at the moment. 

They had been very patient with him after kissgate; the night of, Stan had brought two pairs of pajamas to Beverly’s place and they had a sleepover. Aunt Lucy made Mexican and they all let Richie wallow quite respectfully.

“What the fuck does he have to think about, anyway?” Richie had asked his friends as the three of them sat cross-legged on the floor of Beverly’s bedroom. “How he’s gonna let me down?”

“I don’t think he—“ Stan began in response, but Beverly kicked him. Thank you, Beverly. Stan’s big ideas were part of what got him here in the first place.

Stan was with him now, walking to the clubhouse and droning on about a bird he’d spotted yesterday afternoon.

Thank fuck for Stan.

“Oh, ‘sup guys,” Bill said when they arrived. Ben waved and Eddie nodded a polite hello.

“What are you guys up to?” Stan asked as Richie made a beeline for the hammock.

“Ben bought this new game in town,” Bill began to explain. Richie zoned out and made himself comfortable, chatting amicably with Mike when he arrived, and then messing around with Beverly when she showed up with a new issue of Vogue. The minutes ticked by without incident, and the angry fog that had been caught between Eddie and himself was now gone, albeit replaced by something else less comprehensible.

So, even though Eddie knew everything, and even though he now knew what kissing Eddie felt like, everything was so... normal.

He swung his legs over the edge of the hammock and stood up.

Beverly watched him carefully, closing the magazine in her hands. He cleared his throat.

“I have an announcement,” he said loudly. Mike, Ben and Bill stopped their weird card game and Stan put down his gameboy. Richie let his eyes rest on Eddie, but only for a moment. He took a deep breath and said to the clubhouse at large, “I’m gay.”

There was nothing but silence. Richie could hear the creaking of boards beneath them as different Losers shifted their weight.

Then, Stan started to clap.

“Dude,” Richie muttered. Stan stopped.

“You’re… You’re what?” Bill asked. Any suspicion Richie might have had about Eddie telling his best friend about what happened vanished as soon as he set eyes on the stupid look on Bill’s face.

“A gay man,” he replied diplomatically.

“You’re in-into guys?”

“That’s the definition of the word,” Richie said, “yes.” Beverly put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Any other questions?”

“When?” asked Mike.

Richie shrugged. “I dunno. A while.”

“You’re sure?” Bill asked.

“Dude,” replied Stan, suddenly the goddamn sensitivity police.

Beside him, Ben got to his feet somberly. Richie thought he was going to say something wise and hopefully accepting. Instead, he took two steps towards him and gave him a hug.

At first, Richie’s arms hung limply at his sides in surprise. But when Beverly wrapped her arms around his shoulders from the side, Richie slowly raised his arms and hugged Ben back.

One by one, each of the Losers joined the pile. First Mike, then Stan, Bill, and finally Eddie himself surrounded Richie until he was sure they’d all be stuck together with sweat for the rest of all time. But if that was to be his fate, he wouldn’t mind it. His glasses began to fog up, and Mike noticed, and the collective hug got tighter.

“Guys,” Richie choked out. “Can’t—breathe—“

And he was released, because it had to happen sometime. Ben saw him wipe away a tear but said nothing of it. He just smiled.

Beverly stayed with her arms wrapped around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder.

“We love you, man,” Mike said.

“Yeah,” Bill agreed. “No matter what.”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “We love you.”

Richie swallowed.

“Thanks, you guys,” he said, looking around at his friends. “Really. I love you, too.”

He let his eyes linger on Eddie just because he could. And Eddie didn’t look away.  His eyes were shining, and he looked happy , for some reason. When Richie cracked a smile, Eddie mirrored him with one of his honest, pure grins he didn’t fight against.

Richie’s chest sung, and Mike barrelled into him again, patting him on the chest and swaying him to-and-fro.

Bill and Beverly exchanged a smile, and Stan wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, grinning like a madman.

Today was maybe one of the best days of Richie’s life.

