Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Go go go!! R-r-r-run, Eddie!"

Eddie Kaspbrak felt the burning in his lungs as he darted to first base, his cleats planting against the ground. He slid down and just barely got his foot on the plate, his pants now covered in dirt. "Shoot," he thought to himself before snapping back into focus.

The game wasn't a serious one; they were playing for fun. They didn't have enough players for a team after Jimmy Cullun moved. They didn't even have a team name, really —at least not one they gave themselves. Derry had dubbed their team "The Losers." But the Losers weren't bad at baseball, not at all. It was more about who was on the team rather than their skill.

They were all made fun of for something. For example, their catcher, Ben Hanscom, used to be a fat kid. He wasn't anymore, but he still got teased for it in school. Stanley Uris, their second baseman, was bullied for being a jew; Mike Hanlon, their pitcher, was harassed for being black; Bill Denbrough, their third baseman, was mocked for his stutter; Georgie Denbrough, their first baseman, was made fun of for being younger than the rest-- he was 13, and the others were 16; Beverly Marsh, their right fielder, was laughed at for being the only girl on the team and a rumored whore; Ed Corcoran, their shortstop, (who was mainly nicknamed Corcoran for less confusion amongst them all) for just being a loner;

And Eddie Kaspbrak, the finest batter in Derry who could play any position they needed-- usually left fielder, though it was incredibly boring to him-- which was especially apparent with only eight players. With Eddie's skill, the game still ran smoothly enough, though it would have been better with a centerfielder. Whenever the Losers engaged in a game with another team, he knew that people were saying that he ought to be on a better team, but he loved his friends and didn't care.

The Losers typically played alone, practicing their positions with all their efforts. They all enjoyed baseball, but Eddie was passionate like no other. He would play all day and all night if he could. As a little kid, he had spent his free time watching the other kids play, fetching the rogue baseballs every once in a while. He had always wanted to play, but his mother never let him. Sonia Kaspbrak was a strict woman who was convinced that anything and everything would give you the black plague or some other strange disease. Whenever Eddie mentioned how much he wanted to join the baseball team, she threw a fit and warned him of how dangerous it was and how he could break a leg or a rib. So he was forced to take it and to simply sit on the sidelines despondently. 

But now that he was older, he was less afraid to disobey his mother's wishes. He lied to her frequently, mainly making up excuses as to where he was going, when he was only going out to their baseball field, which they referred to as "Derry's Junkyard" due to how shitty it was around there. But the playing field was open and they had room; the only disadvantage was that many balls had been lost in all the shrubbery.

Within the next half-hour, the sky greyed and clouds blocked the sun. Eddie groaned as he felt rain beginning to drizzle on them, quickly becoming thick droplets that plopped against their skin. It was still July! The summer had practically just begun, and the sky was still being shrouded by darkness. It was quite literally 80 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and Eddie felt sweat dripping down his forehead beside the rain that was drenching all of them.

"I think I'm gonna head home," Mike said, his eyes glued to the sky above. He pulled his glove off his left hand slowly, turning his gaze back down to Eddie's. Eddie let out a long sigh and nodded.

"Okay. Are you all going too?" Eddie responded, looking over to the others, who flashed him guilty smiles.

"Yeah, I think so," Beverly finally replied, shrugging her shoulders. She and Mike headed towards their bikes, which leaned against a tree, surrounded by everybody else's. The others followed, giving Eddie apologetic looks as they did. Eddie stood in place, thoroughly disappointed. He stood in place as he watched them all pedal away, one hand running through his dripping hair and the other holding the baseball they had been using. He frowned and glanced around, his shoes melting into the softened dirt below him. It was weird being alone there, though it wasn't super unusual. Sometimes he just sat against the fence by himself when he was procrastinating going back home. His mother always interrogated him like a cop, and he just said the same thing each time.

"Sorry, Ma, lost track of time." "I was just at Bill's house; I wasn't out in the rain." "Don't worry! We were just hanging out."

And she typically accepted it as the truth, her thin-framed glasses falling down her chubby face. She would leave him be until dinner, where she made him take all his stupid placebo vitamins. He would let out a sound of frustration each time, which prompted an outraged glance from his red-faced mother. And when she looked away, Eddie would give her a dirty look in return, clenching his fist in annoyance.

Once he was excused, Eddie cleaned his plate and opted to watch television until he got tired and hit the hay for the night. He refused to let summer bore him and made the most of it. 

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Richie Tozier sat at his desk, mindlessly flipping through a Batman comic book. He bounced his knee and was laser-focused on the panels until his mother walked in. 

"It's almost midnight!" she scolded. Richie murmured a quiet apology, not tearing his eyes from the comic. Maggie Tozier rolled her eyes and sat on his bed, which was next to his desk. "Can we talk?" she asked. Richie gulped and shut the book after slipping a bookmark in between the pages. He finally looked over to her, but fortunately saw no anger on her face.

"Yeah?" he said nervously, still bouncing his knee, nearly smacking it against his desk as he shifted in his chair.

"You need to be going outside more, hon. It's summer, you should be out having fun," she commented warmly, reaching over and patting his knee, which he took as a sign to force himself to stop jerking it around. Richie wasn't quite sure what to say. The Toziers had moved to Derry only recently, and he hadn't really searched for any friendship opportunities. His mother continued waiting for a response, which he only realized after a minute had passed.

"I know," he said. "It's not the school year, I have no clue where to look for other kids." Maggie nodded understandingly, holding her strong eye contact that always unnerved Richie.

"Take the dog for a walk tomorrow and just explore. People love dogs," she suggested, suddenly standing up. Richie groaned, but agreed. He didn't like Buster that much, but Richie supposed he was okay enough. His mom exited the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Richie shut his eyes in exasperation before returning to his comic book.

In all honesty, Richie was kind of hesitant to find friends for a particular reason. He had quickly realized Derry's stance on people who were different, and was afraid to run into people like that.

Richie had known he was a fag for a while. It ate him alive, and had eliminated any chance of one of those stupid high school romances that he was embarrassed to say that he wanted. He was well aware that he was essentially fucked, and even more so in a small town like Derry. He had been relatively good at hiding it; he tried his absolute best. There had been very few boys he'd ever liked anyway. None of which went anywhere, of course. A boy can dream, though, right?

Richie got up frustratedly, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. All he saw was a loser. A no-good homo. He clenched his jaw and collapsed onto his bed, staring up absently at the ceiling fan. He flipped the switch on the lamp on his nightstand, being swallowed up by the shadows. Another thing he was ashamed to admit was that he was still somewhat scared of the dark and had essentially been doing exposure therapy on himself. He could feel his pulse without even pressing a finger on his carotid, but took deep breaths. "Tomorrow is a new day," he thought to himself cornily-- a quote his mother always repeated to him.

But the thing was, Richie Tozier was not a shy kid by any means. Part of the reason he moved was because he was nearly expelled from his old school for being a smartass and always getting in trouble. Except this was a new place that he was getting used to, and didn't doubt that he would resume his idiotic ways soon enough.

After what felt like an eternity, he fell asleep listening to crickets outside his window, his room warm, grossly hot, and sticky even with ventilation.

Chapter Text

It was Eddie's turn to bat again, and he gripped the wood tightly, his stance firmly crouched. He glanced over to Bill, who was waiting at first base. He gave Eddie a slight nod, and he stared directly into Mike's eyes as he thrusted his arm back, winding up for a fastball. Eddie braced himself.

Mike hurled the ball, but Eddie could tell it would fall out of the strike zone and didn't move an inch. Ben caught it in his glove and made an impressed face before tossing it back. Once more, Eddie squeezed the bat, shifting a bit to regain his sense of confidence for his hit. Mike pitched, and Eddie swung the bat hard, watching the ball fly away. After a second, he returned his attention and darted to first base, which Bill was running away from. Eddie urgently threw his leg as far as he could til he could slide onto the base. He just barely made it as Stan's mitt slapped against the plate, holding the baseball in it.

Eddie let out a small, relieved gasp, but became confused when everybody paused. He stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, and looked over. He heard a scream and then a loud "FUCK!" and tracked the sound to just around the corner of the fences, coming from the pathway. The sight was almost comical.

"Buster! Let go!" Richie shouted through his teeth, trying to tug the baseball out of his dog's mouth. "Stupid dog!" he exclaimed as he fell backwards onto his ass once Buster dropped it, his glasses flying off his face. A brief moment later, he looked up to see a whole 8 people gawking at him. One groaned in annoyance. He thought he might puke.

"Can we get the ball back?" a redheaded girl called out, tilting her head to the side, a hand on her hip. Richie felt a wave of pure embarrassment and got up swiftly, his hands sweating. He swallowed before responding,

"Yeah! Uh-- sorry! Dogs, am I right?" he yelled, immediately cursing himself for being an idiot. This earned a quick smile from a tall, blue-eyed boy, whom he felt like he'd seen before. The girl sighed and tapped her foot, which signaled him to throw it back instantly. Richie raised his arm and threw the ball with all his might. It wasn't that bad, but Richie was not an athlete by any means. Another boy chuckled, also tall but with brown eyes and a strange sense of style-- he looked prim and proper despite it being a regular summer day. Richie laughed with them awkwardly. He jogged forward and picked up the ball again, managing to haul it far enough for one of them to grab.

He felt pretty humbled and began to retreat, yanking his dog by his leash. His nose burned a bit, and he felt his eyes water. But one of the boys caught Richie's eye, which he kicked himself for in response. Nothing good will happen with that. "Don't even let your mind go there," he thought.

The boy Richie noticed was about average height, had chestnut hair, and the prettiest big brown eyes he'd ever seen. He felt his cheeks get warm, and he shook his head as he left. Richie could feel the boy's eyes still on him, sending chills down his spine. He turned the corner out of sight, scolding his dog angrily, his knuckles white from how tight he was clutching the leash. He could probably say it was one of the most embarrassing and random experiences he had ever been in, and left fast.

"Um, sorry fellas! And girl fella!" Richie shouted behind him as he hurried away. He got out of there as fast as he could and let out a shaky exhale. "Good going," he thought, his heart beating out of his damn chest.

"Who was that?" Stan asked incredulously, turning to make eye contact with a somewhat star-struck Eddie. Eddie frowned a little, a curious expression on his face. There was something about the freckle-faced boy that piqued his interest. Something about his awkwardness and embarrassed grin. He had an energy to him that Eddie Kaspbrak could sense from yards away. "Just maybe," he thought carefully before he broke the silence abruptly.

"We could use a 9th player," he said, which prompted a surprised eyebrow raise from all of them. 

"What? He could barely throw a ball!" Stanley scoffed, throwing his arms up, and Eddie could see Bill quietly nod in his peripheral vision. He shut his eyes. 

