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INT. LECTURE HALL – MORNING

The classroom RATTLES with the DRUMMING of RAIN against the windows, the roof. The students inside are DAMP and MISERABLE about it, shaking the water off their umbrellas and jackets. The room is WARM, thawing out the chilled hands and feet of its occupants, and smells of COFFEE. With the DARK CLOUDS outside, the light from the windows is DULL and GREY, and Eddie sinks into the SOMBER atmosphere with ease.

Eddie gets there before Tessa, and he lets his gut itch with nerves until she arrives. He tries to remind himself it wasn’t his idea to kiss Richie, that Richie is the one that kissed him, but he’s hesitant to believe that Tessa would trust that. He’s not exactly innocent, anyway.

The whole weekend following the party had passed without Eddie communicating much with everyone else. Of course, he had texted an apology for his behaviour to Tessa and owed it to Beverly to pass along the details of his conversation with Richie, how it ended with Eddie spilling the beans. But it seems that Bev had persuaded the others to give him space, not to bother him, hopefully without saying too much about the situation.

Eddie didn’t hear from Richie, and he didn’t really expect to. Finding out your best friend (who you only fooled around with because it was plain old fun, and never had any romantic feelings for beyond maybe wanting to kiss them, of course) is in love with you is probably a lot to process.

Beverly had told him that Richie returned to the house after their interaction with the pallid nature of a ghost, and then he promptly retired to his room, not filling anyone in on what happened. The party carried on, but the rest of the losers–sans the hosts, of course–didn’t stay long, too distracted to enjoy the festivities anymore.

So, Eddie’s not sure what Tessa has been told. He doesn’t know if he should expect her to angrily burst through the doors and confront him in front of the whole class, or if she’ll have no idea about the occasion and just behave normally, or if maybe she won’t show up altogether.

She does show up, and Eddie holds his breath, then lets it out with concern when she shuffles up the steps dolefully, her mood glum.

“Hey,” she says, amicably, and Eddie is so surprised by this behaviour, having not included it in any of his predictions, that he almost forgets to respond.

“Hi,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Tessa shrugs as she gets settled in her seat and takes off her coat, but manages a comforting smile, assuring Eddie that it’s not a huge concern.

“Oh, yeah,” she responds, then rolls her eyes at herself. “Seriously, it’s nothing. Richie ended up calling things off over the weekend, but we’d barely been dating for three weeks, so I can’t be too upset about it. Mostly, it’s embarrassing.”

Eddie stills, lets this information wash through him. He wonders if Richie broke it off due to guilt over kissing someone else. He must have.

“So, you know about– about the kiss?” Eddie asks, analyzing her expression for hints of anger, especially ones directed at him. Except, all he observes is Tessa tilting her head in confusion.

“What kiss?” she asks, frowning.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes, closes his eyes, cursing himself for assuming that Richie would have told her. Although Richie should have told her. It’s a dick move not to and now, Eddie is stuck having to explain.

“Eddie?” Tessa probes, growing more uncomfortable. “What kiss?”

“Um, fuck,” Eddie mutters, bracing himself to get slapped or for Tessa to throw her coffee in his face. “Richie kissed me. At the party, after I walked out.”

Tessa seems to absorb this, eyes drifting away like she’s performing calculus in her head.

“Huh,” she says, helpfully. Then she bites her lip, looks down at her notebook. “That– I guess that makes sense.”

“You’re not– you’re not mad?” Eddie asks, maybe a little idiotically, but he’s desperate for confirmation that he hasn’t accidentally severed their friendship, lost her forever.

“Of course, I’m mad,” Tessa says, shaking her head. “That was a really shitty thing to do. For both of you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, twists anxiously at the collar of his shirt, and then everything comes rushing out. “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t– I didn’t mean for that to happen, I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear. Although I guess I sort of also told him that I was in love with him?”

“Wait what?” Tessa squawks, brows raising. Then she’s rubbing a palm against her forehead and groaning. “Eddie, why wouldn’t you tell me that? Jesus, I never would have– I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No, you’re not,” Eddie insists. “I didn’t tell you because I was trying to get over it and that shouldn’t stop you two from getting together.”

“Fuck, this is a mess,” Tessa says.

Eddie can’t do anything but wait, find out if he’s fucked up majorly enough to lose the only new friend that he thinks he’s made over the semester.

“I think– I think I need some space,” Tessa says, traces along the binding of her notebook. It’s the most forlorn that Eddie has ever seen her. “For a little while. We can probably work it out later, but. This just sucks.”

Eddie nods slowly, feels guilt and disappointment knock heavily against the floor of his stomach.

“But, Eddie,” Tessa begins, purses her lips, and then puffs out a resigned breath. She turns to look at him with sincerity in the lines of her face. “You really need to talk to Richie.”

INT. LIBRARY – AFTERNOON – DECEMBER

SNOW drifts down along the GLASS of the windows, collecting on the PANES in small, SPARKLING HILLS, obstructing the VIEW of the CAMPUS outside. The library feels like it’s inside of a SNOWGLOBE, its atmosphere FRAGILE and delicately QUIET, separated from the commotion of the rest of the world.

They don’t talk, though. It’s been a couple of weeks, and the semester is wrapping up, and Eddie hasn’t talked to Richie at all. He’s putting it off, aware that whatever conversation they have is going to end with Eddie’s heart crushed into the ground, life drained from it. Sure, he’s already gotten plenty of advance notice that Richie doesn’t feel exactly the same–he can gather that much from the events of the last few months and Richie’s initial response to Eddie’s confession. But so far, he has avoided hearing the direct words from Richie that will finalize Eddie’s humiliation, preserve the moment in time when Eddie is assured that Richie does not love him back.

It helps that Richie has been otherwise occupied. Eddie hears from Beverly that he’s rushing to finish his final film project of the semester–the one he’ll submit to be considered for the showing at the end of the term. Apparently, he even drove down to Derry with some of the others last weekend to get some last-minute footage, although Eddie has no clue what is so special about Derry that Richie would want to include it in the short film. But Eddie can’t say he’s surprised that Richie procrastinated the project, it would be easy for him to forget over the busy course of the semester. There’s always something else more important to be working on as a student.

Still, this distraction hasn’t entirely thwarted Richie’s attempts to speak to him. Richie doesn’t push too hard, just calls him every couple of days, undeterred by each call going unanswered. Each time triggers an increase in Eddie’s heart rate, probably elevates his blood pressure, and then he just stares at his vibrating phone until the activity ceases.

Fortunately, Tessa was able to forgive Eddie. Only after he tried to make it up to her by letting her use his study guide for the exam that they’ll both be taking in a couple of days. He really doesn’t deserve her mercy though, and he thinks he’ll be trying to prove to her that he truly values her friendship for awhile.

Eddie is even more shocked to learn that she has forgiven Richie, too. She tells him that a long conversation was involved, as well as a mutual conclusion that they were better off as friends anyway. Those are the only details she is willing to give, but he’s glad that Richie must have cleared the air because Tessa is already back in brighter spirits, and he admires Tessa’s maturity about the whole disaster of a situation. It’s probably more than he’d be able to manage.

Except now, both Beverly and Tessa have been in Eddie’s ears like buzzing flies, urging him to talk it out with Richie, finally resolve the tension. It gets annoying and Eddie finds himself grateful to be alone for once, camped out in the library to study.

That is, until Stan finds him.

Eddie does his best to glower warningly at Stan as he sidles up to the chair Eddie is tucked into, notes pouring out across his lap.

“If you’re here to tell me to talk to Richie, I will be getting up and leaving,” Eddie informs Stan, clutching at his backpack as if to prove his readiness to flee from this conversation. Stan rolls his eyes.

“Really, Eddie? I can’t just be here at the library so that I can study?” Stan intones, gesturing at their hushed environment, crammed with students with the same motivations.

“Whatever, I’m just telling you,” Eddie says. “I will not be tolerating any discussion about you-know-who.”

“Alright, jeez. He’s not Voldemort, you know,” Stan complains and drops down into the chair next to Eddie with a huff. “Now I understand why you were alone before I got here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie asks, insulted.

“Nothing, just that you are truly a pleasure to be around right now,” Stan drawls, giving Eddie the side-eye. “A total ray of sunshine.”

“Look who’s talking, Captain Sarcasm,” Eddie snaps, tries to go back to reviewing his course materials.

Stan doesn’t respond, following Eddie’s lead and pulling out his own study guide. They start working in silence, but it isn’t long before they’re comparing notes from class and clarifying topics that they will both be getting tested on. Eddie was content to be alone since it prevented any conversations about Richie, but now he finds that he’s glad to have the company.

The snow continues to fall around the building, and Eddie is gazing at the white abyss out the window and wondering how his boots will fare with the inevitably deep layer of snow on the ground once he leaves, when Stan broaches the dreaded topic.

“You know, everyone has sort of come together to help Richie with his short film,” Stan says, carefully. Eddie immediately scowls in anticipation of where this seemingly passive comment is leading to. “It’s been weird not seeing you. For all of us.”

