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Eddie’s not quite sure how this had happened. Life after defeating It had seemed like a fever dream: waking up in the hospital, going back to New York, quitting his job, divorcing Myra, getting the hell out of New York (with the full support of the Losers), and buying a shitty apartment in LA. To be closer to Richie. Because that was another part of it: apparently near death experiences made a person be more honest with themselves. Who knew?
The problem is, honesty isn’t exactly something Eddie has a good track record with.
He had been so close to spilling all of his feelings to Richie, back when he was in the hospital with a bandaged up arm and Richie wouldn’t leave his bedside. Eddie had taken one look at Richie’s slumped over form in the tiny plastic hospital chair that didn’t quite fit his body (because, Jesus , Richie was fucking broad, in a way Eddie didn’t want to think about because it gave him heart palpitations), and thought, I’m in love with this idiot.
Like a fucking nerd. Disgusting.
But then Eddie had swiftly remembered that he was married, and people could say what they wanted about Eddie, but he was not a cheater, despite what Myra’s lawyer had tried to tell him.
So he had resolved that he would go back to New York and divorce Myra, and then he would tell Richie how he felt.
The only problem with that plan, as it turned out, was that in the time that it actually took to go back and get a divorce (which turned out to be a long fucking time, because Myra Kaspbrak was not an easy woman to deal with), Eddie had lost all his nerve.
So, six months post-divorce, Eddie’s living in LA, no closer to telling Richie how he feels. They spend almost all their time together: going out to dinner, shopping at Whole Foods (because that’s a thing Eddie does now, apparently), and drinking at shitty dive bars that Richie’s agent had convinced to host his new routine. And his new routine was good: painstakingly honest in a way that stole Eddie’s breath away, while still hitting all the comedic points with perfect timing.
It was a big hit with the gay crowd.
Because Richie was out now. That was a thing.
Which was, for one, amazing, and Eddie was so unbelievably proud of Richie for having the courage to come out, even though it must have scared him shitless.
On the other hand, it made Eddie feel like a dick for not coming out.
Yeah, he knows all the crap the kids say nowadays: all in your own time, you don’t owe it to anyone, yadda yadda. It doesn’t mean that Eddie hadn’t felt like an absolute asshole when Richie, with sweaty palms and an oddly earnest expression, had bared his soul to Eddie, professing his lifelong gayness, and all Eddie had to offer in response was a weak: Oh. That’s cool, Rich.
That’s cool? Jesus, what was Eddie thinking?
Well, he knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that maybe he had a chance now, except not, because Richie had known Eddie at his worst, at his most neurotic and manic, and there was no way in hell that he would consider Eddie boyfriend material.
Richie was a fucking celebrity. Not A-list, granted, but still famous enough to make magazine cover pages for doing nothing but going grocery shopping. He probably had attractive, rich, non-psychotic people throwing themselves at him all the time. Richie could probably walk down the street and date anyone he wanted. How was Eddie supposed to compete with that?
Eddie had also been thinking that this was just another thing that connected him and Richie, except the difference was that Richie was a fuckton braver than Eddie was.
Eddie is gonna confess, though. He is, he swears. At some point.
Just not right now.
So here he is, in LA, making weekly farmers market trips, being sufficiently non-homoerotic, and struggling to take Richie for a walk. His dog, Richie, not the person.
Yeah, Eddie doesn’t know how that happened either.
Now, although he’s trying to work through it, Eddie is scared of a great many things.
Possibly rabid dogs from the street are pretty high up on that list.
Eddie hadn’t wanted a dog. He hadn’t even meant to take the dog home and name it.
But it had looked at him with these eyes, and its expression suspiciously reminded Eddie of Richie when he was trying to get something he wanted. That something, of course, usually referring to Eddie’s reaction to a stupid joke he was telling, which Eddie, against his best wishes, always gave him.
God, Eddie was fucking whipped.
Anyways, Eddie had named the dog Richie, as a joke, and taken Richie (the dog) home, as a joke, and with the full intent of holding him until Eddie found his owner. As a joke.