"I mean, he seemed witty, though. He could learn, maybe?" Mike asked shyly, turning to both of them. Mike watched a slight smile bloom on Eddie's lips. Ben shrugged neutrally, and Beverly, Georgie, and Corcoran remained silent. Eddie took it as also being neutral.

"I-I thu-think he's my n-n-neighbor. H-his fuh-family j-j-juh-just moved h-here," Bill added helpfully. "Should I luh-luh-look f-for him t-t-tomorrow?" Eddie listened closely, making eye contact with Bill intently.

"I can," Eddie finished, speaking firmly. Bill pressed his lips together and looked down in agreement, silently appreciating the gesture. He wasn't nearly as interested in the strange boy as Eddie was. Eddie returned his gaze to where the boy had last been before paying attention to the game once more, but his mind was still elsewhere. "Okay, where were we?" he clapped, jogging back over to second base brightly. Beverly glanced at Bill cluelessly, saying I don't know about this with her eyes. Bill shrugged back. After a moment, she focused back on the game. Stan rolled his eyes.

Richie jogged away, feeling fucking humiliated. He got home as fast as he could, letting the dog go and leaning against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He slapped his hands over his eyes after setting his glasses down. "Fucking idiot. Holy shit," he whispered, dropping his hands and exhaling loudly. He was home alone, the only sounds being the jingling of the tags on Buster's collar as he ran around energetically. Richie punched his leg in frustration, pulling his knees to his chest. "Good going! 'I'll try to make friends, mom!' Yeah, once I'm done being stupid!" he groaned. He decided to try again the next day, hoping he'd have better luck elsewhere. Maybe he could look for a comic store in town. "Sure, okay, I'll do that! Okay," he thought to himself, assuringly. More deep breaths. 

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Eddie knocked on the front door of a house with a mailbox that read "Tozier." Bill had instructed him that this was definitely the house. Eddie leaned on one foot, trying to get a peek through the window, but couldn't see anyone. He was about to leave when the door swung open, revealing a pretty blonde woman with a confused expression on her face and a twinkle in her blue eyes. She must have been in her mid to late 30s, but still looked rather youthful. Eddie cheesed at her nervously and managed to ask her: "Um. Is your son home?" Maggie cocked her head to the side but gave him a polite smile and shook her head yes. She called out to a boy named Richie, who quickly came to the door, his mother vanishing. Richie gave him a shocked look that rapidly turned into shame. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off. "Hi," Eddie interrupted somewhat sheepishly. "Do you... wanna play baseball with me and the others?"

Eddie watched Richie's expression relax. Richie had dark hair, wavy and mid-length; pale, freckled skin; and he was scrawny, only a bit taller than Eddie but thinner and lankier. Eddie already liked him; he deemed Richie a good fit for the team despite his clumsiness. He saw a lot of potential. He felt his face warm up as a huge smile grew on Richie's face.

"Sure! Yeah!" Richie exclaimed happily, perking up. Eddie returned the smile and waved Richie along as he began walking. "Wait!" Richie said suddenly, disappearing from the doorway and immediately coming back with his own baseball cap. Eddie let out a small laugh and continued, Richie following along at his side. "Um, what's your name?" he asked nervously, and Eddie responded, not looking away from the sidewalk in front of them

"Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak."

"Oh-- cool! Uh, I'm Richie. But you probably already heard that. Thanks for letting me come with, I haven't really had anyone to hang out with, besides that fuckass dog."

Eddie couldn't help but giggle at that. "Yeah. Where'd you come from?" he asked politely.

"Chicago. My dad got a job here-- but I needed to go to a different school anyway. Got in some trouble, y'know?" Richie sighed solemnly, adjusting his glasses. Eddie paused, trying to think of something to say.

"What's with the outfit?" Eddie mentioned.

"What?"

"Your clothes."

"It's a fashion statement!" Richie said defensively. He was wearing his typical fit: shorts, a white t-shirt, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt on top, and a beat-up pair of black Converse. He knew he didn't have a sense of style, but he made it a trademark during the summer seasons. Eddie had a tattered pair of white-washed jeans, red Converse, and his t-shirt was tucked into his waistband. His tan arm pressed against Richie's pasty one, and he could feel the heat radiating off of him. It was even hotter that day in comparison to the previous day, and Richie could already feel a drop of sweat down his back.

"Sure, man," Eddie laughed dryly, elbowing Richie in the side. Richie grinned goofily and elbowed him back. "Oh, here. You can use this," Eddie spoke up, handing Richie his glove.

"Actually?" Richie said in shock, taking it hesitantly.

"Yeah, I've got another one," Eddie replied warmly. Richie couldn't fight off another dumb smile growing on his face, and did a little skip to catch up to Eddie's steady pace.

"Look who it is!" Eddie shouted over to his friends, who were sitting against the fence, on the grass. They seemed momentarily concerned, and Richie felt his stomach drop worriedly. He didn't know if he could survive a repeat of yesterday. But the redheaded girl, who had seemed ridiculously annoyed last time he saw her, had a friendlier expression and gave him a small wave. Richie waved back nervously.

Eddie introduced Richie to the team, who all uttered small hellos. "Do you even like baseball?" the boy named Stan had asked saltily. Richie was too good at sassing people, which always fucked him over.

"Yeah, I do. My hat literally has a Cubs logo on it-- it's right in front of your face," he replied, crossing his arms. Stan raised his eyebrows, whirling around to look at the others, who all let out a small ooh!. Stan went red, and Richie did too when he saw their reactions. "Shit," he thought, doing a mental forehead slap. "Sorry," he said. Stanley gave him a death stare, but everybody else giggled in amusement. Richie felt an ounce of relief, but still felt bad for embarrassing Stanley. He needed to think before speaking.

"You can play centerfield, okay?" Eddie ordered, placing a hand on Richie's shoulder before walking off. Richie stopped him.

"Okay, don't laugh, but um. I don't know what the fuck that is," Richie whisper-yelled, prepared to get made fun of. But no judgment crossed his countenance. Eddie only watched him thoughtfully.

"You stand in the outfield, sort of in the middle. And if the ball goes back there, catch it and throw it to one of the basemen. Alright?" he replied calmly. Richie nodded and hurried away. He stood around 20 feet away from the main dirt field anxiously. He struggled to hear the commotion and just prayed for the best.

After a few plays that Richie didn't have to partake in, Eddie was up to bat.

Richie was mesmerized by the dedicated glint in his eyes, the sun lighting up his irises and making them look like honey. Mike pitched the ball, and Eddie swung, the bat cracking against it as it zoomed into the sky. Richie realized that the ball was heading in his direction and was hit with a wave of panic. "SHIT!" he shouted as the ball smacked him in the head, knocking him to the ground. He heard faint gasps of surprise as he clenched his jaw, hissing through his teeth. Pain shot up his face, and he took his glasses off, which he realized were cracked. "Oh God," he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut, one of them swelling up.

Almost as speedily as it happened, Eddie was at Richie's side. "Holy fuck! I'm so sorry, oh geez!" he exclaimed, studying Richie's face and what damage he may have caused. He carefully moved Richie's hand away and saw the black eye that was forming. He winced. Richie was red as a tomato, and the proximity of the other boy did not help at all. 

"I'm-- I'm fine! It's okay!" he said in embarrassment, waving Eddie away, who backed up a bit. Eddie's face was riddled with remorse, twitching in guilt. Richie shakily stood up. "I can't come back here, I keep just making a fucking fool out of myself," Richie thought, flinching. "I should go. I should go," he said twice, his voice cracking a little. Eddie looked like he wanted to stop him, but didn't move an inch, his gaze not wavering.

"Are you sure?" Eddie forced out, wringing his hands. Richie nodded quickly and gave Eddie the glove back. "Wait, you should keep it," Eddie said, holding it out. Richie hesitantly shook his head.

"It's yours. Don't you still want it?" he remarked sadly, tightening his cap on his head and setting his broken glasses back on his face despondently. 

"Does this mean you aren't coming back?" Eddie called out from a distance as Richie walked away. Richie paused.

"You... want me to come back?"

"I mean," Eddie started, glancing back to his annoyed friends. "Yeah," he finished. Richie watched him, greatly surprised. He felt a bit guilty when he noticed most of the others' expressions, which showed just how sick of him they were. In all honesty, Richie wanted to see Eddie again, but his friends intimidated him a little. He made up his mind and decided he probably wouldn't come back, even if a part of him wanted to.

"Bye, then," Richie announced slowly. He didn't think he could have felt more embarrassed than last time, but he definitely did. Eddie watched him go, stressed out of his mind. He didn't really even know that boy, and the first time he ever really interacted with him, he clocked him upside the head with a fucking baseball. He wanted to go after Richie, but restrained himself.

"Didn't kn-know y-y-yuh-you were s-so suh-s-soft for stuh-strangers," Bill joked, but Eddie didn't laugh.

"I don't know. I just-- he seemed alright," he said disappointedly. Beverly spoke.

"Are we gonna keep playing?"

"Yeah, it's not even 1:00 pm!" Mike joined in, Ben agreeing as well. Georgie sighed in annoyance; he thought it was way too hot to play ball, but he always showed up when Bill did.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Eddie responded, turning around to look at them. "Who's up?"

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Richie sat at the dinner table, his parents quiet on either side of him. He poked at his food with his fork numbly, his other hand holding an ice pack to his eye.

"What happened?" his father, Wentworth, asked, setting his knife down. Richie sighed.

"Baseball to the eye."

"Oh? Who were you playing ball with?"

"Kids," Richie said stalely, not wanting to talk about it. Wentworth got the message and dropped it.

"Okay then," he said boredly. Maggie gave Richie a sympathetic look, and the rest of dinner was in silence. Richie sat in his humiliation, stewing in it. He dropped his head in his hands and groaned softly.

Richie didn't even feel like reading his comics; he was still upset. It was only a little past 8:00 pm, but he needed the day to be over already. He changed into his pajamas-- which consisted of a designated pair of shorts. His bedroom was too warm, so he just slept without a shirt most nights. He flopped onto his bed on his back, interlinking his fingers together and resting his hands over his stomach. Before he turned the lights off, he turned on the stereo on his nightstand, lowering the volume. He couldn't deal with silence in that moment. No, not at all. He resorted to his troublesome thoughts, the ones yelling at him furiously.

He needed a new pair of glasses because he couldn't catch a fucking baseball. He disgraced himself twice and shit all over the possibility of becoming friends with the team. He let out a loud exhale, trying to ignore his lungs' refusal to contract. His stereo was just playing some old shitty CD he stole from his dad, barely audible over the nature sounds from outside his window.

