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The first time at the Jade of the Orient is a little weird. He meets Mike, Bill and Stan there, they call him by some name he doesn't actually care about anymore, and it’s shaped more like a question, confused and surprised but not really - angry, which is probably a win, though he doesn’t know if they have any right to be angry with him, nobody fucking does, but that isn't to say this whole thing doesn't make his skin prickly and uncomfortable, just a little. And it isn’t to say he isn’t still worried that they’ll be angry.
So - okay, maybe he’s not exactly at his most rational right now.
“I’m - still me,” Eddie says after reintroducing himself, after explaining what’s up in the fewest words possible; quiet, trying to keep his face calm and impassive. He feels like a fucking kid again, he wants to curl up somewhere and - and hide. “I haven’t changed.”
Mike pushes up out of his chair, crosses the floor to him in a couple easy strides, then pulls him into a patented Mike Hug. Jesus, he's big. “Of course you’re still you. Eddie. Eddie, I’m so - fucking happy to see you,” he mumbles into Eddie’s hair, palming the back of his head. Eddie slings his arms around Mike’s middle and tries to breathe normally. The shape of his inhaler in his pocket sort of helps, but the sound of Mike’s heartbeat against his ear helps more.
It isn’t long before Bill and Stan are piling in, and it becomes the most awkward four-person hug ever in the history of hugs. It’s fucking great.
“Yeah, Eddie, we really are. And - um. Sorry for earlier, we didn’t - we didn’t mean to,” Bill says, and - like, Eddie isn’t going to cry but he just fucking might. Which, what? He hasn't cried about anything in years.
“It’s okay,” he says weakly. Because it is. The first time is always this weird little roadblock to get past, and after that it could be really good or really bad, but this time, it’s - it’s so good, it’s going, frankly, a million times better than Eddie could have ever fucking hoped. They’re hugging him. Holy shit.
Stan’s arms around him tighten, he’s pressed against Eddie’s back and he says in a voice that pours through Eddie warm as sunlight, “We love you, buddy.”
When Richie, Bev and Ben show up, their loud voices carry inside from the parking lot and it makes the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand on end, as if his body recognizes that something important is happening, like there’s a couple missing pieces of himself about to return to him. By the look on the others' faces, it feels the same for them.
When they come in it's - honestly entirely unremarkable, except for that suddenly the air in the room gets sucked out all at once.
Richie’s the only one really staring at Eddie. Bev and Ben just kind of look confused, like they recognize him but they can’t quite figure out where they know him from - but not Richie, no, the completely shameless muppet-looking motherfucker, is just, like. Fully gawking.
Eddie glares at him a little, kind of daring him to say something about it, and then he does, his mouth breaking into a disbelieving grin, “Eddie? Eddie fucking Kaspbrak?”
Because he remembers. And then - yeah, then Eddie remembers, he remembers sitting in Richie's room on the edge of Richie's bed, and he remembers that that night they were reading comic books together, taking turns flipping pages while Richie did different voices and Eddie laughed until his sides hurt, and he remembers looking over and wanting to - tell him, he remembers how powerfully the urge had swelled and the taste of the words leaving his mouth, months of nausea and nerves building to this, I’m - I think - like, I feel like I - like I want my name to be Eddie. Like short for Edward or something, and he remembers Richie asking, Like - a superhero name? and Eddie going, No, what? That's a shitty superhero name; I mean like - like as a Name name, like - that's. Who I am, and he remembers not being able to explain it any more than that, and he remembers crying, a little bit, then a lot, but he mostly remembers Richie's arms going around him and he remembers meeting Richie’s gaze and Richie just, like, getting it, because he got things about Eddie without Eddie having to even say them, because he was kind of great like that. He remembers Richie’s crooked smile, I think Eddie suits you. Eddie. Eddie. Eduardo, Eddie-spaghetti, Spagheds, Eds, Ready-Eddie-Go - and he remembers how he’d gone on and on, practically wearing the word out already, so much so that Eddie had been wildly tempted to just shove him out of his own bedroom window to get him to shut the hell up. But he hadn’t. And the look in Richie’s eyes now, he looks like he’s thinking about the same thing. He remembers it.
Eddie remembers it, too, it makes him breathless, stunned that he'd even forgotten it, his stomach bottoms out. Richie’s staring at him like he’s - proud, or something like that, something that makes Eddie want to scream or - bite him, or just, like, fucking grab him and kiss him.
Or something.
“Hey, Rich,” he says, in a voice just shy of wobbly, the side of his mouth lifting slow.
Richie’s grin gets impossibly wider. “Holy spaghetti, Batman.”
He’s - oh, he’s missed him so fucking much.
Ben frowns. “Wait - but - what happened to -”
Eddie cuts him off quick. “It’s me, Ben. It’s - that’s me.” He bites the inside of his cheek hard. “I’m a guy - just - I just look like me now, and my name, um. It’s Edward. Kaspbrak. Not - the other thing," he says patiently, if a bit wearily, hands balled up tight in the pockets of his hoodie. "But - I, uh, I go by Eddie."