Eddie frowns, dropping his guard. Selfishly, it warms his heart to know he’s been missed by his friends. That his absence has been palpable.

“I know, but–” Eddie starts, worrying at his lower lip. “I guess you guys must know why I’m not really… engaging right now.”

“We have an idea,” Stan hums, idly flips the page of his textbook although Eddie highly doubts his curly-headed friend is actually reading the text. “I think it’s fair for you to be avoiding him. Feelings are scary.”

“Yeah, when’s the last time you had one of those?” Eddie jokes, then purses his lips in apology at Stan’s less-than-enthused facial expression. Eddie should be running away, driving his head into the sand, but Stan’s calm demeanor makes him feel safe, a bit more open to exploring the treacherous topic of Eddie’s emotions.

“Usually, I’d say that getting space from each other is a good thing,” Stan speaks slowly, eyes bouncing around as he determines how to phrase his thoughts. “But I guess I’m worried that this time, space might make things worse.”

“Why so cryptic, Stan?” Eddie asks, forcing a chuckle to try and lighten the mood.

“I’ve heard that other methods of communication with you have not been as successful,” Stan explains, as if he had to strategize the most efficient technique for getting Eddie to listen to him.

“Right,” Eddie mumbles, tensing up at the idea of his friends getting together and planning out the best approaches to get Eddie to hear them out. He reminds himself that they’re well-intentioned, they’re just dealing with someone whose fight-or-flight system will activate on a hair-trigger.

“Um, I appreciate the concern, but–” Eddie continues, sighing before he admits, “I’m just not ready yet.”

“No problem, Eddie,” Stan assures him, shaking his head. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting to make a complete breakthrough.

Eddie nods and directs his attention back to his notes. They stay at the library for another couple of hours, leaving as the bright white of snow outside transitions to a weepy blue, but Eddie’s not sure he managed to read a single word, let alone retain any of it.

Stan’s opinion lingers with Eddie for the rest of the day, launches Eddie into anxiety over whether he is making things worse by avoiding the situation. If maybe his friendship with Richie is hanging in the balance, and every day that goes by that Eddie doesn’t respond to his calls, it teeters further and further towards collapsing into an irreparable mess.

The fear that Stan has dredged up for Eddie isn’t enough, though, for him to pick up the next call from Richie that his phone tremors with at 7:27 p.m. while he sits and stares at one of his sets of flashcards. Eddie watches the screen of his phone flash with Richie’s face in the background, his nose and eyes scrunched as he pulls a face at the camera, the picture from a time when he stole Eddie’s phone months ago to spam his photo album with his own selfies.

Eddie considers Stan’s concern and imagines Richie on the other end of the phone call. He wonders if he sits anxiously at his desk in his room, tapping his fingers against the wood and praying under his breath for Eddie to pick up. Or if he’s just lounging in their living room, calling Eddie almost out of habit as Richie begins to lose faith that Eddie will ever answer. Finally, he thinks of Richie calling him from the back porch, a cigarette on his lips as he stares up at the sky, eyes landing on the moon that burns a bright halo through the grey clouds.

Then, Eddie recalls Richie’s words when he found out about Eddie’s feelings, remembering that within minutes of answering the call, Richie will be gently rejecting him. So, he leaves it be, and the buzzing stops abruptly, Richie’s face vanishing from view.

INT. EDDIE’S DORM – AFTERNOON

DEREK’S MUSIC streams through the room, UPBEAT and LILTING as it fills the space. The room is CHILLY, and both of the DESKS it contains are wiped CLEAR, a FULL suitcase laying on the ground near Derek’s dresser. Eddie’s EMPTY suitcase is still HIDDEN beneath his bed. Derek sits across from him on his bed, happy to distract Eddie with a tale about someone passing horrible gas throughout the entirety of one of his exams.

Derek will leave to go home for the winter break tomorrow, having wrapped up all his tasks for the semester. Eddie finished his last exam today and will be departing soon as well, he’s just waiting a couple of days so he can carpool with Beverly and Ben back to Derry to spend the holidays with their respective families.

It’s nice to have his first college term behind him now, and he thinks he managed to make up for his poor performance at the start, should be finishing with a B average at least. It’s even nicer to be able to relax for a couple of weeks before he gets thrown into another relentless round of readings, assignments, and–the ultimate evil–group projects.

However, he’s not looking forward to spending the winter break in Derry without Richie’s company. It’s going to be even more difficult to avoid him when everyone will be bored and looking for things to do to pass the time. Mr. Brody will be letting Eddie work a couple of shifts which will help, but they don’t really need the extra staff, so Eddie will be sitting at home with no responsibilities for the most part.

Richie’s calls have dwindled as Eddie assumes he loses hope. The last call was a few days ago now, and the one before was a week ago. Eddie knows that he was able to submit his film project on time because Beverly told him, and he’s glad for that, although curious how it turned out for him. But for the most part, Eddie’s not sure how he’s doing since any chatter about him is off the table when he’s hanging out with their other friends. The group chat has been absurdly silent, ever since they all started working on Richie’s film.

Derek is concluding his story about the stench of the fart in the lecture hall and Eddie is laughing at his exaggerated, sour expressions when they get a visitor, someone knocking on the door. He hops up from his bed, blanket draped over his shoulders to fight the cool atmosphere, isn’t surprised when he checks through the peephole and discovers Beverly on the other side.

“Hello, Miss Marsh,” Eddie greets as he swings the door open, smiling warmly at her.

“Hey,” Bev replies, and then Eddie notices the sheepish look she wears.

“I don’t like that face,” he says bluntly, smile disappearing.

“Richie’s short film is going to be shown tonight,” Beverly says, cutting to the chase. “It made it into the top five films for the semester.”

“Okay,” Eddie responds, slowly. “That’s great.”

“It’s pretty impressive, he’s really excited about it,” Bev continues, raising her eyebrows. Eddie sighs and leans against the doorframe, unsure of what she expects him to say.

“Well, I’m happy for him,” Eddie offers, means it despite the disinterested tone he uses.

“You should come see it,” Beverly blurts, reaches out to grab Eddie’s hands, eyes shining.

“Beverly–”

“You don’t have to talk to him, okay?” Bev says, squeezing Eddie’s fingers. “Just show up, watch the film, and leave. Seriously, that’s all you have to do to show your support.”

“You think Richie still wants my support?” Eddie asks, dubiously. Eddie hasn’t exactly been showing up for Richie the way friends are supposed to, and he can’t imagine Richie will continue to have patience for that.

“Eddie, believe me,” Beverly says. “Your support will be the most important.”

Eddie’s breath hitches at the intensity of Bev’s gaze, how fiercely she’s trying to communicate something impactful with her eyes. He pulls his hands from her hold.

“I-I don’t know, it’s– shouldn’t he be inviting me?”

“Right, because you’ve been so easy for him to reach,” Beverly rebuts, and Eddie bows his head to signal his shame.

When Eddie continues to hesitate, Bev resumes her pitch.

“Look, it wouldn’t just be supporting Richie. We all played a part in the final version,” Beverly tells him. “Bill helped with some of the writing. And Ben and Mike helped with the lighting and manning the camera. Tessa knew someone who could play one of the characters. And Stan–get this–Stan helped with the music. Oh, and I helped with costume design!”

Eddie can’t help but grin at Beverly’s excitement, but then the solemn feeling of having missed out on this project that his friends took on together dribbles into his veins.

“I feel bad that I couldn’t do anything to help,” Eddie meekly confesses.

“Ah– well,” Beverly starts, then seems to bite her tongue. “Maybe you did.”

“What?” Eddie asks, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Just nevermind,” Beverly requests, shaking her head like it is an Etch-a-Sketch and she can erase her thoughts from it. Eddie watches as her eyes settle on him, taking his hands in hers again, soft thumbs grazing over the back of his hands, before she speaks with insistence. “You have to come. Seriously. Rich really wants you to see it, I know he does.”

“Why?” Eddie asks and it feels like that’s the one word that’s been constantly racing through his head for months now, clanging like a hammer on a bell. Beverly sighs, her chest deflating.

“Listen, I don’t have all the answers and I don’t know if I can actually convince you to come tonight but if you do, I will never ask anything of you ever again. And you won’t regret it,” she says, finishing her rushed speech with a feeble smile.

Eddie thinks. He has to admit to himself that he does want to see what Richie has created, especially if it has landed him in the top five short films for that semester and Richie is only in his first year. And if the other losers contributed to it, he wants to support them as well.

Maybe it won’t be so bad if he just sneaks into the theatre right before the lights go down and then sneaks out before the lights come back up. Eddie can save the conversation with Richie for another day, and the others can let Richie know later that he did come to see his project, that he was there for moral support.

He sighs.

“Alright, what should I wear?” he asks, his voice defeated. But a smile bursts through his sulky expression when Beverly responds by squealing with delight, pulling him into a gracious hug.

As Bev rushes into his room and picks over his closet for something appropriate for the event, Eddie sends Derek a look of exasperation, and decides he will just have to regret this later.