His inability to see began to stress him out, and he flipped the lights back on, squinting his eyes. Richie's room was barren, stripped of anything that could have given it personality. He only brought so much from his old house, mostly just clothes and his comics, along with a few other select items. He didn't have the chance to pack any of his posters or dumb little army figurines from when he was little. None of his polaroids, either. He felt like an immigrant entering a foreign country with nothing. Of course, that was him being dramatic, but he felt empty nonetheless. His walls were beige and had nothing on them besides a blank calendar. He had a bed (which was actually just a mattress), a nightstand, and a desk. His suitcase still rested against the wall, his clothes already messy and spread across the floor. His parents promised to get him a carpet and a bedframe or something soon. For now, he lived in a room more empty than a prison cell.

Richie found himself wondering what Eddie could be doing then. "He probably has way more interesting shit to do instead of being in bed at 8 like some pussy," he thought angrily. He squeezed his eyes shut, his swollen one stinging. Eddie was probably hanging out with his friends and having a good time. Him and his stupid honey brown eyes and freckles. Eddie was just pitying him earlier, and he didn't need to be pitied. He ought to be alone at that point. Just a fuck-up.

Richie couldn't sleep, and Eddie still lingered in his mind like a stuffy nose that took forever to entirely go away. "What is my problem?" crossed his mind, slapping his hands over his face. He needed to get a fucking grip. No dumb bullshit!

He would find other friends, this time with a blank slate. He still had the chance to commit to his fresh start. Maybe then his summer wouldn't totally suck ass, right? He had no idea. He kicked himself whenever the baseball kids entered his thoughts, as if he were a dog being trained with a shock collar. He considered learning baseball on his own, showing up to the field, and showing them all that he wasn't a stupid clutz. 

"I can be cool. I'm cool! I don't suck that bad. Too cool for school," he whispered to himself, a bedtime pep talk of sorts. Richie rolled his eyes at himself, sighing loudly and rolling over onto his side. The mattress was hard and uncomfortable, but he just had to deal with it. The calendar on his wall told him tomorrow was Saturday, which didn't mean anything for him personally, but it meant his parents would be home tomorrow. Meaning it'd be two people coaxing him to leave the house as if he were a complete hermit. 

Eddie sat in Bill's basement with him, Beverly, and Stan. Georgie was upstairs, and Eddie could hear him talking with Mrs. Denbrough. Bev was glued to Bill's side, lost in her own thoughts as Bill recounted their day. Eddie only tuned in when Richie had been mentioned. Eddie still felt ridiculously bad for earlier in the day, and faded in and out of focus toward the others' conversation. Stan let out a noisy, dramatic exhale.

"I don't like him. I don't know why you want him to join the team so much," Stan commented, side-eyeing Eddie slyly. Eddie rolled his eyes in return and crossed his legs. Stan made it very fucking obvious that he already hated the boy's guts, but Eddie didn't really have an answer to what he had said either.

"I-I muh-m-mean he s-seemed oh-o-okay," Bill said empathetically. Eddie appreciated it, especially when Bev agreed with him.

"Yeah, what's the harm?" she shrugged.

"That he has no idea what he's doing and is just gonna slow the game down!" Stan snapped. Bill made a face of surprise; Stan was usually way friendlier than this.

"Are yuh-you o-o-okay, Stuh-Stan?" he asked in a worried tone. Stan's face was stunned a bit, and he took a deep breath.

"I think I just miss Jimmy a lot, y'know?" he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. Everybody missed Jimmy, but it had been a couple of months, and they wanted to have someone to take over his position. Jimmy was out in Arizona, and he wasn't coming back anytime soon. Bill nodded respectfully, unsure what to say to that. They had lost a core member of their team, but they had to move on-- at least from Eddie's perspective. 

"Y-yuh-yeah. Buh-b-but he w-w-would've w-w-wanted us t-to m-m-move uh-on," Bill said calmly, reaching over to pat Stan on the shoulder. Stan gave him an insincere smile and looked away.

Eddie felt like screaming, but it remained completely internalized, never to escape his throat. He couldn't understand why he cared so badly about this. It was just some random ass boy that lived by Bill, whom he had spoken to once! He couldn't help but adore Richie's liveliness; he knew that he could become a valuable member of the Losers. He just did. Richie didn't have anyone to hang with, so it was a perfect match, right?

Eddie redirected his attention to his surroundings, scanning the room. He had been down there countless times, but he didn't feel like listening to his friends in that moment. Bill and Bev sat on the smaller velvety couch against the wall, and Stan sat stiffly and uniformly in a plain wooden chair, occasionally pushing against the chair leg so that the seat would spin. Eddie sprawled out on a huge bean bag that was plopped in the corner of the room. His socked feet grazed the scratchy grey-blue carpet on the polished wooden floor. He began to feel super claustrophobic, desperately wanting to get out of there, even though it was the most low-stress time of the day and he should be relaxing.

"I might go home," he interjected suddenly. Bev blinked and frowned.

"How come?" 

"I'm just tired. My ma will probably want me back soon anyway," Eddie replied, running a hand through his hair. He stood up, putting his baseball cap on his head again, picking up his mitt off the floor. Bev awwww'ed, and Eddie shrugged his shoulders as he continued to prepare to leave. "Sorry guys, see you what, tomorrow? I'll probably bet at the 'Yard either way if any of you want to join. As usual," he finished, flashing a thin-mouthed grin as he hurried out the door. He didn't let them walk him out; he just signaled that they could just stay in their seats and that he'd be fine. They didn't argue.

He shut the Denbroughs' back door, giving Mrs. Denbrough a brief wave as he went. "God, why am I being so fucking weird?" he asked himself in irritation as he walked back to his house, despite it getting dark. He shook his head, a stray lock of hair falling into his eyes. 

"Just forget it. He's not gonna come back after that," he thought sadly. "Are we ever getting a full team? What about finals? I don't know if we can beat Bowers' team of assholes, if they'll even let us try to. I'm so stupid!" He gritted his teeth and fought off the reemerging urge to scream his fucking lungs out. What was he thinking?! There was nothing special about this boy-- He was just too concerned about needing a 9th. Stan was probably right about Richie; he didn't even know baseball!

But that wasn't deterring Eddie's mind. He figured he could go back to the Tozier residence tomorrow, apologize again, ask if he wanted to come back, and promise that it'd be fine. He carved that idea in stone, and it eased him a bit.

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Richie was scared out of his mind when there was a sharp knock at his window. He sat up, fumbling for his glasses (which were still broken) and then checked his clock. "What the fuck? It's barely 9:00!" he thought incredulously. His bedroom was on the first floor, so he could deduce that it wasn't a tree... maybe a bird? He procrastinated actually going up and looking, a little scared as to what on Earth would be there.

With a deep breath, he hesitantly got out of bed and inched towards the window, drawing the curtains slowly and peeping outside. He jumped in terror when he saw somebody standing there-- and not just a somebody-- Eddie. He had a thin flannel on over a white t-shirt, the same ratty jeans and shoes as the day before. "Jesus!" Richie exclaimed, containing himself and moving a little closer. Eddie went red when he looked at him, and Richie became consciously aware that he should probably put a fucking shirt on. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he whisper-yelled, glancing back at his door, which he hoped stayed closed. He didn't mean to come off as rude, but the boy had scared him shitless! Eddie opened his mouth and shut it, gawking a bit at Richie's eye. He flinched with guilt and searched for his words.

"Here, um, come outside, can we talk?" he asked shyly, adjusting the cap on his head. Richie pressed his lips together and thought for a minute before agreeing.

"Fine. Give me a second," he said, and Eddie nodded quietly. Richie pushed the curtains back into place and threw a t-shirt on and his shoes. Without really thinking, he hurried back towards his window and opened it all the way, clumsily crawling out and leaving it like that. Eddie watched him in amazement and backed out of the way. "Okay, what do you want?"

"I-I'm sorry about your eye again. I know this is probably crazy of me to ask, but would you come with me again?" Eddie replied sullenly, his cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. Richie studied him quizically, with a sense of suspicion. "Does he get off on me being humiliated out of my fucking mind?" he thought in disbelief. But really, what else did he have to do? He had read all his comics already.

"Fine. Now?" Richie replied finally, crossing his arms. Eddie said yes. "Okay, well, I need to tell my parents or something," Richie added.

"What, are you gonna climb back through your window?" Eddie continued, pure amusement lacing his voice. Richie gave him a mock dirty look and sighed. "I'll wait for you out front," Eddie grinned.

"Are you sure about this?" Richie asked, watching the ground and kicking a pebble as he and Eddie walked side by side to the "Junkyard," as they called it.

"Yeah!" Eddie said, looking over at Richie, who still averted his gaze.

"Your friends hate me. Why the hell do you still want me to come with?"

"I don't know," he responded honestly. "I think you're nice."

"Me? Nice?" Richie laughed, finally looking up and making eye contact with Eddie.

"Sure," Eddie smiled. "If that's the right word." Richie smiled back, his face warm. He felt like his heart was gonna implode in his chest. What did this boy see in him? He had no idea but appreciated his kindness nonetheless.

"Can I be honest?" Richie piped up awkwardly. "Stanley was right-- I don't really know much about baseball. Aaaaanddd strike one for Richie Tozier! Kid can't play ball!" Richie shouted in an announcer's voice, cupping his mouth with one hand. Eddie looked at him in surprise-- he was not expecting that outburst, though it intrigued him. "Maybe there is something special about this guy," he thought. 

"That's okay. You'll learn," Eddie said brightly, caught way off guard but also very entertained. "And what was that?"

"Sorry. I'm simply a man of many Voices," Richie said defensively, saluting. Eddie let out a loud and abrupt laugh, making Richie startle a little, but it quickly led to him grinning like a geek. He blushed a little and looked back down at his pebble that he was still dedicated to kicking around. He had a habit of getting too comfortable with people who were nice to him, and his antics usually drove them away as fast as lightning, but Eddie seemed to find him funny enough.

"Well, Mr. Comedy King, let's see if you can impress me this time," Eddie teased. Richie rolled his eyes jokingly as they turned the corner to the field.

Chapter Text

Eddie gave Stanley a sharp glance as he and Richie headed towards the others.

Richie was too embarrassed to even look at them; he could feel their eyes drilling into him. "He's back!" Eddie declared, throwing an arm around Richie's shoulder, nearly knocking him over, even if he was 3 inches taller than the other boy. Eddie analyzed each of their complexions, making sure they knew that they were not to make fun of Richie. Be nice, he communicated with his eyes. And he could tell they accepted that.

"H-hi!" Bill called out, waving. Richie smiled a little and kept moving as Eddie pushed him forward.

"Ready to play ball?" Eddie said positively, giving Richie one final clap on the back before releasing him. Richie nodded but was still a little worried, and one of his glasses' lenses was still cracked. "Alright then!" He continued, directing Richie to centerfield again. Richie ran over to where Eddie had pointed leisurely, making sure not to turn his back to the others. "You got this, Rich," he thought to himself, feeling determined. "You can impress him this time."