“We’re leaving, Richie!” Richie’s mom called from downstairs. Richie, stepping out of the shower, shouted, “Bye!” as loudly as he could.

He then wrapped a towel around his waist and peered through the fog in the bathroom mirror to check on the zit on his forehead. From what he could make out without his glasses on, the bastard was still there. With his fingers, he brushed his dripping wet hair so that it hid it, but got flecks of water in his eyes.

“Money’s on the counter for emergencies!” his mom yelled.

“I know!” Richie said, feeling around the sink for his glasses.

His mom yelled something else, but it was unintelligible due to the fact that she had one foot out of the front door, and Richie was up a flight of stairs in a locked room.

“ What ?” Richie called.

His mom replied, and again it was muffled.

“Can’t hear youuuu,” Richie sang, wrapping a towel around his head before stepping into the hallway.

“ What !” he yelled, freezing in place at the sight of a very surprised Eddie at the top of the stairs. He was wearing short shorts and holding onto the bannister with a vice-like grip. “Oh,” Richie said, blinking stupidly. He was naked under his towel and Eddie was here. “Hey, dude. Was it you mom was shouting about?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “Yeah. I thought I’d stop by. If that’s okay.”

“When has it not been okay?” he shook his head. “Don’t answer that. Should I get dressed? I should get dressed.”

Eddie just nodded in reply.

Richie jumped back into the bathroom to turn off the lights, catching his full, unflattering reflection in the fogged-up mirror, and then leapt back into the hallway, bare feet padding across the carpeted floor.

He and the Losers (the boys, at least) had gotten changed in front of and around each other plenty of times. It was no big deal. 

Eddie studied his comics shelf very carefully and very quietly as Richie pulled on fresh clothes behind him, only partially hidden by the open door of his closet. Of course, his clean clothes weren’t in his closet: his mom had left a basket of clean stuff in his room a couple of days ago and it still lay on the floor in front of his closet. For the past few days, he had been rummaging through the basket instead of his shelves and hangers whenever he needed anything.

On a whim, he put the entire basket inside, at an angle, before closing the closet door and announcing, “I’m decent!” 

He grabbed one of the towels off of his bed and rubbed his wet hair as Eddie turned around, awkwardly flexing his fingers at his sides.

“I, uh, brought you something,” he said, dipping his hand into his fanny pack to retrieve a cassette. “It’s a cassette,” he explained. Richie took it and lifted it closer to his face to read the label. All it said was RICHIE in Eddie’s stupidly neat handwriting. Eddie shrugged when Richie looked up. “Just some songs I thought you might like.”

“Oh,” said Richie. “Okay… Thanks.” 

He wasn’t sure what he had expected when Eddie had showed up, but this definitely wasn’t it.

“Thematically it’s all over the place, so I’m sorry about that whole thing—“ Eddie stopped, his eye catching on Richie’s desk. He walked over and picked up the only The Cure thing Richie owned. “Is this Bill’s copy of Wish ?”

“Oh, yeah. I, uh, borrowed it. How’d you know it’s his?”

“I borrowed it first.” He turned it over in his hands, then showed it to Richie. “I broke the spine.”

“Oh, good. I thought that was already like that.”

Eddie gave him an odd little look, then said, “Bill’s dad introduced me to loads of stuff. He knows a lot about music, actually.”

“Oh, that’s… Good for him.” Richie walked over and put Eddie’s present down beside his walkman. “Did you just come here to give me a mixtape? Not that I’m not grateful—“

“I have some questions,” Eddie blurted out.

“Okay.”

Eddie breathed deeply through his nose, and took a step back, into Richie’s desk chair. “Oh. Oops.” He cleared his throat, leaning his hand on Richie’s desk. “How gay… are you?”

Richie snorted. “The fuck does that mean?”

Eddie sighed impatiently. “You don’t like girls at all?”

“I like girls,” Richie said automatically. Then he cringed. “But no.”