They look like they're processing this at different speeds. They look like they want to ask about it but they're not sure how, or if they're, like, allowed to, which is kind of dumb considering maybe they're the only people Eddie wouldn't mind asking, even though he hates bringing it up and just wishes people would be normal when they found out. But these guys don't know that.
"Um. You guys can… ask, I guess."
They look at each other. And then they look at Eddie. Bev shrugs. She says, "If you're good, we're good."
Eddie blinks. His throat goes tight but he manages a, "Yeah. I'm good, I'm - a lot better."
Ben smiles. "Then we're good."
Richie’s still beaming, Jesus Christ, it makes Eddie’s heart hurt, and it - also makes him feel a bit braver, to face whatever it is he might have to face right now.
They waste no time in getting in another group hug, just - pure affection. Richie’s staring at him again, Eddie looks at him right in the eyes and Richie - blinks a bit, shaking his head for a moment like he’s trying to reset his brain or something, like he hadn’t realized what he'd been doing until Eddie met his gaze. He hits Eddie with the ever-painful double finger guns before he bodily throws himself into the hug pile and nearly crashes them all into the table. They’re all laughing again, voices overlapping as they yell at him. Eddie's skin immediately settles.
They bicker over seats, Richie elbows Mike to try and get the spot next to Eddie and is noogied for his trouble -- two grown men over six feet tall, fucking hell -- but then he shouts, "Hey, look at that!" and points at the door, to the astonishing sight of Nothing, and Mike, poor Mike falls for it the way he always used to fall for it twenty-seven years ago. Richie uses the distraction to twist out of his grip and gleefully drop into the chair beside Eddie, who hides a laugh behind his hand.
Mike looks like all he wants to do is smack Richie, his face warps into that Glare reserved exclusively for Richie, the one look they've all perfected that at first is just plain scary but then turns out soft around the eyes because it comes from a place of deeply, deeply exasperated fondness. It's so familiar it makes Eddie ache. "There's literally an open spot on the other side of him, you know that? Like, you can see that, right?"
Him, Mike says so easily, as if - as if he hadn't even had to think about it, and that makes Eddie ache even more.
"So you take it," Richie replies, beaming wide. Then Bev throws herself into that chair before Mike can and reaches across Eddie to slap a high-five into Richie's waiting palm. "Sorry Mike," says Bev, not sounding sorry at all.
"Real mature, guys," Mike rolls his eyes, and Bev and Richie are terrible, Eddie remembers just how terrible they are and how terrible they are together and they're cackling, and Eddie loves them.
Bill says, "You can sit next to me, Mikey," and his cheeks are kind of pink, but - they're all a little bit pink anyway, quietly thrilled and warmed up with old memories, just kind of drinking everything in and laughing and remembering things. Mike smiles all warm and pleased and goes and sits down beside Bill, and then Richie is trying to wrestle the menu out of Ben's hands, and Stan catches Eddie's eye across the table with a tiny smile, an upward flick of his eyebrows the way he used to do when they were kids, like, you okay? Eddie returns a tiny nod, same as he used to, yeah, I'm okay, and Stan's smile splits a little wider before he joins Bev in goading Bill to buy them all shots; he’s the same wonderful Stanley that he always was, they're the same Losers that they've always been, and - Eddie knows in the meat of his heart he's always fit in here, he'll always fit in here.
Dinner passes by in a blur. They’re shouting over each other about stuff like, Hey, remember that time Stan hit the curb on his bike and ate pavement? Remember how we rock-paper-scissored for who had to give Stan their shirt to mop up his face with? Remember how Ben always picks rock and got so mad when he lost all five games and had to give Stan his flannel? You know, I think I still have that shirt in a box somewhere - Wait - you never fucking cleaned it? Do you know how long it's been? That thing is probably covered in - in mold and, like, is actually growing new bacteria right now, that's fucking disgusting, Stan! …Obviously I cleaned it, Eddie, I mean like my mom washed it out and I forgot to give it back so now it's like, in my attic or something. Oh. I guess that's okay. Although you should probably still put it in the laundry, fuckin', like - you never know what's in attics. Mildew and shit, it's gross. Aww, don't be jealous, Eddie, if you want next time you eat pavement you can have one of my shirts, I can dig one up that's got like, old ketchup stains on it and everything, just for you. Oh my god, what the fuck? Shut up Richie, shut the fuck up. Just. Shared things that they hadn't had with them for the longest time.
The food comes, they take turns catching each other up on the last twenty-seven years, and something about it hurts a little - that they’ve all been apart for so long, that they’d forgotten so much, but it’s, like, it’s a good kind of hurt, the kind of pain that means healing, the way a broken bone hurts when its reset.