Richie analyzed each of the players' actions and positions, trying to mimic them to the tee. He was sure he looked ridiculous, but he had to learn one way or another. 

Eddie was up to bat. Richie saw that same power in his expression, the steadiness of his posture, that same glint in his eyes. Richie fought off the anxiety building up inside him. If the ball came to him, he would catch it. And Eddie would be proven right that he was good enough. He crouched his legs and clapped his bare hand against his gloved one like Stan was. Mike pitched, and Eddie hit. Richie was well aware of where the ball was headed and took a short breath as he jabbed his mitt up in the air, bracing for impact. He caught the ball, the force of it heaving his arm backwards. "He has one hell of a swing," Richie thought as a look of joy blossomed on his face, staring at the ball he had caught in astonishment. He rapidly snapped into focus and hurled the ball to the first basemen, but Eddie was already there like lightning. Richie still felt a strong sense of fulfillment, even more so when he saw the proud look on Eddie's face. "And I'm back in the game!" he thought, trying to shake it off nonchalantly.

Eddie watched Richie with awe as he stood in place, distracted from whoever was gonna bat next. He was most definitely impressed. "Well, isn't he a fast learner!" he thought cheerfully. His cheeks burned as a small smile formed on his lips. Richie appeared to be more than overjoyed, his face practically glowing, and he started moving with newfound confidence and excitement.

While they took a break, Eddie sat down on the grass by Richie, who was distancing himself from the others shyly. "Hi," he said awkwardly.

"You can sit with everybody else, you know," Eddie replied, making eye contact with those obsidian colored irises. Richie's glasses were propped up on top of his head, tangled in his hair.

"Yeah."

"What's wrong? You're doing good," Eddie assured him warmly. Richie gave him a brief grin. Eddie returned it and got up, ushering Richie to come by the others with him. 

"That was cool, earlier," Stan admitted once the two were closer. Richie gave him a surprised look as he slowly sat down.

"Thanks, dude," he replied proudly, swatting an ant off his shoe. "I needed to redeem myself, right?" he added. Stan laughed genuinely, and Richie felt relief pour over him like a waterfall.

"I guess so," Stanley gave him a grin, and Richie felt his heart skip a beat. Eddie raised an eyebrow, a pang of fear stabbing him in the heart. "It's so hot out today," Stan groaned after a minute, messing with his curls and dropping his hand back onto his lap dramatically.

"Not really," Eddie replied dryly, plucking at blades of grass aggressively. Beverly and Bill did what they always did and exchanged a curious glance, silently communicating, "What the fuck is going on here?" Bev shrugged and made a no clue face, and Bill looked back at a fuming Eddie. Bev nudged Eddie's leg with her shoe, and when he turned to her, she tilted her head to the side in confusion and concern. He just shook his head and let out a small exhale.

                                                         ======================================================================

"So you and Stan are friends now?"

"I hope so," Richie answered, having a casual conversation as they walked side by side back home-- Eddie had offered to walk Richie home, to which he obliged. But Eddie seemed tense, which worried Richie immensely. He wondered if he'd ever have one non-problematic day with the Losers. He had no idea what could have pissed Eddie off, and felt guilty even if he didn't think he did anything wrong, to his knowledge. 

"That's good," Eddie muttered, rubbing his nose. "That really was a good catch. Genuinely," he added, hoping to test the boy's reaction to see if he'd act the same. Richie's mood brightened, and he beamed from ear to ear. 

"You think?" he smiled. Eddie stopped feeling bad and smiled, too.

"Totally."

"Okay, bye Eds!" Richie shouted as he walked back through his front door. Eddie froze.

"What did you call me?" he gasped, unsure how to feel about the stupid nickname. Richie went red for a second but then laughed.

"You heard me! See ya!" Richie smirked, shutting the door behind him. Eddie stood there in disbelief. "Has this kid already given me a nickname? And a dumb one at that?" he thought. He shook his head and trudged home, grinning to himself.

"I'm home, Ma!" Eddie yelled, feeling good-tempered for once. He didn't hear a response and shrugged, assuming that she was out getting groceries or napping. He was proven correct when he found a note on the kitchen counter. 

Eddie bear,

Mommy is at the supermarket, and I'll be home soon. Wait for me, and we will eat dinner together. We have things to chat about. I need to lay out all my cards, okay? Mommy loves you, Eddie!

Eddie grimaced as he set the paper back down, shuddering. He was both irked and worried at the same time. What was she going to say? He gulped and went up to his room, reminding himself to change his pants since his were grass-stained and dirty. He yanked on a regular pair of red shorts, stuffing his jeans into his laundry basket. Eddie's heart dropped when he realized he had forgotten his fanny pack at the Junkyard-- a common occurrence, but it always bit him in the ass. He got so wrapped up in their games that the pack was frequently abandoned. He dragged it along because his mother insisted that he take it everywhere, even though he neglected it even when it was with him. The fanny pack contained an inhaler, various pills, and Band-Aids. He used to heavily rely on the inhaler for his asthma, but that was before his talk with Mr. Keene at the drugstore. Mr. Keene was a pharmacist who eventually informed Eddie that his asthma medicine was simply Hydrox and essentially just a placebo. That was over 3 years prior, and he believed the pharmacist and tried not to use the inhaler. This action helped him discover that he could function fine without it, and led to his growing distaste for his lying mother.

So as a result of this, he ended up in many heated arguments with Sonia for accidentally leaving the fanny pack behind. She insisted that he needed his "medicine", but he knew he did not, and it never went over well. He only ever coughed up a storm when he was with Beverly, who 9 times out of 10 was holding a cigarette in her fingers. He had noticed as well that Richie somewhat reeked of smoke, but couldn't pinpoint it very well.

Richie. "Jesus, Eddie, get a hold of yourself! What the shit!" he thought in frustration, walking back downstairs. "I should go grab my shit before Ma gets back." He sighed and set out on a journey back to the field.

Eddie walked leisurely down the street, letting his feet take him. He didn't even need to focus on where he was going; he functioned on muscle memory from the plethora of times he had done this walk back to the Junkyard. The heel of his right shoe was flapping; it had broken from his dramatic slides to 2nd or 3rd base. His red Converse were now a dusty color from the dirt embedded in the canvas material. He made a mental note to clean them off when he went home for the 2nd time. The weather was relatively nice out, and it was only 5:00 pm. The only reason the team broke up for the day was for dinner. His calves itched as the overgrown weeds brushed against his legs, and gnats buzzed around in the humid air.

"Wheezy!" a voice screeched from the distance. Eddie halted, his eyes wide. There were a few people who still antagonized him with that name, and he dreaded seeing them greatly, though he knew he couldn't avoid them forever. "Are you ignoring me, asshole?" the voice continued. He whipped around to face the person, unsurprised as to who it was. "There you go!" Henry Bowers exclaimed, approaching him. 

"What the fuck do you want?" Eddie inquired nervously. He was still afraid of Bowers because of middle school, even though he's practically the same height as Bowers now. In the summer of 8th grade, Henry had shattered Eddie's right forearm. But even more than that, Henry had tormented all of the Losers to varying degrees. But the main reason was that the Losers were Bowers' opposing team for the tournament that the Losers had been practicing for. Bowers still had a dirty blonde mullet, piercing arctic blue eyes that could unsettle an army sergeant, and a strong build that definitely intimidated Eddie, even if he wasn't as shrimpy as he used to be.

"To talk!" Henry replied sweetly with an offended tone. "One of your buddies was a bit rude to my right-hand man earlier!"

"What are you talking about?"

"The stuttering freak."

"What about him?"

"Don't be dense, fag. The idiot took a swing at Hockstetter. Obviously, the shit-eater didn't hit him, but I wanted to teach him a lesson," Henry said coldly. Eddie felt a wave of panic hit him.

"What did you do to Bill?"

"Oh, nothing yet, fuckface. Wanted to run my plan by you first. Do I have your permission?" 

"Fuck you!" Eddie spat, pushing Bowers out of his way. Henry came up from behind, shoving him to the ground, scraping his knees. Eddie knew this wasn't going to end well, and he prepared to run like his life depended on it. That's one thing that Eddie had an advantage in-- Henry was slow as a sloth. He took a deep breath and quickly jumped up and darted away, slapping his feet against the ground as fast as possible, kicking up grass behind him. He took precise and calculated breaths, ignoring the screaming berations of Bowers, who had given up before he had even started. "Guess I'm not getting that fanny pack back today," he thought to himself.

"Mom! Guess what!" Richie shouted, feeling giddy as a little kid on Christmas. Maggie peered around the corner from the kitchen.

"What?" she asked, motioning for him to come by her as she cooked dinner.

"I actually got a good catch today. Like, Eddie hit it and it flew like really far and I caught it!" he recounted, still incredibly proud of himself.

"Eddie?" Maggie questioned, glancing over her shoulder where Richie stood. "Is that the boy who knocked on the door?"

Richie blushed and nodded. "Yeah. He's cool."

"Sounds like it!" Maggie smiled. Richie took a deep breath to calm down and told her that he would be sitting outside for a bit.

He gently shut the screen door and leaned against the wall, fishing out his box of cigs from his pocket. He flipped on the lighter and lit it, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and putting the lighter back in his pocket. He exhaled, the smoke floating away in a thin cloud. His parents-- mother especially-- hated that he smoked, but it was a secret habit of his for years, and another reason for his near-expulsion. His new backyard was much bigger than his in Chicago, since Derry was vastly less urban. Nothing was there yet, but their garage was mostly left open, revealing his father's Honda. Wentworth had recently mowed the lawn as well, so the grass was scratchy. Richie walked down the driveway, pinching his cig with pointer and thumb. There was a pleasant breeze, so he shielded the cigarette from the wind with his other hand. He held it in his mouth as he cleaned off his glasses lenses with his shirt. His interest piqued when he placed them back on his nose. "Is that Stan?" he wondered at the figure in the distance-- he would have been able to tell if he had a new pair.

"Hi, Richie," Stan said, walking up to him. Richie watched him unsurely, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and snuffing it out on the sidewalk.

"Hey," He responded awkwardly, glancing around. "What's up?" Stan looked away with an embarrassed expression on his face.

"Sorry that I was being a dick when we first met," he muttered sheepishly. Richie's face flushed a little; he wasn't really expecting to see Stan, much less receive an apology. He hesitated before responding.

"It's fine. I know I'm no star player," Richie said, continuing to step on the ash on the pavement. Stanley laughed, a sunny, warm sound, so Richie smiled and laughed too. When they died down and reached an uncomfortable silence, Richie slowly stuck his arm out to shake hands. "Friends?"

"Friends," Stan replied, taking his hand and giving it a hearty shake. After a moment, both of the boys started laughing again. 