Eddie smiled bitterly and shook his head.

“It was all talk…” he muttered.

“It’s called being in the closet.”

“I know what it’s called!” Eddie snapped. Then, quietly, he muttered, “I just can’t believe I fell for it.” He seemed angry, but Richie couldn’t be sure about what he was angry at.

“Well, I’m sorry I tricked you with my masterful, deceitful jokes about your mom, Eddie baby,” he said, strolling towards his bed and sitting down on the edge of it. He felt immeasurably heavy, like he could no longer hold himself up on his own.

“Oh, don’t call me baby.”

“Why? You afraid you’ll like it too much?”

“No, it’s because I hate it,” Eddie replied without missing a beat. Then, he looked at his shoes. “You weren’t kidding?”

“About what?” Richie asked, tapping his fingers on his sheets. “Liking dick?”

Eddie pulled a face. “No,” he said. “About… liking me.”

He looked down as he said it, but then lifted his face just enough to seek out Richie’s eyes. Richie couldn’t explain it, but he felt every inch of Eddie’s gaze hit him square in the chest. When he was finally able to speak, his voice was thicker than he would have liked.

“I didn’t mean to, like, ruin our friendship, or anything. But you kissed me, and I got confused— I didn’t mean to tell you. I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because,” was what Richie settled on, more eloquent than ever.

Eddie’s forehead creased.

“On the kissing bridge,” he began. Richie’s blood froze. Oh, fuck. “There’s an R… and an E.”

Richie dropped his face into his hands, answer enough for Eddie’s unasked question. 

“That’s so stupid,” he said, and Richie might be sick, this was actually a nightmare— “But kinda… cute.”

Richie lifted his head.

Eddie was blushing like crazy, looking unsure of what he had just said but also determined that Richie hear that he'd said it. As soon as he saw that Richie had in fact understood him, he started pacing the small space of Richie’s bedroom, wringing his hands together.

“I, uh… when I was with Betty. I kept wondering, what would Richie think?”

“Gross.”

“Shut up.” He swallowed, continuing to pace. “I don’t know. I feel like I did the whole thing to… impress you, or something.”

“That’s super weird,” Richie said, because it was.

“I didn’t like her, like that,” Eddie continued. “I don’t know. She’s nice, and everything.”

“She’s cool, yeah.”

Eddie stopped pacing at Richie’s door. For a moment, Richie thought that maybe he’d turn around and leave. But instead, Eddie licked his lips and slowly walked towards the bed. Hurriedly, he sat beside Richie, the mattress dipping under his weight. His hand lay on the bed sheet between them. Richie could easily just reach out and hold it.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” Eddie admitted.

Richie shrugged with false bravado. “Me neither.”

“You’ve never…” Eddie whispered, “no one?”

“In Derry?” Richie laughed. “I like myself not murdered by Bowers and his gang, thank you.”

Henry Bowers’ cousin... The first and only time he’d thought… god, he hadn’t even known what to think. And he’d barely even dared to looked at anyone that way after that. It just wasn’t safe.

Softly, Eddie asked, “Was I your first kiss?”

Richie blanched, recoiling. “Don’t say it like that…”

“Don’t say it like what?”

“Like I’m some virgin maiden and you spoiled me.”

“But that’s what happened, right?” 

“Don’t be a dick.”

Eddie grinned. “But you like it when I’m a dick.” He knocked his shoulder against Richie’s and said, “‘Cause you totally have a crush on me.”

“Keep going and I won’t for much longer.”

“How about now, still have a crush on me?” He poked Richie’s cheek. “And now?” He put his feet in Richie’s lap and nudged his knee with a socked foot. “And now?” He kicked Richie’s arm.

Richie grabbed his ankles.

“Yeah,” he said.

Eddie’s breath hitched in his throat. Richie loosened his grip, and was ready to move away entirely, but the. Eddie said, “Do something about it, then.” 

There was a hint of self consciousness in his eyes after he spoke, but his jaw was set, firm in his decision.