A few things: 1) they all seem to collectively agree that Ben’s gotten way hot, which - good for him, honestly; 2) Ben gets so flustered he tries to deflect the attention by saying, “Well, Eddie’s pretty hot, too, let’s talk about that!” and then Eddie goes warm all over, because he’s only human, and if Hot Ben thinks he’s hot (even only in an exploitative sort of way) it still feels pretty great; 3) the others are quick to jump on the Hot Eddie Train once it’s leaving the station, and Eddie throws back his entire whiskey to have some excuse for the way he’s blushing; 4) when they say certain whiskeys are meant to be sipped, they are not joking around with that.
Another thing is that Richie is, like, big.
Like he’s big. And warm. And he’s solid beside Eddie, like - alright, not to play into any lame cliches but he’s like an actual fucking wall. Eddie isn’t trying to be pathetic or anything but every now and then he’ll lift his shoulders while he breathes in instead of just doing it with his chest so his arm can brush against Richie’s.
Fine maybe he’s a little bit pathetic. Whatever. It’s not his fucking fault, Richie is just - so -
He’s so annoying. And he’s - his haircut is so bad. And his shirt is fucking ugly. And he talks with his mouth full, does it More and all up in Eddie's face when Eddie points it out, just to piss him off.
And this stuff might seem regular but currently they're culminating into a problem for Eddie because they're all fucking doing things to him.
Doesn’t help also that Richie's got the kind of shoulders that people write sonnets about. Kind of arms that are in those videos of people cracking open walnuts or watermelons or whatever with their biceps, and - he’s calling Eddie’s mom Jabba the Hutt, he’s doing a Voice, he’s busting up laughing halfway through this stupid bit that he’s been keeping up for actual decades, it isn’t even fucking funny, it wasn't funny in high school and it isn't funny now, and - yet -
Eddie’s, like. What’s the word.
Entranced.
Christ.
Stan gets the next round of shots and Bev dares everyone to take theirs “without hands” which - is interesting, if you were the kind of person who found that sort of thing interesting. Eddie is not that kind of person. Eddie is deeply upset for Stan’s cardigan, preemptively. “This is cashmere,” Stan protests, voicing Eddie’s concern. “Just take it off,” Bev says, shrugging.
Stan gives a great big tired exhale of air and folds up his cardigan dutifully, mournfully, tucking it underneath him presumably for safekeeping, and Eddie gives him an approving thumbs-up, which makes him smile. He does his shot with his elbows, which works surprisingly well, earning him a round of impressed applause.
Bill tries to copy him without the same success, and gets tequila mostly down the front of his sensible shirt and his trousers, and that sends Richie into uproarious laughter. Mike is trying not to smile while he passes him a napkin.
Bill, red about the ears the way he used to get when he was a kid, shoots Richie an indignant glare. “Alright, you do it if it’s so easy, Trashmouth,” he says, throwing down the gauntlet, and Richie, Richie fucking Tozier, he’s never backed away from a dare in his life, not ever. Eddie knows that gleam in his eyes, the way his shoulders pull back, the way his chin tilts.
“Baby, I’ll do you one better,” says Richie, and he folds his arms up behind his back. Ben oohs supportively. “Take notes if you want, gentlemen and gentle-Bev, but please, no flash photography or video recording. Reserve all questions for the end of the presentation. Put on your oxygen mask before assisting others,” Richie goes on, real professional but he's grinning wicked, and it might just be Eddie going insane but it feels like the room suddenly got a million degrees hotter.
Then Richie doubles over, puts his whole mouth on the glass, straightens up, head tilted back so the long column of his throat is exposed, and swallows in one go. He spits the glass out, and it hits the table with dull clatter.
The others are floored, laughing and clapping, and even Bill has to concede that that was pretty good.
Eddie - Eddie feels like he's had an out-of-body experience. He calmly shovels a full wonton into his mouth to keep himself from doing something crazy.
Richie waggles his dumb eyebrows at him. “What’s the word, Eds?” There's a little bit of tequila at the corner of his mouth. Eddie is - overwhelmed with the urge to lick it off him, god - why is his brain being literally the grossest in the world - so he pushes a napkin into Richie's face. Richie doesn't let up for an answer, though, and Eddie's awful mind supplies the phrase, God, I’ve never wanted to be a shot glass more in my life, but luckily the words that he says sound more like, “The word is that that was fucking disgusting, and also that you’re fucking disgusting.” Richie laughs and bumps his shoulder, and Eddie is thisclose to losing it.
“Come on, Eddie-spaghetti, your go.”
Eddie squints at him and does his shot with his wrists, which is getting off on a technicality, but in his defense these are nice fucking jeans and he doesn’t want to have to leave the restaurant with a suspicious piss stain on the front like Bill, who is currently focused on dabbing at his lap with the napkin despairingly. Ben and Mike applaud for him, but the sound is drowned out by Richie, Bev and Stan booing him for cheating, and it makes him laugh.
He thinks about how close he'd come to not showing up tonight, and - he's, well. He's pretty goddamn glad he did.