"Wanna hang out at my house?" Richie asked nervously. He didn't want to be too forward, but was pretty lonely. Fortunately, Stan didn't seem to be busy or unnerved and nodded. "Cool!"

Eddie panted as he retreated home, taking the long route and passing Richie's street. A sight caught his eye, and he paused. He saw Richie standing with Stan by the end of his driveway, at the curb. He wasn't sure why, but a strong sense of jealousy overtook him when he saw the infectious grin on Richie's face. Eddie watched as Richie and Stan walked back to his house, seemingly having a really entertaining conversation. Eddie stood in place, clenching his fists at his sides enviously. "So what?" he thought. "What am I upset about? I'm glad he's making a good friend. So what if it isn't me?" He sighed and tried to ignore the stinging raw skin of his knees as he continued his journey home. "You're just being weird."

                                                             ======================================================================

Richie walked down to the Junkyard on Monday morning, since his parents towed him to church on Sunday. It had poured the night prior, so the ground was moist, and his shoes became damp and gross. It was humid too, and his hand was sweating under his leather glove. He got around the fence and was sad to see that Georgie, Ben, Mike, and Corcoran were absent. Those who were there waved excitedly to Richie-- except for Eddie. He jogged over and greeted them, trying to hide the tinge of pain that Eddie's despondence had caused him. In fact, in a drastic difference, Eddie was ignoring all of them altogether. 

"Hi, Rich," Stan said nicely, patting the grass by him. Richie sat down gratefully, energy bubbling in his chest. He was ridiculously happy to be making a friend. Saturday, he and Stanley sat in Richie's room as he showed him his comics, and as Stan told Richie about birdwatching-- his authentic favorite hobby. It was a really good time, and the newfound friendship meant a lot to both of them, especially for Mr. New-Kid. 

"T-th-there's nuh-no w-w-way that wuh-we pl-pl-play today, ruh-right? T-the guh-ground is s-s-soaked and i-it's so huh-hot out," Bill contested, leaning against a distracted Beverly, who seemed just as worried about Eddie as Richie was. Eddie dragged his hands down his face in exasperation, groaning and resting his head on his knees. All Eddie needed was to play some baseball, to overlook the civil war in his head. "I muh-mean w-w-we can truh-try, E-Eh-Eddie," Bill included apologetically. Eddie shook his head.

"Forget it. Let's do something else," he said in an annoyed tone. Beverly's head perked up.

"Ooh! We should go down to the quarry!" she exclaimed cheerfully. Bill and Stan approved, but Eddie and Richie remained silent.

"What is 'the quarry?'" Richie asked in confusion.

"It's just a place we like to swim at," Bev clarified. Richie slowly nodded.

"Oh. Yeah, I'd do that!" he agreed brightly.

"S-s-score! Are yuh-y-you cuh-coming w-with, Eddie?" Bill pressed, tapping his shoulder. Eddie jumped and looked over. He wavered before going along with it solemnly. "I-i'ts n-n-not suh-supposed too b-be a puh-puh-punishment," Bill tried to joke, to no avail.

"No, no, I'll go," Eddie said. Richie felt so terrible. Eddie was the reason he was there, and Richie knew he was probably upset over something he had done. He wanted to say sorry, but he had no clue what he had done. "I'll go," Eddie finished. Bill shrugged and helped Bev stand and headed for their bikes. Eddie and Richie didn't have their bikes, and Richie wasn't sure what to do. Actually, Richie didn't have a bike at all yet; his parents refused to haul it up from Chicago. "I'll go get my bike from my garage," Eddie said, pointing his finger in the general direction of his house. Richie looked between all of them nervously, unsure how to say that he'd have to walk and that he didn't know where he'd be going.

"Do you have a bike?" Stan asked. Richie shook his head no. "You can ride double with me."

"Thanks," Richie responded appreciatively. Eddie felt his pent-up anger boiling over. He couldn't understand why the fuck this was bothering him so badly-- he had never been so jealous in his entire life. He couldn't stay quiet.

"Wait, would you wanna come with me so you can tell your parents where you're going? You guys could get a head start," Eddie offered, then turning to speak to Bill, Bev, and Stan. Richie shrugged.

"Sure. I'm guessing I need swim trunks and shit too anyway, right?" Richie continued.

"Yeah, good point," Stan admitted, beginning to mount his bicycle. 

"Okay then," Richie said, walking over to Eddie's side. "Let's go," he added, making eye contact with Eddie, whose gaze softened.

"That's one hell of a fuckin' drop," Richie observed in astonishment, gawking over the edge of the quarry. The water had to be at least 50 feet below them. The surrounding area had a myriad of trees, and the ground faded from grass to dirt. All of them were stripped down to their swimsuits, and a rock was stabbing his foot. He looked over to Eddie, going red when he saw him. "Don't even," he thought shamefully. But Richie could swear Eddie delivered the same energy. 

"Y-y-yeah. Yuh-y-you gonna juh-jump in?" Bill inquired curiously, smirking. Richie raised his eyebrows and considered the idea for a moment.

"Fuck yeah!" he replied proudly. "Why not?" he thought. Eddie seemed a little surprised, and his body language indicated he probably would not follow suit, but Richie didn't care. "Are you gonna jump, Eduardo?"

"Another stupid fucking nickname?" Eddie complained, secretly enjoying it. He thought it was cute, but he would never admit he liked something so corny. Richie giggled knowingly and elbowed him in the side, receiving a side eye as a result. "... Maybe," Eddie finally said, wanting to impress Richie.

"That's it!" Richie grinned, peering off the edge again. "Who first?" he asked, glancing at each of them. They were all silent for a minute before Beverly offered. They all backed up, and she leapt off the edge swiftly, Bill watching in amazement. This gave Richie a new confidence, and he went next without hesitation.

"Holy fuck," Eddie thought, watching Richie fall all the way down into the water in a cannonball. He heard Beverly cheering when there was a splash! Stan grinned in amusement, and Eddie felt a pang of hatred that he felt horrible for. He knew Stan was about to suggest that he go next, but interrupted. "My turn?" he anxiously inched towards the cliff before forcing himself to jump, wind wrapping around him as he plummeted into the water, choking on it. "Agh!" he grunted, clawing his hair out of his eyes. He heard Richie's wonderful, loud laugh, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Jesus, I've known this boy for less than a week and I don't think I have ever felt so strongly about a person in my whole life," he thought hopelessly. 

Chapter Text

Eddie continued to choke on the dirty quarry water, coughing hectically. Richie swam over and smacked his back unhelpfully. "Never doing this again!" Eddie spluttered, rubbing his eyes, his knees stinging. Richie snickered and backed up when Eddie regained his composure. "Gross," he sighed, shaking his head.

"I thought it was fun," Richie commented after Stan and Bill joined them. Eddie rolled his eyes. "Didn't think you'd be the party-pooper out of the bunch, Eddie Spaghetti," Richie teased, elbowing him in the side.

"Do not call me that!" Eddie grimaced in embarrassment, turning and moving away from Richie, who made a mock offended face in response. Nicknames were Richie's specialty; he gave them to almost everybody he knew. He already had ones for each of the Losers, waiting for an opportunity to insert them. Some people told Richie he didn't have enough shame, but they just didn't know him as well as they thought they did. In most cases, it was for different reasons, but his point still stood. It was just Richie's nature to joke around with people and not take shit seriously. As a result, he tried not to let Eddie's aggravation worry him too much-- he was starting to get more comfortable with the Losers. But he still muttered a small guilty apology to Eddie, who ignored him un-subtly. 

Eddie knew that he was projecting his inner turmoil onto his friends, but it was consuming him entirely, and it hurt. He was confused about his emotions, so his frustration quickly turned into a fiery anger that he struggled to contain. He realized the sudden difference in his behavior over the past 2 or so days and became paranoid about how the others were perceiving it. Because what was it? He wasn't certain that he could even attempt to describe it. He didn't know why he was feeling such strong envy for Stanley's new bond with Richie. He didn't know why he favored Richie so much. And he didn't know what to do about it. In that moment, all he wanted was to leave, to get away from them, and to just hide from it all.

"Eddie?" Bev said carefully, snapping Eddie back to reality. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just-- I don't know," he admitted, trying to run his hands through his knotty, drenched hair. He forced himself to look at the rest of them, whose expressions were laced with unease.

Richie wondered if Eddie was usually like this, rather than his initial impression. Maybe he was just a moody person, and Richie had caught him on a good day. Though it thoroughly disheartened him, he supposed he just had to accept that fact. But Richie didn't, and hoped his antics would crack Eddie out of his grumpiness. He thought for a moment-- not really-- and made up his mind.

He jumped up and dunked Eddie's head riskily, catching the others off guard. Eddie yanked himself upward, spitting out the water and gasping for air. Richie couldn't help but burst into laughter, covering his mouth with his hands. Eddie glared at him before shoving Richie's head underwater, too, causing him to choke also. Eddie cracked a smile, and Richie continued howling loudly. And after a second, Eddie joined in. Bev, Bill, and Stan felt relief wash over them at the sound.

"Asshole!" Eddie managed to exclaim in between giggles, splashing Richie. And in that moment, Eddie thought he'd never seen somebody so perfect in his life. Even with wet hair (which Eddie didn't think could get to an even darker shade of the midnight sky) plastered to his forehead, he looked so wholly captivating. A wave of sudden fear hit him-- did he seriously just think that about a boy? But he couldn't convince himself otherwise. Richie's bright smile and radiant eyes overwhelmed him. "Oh no," he thought in actualization as the puzzle pieces fit together. "Fuck."

"Looked like you could've used a drink," Richie joked, gently punching Eddie's arm. Eddie rolled his eyes jokingly and grinned. Stan watched Richie proudly, glad to see him blossoming and becoming a true member of the Losers. He definitely saw what Eddie had seen in Richie in the beginning, now. Eddie had good intuition, it seemed. 

Eddie felt a lot better despite the lingering anxiety in the back of his mind. "Thanks," he whispered in Richie's ear, who blushed. 

"Anytime, Eds," Richie responded in his cocky voice, and Eddie punched his arm back.

"Don't call me that!" he reiterated in forced annoyance. Richie continued to grin at him without a care in the world.

Richie shivered, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest. They were all sitting on rocks, and the wind was blowing aggressively against his bare skin. He had discovered that he had forgotten to bring a towel. He had been distracted, he guessed.

Eddie noticed and hesitantly got up, taking his almost fully dry towel and wrapping it around Richie, whose soul looked like it had left his body. He went red as a tomato and hid his face in his hands. His cracked glasses-- which Eddie still regretted horribly-- sat next to him. Eddie admittedly felt smug at the sight of the flustered boy and let out a small snicker. Richie looked up and flipped him off. Beverly and Bill were engrossed in their own discussion as Stan zoned out, gazing upon a flock of birds soaring through the blue-grey sky, and didn't see.