Richie leaned in and kissed him.

After only a mere second of hesitation. Eddie kissed back. He wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck and pulled Richie closer, causing Richie’s belly to swoop in disbelief. Clumsily, Eddie lay on his back and Richie climbed on top of him, their teeth knocking together and their legs tangling.

This was it, Richie thought. He had died and gone to heaven. He was hallucinating. He was dreaming. He wasn’t going back to a moment where Eddie wasn’t lying beneath him, solid and warm and panting into his mouth.

Experimentally, he pulled on Eddie’s bottom lip with his teeth. Eddie made a quiet noise that drove Richie half crazy, then tugged on a fistful of Richie’s hair, deepening the kiss.

Richie was having trouble breathing, and he didn’t know whether to blame his inexperience or Eddie , but he pulled away to breathe, and to look at him. Eddie’s pupils were blown and his eyes were wide.

“D’you like me back?” Richie asked, unable to stop himself.

“Yeah, that was different than kissing Betty,” Eddie breathed.

Richie dropped his head onto Eddie’s shoulder and groaned. “Why would you bring up Betty fucking Ripsom again?”

“It’s the only- it’s the only frame of reference I have!” Eddie said between laughs, and god, Richie hated him. 

He also loved him.

“Frame of fucking reference ?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” laughing

Richie rolled onto his back beside him and looked up at the ceiling. It wasn’t spinning, and it was still his bedroom. There was a spider in the corner. God, he hoped Eddie didn’t see that — not now.. Eddie’s laughter slowly subsided, and when Richie turned his head to look at him, he saw it replaced by a soft smile that he was powerless against. He leaned across like a moth drawn to flame, and Eddie moved to meet him.

As they kissed more — slowly, melting — Richie thought, I could die right now and have no complaints . It was corny, but it was true. Eddie probably wouldn’t be too jazzed about Richie dying through their liplock though.

Eddie giggled into his mouth, and Richie squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s so fucking funny now?” he breathed. He could feel his own breath bouncing off of Eddie’s face. It was kind of gross and also incredible.

Eddie kissed him again, a small peck on his lips, and then planted another one on the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he laughed, and Richie relaxed a little. “I think I really like kissing you. Is that weird?”

“Sounds pretty gay to me.”

Eddie looked up, rolling ever so slightly away. Richie felt the loss of Eddie’s warmth like the loss of a limb, even sweat was pooling where their arms still touched. “God, am I gay?”

“You tell me.”

“My mom’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

“So is that a yes?”

Eddie looked him in the eye. “I don’t think I want to fight with you ever again.”

“That sucked,” Richie agreed. He pushed himself up on an elbow, and placed his other hand on Eddie’s chest, because now that he could touch him, he couldn’y help himself. “But if this… is just you overcompensating for being totally psycho this month—“

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“No, Eddie. I’m serious. If you’re not…” he fiddled with the hem of Eddie’s shirt. “If you don’t. Then I’ll…” He’d what? Ask Eddie to leave? It would be the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He took a deep breath as Eddie watched him closely, and bore his soul. “I meant it, when I said I liked you. And, I don’t want to freak you out any further than I already have but I really like you. Like, it’s been… it’s been years, Eds. There’s been no one else. It’s fucking embarrassing is what it is. So I kinda need… to know.”

He finished with his eyes cast down, but pushed himself to look at Eddie as he waited for an answer.

“Are you thinking?” he asked when Eddie said nothing.

Eddie shook his head. Then he nodded and looked up, his eyes shining.

“Aw, fuck,” Richie said, sitting upright and curling his legs underneath him. “I didn’t mean to— come here.”

He pulled Eddie into a hug, Eddie’s legs dangling over the side of the bed and Richie’s foot cramping underneath him.

“Sorry,” Eddie muttered when he pulled back, sniffling and wiping his eyes carelessly. “I just got overwhelmed. Shit. No, I like you, Rich. Of course I fucking do. I’m an idiot!”