INT. THEATRE – EVENING

The FLECKS of SNOW that descend from the sky are HUGE, GLITTERING in the light from the building. The VENUE is MODEST as it only holds a single theatre, but its trappings are ELEGANT, featuring VIBRANT colours of RED and GOLD. There are a couple of bars that boast expensive COCKTAILS and WINE, and SERVERS are still wandering around when Eddie arrives with depleted trays of APPETIZERS.

Eddie carefully eyed the foyer of the venue from the outside before entering, on the lookout for a tall man with dark, fluffy hair and square glasses. There are only a couple of minutes before the showcase will begin, so Eddie assumes most of the patrons have gravitated into their seats. He slips the ticket that Beverly had procured for him to the box office attendant, and then takes a careful breath before sneaking through the theatre doors.

Inside, he ducks quickly into the back row and stoops low enough in his seat that he shouldn’t be noticed. It feels a little ridiculous–like he’s the star of a cheap spy movie–as he peers over the top of the row ahead of him, trying to get eyes on Richie and their friends.

They’re all gathered near the front left row, chatting excitedly in appropriately formal clothes, their voices carrying in the theatre. There’s too much movement in the aisles for Eddie to get a full view of any of them, only getting brief glances of the sparkles that glint off both Bev and Tessa’s dresses, a smile on Ben’s face, Bill’s hands gesticulating as he speaks, the curls at the very top of Richie’s head that shake as he nods his head.

Eddie spies Richie’s parents as well, sitting on the lefthand side of the theatre a few rows up from their son, speaking quietly to one another, twin grins on their faces. Eddie is thrilled to see that they showed up to the event, knows that Richie will appreciate their presence in the audience.

Then the lights slowly dim, and the other patrons quieten, taking their seats as an older gentleman clambers onto the short stage below the large projection screen. His beard is white and trimmed and his belly strains at the buttons of his blazer as he introduces himself, apparently the director of the school’s film program. He’s delighted to see everyone come out to support the arts and he’s excited for them to see a selection of the best short films that students pursuing a degree in the subject have submitted.

The applause is polite when the director calls on the first filmmaker to introduce their project and share their inspiration for it, and Eddie holds back a sigh as he realizes he’ll be waiting a little while before he gets to see Richie’s film in particular.

Eddie tries to get into the other films, but it’s hard when his mind is somewhere else entirely.

Richie’s film is the second-to-last to be shown, and as the applause dies down from the previous film, the program director appears back onstage, beckoning Richie to join him to introduce his work. Eddie feels nerves awaken in his gut like the beating of wings.

Richie glows under the spotlight, his hair shining and his cheekbones prominent under the glare. He’s wearing a nice grey suit and tie–it’s what he wore to prom, but it still fits him nicely, hugging his chest and lengthening his already long legs. Eddie tries not to stare, even though it’s allowed in this scenario, but he feels that familiar hum in his gut–the one he ignored for so long, the one that was clearly the physical manifestation of Eddie’s attraction to him. The hum is accompanied by a pang, a sharp reminder of how much Eddie misses him.

“Richard, it is very unusual for a first-year student to be showing their work at our semester showcase, and I have to congratulate you for your effort and the natural talent you have,” the program director says with a smile, and the audience claps cordially, Eddie’s chest bubbling with pride at the bashful grin on Richie’s face. “You’re a very promising new student, and I’m sure this is just the first of many great projects you will create. Would you like to introduce your film and tell us what your inspiration for it was?”

The director passes the microphone to Richie and takes his seat in the front row, and Richie clears his throat nervously.

“Uh, well, thank you, first of all. I am very lucky to be here and I’m so grateful for this opportunity,” Richie begins, stammering a little, and Eddie is a little thrown off by the anxiety that is radiating off him. He has never known Richie to be anything less than charismatic.

“This film is very personal to me,” Richie continues, swallowing. “You may have heard the saying that ‘life imitates art,’ but I think this is an example of the opposite of that. Although I struggle to call it art myself.”

The audience laughs politely.

“Yeah, the concept of the film came from a very real place, and I hope that comes across. A lot of emotion went into this, so I’m obviously pretty exhausted,” Richie says with a joking smile, gaining a little more confidence each time the audience titters at him. His gaze sweeps over the crowd. Eddie just looks on curiously, tension growing in his shoulders as he wonders what this film is about to reveal.

“I have a lot of friends to thank for their help in creating this, so shout out to them.” Richie points towards the left-hand lower side of the audience, where Eddie had seen the other losers mingling earlier. “I couldn’t have done this without you guys, and I can’t thank you enough for putting up with me and helping make this thing a reality.”

Another short burst of applause. Eddie hears Beverly loudly cheering over everyone else. Eddie feels a heaviness again in his gut, the remnants of his remorse over not helping Richie with the film, the residue of guilt and feeling left out.

“There’s one other person I would want to thank, but. Uh, well honestly, I’m not sure that they’re even here tonight. If they are, I just hope this film can answer some of the questions they have,” Richie fumbles again, his words stuttering and the microphone nearly sliding out of his fist.

Eddie’s ears perk up at that in a pathetic way, greedily wondering if he might be the very person that Richie is referring to.

“So, now that I’ve set you all up for disappointment,” Richie says with a jittery laugh that the audience returns. “This is ‘Ruminations,’ a short film produced by me, Richard Tozier.”

Eddie watches as Richie returns to his seat and the spotlight fades, the swirl of nerves nipping at his insides. He notices he’s holding his breath and tries to relax. Richie is known for being unpredictable, unexpected and that has always been something that drew Eddie in, left him hanging on his every word. Now, Eddie is fearful of it.

The film begins on a dark screen, the sound of scribbling and the rustling of paper in the background as the title, in solid white print, all in capital letters, fades in.

The first shots are of a desk and a yellow legal pad, and someone’s hand is writing in it with a pen– Eddie, embarrassingly, almost immediately recognizes it as Richie’s hand. Several shots occur in rapid succession, of the writing on the pad only going so far as to inscribe a date and the beginning of a sentence before the paper is ripped from the pad and crumpled into a ball, over and over again.

The shot switches to a wide-angle view of Richie at his desk, first from behind so that he is silhouetted against the warm glow of the lamp at the corner of the desk, then in front so that his face is visible– his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. Richie continues the cycle of attempting to write in the pad, quickly giving up and tearing the pages out in frustration, starting over. The film shows a close-up of a wastebasket in the room, multiple shots of Richie throwing the discarded balls of paper towards it, sometimes missing the basket, and sometimes landing in it successfully.

“How is the journalling going, Don?” a disembodied, female voice says over the final shots of Richie writing, crumpling, tossing.

The shot switches to a medium close-up of Richie, sitting in a well-lit room on a slate blue couch. In the background is a wall with generic photographs of landscapes, giving it the appearance of a professional, cool office.

Richie is silent at first on-screen, his eyes drifted to the side for a moment before he springs back to life, straightening up and blinking away his thoughts.

The woman is revealed in a hip-level shot, sitting in a black office chair. She is wearing a long-sleeved white blouse, black pants, and heels, one leg crossed over the other. She is across from Richie, looking at him with a patient gaze, and she has a notepad in her lap.

The focus returns to Richie who furrows his eyebrows, seems to remember the question.

“Oh, uh, well. Not great,” he admits with a nervous chuckle. His left hand comes up to shake out his curls, and it stuns Eddie how it doesn’t feel like Richie is playing this character of Don, at all. Like it’s just authentically him. “Um, I just keep getting distracted.”

“Alright, what are you getting distracted by?” the woman asks kindly, making a small note before giving Richie an encouraging grin.

Richie shrugs shyly, shaking his head a little.

“Thoughts,” he says, then his grin fades, his concentration drifting again. “Memories, I guess.”

Soft music begins in the background, a guitar strumming slow and melodically. Eddie vaguely wonders if this is the music that Stan chose.

The next shot almost startles Eddie out of his seat, as if he’s watching a horror film and there’s been a jump scare.

Eddie’s own face appears on the screen. Several times, at a quick pace, the shots appearing so rapidly that Eddie can hardly decipher the details of each one individually. But it’s him, in various locations, in various angles, with various expressions.

Eddie’s jaw drops and the swirl of nerves in his gut escalates to a vicious churn. Instinctively, he looks over to where he knows Richie is sitting but it’s too dark to make anyone out. He tries to see if any of the other losers are visible, but he’s unsuccessful.

Before Eddie can process his confusion, the film continues, because of course it would. It’s not going to stop just because Eddie is having the shock of his life in the audience. The music continues, soft in the background.

“The same memories or different memories?” the woman asks–the character is a therapist, Eddie realizes–and Eddie notices her dark lipstick as her head tilts to the side in interest.

“The same.” Richie nods once, breathing out through his nose and looking down. A wider, full shot reveals his hands fidgeting in his lap, his foot tapping mercilessly against the grey carpet of the office.

The therapist hums, the shot returning to her, and she looks over her notes briefly. Her brown hair is slick and straight, and Eddie notices she looks older, not like a student, which makes the character a lot more believable. She looks a lot like Tessa, Eddie thinks.

