Archive of Our Own ^beta

"We won't forget each other, right?"

Eddie looks over at Richie and watches his chest move, assuring himself that Richie is still there. Eddie's feeling like he's losing himself to... something. Nothingness? Then he's looking up at Richie's face, where Eddie notes his eyes seem far away, and he's frowning deeply.

That sad expression is too familiar to Eddie, but he isn't used to seeing it on Richie's face. Richie is supposed to be the happier and most optimistic one out of all the Losers, but Eddie guesses this situation has to be an exception.

Eddie is leaving, after all.

They're sitting on Eddie's bed, one of the last things to get packed. The blue walls were already bare, and the one window in the room lacked its usual curtains. The door is closed but not locked.

Richie sighs, his eyes closing. "I really hope not, Eds." He opens his eyes and looks at Eddie. Eddie immediately looks at the ground. He can't stand seeing that look anymore. It doesn't fit Richie.

They're seventeen now, and Eddie is leaving for New York in a few hours; it was his mother's idea to leave Maine. He suspects she notices things about him, but she neglects to share.

He'd hate to know what it is that she sees.

That, and he's been having more "blackouts" than usual lately, feeling like he isn't in control of his own body, and Eddie doesn't even recognize himself when he looks in the mirror; the few times he looks. He feels like he's taking the backseat in his own life sometimes.

He's been "losing" days at a time for a long time. He barely remembers anything before thirteen, and even after that is fuzzy, too. The most he feels he's lost is three weeks in the summer of eighty-nine. At least, he believes so. Things blended together.

Now, he's losing hours or days, but frequently. He knows it's been hours because of the clock, but figuring out he was gone for days is harder. Luckily, his friends don't bat an eye when he asks what day it is. He assumes they think he's forgetful.

"Me too," Eddie murmurs.

The two of them sit there in silence until a voice enters Eddie's head that doesn't feel like his. The voice reminds him of a father, or what he assumed a father would be like, based on most of his friends' fathers. 

Not that he's told anyone about these voices. He's been told he used to talk to himself a lot, but when he does that now, his mother snaps at him for it. She also says something about him having imaginary friends. He doesn't remember having any, but according to her, he talked to them all the time when he was little. He paid more attention to them than he did to her . The moment he'd mentioned they talked back, she'd panicked, dragging him to yet another doctor, who referred him to a therapist. She never took him, and he never returned to that doctor again. 

When he was old enough to understand it was a bad thing, he said he'd made it up for attention. The voices who felt like other people were still very much there, though.

Check the time, is what they say. Nothing around Eddie feels tangible as he checks the clock. And knowing exactly where his body is and how to move it? Forget it. You might have to leave soon.

The clock displays the time in bright red numbers. It's almost time for his mother to get up, and if she saw Richie? He doesn't want to see what'll happen. Eddie looks back at Richie, who is still staring at him like he wants to memorize Eddie's face.

"You need to go. Ma's getting up soon."

Richie finally looks away and lets out a breath. "Please don't forget us," he pleads. "Stan said he wouldn't, but he did, and so did Beverly. Even Bill. I can't-" He cuts himself off with a quiet sob. "I can't lose you, too." Richie looks at him with watery eyes before he leans over and surprises Eddie with a tight hug.

"I won't," Eddie whispers, clinging to him. "I can't lose you either."

I don't think you have a choice, something seems to tell him. Not a voice, but something in his gut. Instinct. He ignores it and tries to enjoy the last hug he'll ever get from his best friend.