What Eddie hadn’t counted on was the fact that Richie’s owner had turned out to be the literal worst piece of shit Eddie had ever met. Upon hearing that Eddie had his dog, the guy had snorted and said, and Eddie quotes, damn, I can’t believe that stupid thing’s still alive.
Needless to stay, Richie the dog was now staying with Eddie.
Eddie had a brief moment of panic, in which he realized he had no base of knowledge for being a dog owner, and had called Richie (the person), because somewhere in his fuzzy childhood memories, he remembered Richie’s family having a dog.
The phone had rung, and they had talked for a bit, Richie cheerfully monologuing on the finer points of pet care.
The conversation had been fine, really. One of the better conversations Eddie had had with Richie, in fact, given that Richie had been mostly serious and told a sum total of zero your mom jokes.
Right up until Richie had asked for the dog’s name.
Now, Eddie definitely could have thought quicker on his feet. Unfortunately, Eddie is a dumbass.
“He doesn’t have one,” Eddie had said, again, like a dumbass.
Richie had been silent for all of three seconds, then immediately ribbed on Eddie for not naming his fucking dog.
Eddie, to this day, was unable to live down the shame.
Though Eddie had briefly considered changing his name and running away to Antarctica with Richie the dog and some dog-sized parkas, Eddie had swallowed his shame, stayed in his shitty LA apartment, and was currently living in a nest of lies. Every time Richie came over to greet Eddie’s supposedly nameless dog, that nest grew a little deeper.
Like now.
“Hey, boy!” Richie says jauntily, strolling into Eddie’s apartment like he fucking lives there (and God, isn’t that a thought, Richie crowding up in Eddie’s space).
Richie the dog absolutely lights up, wagging his stumpy tail at a million miles an hour.
“You’re such a good dog, sweetheart. Yes you are!” Richie croons, patting Richie the dog soundly on the back.
Eddie stares a beat too long at Richie’s stupidly large hand, and tries not to feel jealous of his own fucking dog. Sweetheart. Jesus.
“Stop harassing my dog, Richie.”
Both Richie and the dog in question turn to Eddie, attent at the sound of their names. Richie laughs.
“Your poor dog is already harassed enough, Eds. I can’t believe you haven’t named him yet.”
Eddie’s eye twitches.
“I’m gonna find a home for him,” he mutters, a token protest that both he and Richie know is pointless.
Richie grins. “It’s been three months,” he points out, uselessly.
“Yes, thank you, Richard, for reminding me of the fucking passage of time,” Eddie snaps, still a little hung up on the tone of Richie’s voice when he said sweetheart. Eddie desperately hopes he’s not blushing.
“Anytime, Eds,” Richie says easily, finally walking over to Eddie from the door. He places a large hand on Eddie’s shoulder in greeting, his thumb moving back and forth in a silent caress where Eddie’s shoulder meets his neck.
Eddie stiffens, and valiantly attempts to not pass out. Richie quickly removes his thumb, opting instead to scratch the back of his neck. Eddie eyes the movement of his knuckles, and tries not to mourn the loss too much. He clears his throat.
“You gonna tell me why you’re here, or what?”
Richie makes his way to the kitchen, checking behind his shoulder to make sure Eddie follows him. Eddie trots along obediently, because of course he does.
“What, a guy can’t visit his best friend?” Richie reaches the top shelf next to the fridge easily, popping open a box of Cheerios. Eddie doesn’t even eat Cheerios, Richie just hoards them on Eddie’s top shelf because he’s the only one that can reach it. Rude, honestly.
Eddie narrows his eyes. “Something’s up.”
Richie looks back at Eddie, eyes very deliberately wide, a faux-innocent expression on his face. “Why, Edward, I have no idea why you would say that. I’m hurt, honestly.”
Eddie meets his gaze flatly, unamused. For all that he and Richie hang out, Richie never shows up unannounced. If that wasn’t telling enough, Richie has an undercurrent of nervous energy to him, thrumming through his body like a neon sign. Eddie, in all his pathetic-ness, is more in tune with Richie’s body language than he would like to admit.
