Chapter Text
Look, Eddie’s had a lot going on these past few months. Between work and the divorce, he knows that he hasn’t been great , attitude-wise, but frankly, his coworkers need to lay off.
He can’t remember the first time he got reported. Eddie knows it was within the first few months of the divorce, when he had been moving out of his apartment and having increasingly fraught phone calls with Myra about who got to keep the ottoman. Still, he isn’t sure exactly what he got reported for . He suspects that it was something similar to what he usually gets sent to HR for: he had been too loud, or he had been swearing in a formal setting, or he had said something rude to Victor Criss, one of the other risk analysts with a grudge against him. Either way, it wasn’t long before Stan was assigned to deal with him each time he came in – probably because Stan has an extraordinary eye for bullshit.
Because there is no benevolent god in this universe, Eddie can remember with perfect clarity the day he met Richie. He had left some paperwork about his potential alimony payments in the break room – paperwork that included his yearly salary. A particularly sharp-eyed sales associate had spotted it and ran to HR to get his ass in trouble. Again.
Eddie had been in a particularly bad mood that day, and he’s aware that his first impression with Richie was probably pretty bad. All he had seen was some skinny guy sitting in Stan’s office when he was supposed to be meeting with him, and it had only added to his irritation.
“Who was that guy?” Eddie had asked Stan once Richie left.
“Richie Tozier,” Stan replied, not looking up from his computer. “A secretary. I see him weekly.”
Eddie barked a laugh. “He gets called in that often?”
“No, we have pre-planned appointments. His boss, Hanlon, wants me to keep an eye on him.”
That was all Eddie could get Stan to say on the subject. Still, his curiosity was piqued. It sounded like Richie got called in nearly as much as Eddie, if not more, which was reassuring, if nothing else. At least Eddie wasn’t the only one.
Beyond that, though, he couldn’t help but notice that Richie was attractive, in a nerdy sort of way. He looked a good deal younger than Eddie, though not ridiculously so – he wasn’t fresh out of college, at the very least. He was wearing thick, rimmed glasses and a cheap suit, his hair long and unbrushed. At least in appearance, he reminded Eddie of the young English professor he had a crush on in his freshman year of college. (Though he hadn’t known it was a crush at the time. Eddie had thought that he was just very invested in how Professor Roberts taught Beowulf .)
The next time he sees Richie (during a phone call about those alimony payments) he takes note of this again. His lips are very pink, Eddie finds. He’s taller than Eddie had initially thought, and his jaw is infuriatingly square. It’s probably not advisable, to develop an attraction to another employee, but it’s not like Eddie’s going to see him very often anyway. It should be fine.
Not long after this, Eddie gets an email informing him that he’s been assigned to a project involving Mike Hanlon – and, by extension, Richie Tozier.
Yet more proof that there is no god.
Now that they’re working together, Richie keeps waving at him in the hallways. Half-against his will, Eddie keeps smiling and waving back. Richie’s eyes, magnified by his glasses, crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
And look, if Eddie’s going to be forced to work with him anyway, he might as well indulge himself a bit. So if he starts making a point of saying hello, of touching him on the shoulder or back, of standing close to him while they’re working together – well, that’s his business, isn’t it? Sue him, he’s only just now getting out of a loveless relationship. He could use a little fun.
Richie seems completely oblivious to the fact that Eddie is hitting on him, but that’s not much of a surprise. Eddie knows he comes across as an asshole – he doubts Richie knows that he’s even trying to be nice, much less that he’s into him. It’s unlikely that Richie spares much thought for him anyway, of course. They’re just far apart enough in age for Richie to not give a shit what he thinks, for one. Eddie is nearing his forties – he’s practically middle-aged – while Richie, if the covert snooping Eddie did of employee birthdays is to be believed, is still in his twenties (though, not for much longer. So that’s something.) No thirty-nine-year-old has ever been cool to anyone below the age of thirty-seven, and that’s just a fact of life.
Still, at the very least, Richie is friendly to him. He jokes with him while they work together, he actually tells Eddie about his day when he asks, and, most importantly, he isn’t constantly trying to get Eddie in trouble.