“That sounds like it could be rumination,” she says gently, thoughtfully. Her eyes move leisurely from the page of her notepad to Richie’s face because, through her profession, she has conquered neutrality.

Richie’s gaze lifts back up, curious.

“Definitely.” Richie grins, clicks his tongue. Even amid Eddie’s crisis over his inclusion in the film, he’s still in awe of every one of Richie’s expressions. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Rumination is obsessive thinking about the same thing, idea, situation, memory, what so have you,” the therapist explains patiently, for both Richie and the viewers.

Richie is seen again, processing this information, eyelids fluttering and brows colliding as he contemplates this. He doesn’t reply at first.

The film seamlessly cuts to what seems to be a flashback, shots of Richie laying in his bed and pacing around his room, a low angle shot of him slowly shuffling through polaroid pictures as he sits at his desk, the images that they convey unknown to the audience.

Intertwined with these shots are longer clips of Eddie whose breath, in the audience, seems to leave his body. There are multiple frames where Eddie is looking directly into the camera, pulling a face; the night at the party in June, his birthday party in October, the day in July that they returned to the clubhouse after years away. Sometimes his tongue is out, sometimes he rolls his eyes, sometimes he exaggerates a frown.

But there are other clips where it appears that Eddie had no idea he was being filmed–and Eddie can confirm himself that he, in fact, did not. In these clips, the film looks hazy and soft, like sunlight through a veil. Shots of him sitting on his bed, the tip of his thumb between his lips as he focuses intently on a book in his lap. Frames where he is basking in the sun on the beach, his eyes closed and his face tilted up in profile as the rays create a flare in the lens, like a halo around his head. Shots of Eddie standing on the ledge at the quarry, wind ruffling his hair before he turns around to gaze fearfully at Richie behind him.

Finally, there are shots of him laughing–probably at Richie because his eyes squint and his smile is wide like it can’t be contained, and one or two clips of Eddie blowing kisses at the camera, like he did at Beverly’s birthday party. Eddie wonders if he’s the only one who notices the way his own eyes lift from the lens afterwards, looking at Richie behind the viewfinder with the most besotted expression Eddie has ever seen.

The music overtakes the film as the sequence goes on, reaching a crescendo, a low male voice singing over the guitar as the pace of the music increases in pace and intensity. The final shot of the sequence is overhead of Richie laying on his bed, cradling a polaroid picture over his chest– his heart, and closing his eyes, a content grin slowly curving his mouth.

Find me a way, I’ll be yours in a landslide, the singer croons.

In his seat, the tears prick at Eddie’s eyes before he can help it. There are so many different emotions spinning around in his head, the first being confusion and the second being anger. Confusion about what this all is supposed to mean–or if it means what he thinks it does, and anger over Richie using these clips of Eddie in his film without his permission. But those emotions are soon engulfed by something that feels like relief, like hope, like love. Richie has made Eddie look beautiful in those short clips, like someone to be admired, adored. Like he feels for Eddie the way Eddie feels for him.

“Oh,” the shot abruptly returns to Richie’s face on the couch, pondering. Then his face becomes vulnerable, almost frightened. “So that’s bad?”

Eddie takes a wavering breath, swiping away the tears that have pooled and started to stream down his cheeks. He’s not sure if he’s going to make it through the rest.

“In some ways yes, in others no,” the therapist offers ambiguously, the shot landing on her face again. “Usually, rumination serves a purpose. Do you ever envision or rehearse an alternate scenario to your memories or thoughts?”

“Like pretend it didn't happen?” Richie asks, eyebrows pinched like the mere suggestion is an insult to him.

“Or maybe pretend that things went differently,” she corrects. “Give them a happier or more satisfying ending.”

“Oh,” Richie hums, then shrugs, peering curiously back at his shrink. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, that's because you have a need that hasn't been met,” she explains with a sympathetic smile, tilting her head. “You want for things to be different, and so you give yourself that, if only in your mind.”

“So then, the solution is to meet that need in real life?” Richie guesses, shaking his head in uncertainty.

“Ideally, but life is never really that simple,” she says, pursing her lips as she shares in his disappointment.

“So then, what do you suggest, doc?” Richie asks, a cheeky smirk finding its way back to his lips, clearly an effort to hide his turmoil.

The therapist doesn’t answer, tapping her pen against her bottom lip as she contemplates for a moment before the film cuts to another scene.

It’s Richie again in a medium, shoulder-level shot, standing on a wooden bridge. The clouds are grey above him, and wind tousles his hair as he stares out, past the railing.

Then it’s a wide shot from behind him, shows the back of Richie as he leans forward against the railing, the river flowing away from him, trees overhanging its current. The bridge is littered with carvings, and Eddie recognizes that it’s in Derry, must be one of the places Richie had to return to so he could get the shot he envisioned. The Kissing Bridge, they had all called it.

A narration begins over the next compilation of clips, Richie’s voice rumbling over the footage and a soft musical backing track, a more classical piece that rises and thunders and seems right up Stan’s alley.

“Dear Adrian,” he says, the start of a letter.

Eddie doesn’t get the chance to wonder if this is the character that he is supposedly playing without ever having the intention to, because the film answers with another brief flash of Eddie’s face.

“It’s me,” Richie narrates, and the next clip shows Richie’s character walking through Derry, bumping into strangers on the street.

“First of all, I’m sorry.” Richie’s character sits on a bench in the town square, lifts trembling fingers to his lips and closes his eyes. Eddie feels his throat choking up again.

“I’m sorry for being scared,” the narration continues, “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry for letting you go.”

Next, there are clips of other couples around the town square, laughing and smiling at each other, cuddling to ignore the chill of the winter weather. Eddie grins when Ben and Beverly are one of the couples shown, Ben gazing lovingly at the side of Bev’s face as she talks animatedly. Richie’s character glances around at these displays of affection, seems to curl in on himself, hugs himself more tightly.

Eddie is so busy hoping that Richie got permission to film the couples that Eddie doesn’t recognize and aching at the sight of a dejected Richie, he almost misses the voiceover that streams over the footage.

“If I were as brave as you, I would have told you I loved you the moment that the beat of my heart recalibrated to match the rhythm of your laugh.”

Eddie gapes. Hearing these words in Richie’s voice is filling his stomach like warm cocoa, sweet with sugar that delights his insides.

“I would have told you the same day that I woke up and thought, for the first time, that I didn’t want to live in a reality where you are not at the very forefront of my mind the second that I open my eyes.”

An extreme close-up of Richie’s umber eyes, uncloaked by the frames of his glasses, thick eyelashes lifting as his eyes open, his pupils blown large at first and then constricting in the light. Eddie loses his breath, pulled by the gravity of the celestial image before him. 

“You would have known this if I wasn’t a coward.”

The film shifts through a variety of images, moving away from its focus on people. The wide expanse of the ocean taken with the drone, milk dripping into a mug of coffee and diluting into a pretty design on its own, the white liquid curling and swirling as it blends into the dark foundation of the coffee.

“You would have known if I wasn’t petrified by how limitless my feelings for you are. How they follow the laws of the universe, infinite but somehow continually expanding.”

A timelapse of a rose blossoming, the sun rising on the horizon and casting a beautiful palette of hues across the sky, stars shining as they sail through the black sea of the night. Eddie is stunned by how professional the clips appear, the footage crisp with detail and the colour balanced well, matching the aura of a properly cinematic endeavour.

“It’s terrifying to hold the entire cosmos in your heart, feel the crushing pressure of it against the cavity of your chest.”

A petal falls from the rose, clouds migrate in front of the sun and snuff out its light, the animation of a supernova that fades into the distance in an illusion of the camera pulling out of Richie’s chest. Richie sits in a shoulder-level shot in the dirt on the shore of the quarry, looks at his surroundings.

Eddie remembers that Beverly mentioned Bill had helped in writing the story, and he begins to ponder which elements are Bill’s and which were borne by Richie himself. 

“And because I was blinded by my fear, you now dominate my vision, appear everywhere I look.”

Momentarily, the clips of Richie at the quarry are artfully overlayed by footage of Eddie in the same place. Then the film switches location to the clubhouse, still messy with Monopoly which sort of matches the energy of the story, and footage of Richie standing in the middle of the room is interspersed with a clip of Eddie moving about in the clubhouse as well.

Next, in a wide shot, Richie walks out in front of his old house. The focus shifts to a close-up shot of Richie’s face and he gazes fondly to his right, and then a clip that must be at least two years old appears, footage of Eddie on his bike in the street outside Richie’s house, pedalling towards the camera with an effervescent smile on his face. A smile that doesn’t quite match its magnitude develops on Eddie’s lips in the audience.

“The worst part is you will never know all this,” Richie continues in the voiceover, and on the screen, his face falls into a despondent frown.

Richie appears on the bridge again in a hip-level shot, holding wrinkled papers in his hands, reading them over. Then he rolls the papers into a cylinder, reveals an empty glass bottle that had been out of shot, and slides the tube inside of it.

“You will never read this. This is only an exercise. A practice in unleashing the truths I cannot admit to anyone except myself, and then letting them go.”