The corner of Richie’s mouth curls up in a nervous grin. “Alright, alright. You caught me.” He holds up his hands, don’t shoot. “I’m just here to deliver your STD results, Mr. Kaspbrak.” Richie frowns exaggeratedly. “It’s not good.”
Eddie rolls his eyes and swats him with a rolled-up newspaper, stolen from the kitchen table from when he had been trying and failing to finish a crossword earlier. “Richie.”
“Fine, fine.” Richie gives a little nervous laugh. “Okay, so this totally isn’t a big deal,” he starts.
Oh, whatever this is, it’s definitely a big fucking deal.
Eddie nods encouragingly anyways.
“So. Um. Have you checked Twitter yet today?”
Uh oh. Not a promising start. Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “Should I have?” he asks slowly, assessing.
Richie stares up, seemingly fixated on Eddie’s ugly popcorn ceiling. “Hmm. I— yeah. Probably.”
Eddie stares, waiting for more information. When it becomes obvious that none is forthcoming, he sighs. “Rich, I kinda need more than that, bud.”
Richie blinks, mouthing the word bud to himself. Eddie furrows his eyebrows, and wonders if this is the beginning of some psychotic breakdown. Maybe he should have called Bill. Bill would probably know how to handle this.
“Okay. So, you know how we went to Trader Joe’s last weekend?”
Eddie does. He struggles to recall anything memorable about the trip, but comes up empty-handed.
“Um, yeah, Rich, I remember.” He fails to see where this is going.
“Right. So, we got papped.”
Eddie nods, still failing to see the significance of this. While Richie doesn’t get papped every time he goes out, it does happen every once in a while. More often, now that Richie’s out and is somewhat of a trending topic in the news. Hell, this isn’t even the first time Eddie’s been seen with him.
“Alright. And?”
Richie blows out a breath, seemingly steeling himself. “They think. Well. They think we’re dating.”
Eddie thinks many things at once. First, that of course they did, of course everyone took one fucking look at some pictures of Richie picking up avocados and Eddie looking at Richie picking up avocados, and went, oh. That makes sense. That stupid twink is in love.
Second, Eddie hates that he just described himself as a twink. He is forty years old, and is in no way shape or form a twink, Jesus.
Third, this is not nearly as bad as what Eddie had been expecting. Eddie could deal with this. No problemo.
What ends up coming out of his mouth is none of these things.
“Well, would that be so bad?”
Richie instantly inhales a Cheerio in shock, and Eddie rushes to thump him on the back.
Once Richie’s windpipe is sufficiently Cheerio-free, Eddie stumbles over himself to do damage control. “I just mean that, like. What’s the harm in them thinking that? It’s not hurting anyone.”
He pauses, considering, and then he bites his lip. “Unless you want people to think you’re single? I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Eddie avoids Richie’s eyes. “Obviously, you’re probably trying to get yourself out there, and date, or hook up, or. I mean. Whatever you want to do. I’m not judging.”
God, Eddie really needs to shut up.
Richie, on the other hand, is looking at Eddie like he grew two heads. “Eds. That is— what? That’s the last thing I was thinking about.”
Oh. “Then why—”
Richie laughs. “Because you’re straight? Because people you know could see this and. Um. Think things.”
Ohhhh.
Jesus, if this isn’t a kick in the ass from the universe, Eddie doesn’t know what fucking is. And maybe, just this once, he can listen.
Eddie takes a deep breath. “Well. I’m not. Straight. So,” he shrugs helplessly, zeroed in on Richie’s reaction.
And Richie’s reaction is— well. Let’s just say Eddie is glad he wasn’t mid-Cheerio. They might have had to call the ambulance this time.
“Oh?” Richie chokes out. Eddie eyes him curiously. Not the reaction he was expecting, to be honest.
“Yeah. I’m. Um. I’m gay. I like men.” Eddie snorts. “Obviously, I mean, you know the definition.”
Richie seems to be struggling with this information.