There are other unexpected benefits to the project beyond just Richie, it turns out. First, the other people are actually fairly nice. Bill Denbrough, for example, has a surprisingly reassuring presence for a thirty-year-old sales associate. He talks Eddie down from writing aggressive emails to the client more than once. Beverly is endlessly sociable, somehow remembering every single personal detail anyone tells her. Mike and Ben are both deeply kind in a way that makes Eddie question why they would choose this line of work.
Secondly, all the extra work means that Eddie has less time to worry about the divorce. As the proceedings wind to a close, he’s able to put off more than one phone call with Myra because of work, which he’s more than grateful for. It’s probably not a great sign that he prefers working to negotiating things with her, but then again, that’s why they’re getting divorced, isn’t it?
Well, it’s part of the reason, anyway.
The best part of this project is definitely still Richie, though. He’s…adorable, to be honest, with his ill-fitting clothes, his humor and his awkwardness, the slight gravel of his voice.
Perhaps all of these feelings are why Eddie reacts the way he does when Richie says he might be leaving the company. He tries to hide it in the moment, but inside the realization crashes into him like a miserable wave. That’s the thing of it – he isn’t just attracted to Richie anymore, this past month or so has shown that Eddie enjoys spending time with him, too. He doesn’t want Richie to leave.
He thinks about it all through his own divorce proceedings. He’s fairly sure that he agrees to let Myra keep the refrigerator in his distraction, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it even more.
And he doesn’t want Richie to leave.
He asks for the group’s phone numbers. It’s a transparent ploy to get Richie’s contact, but it works, so he can hardly complain. Unsurprisingly, Richie immediately texts him a meme that Eddie’s never seen before (and yes, Eddie does know what memes are. He isn’t that out of touch.)
Even so, it’s lonely now that the project is over. Eddie keeps thinking he’s forgetting something when he walks into his office, used to greeting Richie whenever he would walk into Mike’s. Eddie’s office feels empty compared to Mike’s, empty of Bev and Bill arguing over a memo, of Ben bringing in coffee, of Mike’s long phone calls, of Richie popping in to use the stapler after his ran out. Even his desk feels empty, especially now that the only picture he had had there is gone. It had been Myra and Eddie at their wedding, Myra beaming out at the camera while Eddie half-smiles. He had thrown it out months ago.
He finally sees Richie again about a week after the project ends. He’s walking by Stan’s office on the way back from lunch, and then the door opens and Richie walks out. Eddie has mostly avoided HR meetings himself recently – now that the divorce is finalized, he’s been having far fewer loud phone calls – but it looks like Richie is still having those weekly meetings.
Richie stops short when he sees him, his blue, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “Do you – d’you have a meeting or something?”
Eddie shakes his head. “No, I’m just passing by. How’s it going?”
Richie looks at the floor. “Well, I got the part in that play. I just put in my two-week notice.”
Shit. Eddie obviously wants Richie to be happy – it would be weird as hell if he didn’t – but he also can’t help but be disappointed that he won’t see Richie again.
“That’s great,” Eddie says, smiling tightly. “I hope you enjoy it.”
Richie nods, scratches the back of his head. “Hey, do you want to go get lunch? I haven’t eaten yet, so…”
“Yes,” Eddie says immediately. He’s already eaten, but right now he truly doesn’t give a shit. If Richie’s going to be gone in two weeks, he’s going to take this opportunity to spend time with him now.
Richie grins wide, and god , he’s gorgeous. Eddie really hopes that he isn’t about to make an idiot of himself trying to make conversation.
This is not a date, Eddie reminds himself. Richie leads him back out of the building, talking animatedly all the while about the play. It’s endearing, how Richie lights up with excitement, his hands flying everywhere as he talks.
“So, basically, the play is about this guy from New York who finds out that he’s a prophet. I play the guy’s ex-boyfriend, which is a surprisingly big role, given how much the two of them hate talking to each other…”
Eddie nods along, trying to keep up with how fast Richie is talking. He really doesn’t know much about theater, or plays, or anything artistic for that matter. It’s still nice to hear Richie talk about it, if only because it seems to make him so happy.
He imagines going to see him perform, watching his presence fill up the stage, maybe meeting him at the stage door with a bouquet of tulips. (Not roses. Never roses. Roses can prick you with their thorns, opening you up to infection.)
They end up at the same brunch place that Eddie had eaten at only twenty minutes ago. The hostess glances up at him when they come in, covering her surprise with a hasty smile.