Richie couldn't help but wonder if Eddie liked boys. The thought plagued him, and he was well aware that it would be in his best interest if he could rid himself of it. He forced the thoughts away and shook them off. Eddie sat a bit closer, and it only got worse. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he screamed in his head. "Shut up," he accidentally whispered out loud, smacking himself. Eddie shot him a concerned glance. 

"What did you say?" he asked. 

"Nothing," Richie replied a little too quickly. Eddie made a small hm sound and shrugged his shoulders. Richie squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment. "Why am I fucking like this? Torture?!" he thought sadly. His mood dampened a bit at that, and he felt his nose burn. He sighed and dropped his forehead against his knees. "Fuck."

                                                                   ==============================================================

Eddie searched for an opening to the thing he needed to know. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?" he asked Richie as they stood outside his house, pressed against the wall. Richie had a cigarette in his hand, and Eddie put his all into ignoring it. Richie gave him a surprised look.

"Nah," he said honestly, taking a long drag. Eddie restricted himself from coughing for the sake of appearing nonchalant. "Why, have you?"

"No," Eddie replied slowly, crossing his arms. This caught Richie's attention and kindled some naive spark in his heart.

"How come?"

"What? I don't know. Haven't found the right girl yet, I guess." Eddie had not expected such a question, but hoped his answer was good enough. Richie said nothing and continued to smoke in silence. "When did you start smoking?" Eddie pressed, not allowing the hangout to become overly awkward. 

"I think 7th grade. A kid I knew let me have one, and voila! Here I am 4 years later," he laughed dryly. Eddie nodded sullenly, his lips pressed together. "Why, you want one?" Richie asked.

"Oh God no. No offense. My Ma calls them cancer sticks," Eddie responded, throwing his hands up from out of his pockets. Richie shrugged, tossing the butt of the cig onto the ground and snuffing it out with the toe of his Converse, which looked almost as beat up as Eddie's.

"Whatever you say, Eduardo," Richie grinned.

"Quit that!" Eddie groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he continued their conversation. "Well, what else do you like to do?"

Richie considered this thoughtfully before answering, "Read comic books mostly, but I already read all the ones I brought. Music is cool too. I tried learning guitar but had to leave it back in Chicago."

"I like comics too, maybe I'll lend you some," Eddie piped up, glad to share interests. Richie felt head over heels in that moment and smiled.

"Really?" he said. "Bitchin'"

"Bitchin'?"

Richie blushed. "You know like-- 'neat', or 'sick'" he explained, relieved when Eddie understood. "Whatever. What comics do you like then?"

"Spiderman stuff mostly," Eddie replied coolly. 

"I'm more of a Batman kinda guy," he commented, getting distracted by a squirrel darting across the power line. Eddie frowned, cursing himself.

"I think I've got some DC too, though," he added, following Richie's gaze and then making eye contact. He felt his face get warm. But the more confused Eddie felt about his emotions, the quicker it turned from fear to bitterness. So when Richie flashed him another smile that made his heart flutter, the feeling translated into an abrupt and heavy frustration. "I-- forget it. I'm gonna go home," he muttered, looking away and backing up. Richie's face twisted in puzzlement, and he clearly seemed hurt.

"Why do you keep randomly acting like a total dick?" he spat out in frustration. Eddie looked surprised at the outburst before returning to being stubborn.

"I'm not-- I'm just-- whatever, man. See you later."

"Okay then," Richie finished, his voice cracking. Eddie felt a tinge of remorse but still walked off, hand in pockets. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk, the soles of his shoes scraping the pavement. Why did he let himself be so vulnerable like that? And to a stranger? He wasn't even that honest with his own mother. Eddie began regretting inviting Richie again. Maybe he could have gone back to not feeling like this. But he was in too deep now, in so many aspects. It was all so unfamiliar to him, and he was petrified.

Richie felt sort of vacant. He was able to acknowledge how much he was already into Eddie, but maybe this was a sign to push it away and quit while he was ahead. Except he didn't think he was even the one flirting, if either of them were. "You stupid fucking faggot," he thought angrily as he slammed the back door behind him. When he made it back to his room, he dropped his head in his hands in exasperation. "God fucking forbid I try to bond with anyone," he groaned. Buster flew into his room, ripping his door open. Richie jumped but burst into laughter as the dog tried to lick his face. "Gross!" he giggled, shoving him away. Richie instructed the dog to sit by him, and he flipped the pages of his comic with one hand and petted Buster with the other. "Thanks, buddy," he whispered, patting the dog on the head. His opinion varied day by day, but now at least Buster was behaving and helping him feel better.

                                                                   ===============================================================

"Do you want to bat, Richie?" Bev asked, holding a wooden baseball bat in her outstretched hand. Richie never really had before-- at least he didn't think so, but agreed anyway.

"Fuck yeah!" he smiled. She returned the gesture and showed him how to swing.

"Line up your knuckles on this part, and hold tight. And then you have to kind of squat a bit, have your legs bent a little, and spread a bit further. Ah... okay, good. You got this," she commanded, patting his shoulder. He nodded and maintained strong eye contact with Mike from the pitcher's mound. He watched him carefully, his eye on the ball. 

It had been almost another 2 weeks, and the Losers had been slacking on practicing, blaming it on the weather. But the big game against Bowers' team was in less than a month. And on top of that, Richie was still brand new to the damn sport. Though it was a major disadvantage, they all valued his friendship and efforts a lot, so they just hoped he could get to a good enough level by then. So each day, they were both practicing and training Richie, who was learning fast, fortunately. 

Mike pitched the ball, making the conscious choice to do so as if it were any of the others up to bat. Richie's instincts kicked in, and he swung on time, the ball colliding with the wood and ricocheting, flying farther than he would have imagined. As he watched the ball with awe, Bill yelled at him to run, so he ran as fast as he could and made it to first base before Georgie could tag him, breathing hard from the shock. He felt even prouder of himself than he had when he made his big first catch. He automatically looked over to Eddie, who was trying to mask how impressed he was. Richie supposed that was good enough. Eddie was still being weird towards him, trying to distance himself as much as he could. Stan reassured Richie that Eddie didn't hate him and that he was being weird to everyone. When Richie continued to investigate, and apparently, he was actually never usually like this. Which obviously made the notion that Eddie did dislike him ring true.

"Guh-g-good one!" Bill cheered, and Bev clapped from the outfield. Richie beamed.

Eddie watched disdainfully, folding his arms. He was internalizing his emotions, and he knew that the others thought he was being insufferable. And he supposed he was. He pinned all of it on Richie, though it was not his fault at all. But it was easier to think that instead of delving into his array of problems. Save it for a rainy day. But the hatred wavered when he saw Richie's smile. "Fuck," he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"You're a natural, huh?" Ben chuckled.

"I guess so. Think I'll be on a baseball card someday?" Richie smirked, rolling up his t-shirt sleeve and flexing his non-existent muscles. Bev giggled and pushed his arm.

"Eddie definitely will be," Mike included matter-of-factly (which they couldn't deny), and Eddie's head snapped up.

"Huh?"

"Yuh-you're g-g-gonna muh-make it t-t-to the big luh-luh-leagues," Bill repeated proudly. Eddie gave him a stale laugh and looked away. "Cuh-c-c'mon, m-man! L-l-l-lighten uh-up!" Bill coaxed. Richie cringed and looked to Stan, who turned to him at the same time. This is definitely my fault, Richie communicated through his eyes, tilting his head to the side. He does like you! I know it! Stan telepathically replied, his face scrunching up and his shoulders rising and falling. Richie sighed. 

                                                             ==================================================================

"Hi," Richie greeted, standing at the Kaspbrak residence's front door. In front of him stood a very large woman, whose face was flushed and sweaty, and her hair was greasy. Her eyes pierced Richie's soul, but he kept his composure.

"Who are you?" the woman sneered. He gulped nervously.

"Um... my name's Richie. Is Eddie home...?" he asked, trying to peek over her shoulder. Her expression didn't change, and she didn't move.

"He is home."

"Can I... see him?" Richie continued awkwardly, fidgeting with his hands. He was convinced she wouldn't budge, but she nodded and screamed for Eddie to get downstairs.

"What?" Eddie groaned, trudging towards the door, freezing up when he saw who was waiting for him. "Richie? What do you want?"

"Wanted to talk," Richie winced, averting his gaze to the welcome mat. Eddie's coldness to him did not hurt less as time went on. He was so lost and had a hard time trying to understand it. Eddie considered Richie's proposal for a moment before nodding and walking outside, shutting the door behind him. His eyes, which were once so magnetic, watched him emptily. Richie flinched and struggled to get his words out. "If you want me to leave you guys alone, just tell me. I can't handle you, of all people, just staring at me angrily all day. The past 2 weeks have been so fucking frustrating!" he confessed. Eddie's eyes widened.

He didn't want Richie to go, really. He wanted to see him every day, to be in his presence. But Eddie didn't like that. It was wrong. But how could he explain that to Richie? That he wished he didn't want to see him so badly? "I'm sorry," Eddie said slowly, tapping the side of his leg with his pointer finger rhythmically. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he uttered sadly. The look in Richie's lovely eyes was sympathetic and understanding, despite his typical class-clown behavior. Richie's hair was pushed out of his face, his freckles prominent in light of the peeking sun. Eddie fought back the urge to lash out again. "Don't be a fucking disgusting fag," he thought madly, clenching his fist firmly. He thought he might go crazy if he received a warm and compassionate response from Richie. Eddie didn't deserve that, or anything. "I don't want to talk anymore," he suddenly spat out, backing up. Richie's face dropped again.

"Dude, just-- what's wrong? You can tell me!" Richie pleaded desperately, taking a step forward. Eddie became more conscious of his fist. He begged himself to relax his hand. He begged Richie to just leave in his mind. "Look, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I really care about you, Eds--" 

Before Eddie could stop himself, his fist connected with Richie's jaw, and he collapsed. "What the fuck!?" Richie shouted, crawling backwards, a tinge of fear in his eyes, replacing the raw kindness. "Ow!" He cried out, his hand flying up to his face. There was still faint bruising around his eye where the baseball had hit him, and his glasses were still cracked on top of it. Eddie had damaged the complexion of the prettiest boy he'd ever seen, twice. Eddie felt his stomach heave as he dropped his arm to his side, his knuckles stinging. "What the fuck did I just do?" he thought in a panic.

Richie's eyes watered but he fought back the tears threatening to come out. His heart was broken, and he shakily stood up, afraid to break eye contact with Eddie. He was in shock, it was the last thing he had expected to happen. "I think I get the message," Richie said coldly, his body quivering. He was gone like lightning, running away in humiliation. Eddie thought he might puke.