Eddie barrels on, keeping a nervous eye on the shade of Richie’s face. Fascinatingly, it seems to be going purple. Eddie really hopes he doesn’t pass out. “Look, Richie, I’m so sorry that I didn’t mention anything after you came out. God, that was so brave of you, coming out to the whole fucking world, and I’m sitting here too scared to even mention anything to my best friends. I’m such an asshole, man, I’m sorry.” Eddie grows more nervous as he talks, slowly descending into a panic spiral. Sometimes he wishes he still had his fucking inhaler.
Eddie’s self-flagellation seems to knock Richie out of his stupor. “Oh my God, Eddie, are you kidding?” Richie jumps up, enveloping him in a hug. Eddie leans into it, trying not to feel too selfish at how much he enjoys the feeling of Richie’s arms around his waist.
“Eddie. I am so proud of you, man. There isn’t any right or wrong way to come out. It’s at your own pace, you know? And you’re so fucking brave for it.” Richie pauses, hesitant. “And— if you need help, um, setting up Grindr, or anything? I’d. Um. I’d be happy to help.”
Eddie tries to process this, desperately reaching for something to say other than, no, you idiot, why would I want to set up Grindr when the only guy I’ve ever wanted to fuck is right in front of me? Eddie has a feeling that that would not go over well.
He laughs awkwardly. “Thanks, Rich. Maybe I’ll take you up on that, someday. But for right now, I think I’m just trying to take it slow.”
Richie looks oddly relieved at that. “No problem, Eds. I mean, whoever gets to lock you down is a lucky guy.”
Eddie blinks. “I— really?” Eddie doesn’t really consider himself much of a catch. He didn’t know Richie considered him to be a catch. Maybe he has a chance? Possibly?
Richie looks surprised. “Yeah, of course. Who wouldn’t want—” he breaks off, gesturing wildly in Eddie’s general vicinity. “— all of that?”
“I can think of a few people,” Eddie mutters.
Richie’s eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck.” He gestures wildly, obviously agitated. “Eddie, who the fuck— is there a guy? Did he turn you down? I’ll beat his ass, you know I will.”
Eddie flushes. “Well, as much as I would love to see that— um. I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s ok with you.”
Richie softens almost immediately. “Yeah, of course, Eds. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
There’s a short silence, in which Eddie briefly considers jumping out the window.
“Anyways, you wanna hear about this turtle I saw on the road today?”
And Richie, in typical Richie fashion, is off. Eddie half-listens, scratches Richie the dog idly on his ears, and for the first time in a long time, dares to hope.
***
“ Hey, Richie!” Beverly squats down, happily scratching Richie on his side. “How’s my favorite pup?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, taking a seat at the cafe’s outdoor table. “Stop bribing him. At this point, he’ll like you better than me.”
Bev shakes her head. “Nah, Eddie, I don’t think so. Richie and Eddie,” she makes a complicated twisting motion with her hands, “connected at the hip. You know?”
Eddie flushes. “Shut up, Bev, oh my God.”
She winks, taking a seat across from him. “I’m right, and you know it.” She motions her head at Richie, who is happily eating biscuit scraps from under the table. “He knows it too.”
Eddie glares at her. “Remind me why we hang out again?”
Beverly preens. “Because you love me and because I’m the only one you can talk about Richie with. The person, that is.”
“Oh yeah? What if I just talk to Mike instead?”
“Honey. You do not want Mike giving you boy advice. He lived in a library by himself for twenty years.”
Eddie grins. “You sure about that? From what I’ve heard, him and Bill are getting on very well.”
Bev’s eyes widen. “What? Are you sure?”
Eddie nods, taking a sip of his coffee. He makes a face. Too much cream, he decides. To Bev, he says, “Uh huh. Heard it straight from the source.”
He had also been extremely jealous after hearing the news, but he keeps that to himself.
Bev lets out a soft whoosh of air. “God. How am I just now hearing this? Good for them, though.”
A peaceful moment goes by, in which Eddie takes another sip of his sugary coffee. He thinks he might get diabetes from this.
Beverly blinks at him. “Eddie! Stop distracting me. How are you and Richie?”