“... Hello again! Is some –”
“ – Table for two,” Eddie cuts in as quickly as he can. The last thing he needs is Richie realizing that he’s already eaten. It would make him look too suspicious.
“Do you come here a lot, or something?” Richie asks as they walk to their table.
“Fairly often, yes,” Eddie says stiffly. He’s more nervous than he remembers being around Richie before. Maybe it’s the week of separation, or the new location, or the pressure of knowing that Richie will be gone soon. Either way, he’s having trouble regaining the easy confidence he had when he flirted with Richie before.
“This place is fancy . Looks like a billboard from the 1920s threw up on Buckingham Palace.”
Eddie snorts. “Where’d you come up with that ?”
Richie shrugs. “I dunno. Sometimes stuff like that just pops into my head.” He looks almost self-conscious about it, like he thinks Eddie is judging him.
They sit down in a booth near the windows, looking out at the city streets beyond. Their office is just visible across the street, and Eddie hopes to god that none of his coworkers happen to pass by. Given how many members of the office seem to assume the worst of him, they would probably think he’s buying Richie lunch as some sort of sugar-baby situation.
“I wish my brain came up with things like that on the spot – I mostly just think of insults,” Eddie says.
Richie laughs, his head tilting back. “Yeah, no offense, but you’re kind of a bitch.”
“How am I not supposed to take offense at that?”
“I dunno, man, because I said no offense ? Besides, I –”
“Excuse me, gentleman, are you ready to order?” A voice interrupts.
Both of their heads whip around. There’s a waiter watching them both expectantly, notepad in hand.
Richie, because he’s Richie, orders a grilled cheese. Eddie gets a salad, the exact same one he had gotten on his first visit here today.
“Man, how do you stay so healthy, anyway?” Richie asks, mouth half-full of food. “I feel like I’m gonna let myself go by the time I get to your age.”
“I’m not that old,” Eddie replies, delicately spearing a lettuce leaf and an apple cube together on his fork, “And I like to stay fit. I’ve found that running can be quite relaxing, for one.”
Richie chokes. “ Running? I think the last time I ran without someone chasing me was high school gym class.”
“I’d be happy to take you on a jog sometime. I normally do it in Central Park around six in the morning –”
“Woah woah woah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. If you wanna hang out with me outside of work then I’d prefer to do it with my lungs intact and my lunch inside my body.”
Eddie has to laugh at that. There had been a time when he’d hated exercise too, but these days he found he felt worse if he didn’t do it. Still, Richie is young enough that he probably hasn’t gotten to that point yet. He still has a few years of his prime left to enjoy before he realizes that those pesky joint pains and night sweats are here for the long haul.
“You know, I have been thinking,” Eddie begins, entirely unsure what he’s about to say, “Now that you’re leaving, it might be nice to get the whole group together to send you off. You know, as a show of appreciation.”
This is essentially the same as his previous “we should all just exchange numbers” gambit. Namely, roping the only remotely friendly coworkers he has into letting Eddie spend more time around his stupid workplace crush.
Apparently Richie still hasn’t caught onto that, though, because he says, “Really? You guys would do that? That would be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me the whole time I’ve worked here, I think.”
“Cheers to that, man. I’m pretty sure you and the rest of the group are the only ones who even tolerate me,” Eddie replies. It’s meant to come out like a joke, the kind that Richie makes a lot, but because he’s Eddie and he has a terrible eye for comedy, it comes out sounding deadly serious.
Richie’s eyebrows furrow. “Dude, I wouldn’t be going to lunch with you if I only tolerated you. You paid actual attention to me. For a guy like me, attention is basically gold. I’ve had to physically restrain myself from texting you non-stop so that I don’t seem weird.”
Eddie decides to refrain from mentioning that Richie is already pretty weird. It’s a kind of weird that Eddie apparently really likes , though, because now he’s imagining all the things Richie would have texted him if he hadn’t been afraid to do it.
“You can text me,” Eddie blurts out. “I mean, I gave you my number so that you could text me.”
“Awwww, you’re too sweet.” Richie says it sarcastically, but he looks genuinely pleased. “I’ll get right on that.”