Richie looks down at the bottle in his hands, thoughtfully. Then he raises it to his mouth, closing his eyes and gently kissing the cool glass. And he drops it over the railing. An overhead shot captures a slow-motion clip of the bottle descending towards the water, causing a small ripple in the surface as it splashes into the current, then gets rapidly carried away.

“Letting them vanish into oblivion,” Richie narrates.

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears again, distraught by the despair of the character Richie that plays. It reminds him of his own difficulty in accepting his feelings, in wishing he could send them away, watch them disappear in the horizon.

“For that, I’m sorry too.”

Richie sits with his legs dangling over the edge of the cliff at the quarry in an impressive wide shot that Eddie figures was obtained by using the drone. Again, clips of Eddie standing in the same spot, struggling to decide whether to jump, are interlaced with the footage.

“I miss you, Adrian,” Richie continues to narrate, and his voice catches. “It’s strange to both hope that you haven’t forgotten about me and wish that I never cross your mind.”

Richie stands, looks over the ledge with his hands in his pockets. After a moment, he turns to walk away, disappearing into the brush that blocks the cliff from view, effectively keeping the spot a secret from the average visitor.

“I think I’ll love you forever.”

Eddie chokes on a sob, pressing his fist against his mouth to muffle the sound, hoping it won’t be heard. He should have left when he got overwhelmed earlier to maintain his dignity, but listening to Richie’s monologue and hearing everything he has longed for is cathartic in a way he never expected.

On the screen, Richie is back in his room, like at the beginning of the film. He sits at his desk holding the polaroid photos again, smiling fondly down at them. He brushes a lone tear from his eye, sniffles.

“I still haven’t hit the border of the universe, haven’t bounced off an edge at the end of this odyssey through space and time.”

Richie startles in his seat and turns his face towards his bedroom door, and the shot switches to show the back of Richie at his desk and the door opened slightly. A hand is on the doorknob, and Bill’s face is hardly visible as he peeks into the room, speaking words that are muted beneath the audio of the voiceover and the trebling piano notes of the backing track.

“While it is still frightening, I hope I never do. I hope I will go on this thrilling journey, travelling at the speed of light, for the rest of my days.”

Richie nods at Bill and stands from his seat, tucking the chair in while Bill walks away from the doorframe. The angle of the shot switches back to capture Richie’s sad grin as he gazes at one of the polaroids a final time. After he places the photo back down on the desk and vacates the room, an overhead shot reveals the image he was looking at.

“Because if it is the closest I will get to having you, I never want it to end.”

The polaroid contains the old picture that Stan had sent the group chat of everyone in the clubhouse, except the photo is cropped, and all that remains is Eddie and Richie, tucked into the hammock together, bright and alive and overflowing with love. The camera slowly zooms in on this image, and then it harshly cuts to recent footage taken of the hammock in the clubhouse. It is empty and the fabric is a much duller colour than it was in the polaroid, and it swings minutely back and forth.

“Yours for eternity,” Richie concludes the letter, verbally signing his name as, “Don.”

The shot gradually zooms out from the hammock as credits appear on the screen, listing the contributions of all their friends. It is surreal to see his name listed beside the credit for the character of Adrian, as if he had willfully participated in the project.

Just before the film fades out and the stage lights up so that the final film of the evening can be presented, Eddie realizes he needs to make his escape, and bows out of the dark theatre. He tries to open the door as quietly as possible, cringing when it squeaks and hurrying away so he can’t be identified as the cause of the disruption.

Out in the brighter atmosphere of the lobby, Eddie feels like he can breathe again, taking in a sobering lungful of air. Behind him, he can hear the dampened voice of the film director introducing the next project, and Eddie goes searching for the bathroom.

As he splashes cold water from the tap against his face, his head chucks bits and pieces of the film at him, reminding him of everything he’s just witnessed. Then he remembers Richie’s prologue, how he said that he wanted the film to answer the questions of an unnamed person who may or may not have been in attendance. It must have been Eddie. It has to be.

The doubt that has been anchored in Eddie’s head still makes it difficult for him to believe that this may have been a declaration of feelings on Richie’s part, but even just the possibility of it means that there is no way Eddie can leave without talking to him. And if somehow the film wasn’t made with the intention of blatantly showcasing Richie’s thoughts when it comes to Eddie, then Eddie can just yell at him for using footage of him to portray a love interest. Who in their right mind would do that if they weren’t trying to send a message?

If Eddie’s instincts are correct and Richie has used his short film to express his devotion to Eddie, he still feels plagued by questions. Pretty simple ones, such as how, why, and when?

Nonetheless, potent hope begins to grip at his organs, climbing up his spine and seizing his skull, filling it with the building blocks of euphoria. It makes him shiver and then he’s looking at himself in the mirror above the sink, water clinging to his eyelashes and a red flush on his cheeks as his mouth fails to restrain an ecstatic smile.

Eddie steps away from the sink and shakes out his limbs, runs a little in place, thrusts his fists to the sky, expelling the giddy excitement that has engrossed his bones. He looks like a fool and he’s fine with that because if he’s right about this, if it all means what he thinks it means, he will be leaving this theatre with a mended heart.

He’s taking calming breaths in the bathroom, resisting the urge to flush out the incessant hum in his veins by stomping his feet or leaping around the room, when he hears the rush of a crowd advance into the foyer. Evidently, the showcase has concluded.

People immediately head for the bathroom, so Eddie slips out to avoid the mob but dawdles in the hallway, not wanting to face Richie and try to talk to him in the middle of the bustling herd of attendees. He hangs back there, keeping his head ducked and watching shiny shoes traipse by, for a few minutes. When the theatre starts to thin out, he finally peeks his head out of the hallway.

Eddie spots Richie instantly, standing on the far side of the lobby, speaking to his parents with a shy grin. His hair has fallen a bit flat, and he fidgets with the cuffs of his suit jacket, shifting his weight on his feet. He looks proud and he looks flustered, and he looks perfect. Eddie just stands there, admiring him from afar while he can, until Richie’s mother turns her head–likely sensing his gaze–and catches him.

Knowing that there is no backing out now, Eddie walks towards them. Richie’s mother waves happily at Eddie as he approaches, an eager smile on her face, and it occurs to Eddie that she’s just watched a film that presents him as a person to be desired. It’s kind of weird.

Then Richie is turning, his brows furrowed as he wonders who his mother is greeting, and when his eyes land on Eddie, he pauses. It doesn’t look much different from when Eddie told him he loved him, lips parted and eyes wide, except Richie looks scared. He looks small even as he stands over six feet tall, looks insecure even as he wears a suave suit that compliments his figure handsomely. Richie must think Eddie is geared up to shout at him, rant about how he shouldn’t have used those clips of Eddie without his consent–which is one of Eddie’s concerns but certainly not the chief one at the moment.

Richie looks back at his parents and starts speaking to them in a hurried and hushed tone, hands landing on their elbows and directing them to move elsewhere. Thankfully, Richie is staying behind as they walk away, Maggie Tozier giving Eddie a sad wave and pouting as her son urges her along, forcing her to abstain from exchanging pleasantries with Eddie right away. Eddie musters up a modest grin to send back to her, an assurance that he will greet them properly later.

Eddie wipes sweaty palms on his slacks as he continues to move towards Richie, tries to keep up an encouraging monologue in his head although it may be more useful for him to just shut his brain off. Richie’s cracking his knuckles anxiously, his head lowered as he waits for Eddie’s to reach him.

The lobby has cleared out substantially, so Richie appears like a lone island in the empty sea of red carpeting, and Eddie drifts up to him like a marooned castaway, trudging up the shore.

“Hi,” Eddie begins once he’s within a couple feet of him, and it’s only one word but somehow his voice manages to crack on it.

Richie looks up and right away, he’s wincing, preparing for a lecture. He raises pacifying hands.

“Look, I know– shouldn’t have used those clips without your permission, you’re gonna sue me and all that, and I deserve it,” Richie rambles, eyes gazing past Eddie’s shoulder.

“No, no,” Eddie cuts him off gently, hands twitching to touch him, ease the stress out of him. “Well– I mean, yes. That was ethically debatable at best, honestly, and I really hope those other people–”

When Eddie sees Richie droop slightly, bogged down by Eddie’s critiques which Eddie had the full intention of putting aside for now, he quickly redirects.

“Whatever, I’m glad you did it,” Eddie confesses. Richie finally gazes back at Eddie, eyes thawing and frown deteriorating. He looks at him searchingly, hunting for a key in Eddie’s expression, something that will help him predict the progression of this conversation.

“Um, me too, I…” Richie starts and falters, sinking into subdued anxiety. “Did you– I guess did you like it?”

“It– well, I wasn’t expecting it,” Eddie admits, laughs a little breathily, and Richie’s eyes brighten. “It was beautiful. Like really, really creative and so professional, I was honestly super impressed, Richie. You did an amazing job.”

Richie’s mouth finally twitches into a grin, flattered and relieved.