Eddie’s dog jumps up at the sound of his name, and Bev pets him idly. “Not you, sweetie.”
Eddie shrugs. “I mean. Nothing’s changed, really. I thought, maybe, after I came out. But,” his mouth twists unhappily. “Nothing. Nada.”
Bev frowns. “That’s so surprising, honestly. I would have guessed he would be jumping your bones right away.”
Eddie flushes. “Well. There was no jumping. Of any sort.”
“I can tell, honey. You’re way too uptight.”
Eddie thinks for a second. “Maybe I’m just. Not his type?” he tries weakly.
“Eddie. I think if you looked up Richie’s type in a dictionary, a picture of you would pop up. I’m not even joking. Have you seen his exes?”
Eddie has seen Richie’s exes, a litany of brown-haired five foot nine hypochondriacs with sharp tempers to boot.
He’s tried not to read too much into it.
“Okay, okay. So, then— what am I doing wrong?” Eddie says softly.
Bev lays a hand on his arm. “Eddie. You’re not doing anything wrong. I promise. Richie can just—” she sighs. “Richie gets in his own way, you know? He’s too much in his head about it.”
And that— well, that tracks. After Richie came out, he had confessed that his clown phobia was entirely fabricated, a facade to cover up his own self-hatred and fear of his sexuality.
Eddie, on the other hand, had never given his sexuality much thought. Richie was just there, until he wasn’t, and Eddie had gotten married because he was supposed to. Not much else other than that, until Eddie had come back to Derry. Seeing Richie had felt like getting hit with a six foot long baseball bat, proclaiming, surprise! You’re gay!
“But if I make the first move, and I’m wrong about this— It’ll kill me, Bev. I’ll have to move to Antarctica for real this time.”
Bev sighs. “Eddie. You won’t have to move, hon. I promise you. You deserve to be happy too, you know?”
“I mean— yeah, I guess.”
Bev narrows her eyes. “Eddie. Come on, say it with me. I, Eddie Kaspbrak—”
“Bev, this is stupid.”
Bev ignores him, raising her voice pointedly. “I, Eddie Kasbrak.”
Eddie sighs, and dutifully repeats the phrase.
“Deserve to be happy.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but smiles a little. “Deserve to be happy. Thanks, Bev—”
“And.”
“Uh— and?”
Bev narrows her eyes. “I will make a move.”
Eddie flushes. “Um. I will make a move?”
“Is that a question or a statement, Kaspbrak?”
“Oh my God, Bev. People are staring.”
“Question or statement, Eddie.”
“A statement! It’s a statement,” Eddie stammers, thoroughly embarrassed.
“Okay, good. And,”
“There’s more?”
Beverly raises an eyebrow.
“Fine, fine. And,” Eddie says expectantly.
“I will let Richie rail me.”
Eddie yelps. “Bev!”
Beverly dissolves into giggles. “You have to— Eddie, you have to say it,” she laughs.
Eddie hides behind his menu. He pauses. “I will let Richie rail me,” he says quietly. “If he wants to,” he tacks on.
Bev howls with laughter. “Eddie! Oh my God. What was that?” she teases. “I didn’t hear you.”
Eddie swats her with the menu, face burning. “You’re the worst.”
Bev grins. “Yeah, yeah. Thank me later, Eddie.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, and dumps out the rest of his coffee in the grass.
***
When Eddie gets home from the cafe, he’s midway through formulating his gameplan. He thinks if he goes through with it, he might be able to win Richie over.
As far as plans go, it’s not half bad. It’s got all the required items: an executive statement, a schedule, and a checklist, of course.
It had made Eddie blush to type out items on the checklist like, ask Richie if he’s into shorter guys. Number two on the checklist, of course. He had to start small.
But both Bev and his therapist had told him to go after what he wants. And, well. Richie definitely fits in that category, embarrassing as it is.
So, if Richie won’t take initiative, Eddie will. Even if it makes him nervous as hell.
Eddie shuts the door behind him, turning to hang up Richie’s leash. The dog in question barks happily as his collar is taken off, staying still like Eddie had trained him too.