It turns out he isn’t joking, either. In the days after their lunch, Eddie starts getting more texts than he thinks he’s ever gotten before in his life. More memes, mostly – and while Eddie does know about memes in a general sense, it turns out that he’s not all that familiar with a lot of them. A lot of them are pretty incomprehensible to him (he isn’t sure how a badly photoshopped horse with the caption “HONSE” is supposed to be funny, for one) but others are actually pretty entertaining.
At the same time, Eddie texts Mike Hanlon and the others to see about organizing that goodbye party. It’s the first time he’s organized a party for as long as he can remember (except for his wedding party with Myra, which he tries not to remember, if anything).
It feels like no time at all until Richie’s two weeks are up and Eddie finds himself waiting in the office lobby for him to arrive. The others are here already – even Stan, who’s apparently taken enough of a liking to Richie to see him off – but Richie himself is nowhere in sight.
“Should I text him again?” Eddie says, checking his watch for the millionth time. He had said 5:30 p.m. exactly , and it was 5:45 now – that was a long time. That is a long time, right? He isn’t just being crazy?
“Relax, Mr. K-k-kaspbrak,” Bill Denbrough says. (Eddie resists the urge to glare.) “I’m sure he’s j-just running la –”
“Hey, guys!”
There he is.
Richie comes jogging across the lobby, peeling off his suit jacket as he goes. Eddie had told himself that he would be mad at Richie when he showed up, but now that he has Eddie is immediately fine. Maybe it’s the fact that he just took off an article of clothing. Maybe he just likes Richie that much. He is willingly going to a social event, after all. That’s already a pretty big sign that Eddie’s in this deep.
“Sorry, I got caught up with paperwork, and then the other secretaries wanted to say goodbye, and then I forgot my bag –”
“It’s fine,” Eddie replies quickly. He isn’t even looking at Bill, but he can feel him giving him a knowing look. He does not flip him off. “So, are we ready to head out?”
They’d decided to go out to a bar nearby. The place itself had been Bev’s idea, since she’s easily the classiest out of all of them – and sure enough, when they get there, it’s the nicest place Eddie’s been to in…years, probably. At least since he and Myra separated.
“Aw, Jesus,” Richie mutters. “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to afford anything here.”
“It’s okay,” Eddie replies. He sits down on one of the patent-leather bar stools, gestures for Richie to sit down too. “It’s your party. I’ll just pay for whatever you buy.”
Richie’s shoulders relax, and he slumps down on the stool next to him. “Man, why am I even getting a new job? I could just mooch off you for the rest of my life.”
“You wish, Tozier.”
As it turns out, everyone else wants to mooch off of him, too, because Eddie ends up buying the first round of drinks. Richie asks for a Cosmo, which would be more surprising if everyone wasn’t preoccupied with Bill asking for gin , of all things.
“Who likes gin in this day and age?” Richie squawks. Eddie nods his agreement around a sip of beer. It’s one of those artisanal brands – just slightly better than what he usually buys.
“He has a point,” Mike says goodnaturedly. “I mean, you’re what – thirty?”
“Th-th-thirty-three,” Bill grumbles.
“My point stands. You’re a millennial – way too young to drink like an old man yelling at clouds.”
“I h-have dignified t-taste,” Bill says primly, taking a delicate sip of his gin. He grimaces, then swallows. “See? D-delightful.”
They all burst out laughing, and it occurs to Eddie that this might actually be fun. Even though this had been his idea, it was an exception to his consistent preference against social events. He had expected that this would be a convenient excuse to stare at Richie’s jawline all night before he left – to really bask in his presence one last time. Now, though, he realizes that the company of their other coworkers might be an added bonus, not a necessary accession.
It’s a Friday night, and before long everyone starts drinking with the knowledge that they don’t have to get up early tomorrow. Eddie tries to keep it light – he isn’t willing to deal with a hangover in the morning – but soon everyone else starts getting loud, and he has to order another beer just to tamp down on the embarrassment of his friends ( friends? friends. ) drunkenly shouting in this upscale bar.
Richie is luminous in the muted orange lights, his cheeks pink and his body relaxed, languid. He’s laughing at something Ben said, leaning his whole body towards him. Eddie tries and fails to avoid the surge of jealousy that rises up in his chest. Ben is neither queer nor single (he needs to remember to tell Ben and Bev congratulations, by the way) but Eddie can’t help it.