“Thanks, Eds,” he croaks then clears his throat. When his lips part so he can speak again, Eddie’s anticipation causes him to interrupt, growing impatient.

“I’m just wondering, I mean–” Eddie’s not even sure how to address it. “How– how much of that was real?”

“What do you mean?” Richie asks, his gaze tender.

“Bev told me that Bill helped write it,” Eddie tells him, chest fluttering as he runs a hand over his neck, self-soothing. “And I don’t know, maybe you couldn’t find someone else to play the– to be Adrian. But I sort of thought… maybe it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Richie says. “Nobody else could have been Adrian and that’s not just because you happen to take up about three quarters of all the film footage I’ve ever taken.”

“That’s– Richie, it can’t be that much,” Eddie argues, chuckling in disbelief.

“Well, it is a lot,” Richie insists, laughing in embarrassment. “I swear, for the last four years, every time I would transfer videos from my cameras to my computer, the screen would just fill up with your gorgeous doe eyes staring at me.”

“Jesus,” Eddie sighs, lets his gaze drop to his feet as Richie’s becomes too intense. Richie takes a step closer to him, stoops down a bit to catch his eye again.

“And sure, Bill helped,” he continues. “But mostly he was just helping me articulate everything I already wanted to say in the best way possible. Like, I think it’s safe to assume I pretty much suck at communication considering how badly I fumbled the night that you said… that you told me…”

“That I’m in love with you?” Eddie finishes for him and Richie’s breath hitches, his eyes flicker.

“Yeah, that thing.” Richie nods, then scrunches his nose in frustration with himself. “Okay, see what I mean? Clearly, I struggle to handle the– to just say that–”

“Richie, it’s okay–”

“It’s not!” Richie huffs, eyes beginning to shine. “That’s why it had to come to this, why I’ve had to spend the last few months totally fucking miserable because I thought there wasn’t a chance in hell that you would feel the same way about me. And then I was an asshole to you and– and Tessa, stringing her along because I thought it was the best way to get over you when– when the truth is, there is no getting over you.”

“I should have said something too,” Eddie counters, and he latches onto Richie’s sleeve, finally tethering them together. His throat stiffens and aches as tears threaten to spill once again. “At the hotel, when we slept together, and I let myself think for a second that you felt the same. Or when I got mad at you after because I couldn’t handle being around you without wanting to scream. Or in the clubhouse when you said we should find the people we were meant to be with.”

“I–I’m so sorry I said that, it was so stupid,” Richie mutters, shaking his head. “When you started getting paranoid about people finding out, I guess I kind of just… freaked out. I figured it meant you’d never see me as someone you would want to be with.”

“I wish I had just told you that you are exactly who I’m meant to be with,” Eddie says, hands encircling Richie’s wrists. Richie’s face crumples and he lifts his palms to Eddie’s cheeks, swiping his thumbs across the hills of his cheekbones, through the valleys under his eyes.

“And I wish I had just told you that I’m in love with you,” Richie whispers, voice strained under the pressure of tears.

The tension in Eddie’s shoulders is released with his exhale, and he can’t stop staring into Richie’s glistening eyes. He feels afloat, dancing along a bright river of bliss, of solace. His chest explodes with gratitude, chanting praise to the universe for letting him feel this bountiful sentiment of being loved, letting it be granted to him by none other than the man of his literal dreams.

“I love you, too,” Eddie insists, even though Richie knows.

Richie’s face crackles with delight, watery eyes crinkling as he grins, and then his grip on Eddie’s face tightens and he leans down to kiss him.

If Eddie thought he was on the brink of euphoria before, it is nothing compared to the rush of emotion that erupts from finally sharing a kiss that swells with honesty, that comes unadulterated by shame or fear or uncertainty. Eddie’s arms wrap behind Richie, hands grip at the back of his suit like holds on a climbing wall, keeping him suspended in the air. The world could be falling away at his feet, he could be plummeting into a void, and he would be none the wiser.

That is until there is a chorus of cheers behind him, and he jolts out of his reverie and whips his head around to find the source, locate the witnesses.

The losers are standing a couple of yards away, dramatically hollering their endorsement of this development of their relationship. Eddie sees Beverly first, her smile so wide that her cheeks must be aching as she whoops and claps. Then Ben is giving him a thumbs-up, Bill and Mike wear endeared grins, and Stan rolls his eyes while his smile is nothing but fond. Tessa is there too, and his heart rattles with guilt until he sees her satisfied expression and her modest applause.

Eddie attempts to purse his lips in irritation at them, lets his veins wrinkle slightly with embarrassment, but he’s sure his eyes can only convey affection.

He turns back to Richie whose gaze immediately meets his, and the look on his face is dazed and content, barely bothered by the presence of onlookers.

“Sorry, my fans can get a little overexcited,” Richie says with a smug grin, his hands travelling down Eddie’s neck to thumb at his collarbones over his shirt.

“Shut up, who would be a fan of you?” Eddie laughs, shivers under Richie’s touch.

“Um, maybe the handsome fella that just had his tongue in my mouth?”

“Sure, your trashmouth.”

Richie tweaks Eddie’s nose, expression bright with mischief.

“Who knew trash and cupcake would be such a good combination?”

“Don’t start with that, please.” Eddie pinches Richie’s sides, watches him squirm, observes the way it doesn’t deter Richie from persisting at all.

“Come on, there’s no way you can convince me now that you hate it, Eds.”

“I hate that too!”

“You’re such a bad liar! A sweet, baby, cutie-patootie liar,” Richie purrs with a vivacious look, pinching Eddie’s cheek. Eddie scowls, battling against the revealing pink hue of his face.

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me again.”

And Richie does, because Eddie understands now that his own poorly concealed willingness to abide by any of Richie’s requests is reflected in Richie’s feelings about him. This is met by another round of hollering, save for Stan’s solitary “ugh, seriously?”

Eddie feels warm and safe and more alive than he has in months, basking in the glow of Richie.

INT. RICHIE’S ROOM – NIGHT

The LAMP on Richie’s nightstand fills the room with COZY LIGHT, his DUVET is wrinkled in a PILE at the foot of the bed, and Eddie spies some empty cans of RED BULL on his DESK. His filming EQUIPMENT is all tucked into one corner, and a pile of PAPERS accompany the red bull, and Eddie sees on top of it is the POLAROID from the film. Although it’s not really a polaroid, just the cut-out glossy image of the two of them in the hammock glued to a paper base that resembles the shape of a polaroid.

The house was glittering with Christmas lights when they approached in Mike’s truck, reminding Eddie of the holiday season, and his first thought was that he needed to find a gift for Richie. He didn’t have anything planned, had assumed they wouldn’t exactly be exchanging any presents this year. But he figures Richie’s film may have been some form of a gift to Eddie, and he has no idea how he’s supposed to top that.

Bill and Mike had scampered to their rooms to change when they entered the house, Richie following closely behind Eddie as they stepped through the door, his palm flush against Eddie’s lower back.

Of course, Richie had invited Eddie to come back to the house after the showcase, and now Bill and Mike intend to run off to crash in Ben and Stan’s dorm room. The insinuation makes Eddie prickle with a little bit of shame–it’s going to be strange adapting to the idea that all their friends know about his and Richie’s evolved relationship. But Richie’s eyes are so heavy with emotion when he looks at him that the embarrassment sinks below the surface of Eddie’s awareness, his immense excitement and adoration for Richie far more buoyant as it bobs up to replace any hints of negativity.

They had made their way to Richie’s room, and now Eddie watches as Richie hastily tries to fix the bedspread and file away the meager evidence of a mess.

“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie chuckles as he peels off his navy blazer, hanging it neatly over the back of Richie’s desk chair. Richie pauses in his motions, blinks over at Eddie and grins shyly.

“I just want it to be nice for you,” Richie explains, tosses some items into his closet, and slides the door shut on them.

“It doesn’t have to be nice,” Eddie assures him, feels the hardened shield that had developed over his truth begin to crack. “As long as you’re here, I mean– you’re enough.”

Richie whirls around in his frenzy, stares at Eddie. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Eddie asks, worries he’s overstepped somehow, said too much, said something too real.

“I’m just processing the idea of that being a regular thing– you saying that stuff,” Richie says, his curls frizzing up as his hands go sifting through them.

“Oh,” Eddie responds, crosses his arms over his chest a little self-consciously. “But that’s– that would be okay, right?”

“Are you joking?” Richie laughs, moves toward him to pry Eddie’s arms from their knot, slides his fingers down Eddie’s forearms until their hands are intertwined. “The love of my life telling me he feels that way about me? I mean, it might kill me, but I’d die a happy man.”

“The love of your life?” Eddie asks with dubiety, his cheeks starting to glow pink. “Come on, Rich.”

“No, I’m serious,” Richie insists, a fond smile curling on his lips. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“About what?”

“Babe, you’re all I’ve ever wanted,” Richie says, voice low and soft. He separates one of his hands from Eddie’s, instead brushes his fingers down Eddie’s jawline, lifts Eddie’s chin up.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, the air knocked out of him as he stares up into the sincerity of Richie’s eyes.