“Good boy, Richie,” Eddie says softly, ruffling his fur. “You want a treat?”
Behind him, he hears a swift choking noise.
“Um.”
Eddie slowly turns around, a sinking feeling in his chest. “Rich. What are— what are you doing here?”
Richie looks between Eddie and the dog, eyebrows furrowed. “I have a key? And, um. I know you said you were out of milk, so.” He holds up the jug of milk in his hand, as if that explains it. “Milk,” he says weakly.
Eddie moves to step in front of his dog, as if that’ll hide him, and slowly takes the offered milk.
“So, what, you were just going to replace my milk while I was out? Like some sort of reverse milk thief? What—”
“Is your dog named Richie?”
Richie, the traitor, barks at the sound of his name.
Eddie bites his lip. “No.”
Richie (the person) slowly locks eyes with Eddie, then his dog. He squats down. Eddie watches in horror.
“Richie! Come here, boy!”
Richie the dog happily trots over, accepting his pets with enthusiasm.
Eddie can feel his carefully constructed plan going down the drain.
“That’s not his name,” Eddie says weakly. “That’s just. Something that I call him. Sometimes.”
Richie grins, looking up at Eddie. “So, like a name?”
Eddie flushes. “I— maybe,” he admits, accepting defeat. “It’s just.”
“It’s just?” Richie asks, teasing. God, he looks smug.
Eddie scowls. “He smells. And eats garbage. Like you.”
Richie howls with laughter. “Trashmouth,” he crows affectionately, rubbing Richie the dog (who is more than pleased to be getting so much attention) under his chin.
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Exactly.”
Richie’s expression sparkles with mirth. “But my fine friend Richie doesn’t eat garbage. He’s a gentleman. Like me.”
Eddie snorts. “Yeah, right.”
Richie pauses. “Has he been named Richie this whole time?”
Eddie scowls. “I told you, that’s not his name.”
“Of course,” Richie allows. “But hypothetically?”
“Hypothetically,” Eddie hedges. “His name has been Richie. This whole time.”
Richie takes a deep breath in through his mouth. “I— okay. Um, hypothetically. What does that mean?”
Eddie looks at him, a little helplessly. His checklist burns behind his eyes. “It means. I.”
Richie stands up, slowly making his way over to Eddie. “You?”
Eddie feels his breath coming in short pants. “I—” he follows the line of Richie’s body with his eyes as he comes closer. “Oh, fuck,” he says quietly.
Richie reaches out hesitantly. The tip of his finger grazes Eddie’s exposed collarbone above where his sweater is slipping down. Eddie shivers.
Richie searches his eyes. “Give me something, Eds,” he whispers. “What does it mean?”
Eddie wants to gasp for air, but that would be fucking embarassing, as if Eddie isn’t already embarrassed enough. So he doesn’t.
But damn, if this isn’t a sign, Eddie doesn’t know what is.
Fuck it.
He leans forward, bracing himself with a hand on Richie’s shoulder, and presses their lips together.
For a second, nothing happens, and Eddie thinks maybe he will have to buy those plane tickets to Antarctica, after all.
But then—
God, it’s like a dam breaks, like Richie has been waiting for this small sign of encouragement from Eddie (he has, Eddie thinks), to go absolutely batshit.
The hand on Eddie’s collarbone spasms, then moves to twist in his hair, tugging gently on soft strands.
Eddie lets out an embarrassing sound, then promptly wants to die.
But Richie responds in kind, moaning and running his hand down to Eddie’s waist, under his sweater.
So maybe it’s okay.
“Holy fuck, your abs,” Richie murmurs, thumbing gently across Eddie’s midsection.
Eddie flushes. “You’ve seen me shirtless before, Rich,” he mutters.
Richie holds his gaze. “Not like this.”
And with that, he tugs on the bottom of Eddie’s sweater, and Eddie lifts his arms to help him take it off. Richie blinks at him for a second, then drops to his knees.
“I— Rich,” Eddie says, startled.
Richie presses a kiss to Eddie’s hipbone. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.