“Whoa, there.”

“I’m serious! I’m a fucking idiot! I kissed you !”

“Yeah, that was a bit of a curveball,” Richie admitted.

“I’m totally into you. What the fuck?”

“Don’t worry about my ego, there, or anything.”

“I’m adjusting!” Eddie replied. “I’m obsessed with you!” He put his hand on the back of Richie’s neck and shook him.

“Okay, you can keep going,” grinned Richie.

Eddie shook his head, short and quick.

“Nuhuh. I’m gonna stop talking, actually. Maybe forever.”

Richie snorted. “I could help you with that,” he offered.

“Okay,” Eddie said.

And they kissed some more.

Richie thought he was actually getting the hang of it up until Eddie climbed on top of him, at which point he decided that he had in fact died, and this was heaven.

Eddie was straddling his lap and had his hands under Richie’s shirt. He mumbled something like, “You smell clean,” and Richie replied, “I just showered,” even though Eddie clearly knew that. “Does that turn you on?” Richie teased, and Eddie dug his nails into Richie’s hipbone in retaliation. “Fuck, it totally does!” Richie laughed.

“Shut up,” Eddie pleaded, pressing a searing kiss to his mouth. And then he shifted his positioning and froze.

He pulled away to look at Richie with wide eyes. Richie shrugged.

“You fucking pervert,” Eddie said, and his moving around on Richie’s lap really wasn’t doing either of them any favors.

“It’s not like I can control it!” Richie defended as Eddie looked down at him. “Did you miss the part when I confessed my everlasting affection to you? I’m liable to jizz my fucking pants right now.”

Eddie was turning pink again. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m being honest! That’s my new thing! Honesty!”

Eddie gave him a look. “I am not gonna make you… jizz your pants,” he managed to get out. It was stupidly cute.

“Fucking try me,” Richie challenged. Then he paused, realization dawning on him. “But, I mean… I know you… if it grosses you out…” 

To his surprise, Eddie shook his head. So now Richie was confused. Then Eddie bowed his head, looking down at himself, and Richie suddenly understood.

“Wait,” he said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Now that honesty is my new thing. Can I say something?”

Eddie sighed. “Why the hell not?”

“I think you are so fucking hot.”

Eddie turned red instantly. It was like turning on a lightbulb, and Richie felt he was on fire. He’d made Eddie blush before (the odd inappropriate remark occasionally slipping out), but this was something else entirely.

“I’m serious, Eds. You’re so,” he kissed his neck, “fucking,” he kissed his jaw, then levelled his eyes with Eddie’s and said, “Sexy.” He kissed his mouth, and made it extra filthy. Eddie let out a whine deep in his throat, which really didn’t do Richie’s crotch any favors, and finally climbed off of him, wiping his neck with his wrist as he settled against the headboard. 

They would have to set boundaries because of Eddie’s leftover mommy issues, and honestly, Richie was thrilled by the idea. Eddie was still bright red, and looked incredibly flustered.

Richie leaned over and put his hand on Eddie’s stomach.

“I’m serious, dude. Your little short shorts. Been driving me wild since ‘89.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, just barely daring to meet his eye. “You can stop, now.”

“What if I don’t wanna?” Richie whined. “I’ve been keeping this bottled up, Kaspbrak, I’m bursting at the seams!”

“Save it,” Eddie insisted. “I’m serious.” And holy shit. Eddie was totally turned on.

Upon this realization, Richie dropped his head into his pillow. Self-restraint and all. When he deemed himself apt to surface, he lifted his head and said, “Can I call you cute?”

Eddie looked grateful at the change in tone. “You already did that.” 

“True,” Richie allowed. “How about scrumptious?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“How about Eds?”

“Don’t call me Eds.”

Richie grinned so wide, his face felt it might split in two. He took one of Eddie's hands in two of his and brought it to his chest pressing it into where his heart beat a happy song.

“I knew you’d say that.”