“See what I mean?” Richie asks, smug as he observes Eddie’s reaction to his endearments.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, leans up to kiss him. It’s slow, like they’re wading through thick clouds of fog, moving carefully and with intent. Richie’s tongue drags leisurely past Eddie’s, lips joining and separating unhurriedly. Like they have all the time in the world.

Then Richie pulls away, smirks at him mischievously. “Tell me more, cupcake.”

“What?” Eddie asks, mind too dazed to even guess what Richie’s talking about.

“How you feel about me– I wanna hear more,” Richie says, squeezes Eddie’s hand, tucks away a lock of hair that has fallen onto Eddie’s forehead.

“Richie–” Eddie complains, a familiar fear of giving away too much about his feelings growing in his gut, afraid of being teased relentlessly for it. Although Richie seems to tease him relentlessly anyway.

“Please, Eds?” Richie requests, the tinge of a whine in his tone. Then he waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll take off one item of clothing for every compliment you give me.”

He’s being playful but as Eddie observes him, he can sense a need hidden away behind the joke. An honest request for validation. When Eddie thinks about it, he realizes he’s always been holding back his praise for Richie, letting it flutter into his mind and then dismissing it before he feels compelled to share. He can hope that Richie has been able to infer how much Eddie adores him, but maybe Richie really does need some solid proof of it.

“Okay,” Eddie agrees, and Richie looks surprised, not expecting Eddie to go along with it.

At first, he struggles to form a coherent thought, feels pressured to say marvellous things like Richie’s character did in his film. But then he puts it out of his mind, just lets the way he feels about Richie pass through him like waves, bringing hidden relics to the shore.

“Well, I think you’re beautiful,” Eddie starts, nervously. At the softening of Richie’s gaze, he finds the courage to continue. “I mean, obviously you’re– you’re really attractive, you’ve got a handsome face and a pretty mouth and cute freckles, and your eyes are– just deep and warm and… safe.”

“Pretty mouth, huh?” Richie jokes, but Eddie sees the glint of tears beginning to form behind the lenses of his glasses. “You want it wrapped around–”

“Aren’t you supposed to be stripping?” Eddie asks, interrupting him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, right,” Richie says and backs away from Eddie. He does a ridiculous dance, swivelling his hips as he slowly removes his suit jacket, and Eddie laughs. When it’s off, he drops it to the ground and Eddie quickly stoops down to pick it up, hanging it over the chair with his own jacket.

“Don’t get it wrinkled,” Eddie admonishes because he can’t help it, and then he remembers the task at hand.

Richie looks at him hopefully, begins to fidget with the tie around his neck, anticipatory as he waits for Eddie to continue.

“Okay, um.” Eddie purses his lips, stalling. But not because he doesn’t know what to say anymore. “You’re not just beautiful on the outside. You’re like, the most amazing person I’ve ever known. You’re so bright and full of life and– and you’re like a magnet. You suck everyone in, just totally capture everyone’s attention, it’s impossible to ignore you.”

Richie’s breath seems to falter at that, eyes wide and transfixed on Eddie as he slips the knot out of his tie and pulls it over his head, discards it. The plain white button-up looks delectable on Richie, clinging to his form. Then he unbuttons the collar, and the column of his neck is striking–Jesus, is Eddie really drooling over a neck, now? His hands curl into fists and he swallows, tries to stay concentrated.

“You’re really funny,” Eddie admits regretfully, sees Richie’s face light up. He watches as Richie continues to unbutton the shirt, untucking it from his slacks. “I pretend you’re not, but honestly; no one makes me laugh the way that you do.”

Richie pulls away the button-up and then shucks off his undershirt as well, pulling it up over his head eagerly. When Richie’s shirt is off and his torso is exposed, Eddie inches forward, desperate to touch the creamy skin of Richie’s chest, but Richie steps back.

“Not yet,” Richie says. His grin is cheeky, but his eyes are moist and mesmerized. Eddie scowls.

“You make me want to explode,” he says with exasperation. At the suggestive quirk of Richie’s lips, he continues. “Not like that– well, sometimes like that but mostly, I just get so– flustered around you. I feel like an idiot because I get so mushy and soft inside when I’m with you and I cover it up by being a jerk but I really just– I’m so lucky to have you. You’re the best part of my life.”

“Shit,” Richie whimpers, his face crumpling before hands fly up to his face to hide away his emotions.

“Rich,” Eddie whispers, unsure of what to do at first. Then he remembers Richie loves him, Richie wants him, Richie won’t mind Eddie moving closer, pulling his hands from his face so he can stare at him with all the earnestness he can muster. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Jeez, Spaghetti,” Richie chuckles wetly, sniffs. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, don’t you?”

“Not any guy. Just you,” Eddie replies, sure.

Then Richie is ducking down, joining their lips, and licking purposefully into Eddie’s mouth, hands fitted around Eddie’s neck and tugging him impossibly closer. They move together, inching to the bed, Eddie’s palms roaming down Richie’s sides. Before they can fall onto the mattress, Eddie interrupts.

“What about your striptease?” he asks, and Richie shakes his head emphatically.

“Fuck that,” he breathes out.

“Or you could fuck me,” Eddie replies, admires the way Richie’s expression can’t seem to settle on amusement or arousal, twisting into a thrilling amalgamation of both.

“If you insist,” Richie says, smile glinting. He stoops down to grip the back of Eddie’s thighs, tosses him onto the bed and Eddie laughs as Richie crawls over him.

Eddie feels like he’s underwater as they kiss and Richie starts to undress him, sound muffled and limbs moving in slow-motion. Richie is his oxygen; Eddie breathes him in and lets his mind relax.

Once they’re naked and Richie has eased his fingers into him, skillfully taking him apart and preparing him, Eddie rolls Richie onto his back, nestles on top of Richie’s thighs.

Looking down at him, stroking Richie’s cock with an extra ounce of lube, he becomes entranced by the way Richie gazes back. Eyes dancing over Eddie’s form, brimming with affection and gratitude and love. Fingers skimming down Eddie’s arms, gripping at his thighs, drifting over Eddie’s ass. There is so much there, an emotion that has been fully developed, mastered.

“How long?” Eddie blurts, fist clenching around the base of Richie’s dick. Richie’s breath hitches and then he’s smirking.

“Like seven inches. Maybe eight on a good day,” Richie answers.

“Shut up,” Eddie scolds, laughs anyway because Richie has always been his weakness. “I mean– I meant how long have you felt this way?”

“Well, damn,” Richie sighs, gaze moving to the ceiling as he performs mathematics in his mind. “I don’t know. Technically, I guess... since we were fourteen? But sometimes it feels like it’s just. Always been there.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, doesn’t know why his voice cracks. Or maybe he does. It matches the crumbling of the stone enclosure of his heart, its shackles falling away. “Me too.”

Eddie scooches up, hovers above Richie’s crotch, and captures Richie’s lips in his while he grips Richie’s cock, eases himself onto it. He gasps at the intrusion, feels like it’s the first time all over again. But this is remarkably different, with every movement loaded with fondness that is steadily returned.

Richie groans low as Eddie continues to bare down, hands scrambling to clutch at Eddie’s hips and his legs, head tipping back as they link together.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Richie wheezes, panting as Eddie sits up, stabilizing himself with his palms planted on Richie’s chest.

Eddie whimpers as he makes it down to the hilt of Richie’s cock, taking shuddering breaths while he adjusts. He looks down and meets Richie’s eyes, and they stare at him with a reverence that Eddie can’t believe he missed before, cloaked by lust.

When Richie rolls his hips up, presses further inside him, Eddie gasps and then stops him with the shake of his head.

“Wait,” he says, hears the gravelly essence of his own voice. “Let me.”

And Richie stills, fingers beginning to shake in their hold on Eddie’s waist. Then Eddie is rocking up on his knees and lowering back down, breath catching as the angle hits a heavenly nerve. Richie watches him as the pace builds, sucking his teeth, then dropping his mouth open as a wrecked moan falls out of it. It spurs Eddie on, moving faster so he can watch Richie fall apart below him, the steam of their breath mingling in the space between them.

“Yeah, just like that, fuck, Eds,” Richie encourages as Eddie bounces in his lap, stuttering in his motions as Richie’s words cause a rush of pleasure to cascade over him. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

“Ah, Richie,” Eddie whines as he starts to slow down, muscles beginning to burn, mind getting swept away and losing his focus.

“Come on, cupcake,” Richie teases, moves Eddie’s hips with his hands, grinds him against his dick. “You need a break?”

“No,” Eddie lies with a strained tone, aching to continue but also just aching in general, wipes sweat from his brow.

“It’s okay sweetheart, I got you,” Richie assures him, pauses to remove his glasses and place them on the nightstand. Then he sits up and rolls them over, taking control, pushing deeply into him with his weight resting in his palms, bracketing Eddie’s sides.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie whimpers at the intensity, eyes screwing shut, gripping onto Richie’s shoulders. Then he feels Richie’s lips against his face, peppering kisses along his cheeks, his forehead.