Eddie lets out a short laugh. “Jesus, Richie, it’s more than okay. But— we— shouldn’t we talk?”
Richie rests his forehead against Eddie’s stomach. “Later,” he murmurs into Eddie’s skin. “Just let me do this for you, Eds.”
Eddie threads a hand into Richie’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He watches in fascination as Richie closes his eyes and preens into the touch.
Eddie takes a deep, fortifying breath. “Alright,” he says, barely more than a whisper.
Richie looks up at him, eyes shining with sincerity. “Thank you.”
And with that, no more words are exchanged.
***
The bed is cold when Eddie wakes up. He has a brief moment of panic, then fights to calm himself.
“Rich?” he calls tentatively.
“In here!” Richie shouts from the kitchen.
Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. He shrugs on Richie’s discarded shirt from the night before and pads into the kitchen.
Richie turns, smiling softly when he sees Eddie. “Morning, Eds,” he says fondly, kissing Eddie on the forehead.
Eddie accepts his offered plate of pancakes, biting back a grin.
“I was promised a conversation,” he reminds Richie teasingly, sitting down at the kitchen table.
“What, last night wasn’t enough for you?” Richie jokes. Eddie furrows his eyebrows.
“Rich, come on. Last night was,” Eddie takes a deep breath. “Amazing. Obviously. But I—”
Richie looks over, concerned.
Eddie struggles to find his next words, then finds that they come surprisingly easy.
“I love you, Richie.”
Eddie hears an excited bark from below his feet, and laughs despite himself.
“I mean, I love you so much I named my fucking dog after you. Who does that? Crazy people. And maybe—” Eddie sighs. “Maybe that’s just who I am. You know me, Rich, you know I can overthink things and be too mean and just. You deserve better, I think.”
Eddie nervously glances up to Richie, who’s been worryingly silent.
Richie glances up at him, tears in his eyes. “Eddie. God. I—” he cuts off, choked, then takes Eddie’s hand.
“I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen.”
Eddie blinks. “What, really?”
He thinks back to how he was at thirteen, manic and fearful and ten thousand times worse than he is today. Richie must have had real guts, to love him at thirteen.
“Yes, really. God, you think naming your dog after me was bad?” Richie gives a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I fucking carved our initials into the kissing bridge. Eds, baby. If you’re crazy, so am I.”
Eddie is shaken silent for a moment, with the weight of Richie’s words. He knows the exact carving he’s talking about. Eddie must have passed the R E hundreds of times, idly wondering who it was for.
He imagines thirteen-year-old Richie, carving laboriously with his pocket knife, terrified out of his mind. Willing to risk exposure for his love. For Eddie.
“I— Rich,” Eddie chokes out, folding himself into Richie’s arms. He feels Richie’s finger stroke soothingly down his neck, and his urge to sob increases tenfold. Goddamn Richie for doing this to him.
“You messed up my checklist, you know,” Eddie sniffles, still a little annoyed.
Richie laughs, startled. “What? What list?”
Eddie wipes at his eyes. “Bev told me I was gonna have to make the first move. So I planned it out. In multiple steps.”
Richie laughs with his whole chest that time. “Oh my god. Eds, baby. You had a list?”
Eddie scrunches his nose. “I had a whole fucking Excel spreadsheet. It was beautiful,” he mutters petulantly. “Fucking wasted, now.”
“Eddie. Can I see it?”
“I would rather die.”
“Well.” Richie tightens his grip on Eddie. “We wouldn’t want that.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, and there’s a moment of silence.
“Can we rename the dog Trashmouth?”
Eddie sighs. “I want to say no, out of principle.”
Richie raises his eyebrows. “That’s not a no.”
Eddie rubs his temple. “Okay. Only because it’s gonna get too confusing having both of you in the house.”
Richie startles. “Eddie. Is that— are you asking me to move in?”
“You already have a key, dumbass.”
“Oh. Right.”
“But yes. If you want to.”
Richie grins. “Eddie, sweetheart. I would love nothing more.”
Below their feet, Trashmouth barks.