He most definitely had a problem. 

Chapter Text

"What the fuck happened to you?" Stan gasped, pushing Richie's hand away from his face, studying the bruise forming on his jaw. He didn't know where else to go and ended up on the Uris' doorstep instead of retreating to his own. Richie wasn't sure he wanted to tell the truth; he didn't want to mess anything up for the Losers, even though he already had. He decided to open up to Stan, but asked him not to say anything to the others.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone," Richie prefaced. Stan blinked.

"What?"

"You can't tell anybody."

"You're kind of scaring me, dude."

"Do you want to know or not?"

"Yeah. OK, I promise," Stan swore, crossing his heart. Richie nodded, carefully trying to explain in a way that didn't make Eddie look bad.

"Eddie punched me. But I mean-- I kept calling him that dumb nickname and--"

"Richie, what?" Stan interjected, shushing him. "Are you serious?" he inquired, his tone surprised. Richie gave him an uncomfortable smile, one that he didn't mean but just happened when he got nervous.

"I don't know what I did to make him so angry, if I'm being real with you," Richie admitted, looking away in embarrassment. He probably should have been upset at Eddie, but some part of him knew that this was on him. Maybe it was his internalized self-loathing, but he blamed himself for Eddie's reaction-- this all started because of him. And that thought was prevalent and recurring, and he had a probable solution, though he didn't like it.

"I can't keep showing up with you guys, man. I think I mean it this time. I've only fucked shit up," Richie mumbled sadly, rubbing the back of his neck. Stan shushed him again.

"No! You're a part of us now, okay? Eddie will come around eventually. I can try to talk to him-- or ask Bill to. That might work better," Stanley thought out loud, gripping the sides of Richie's upper arms tightly. Richie didn't respond and simply watched him, fascinated. Stan's curly hair looked golden in the sunlight, and his eyes glimmered a coffee color. His skin was fair and practically spotless, which Richie envied-- he liked freckles on everybody but himself. 

"Sure," Richie said softly and at a low volume. Stan gave him a quick nod and released him, his touch still lingering on Richie's skin.

"Okay. I'll call him sometime soon. Maybe keep your distance from Eddie for now," Stanley instructed, walking backwards to focus on Richie and his dejected stance.

"Thanks," he replied wearily, slouching. Stan gave him a final apologetic nod and was gone. Richie groaned and spun around, dragging himself home, something he was dreading horribly. They were gonna ask all about his jaw and yada yada, but all he wanted was a nap.

                                                         ======================================================================

Once Richie's mother had stopped freaking out on him again (since he didn't include Eddie in his story), he had gone to bed. His face felt sore, and talking or moving his head too quickly hurt like hell. It was around 9:00 pm when his mother called him back downstairs, informing him that someone had phoned him. He picked up the receiver off of the wall, holding it to his ear carefully. "Hello?"

"It's Stanley," he heard from the other line.

"Oh, hey!" Richie smiled, flinching at the pain searing his jaw. 

"I talked to Eddie. He feels bad, and honestly, I thought he was about to cry when we spoke, so he means it. I don't know if he wants to see you. He wouldn't explain why he was so upset," Stan explained slowly. "At least not really." Richie's ears perked up at this.

"What do you mean?" He pressed, holding the phone closer with both hands now, lowering his voice slightly.

"He-- I don't know if I should tell you this," Stan replied, cutting himself off.

"Please."

"Okay... he said that being around you makes him confused, and that makes him mad. I'm not sure what that means."

"Oh," Richie whispered distantly. He did have a faint idea of what Eddie meant. But he couldn't assume. Assuming things only ever went wrong. His head hurt, and he felt a migraine coming on. "Thanks, Stan. I'm-- I'm gonna go."

"What, you're gonna get all weird too?"

"No-- my head hurts, I think I need some Tylenol or something. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Alright then. Bye, Rich," Stan said, hanging up the phone. Richie put the phone back, leaning forward and pressing his head against the back of it, sighing loudly. In all his years, he had never had such a tiring experience in his life. Since the moment he discovered he was queer, this shit topped the cake for exhausting. Obviously, there were other experiences that could be defined by other words, but still. For example, the 8th grade year, when he'd been beaten up in a bathroom by a kid several years older than him. Or the numerous occasions where he'd been shoved into a locker and been trapped for hours on end. But this was on some psychological level that fucked with him.

Something about Eddie Kaspbrak was so captivating to Richie. He just seemed so unique, and his demeanor only interested Richie more. Obviously, he wasn't a fan of being hit, but it intrigued him. If Eddie liked him, why was he hitting him? He guessed it wasn't that simple. "Does this mean I go back and keep hanging out with him? Or what? I at least know the others want to see me, probably. Right? And maybe Eddie really does too," he thought, finally returning to his room despondently. He considered calling Eddie himself, but quickly decided against it. 

As he got back in bed, Richie felt so genuinely hopeless. He just prayed that maybe someday, somehow, he could find someone to love him as he loved. He wasn't certain the day would ever come, but one can dream, no? "Who knows, maybe a couple years from now I wouldn't get fucking lynched for liking dudes," he laughed shakily, rubbing his eyes. His glasses were on his nightstand, and his new ones weren't going to arrive for another two days. Whatever. 

                                                               =================================================================

Richie Tozier first encountered Henry Bowers on an especially hot day. Richie was merely walking when he felt a hand on his back, shoving him to the ground. His glasses flew off his head, and the palms that had tried to stop his fall had the skin scuffed from them.

"What the fuck--" he started before being pushed completely down, crying out as his chin scraped the pavement. The blood clotted speedily, so luckily it didn't drip all over the baseball cap Richie had bought for Eddie.

"Whatcha got there, newbie?" Henry taunted, kicking him every time he tried to sit up. 

"Fuck... off..." Richie groaned as he forced Henry's leg away, rising off the floor. He swiped at his pant legs with his stinging hands and backed away. "Who the shit are you?" 

"Doesn't matter. Heard you joined that team of faggots?"

"Uh... yeah?"

"Not a fan. You all are gonna eat shit again this year. And I'll make sure of it," Henry sneered, approaching Richie again, who continued moving away. He clutched the hat tighter when Henry lunged for it.

"I'm going now, you dirty mullet-wearing dick," Richie spat carelessly, hoping to get the fuck out of dodge. A cloud of rage formed over Henry's face, and that's how he knew he really fucked up. "God, I should just put duct tape over my mouth from now on," he thought. As Henry motioned to grab him, he sprinted away, down the road. He didn't slow down until he had turned a couple of corners and was a million percent confident he was out of sight. He leaned against a tree, panting like a dog. He scolded himself for his idiocy and looked around. He had no idea where he was, really. He was still new to the neighborhood and hadn't had the chance to explore more. "Fuck," he thought, sighing dramatically.

Richie slowly pushed away from the tree, choosing a direction to start walking, and hoped for the best. There was an apartment complex, littered with stairs up and down the sides. A little beyond that was a water tower, and past that he could see more of the town. His lungs hurt, and he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "So much for reconciling with Eddie," he said wanly, looking down at the baseball cap that looked somewhat disheveled. He sighed again.

"Richie?" a voice shouted from somewhere above him. Startled, he looked up, jerking his head around searching for the source of the sound. "Hey!"

"Huh--" he began, shutting up when he saw Beverly leaning over a railing, watching him from the complex. "Oh, hey, Bev!" he greeted, waving. She smiled and started walking down the steps towards the dirt pathway. She had on a white blouse and cuffed light blue jeans. The key necklace she always wore dangled from her neck and matched the color of her boots. Her fiery red hair shimmered in the sunlight.

"What are you up to?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, a curl falling over her face. 

"Nothing much. I ran into this asshole, and sprinted until I ended up here," Richie hesitantly replied, failing to hide the hat behind him. Beverly's smile was erased by a strong concern.

"What asshole?"

"He wouldn't say his name. He had this stupid mullet and these creepy ass eyes. He knocked me over and was fucking interrogating me or whatever," Richie elaborated, talking with his available hand as well. Bev's expression was grave, and her stance solemn.

"Henry Bowers," she explained. "He and his asshole friends have their own team, which we go against to try and qualify for state."

"That's the other team?" he gasped. The boy had seemed at least 2 years older than the rest of the Losers.

"Yeah. A bunch of pricks," Beverly scoffed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you okay, though?" she continued, nodding at his skinned palms.

"I'm okay, it doesn't burn too badly."

"Alright then. Want to smoke?" she asked, patting her side, which had a box of cigarettes concealed in a jean pocket.

"Yes, please!" he laughed, getting closer as she handed him one. He cupped his hand around the cigarette as Bev lit it for him. "Thanks," he said briefly, placing it in his mouth. She repeated the process and exhaled a puff of smoke that dissipated into the cloudy sky. They stood there, backs pressed against the wall, smoking silently.

"Henry and his goons are the biggest jerks ever," she eventually commented, staring at the ground.

"What do they do?" Richie asked curiously, coughing a little. She shut her eyes gently.

"What don't they do?" she chuckled sarcastically. "They beat up a lot of the guys. Call me a slut. Cheat the game-- that's why we never qualify." Richie listened, his eyes wide.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. What, you never dealt with asshats before?" she joked stalely. Richie looked away.

"I have," he responded quietly. This made Beverly feel a little bad.

"Sorry. Well, I'm sure you'll build up stamina the longer you live in this dump. The Bowers' gang is inescapable. But only like, 4 of them really bother us," she resumed, tapping her foot. 

"Which ones?"

"Patrick Hockstetter, absolute maniac, by the way; Belch Huggins--"

"His name is Belch?" Richie tried not to giggle. Bev rolled her eyes.

"No, his actual name is Reginald or something. Anyways-- there's also Victor Criss, and then, of course, Henry fucking Bowers," she finished, taking a long drag of her cigarette.

"Splendid," Richie exclaimed in a posh British accent, leaning his head back. Beverly grinned and elbowed him in the side. After a moment, he tossed the butt of the cig onto the ground and snuffed it out. "Can I ask you for advice?"

"Hm?" Bev asked questioningly, her interest piqued. Richie hesitated, suddenly feeling very shy. He showed her the hat.

"Do you think Eddie would like this?" he asked, embarrassedly. Bev raised her eyebrows.

"Probably. What's the occasion?"

"I mean, you know-- he's been all upset at me, so I thought I'd get him something, I guess. Does that make sense?" he blabbered before Bev shushed him.

"I get it. Eddie will like it, I bet. I'm pretty sure he was talking about wanting a new one the other day, too," she added. Richie broke out into a big smile and turned away. This sparked a strong hope inside of him. He wasn't too confident about what was going to happen when he gave Eddie his gift, though. Would he get his shit rocked again? Would he get a thank you? Would--

"I should go before my dad gets home. You should too, he'll freak out if he sees you here," Bev warned, cutting off his train of thought. He nodded, and she hurried back up the stairs in response. He took it as his sign to continue his trek to the Kaspbrak residence. Except this time, since he had taken a significant detour, he was straight up lost.