“God, you’re a fucking dream come true,” Richie says, his voice hushed and warm against Eddie’s skin.

Eddie opens his eyes to find Richie looming over him, his heavy gaze dancing all over Eddie’s face, observing as Eddie’s jaw drops and lets out a broken moan when Richie thrusts into him.

“More like a wet dream come true,” Eddie manages to reply, and Richie laughs, his rhythm uninterrupted. Then Richie’s kissing him, groaning into Eddie’s mouth as his pace becomes more desperate.

Richie sits back, hikes Eddie’s hips up a bit further, making Eddie yelp at the different angle. Then he reaches for Eddie’s hands, delicately interlacing their fingers, presses their joined hands against the bed, frames Eddie’s face with them.

“I love you so much,” Richie says, voice catching. His rhythm has slowed but the rolls of his hips reach deeper, drag moans out of the depths of Eddie’s chest.

“Oh, God,” Eddie cries, the mounting heat in his core beginning to dominate, wiping out everything but pleasure and blinding love. “You’re– fuck, I love you too, I love you, I love you.”

“I’m never gonna get tired of hearing that,” Richie grunts, pecking Eddie’s lips and then really hammering into him, chasing release.

Eddie sneaks one of his hands out of Richie’s grasp, wraps it around his dick, eager to reach his climax, let his head explode with an overwhelming pulse of ecstasy. He watches the damp ends of Richie’s curls fall into his face, the flush that gathers on Richie’s chest, his neck, his cheeks. Somehow, it’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen, a portrait that belongs in a museum.

“You can come in me,” Eddie tells him between gasps of air, head filling with static.

“Yeah, baby? You want me to?” Richie asks breathlessly, peering at him. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Fuck, please. Please, Richie,” Eddie babbles, finally feels his orgasm encroaching, about to overpower him.

“Fucking hell,” Richie groans, body shivering as he whines, pressing impossibly deeper into Eddie as he comes.

Eddie follows soon after, melting away into a shaking puddle of bliss. Richie drops against him, mouth wandering along Eddie’s collarbones and his throat, pressing gentle kisses as he goes while Eddie recovers, barely registers Richie softening inside him.

“You okay?” Richie asks, voice sifting through the slush of Eddie’s brain. He lifts his head from Eddie’s neck, glancing between his eyes.

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie gushes and Richie laughs, pets away the sweaty hair that clings to Eddie’s forehead.

“That’s the best review I’ve ever gotten.” Richie smirks, won’t stop staring at him.

“Don’t get too excited,” Eddie grumbles, becomes aware of the hot stickiness of their skin as they remain pressed together. “Could mean that it’s only downhill from here.”

“Nah,” Richie dismisses him, cocky smile on his face. “I’ve got it figured out, it’s like science.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, goes to tell Richie he’s not even that good at science but Richie carries on before he can interrupt.

“I’m gonna know exactly what gets you going by the New Year, I’ve already got a head start,” Richie boasts, then mocks Eddie, to his horror. “‘Please, Richie, please.’”

“Shut the hell up,” Eddie complains, swatting at Richie’s shoulder while Richie bursts into chuckles. “No, you will not because I’m never having sex with you again.”

“Aw, nice try, but I know you can’t resist me,” Richie says, wraps his arms under Eddie’s back and tucks his head against Eddie’s neck, undeterred by the threat.

Eddie’s hand tangles into the mess of Richie’s hair, and Richie’s breath skates across Eddie’s skin, and his scent sails into Eddie’s nose. With Richie curled up against him, his presence peeling away Eddie’s discomfort, making him feel safe and seen and loved, he knows he doesn’t stand a chance.

“No, I can’t,” Eddie says, feels Richie grin against his throat.

They get cleaned up, Eddie grimacing as he slips back into the dirty underwear he had on before and Richie tossing him one of his softer shirts to wear to bed. It makes Eddie giddy as the shirt falls over his frame, thinks maybe he’ll just take it home tomorrow.

Then they’re sorting out the sheets, climbing into them with Richie’s front pressed snugly against Eddie’s back, arm draped around Eddie’s waist, tugging him close. It feels like home, here in Richie’s arms.

But then Richie shifts, pulling away and sitting up, and Eddie feels a current of panic go through him.

“Don’t leave,” Eddie demands, makes to grab Richie’s wrist. Even though it’s Richie’s place and Eddie can’t think of a logical reason why he would abandon him.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Richie chuckles, leaning over Eddie to switch off the lamp and then quickly returning to spoon him, kisses him on the cheek. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

It’s an exaggeration because that just wouldn’t be feasible, of course. But it warms Eddie’s heart anyway, tucks every one of his lingering concerns away, assures him that his feelings were never wrong or misplaced. The relief of that is so great, Eddie thinks he’s been launched into space, sees that never-ending tunnel of the universe that Richie spoke about in his film. Expanding, forever.

It’s a pretty fucking big deal.

INT. EDDIE’S DORM – MORNING

The room SHINES with the DEWY LIGHT of the MORNING SUN, bounces off the CRISP WHITE of the walls, and the air feels CLEAR. Both sides are TIDY, and the room is about to sink into VACANCY for a couple of weeks, its existence only possible as a thought or a memory for awhile.

Eddie is stuffing the last of his things into his duffel bag, but he should have another twenty minutes before Beverly arrives to pick him up. She had her last final exam yesterday, so he’s heading home with her and Ben. The roads will be slushy with melting snow as the sun has returned to dissolve ice into water and Eddie is glad to be catching a ride with Beverly rather than Mike who will inevitably drive a bit too fast for Eddie’s comfort.

Eddie’s not necessarily looking forward to spending a good portion of the next little while cooped up in the house with his mother, but he’s a lot more optimistic about the break than he was a couple of days ago. He knows he won’t be alone.

Suddenly, there’s banging at the door and Eddie jumps, checks the time and groans. The banging continues, incessant and loud.

“Fuck– Bev, hold on!” Eddie shouts as he shoves a pair of socks in his bag and hustles to the door, eager to put an end to the intrusive noise. “You’re early!”

Eddie swings the door open, and it is none other than Richie on the other side.

RICHIE TOZIER, 18, is a handsome young man with expressive, toasty warm eyes and plump, pink lips that stretch into a playful smile. He is affectionately referred to as Trashmouth by his friends on account of the garbage jokes he constantly makes. Eddie prefers to call him the love of his life.

“Please don’t fuck Bev,” Richie says, pretends to look threatened and jealous of the possibility, but Eddie will call his bluff. Then Richie’s face goes soft, and he leans in to plant a peck to Eddie’s lips, quick and sure.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, an inescapable grin emerging on his face. He leaves the door open and turns around to return to his bag, an invitation for Richie to come in.

“You didn’t seriously think your boyfriend wouldn’t be carpooling with you guys, did you?” Richie drawls as he enters, shutting the door behind him. His eyebrows rise with an aura of confidence, but Eddie can see the hesitation underneath as he tucks nervous hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Boyfriend, huh?” he intones, not giving in that easily. He pretends to be distracted, grabbing his phone charger and tiny white noise machine from his nightstand.

“Oh no,” Richie sighs theatrically, his shoulders heaving and chin dropping. “Do I have to wait until next semester to submit another short film where I express how badly I want to be your boyfriend?”

“Hm, what is it they say about sequels again?” Eddie asks, teasing. He looks over his shoulder with a smirk, notices how Richie’s gaze is eager to lock on his. “‘By definition alone, sequels are superior films’?”

Richie clicks his tongue.

“That’s not the quote and you know it, Eds.”

“You’re right, he doesn’t say the word ‘sequels,’ everyone just fills that part in.” Eddie shrugs. He moves back to his duffel bag, tries to run over the mental list of items he wanted to bring with him, but his mind is a little preoccupied by the magnetic draw of present company.

“Eddie.”

His tone is serious. Eddie swivels around, concerned by this somber shift. Richie is wringing his hands together, his stance gone stiff.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks right away, instantly worried.

“I don’t want a repeat of this semester,” Richie explains, stepping closer, his expression earnest. “I’m just gonna say what I mean from now on, I don’t want there to be any chance for confusion.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, slowly.

“So, you– we’re together now, right? You’re my boyfriend?” Richie asks, eyes wide like he’s nervous that Eddie might shut him down, somehow. Eddie wants to scoff at this uncertainty, feels like he’s made it pretty clear just how strong his feelings are. But he won’t, because he can sense what Richie actually needs to hear.

“Yes, Richie,” Eddie confirms with a reassuring grin, grabs one of Richie’s fidgety hands. “I’m yours.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Richie exhales with relief, uses Eddie’s hold on his hand to tug him in, envelop him in a snug embrace.

Eddie melts into the hug, tucking his face against Richie’s neck, lets his scent seep into his senses. He wants this forever. He hopes he can have it forever.

“Only one problem,” Richie murmurs, voice husky in Eddie’s ear.

“What?” Eddie asks, bristles as he can predict what is sure to be a joke to come out of Richie’s mouth.

“What am I going to make a movie about now?”

FADE TO BLACK

END.