Goddammit. He really, really, likes Richie.
He doesn’t want him to leave. To be honest, he wants Richie to stay at the office forever, so he can make idle conversation with him while they work together, so they can interact without Eddie having to risk reaching out.
That isn’t going to happen. He knows it isn’t. Richie is leaving, going to do a job he actually enjoys, something he’s passionate about. Eddie knows he would never give that up – it would be absurd to expect him to.
As much as he wants to keep things how they are, making excuses to spend time together, flirting but never going too far, that’s all about to end.
If Eddie wants to stay near Richie, to keep feeling this feeling, he’s going to have to do something about it.
After another glass or three of liquid courage, he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.
(Eddie can’t remember the last time he asked someone out on a date. He had met Myra through his mother , of all people, which really should have been a sign that the relationship was a bad idea. It had been his mother’s idea for them to go out together – she had told them both about the date at the same time. After that, Myra had been the one to schedule a second date. Eddie had proposed, of course, but it had been after months of hints from both Myra and his mother that he should do so. There was no bravery involved.)
Now, he’s going to have to be brave. Or stupid. He’s about to find out, he supposes.
“Hey, Richie,” he says, tapping him on the shoulder. Oh God, he’s slurring his words a little bit. Maybe that last glass of beer was a bad idea.
“Yeah, Eds?” Richie replies, turning back towards him. Eddie comforts himself with the fact that Richie looks almost as drunk as him.
“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie mutters on instinct.
Richie snorts. “Anyway, what is it?”
Holy fuck, this is a terrible idea. Why is he trying to do this in a public place, surrounded by people he knows? That last beer was definitely a mistake.
“Uh.” Eddie’s face is warmer than the New York City sidewalk in July. “Nothing. Forget it.”
Richie has the audacity to look concerned , like this isn’t totally his fault for being so hot. “ Okay , everyone, I think Eddie’s done for the night.” He slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie gets the feeling he would be less dizzy if he hadn’t done so.
“C’mon, Eds, I’m gonna go call a cab,” Richie says straight into Eddie’s ear, steering him towards the door.
“Bye, Eddie!” Bev calls, grinning. Thankfully, he’s fairly sure she’s only laughing because of how drunk he is, not how much he’s blushing.
The cool night air is a blessing on his skin. Eddie relaxes into Richie’s shoulder, barely suppressing the urge to press his face into his shirt.
When Richie’s arm lifts, hailing a cab, Eddie remembers what he’s supposed to be doing. Good lord, this is his last chance . He’s not about to say something like this over text – he’s not a heathen.
“ Richie! ” he exclaims, tugging sharply on his shirt to get his attention. When Richie turns his head to look at him, their faces are a few inches apart.
“Will you go on a date with me?” he manages.
Richie’s mouth splits into an incredulous grin, his eyebrows practically lifting off his forehead. Not for the first time, Eddie wants to brush his hair out of his face for him.
“You better not be fucking with me.”
“Me? Fucking with you ? I’m a terrible liar, come on.”
Somehow, Richie smiles even wider. A cab pulls up at the curb, and Richie opens the door to the backseat and bundles Eddie into it, following behind him.
“What are you doing?” Eddie asks blearily. Richie still hasn’t answered his question.
“ I ,” Richie says, stabbing a finger in his direction, “Am taking you home. And tomorrow, I’m going to text you once you’re not drunk out of your mind and see how you feel about that date.”
“You’re drunk too,” Eddie grumbles.
“That I am. You’re just a lightweight.”
“Wait a minute.” Eddie’s brain is still catching up as the cab starts moving. “If I ask you again tomorrow, you’ll say yes?”
Richie smiles again, full of humor just like always. “No shit, dude. I thought that was obvious.”
“Give me a minute. I’m not firing at all cylinders here.” Even as he says it, Eddie shuffles closer to him, tilting his head up.
Their eyes meet once, like a confirmation, and then Richie kisses him once, fast and warm.
Eddie leans into it, and for a second it looks like Richie will too, but he tilts his head away at the last second.
“Nope. Tomorrow.” He looks almost as sad about it as Eddie feels.
“Tomorrow.” He’d better. Otherwise Eddie’s going to have shit to say.
Eddie believes he will, though. It’s Richie, after all.