Eventually, Richie was fairly certain he had arrived at Eddie's street. He would be lying if he said he wasn't scared shitless. "That's probably not something I should be feeling towards a friend, right?" he thought. "It's fine." He walked back up the wooden steps to the porch and nervously knocked on the door. After a minute or 2, it creaked open. A look of fear crossed Eddie's face, which Richie also definitely felt. "Hello."

"...Hey," Eddie replied, unable to look Richie in the eye. He was afraid to see the aftermath of the punch. When he met Richie's gaze, he saw a big brownish-green bruise forming on Richie's jawline. Eddie's stomach dropped. "I'm really sorry," he said immediately, taking a step forward-- causing Richie to take a step back. The guilt was eating Eddie alive. "I am."

"I'd hope so," Richie tried to joke. Eddie noticed his hands were behind his back and got a little frightened.

"What's that?"

"Oh, um. I got this for you," Richie responded, slowly handing him the crumpled cap. "Ran into the Bowers kid or whatever, and it got kind of messed up." Eddie wanted to cry as he slowly took it, his hands trembling a little.

"You ran into Bowers?" he said suddenly, forcing his eyes away from the hat and to Richie's.

"Yeah, I'm fine, though. Just scraped up my hands," he explained, flashing his palms before dropping his arms back to his sides.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asked calmly, holding the hat up in between his upper arm and side, reaching over to pick up one of Richie's hands to examine it. Richie's face warmed up, and he fought the urge to yank his hands away.

"I told you, I'm fine. I've been hurt worse. One time, I got punched in the jaw," he teased, laughing at his own joke. Eddie let go of his hand and gave him an embarrassed look. Before Eddie could open his mouth, Richie stopped him. "No, I know you feel bad. I forgive you," he said nicely. Eddie seemed surprised.

"You do?"

"Well, yeah," Richie shrugged, smiling awkwardly. Eddie blushed and smiled shyly, too.

"Thanks. I... I swear I won't ever do anything like that again," he promised, a truthful glint in his eyes. "Oh God, he's so pretty, fuck," Richie thought completely hopelessly. "I really like the cap," Eddie added, rotating it and analyzing the seams. It was a deep red/maroon color, with a white front. It was simple, but thoughtful.

"Sorry, it's kind of dirty," Richie apologized, kicking a rock off the porch absently. Eddie shrugged.

"Here, come inside," he said, waving him in. Richie hesitated, glancing around.

"Won't your mom get mad or something?"

"Just be quiet," Eddie instructed. Richie nodded and followed him nervously. They walked across Eddie's house, which was small and smelled funky. He couldn't quite place what it was, but he had his nose scrunched most of the time. There was laundry littered on the floor or hanging out of white laundry baskets. The sink was full of dishes, and the wooden floor was creaky. He took one wrong step, and there was a loud crkkkk sound. Eddie whirled around and went SHH!! before continuing.

"Where are we going?" Richie whispered. Eddie ignored him and kept moving. They walked upstairs, and he gently opened one of the doors, revealing what looked like his room. Richie stood nervously as Eddie shut the door behind them.

"Okay," Eddie said, turning to face Richie. "I don't think my mom will come up here."

"What are we doing up here?" Richie asked, examining Eddie's room; its cleanliness was a stark difference from the rest of his home.

"I dunno. To talk, I guess," he replied. "You can sit wherever." Richie remained standing-- he got a little nervous in new places, even if he was pretty extroverted. Eddie sighed and just pointed at his desk chair. "Go ahead," he added. Richie nodded and sat down. Eddie plopped down on the edge of his bed and bounced his knee.

"Well...?" Richie started. He wasn't sure of what Eddie wanted to speak to him about. He had a guess, but didn't think that would be the topic.

"I have been a total dick to you. And..." Eddie paused to think. "I know I was friendly to you, and me randomly being mean is so, so, so shitty of me. And I'm sorry. I just--" his voice cracked. "I don't understand why being around you just makes me so... angry. Because I do really like you. I-- I know that makes no sense."

Richie got up and sat next to Eddie. "It's okay. You'll figure it out. If that's the right word," Richie said in a wimpy attempt to comfort him. Eddie smiled weakly and looked away, his face sad and empty. Richie put his hand on Eddie's. "It'll be okay."

Eddie felt his face heat up, but he didn't jerk his hand away. The confusion faded into a growing realization that continued to terrify him. It took every fiber of his being to keep his cool. He took deep breaths and shut his eyes. Richie must have noticed, but he pulled his hand away in embarrassment. "Sorry," he whispered, also looking away. Eddie had never wanted someone so badly in his life. In fact, he had never wanted somebody like this ever. It was eating him alive. He impulsively moved his own hand to Richie's this time, who whipped his head to look at him in surprise. 

"Thanks, Rich," Eddie said appreciatively, making eye contact. His eyes had lost their anger, and the emotion was replaced with compassion. But his face winced a little when he re-noticed the bruise. "Does that still hurt a lot?" he interjected.

"Not too bad," Richie lied. In all honesty, it was sore and ached whenever he spoke. But he didn't want Eddie to keep feeling bad about it. But Eddie continued to watch him with a pained look on his face. "You can talk about it," Richie assured him. Eddie sighed shakily, rubbing his eyes.

"You... when I'm with you, I just feel different. Something about you makes me feel shit I never have before. And if I'm being honest, that's what scares me," Eddie confessed, wringing his hands and bouncing his knee even more aggressively. Richie kept reminding himself not to assume. 

"Feel what?" Richie pressed, needing an answer. 

"I don't know how to explain it," Eddie said. "Like the way boys are supposed to feel about girls. I mean, probably." Richie stared at him intently, his heart racing. "But I shouldn't think like that, it's wrong, isn't it?" Eddie kept explaining in a strained voice. After a moment, he added: "Please don't tell anyone about this-- and please don't hate me. I know I'm disgusting and I'm sorry." Richie flinched, his heart hurting even more than the bruise on his face. Because he understood that notion all too well, and he had yet to find someone he could see himself in. Without thinking, he inched closer to Eddie and brushed Eddie's hair out of his face, making him blush heavily.

"You aren't disgusting," he said in such a soft tone that he couldn't even recognize as his own. Richie could see Eddie's eyes water, and managed to prevent himself from being too forward and hugging him. "Wayyyy too soon," he thought. "I promise."

"You should go," Eddie said slowly, but quickly interrupted himself. "You didn't do anything; it would just be humiliating to cry or something in front of you."

"I'll see you soon, then?" Richie asked, standing up. Eddie nodded. Though he was emotional, he did feel like a boulder was removed from his shoulders, which presumably contributed to it. 

"Okay, come on," Eddie took a deep breath, ordering Richie to follow him, repeating the process backwards.

Once Richie was out the door, Eddie gave him a final wave and was gone.

Chapter Text

After practice, the Losers went to a local diner in town to get some grub. They were sweaty, since it was 80 degrees out and humid as hell. They found a large booth and just squished against each other on the uncomfortable leather seats. Richie and Bill were pressed against Eddie on either side, with Bev next to Bill and Stan next to Richie. Since Richie was the kind of person who didn't know how to sit still, his hand kept accidentally brushing against Eddie's right arm and leg, sending waves of energy coursing through him.

"I think I'm going to melt into a fucking puddle. Are we sure this isn't just Eddie's mom letting one rip?" Richie said bluntly, chugging his glass of water, almost choking on the ice cubes. Eddie nearly spat his own water out and elbowed Richie so hard he spilled it all over himself.

"That oughtta cool you off," Eddie commented snarkily. Richie only giggled hysterically and wiped himself off with a napkin.

"Nice one, Trashmouth," Bev rolled her eyes jokingly, bending forward to peer around Bill to face Richie. "Mom jokes?"

"My specialty," Richie replied proudly, secretly relishing the nickname he had been given. Eddie sighed loudly and forced away the smile on his lips. 

"Anyways, Bill, how is Georgie doing?" Eddie asked, changing the topic. Bill snapped back to attention and bumped into Eddie, forgetting how close they were sitting. Bill winced and leaned back a little. Georgie had sprained his wrist, which worried the team immensely. The big game was only a little over a month away-- well, the game that would be the hardest for the Losers. If they beat the Bowers gang, then they'd make it to state, which somehow was less intimidating. The playoffs would be during the start of the school year, but they felt irrelevant at that moment.

"Huh-h-he's oh-okay. It's n-n-n-not too buh-buh-bad," Bill confirmed, shrugging tightly. "He's b-b-bummed thuh-that he c-c-can't puh-p-play, though."

"He'll always be in our hearts," Richie said in a mock-sad tone, squirming his hand away from his side and kissing it before ejecting it into the air in a dramatic gesture.

"You're making it sound like he's dead or something," Stan remarked, side eyeing him. Richie's response was cut off by their waitress dropping off platters of food. All of them were relatively quiet as they scarfed down their meals. It had been a long and hard practice that day, and they were all fucking starving.

"Eddie, do you know what you're gonna do about your mom, yet?" Mike asked, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head resting in his palms. They had paid the check and were sitting outside, just on the curb as if they were unhoused for the past few hours. Mike was referencing Eddie's mother's blatant hatred for sports-- more so her son playing sports. She thought baseball was the most dangerous shit ever, like bungee jumping or something. 

"What about his mom?" Richie inquired, uninformed on the topic and confused. He'd met Mrs. Kaspbrak only once, and other than how fucking scary she was, he wasn't aware of much less in regards to her.

"She's nuts," Mike stated strongly, earning a frustrated sigh from Eddie. "She doesn't let him play baseball. Well, he obviously does, but she doesn't know."

"I'll figure it out!" Eddie groaned, dropping his face into his hands in exasperation.

"You say that every time!" Stan interrupted.

"Okay, well-- you don't get it. She'll freak out. And I'm still thinking of an excuse, alright?" Eddie responded angrily. The others shut up and looked down. Corcoran and Bill had biked home (Bev had gone with him), even though it was only 7:00 pm. Mainly because their parents insisted they had to come home to babysit their younger brothers.

"Why doesn't she want you to play?" Richie pressed, receiving looks that seemingly expected him to just know the answer. Eddie's face was still shielded as he replied, muffling his voice slightly.

"She's... paranoid, more than anything else. She thinks I'm gonna get hurt or break a bone. I kept telling her I'd be perfectly fine, but gave up. I don't tell her the truth about basically anything anymore," he explained sadly. "Whatever. What are we gonna do now?" Richie patted Eddie's knee and stood up. "Where are you going?" Eddie asked.

"Where are we going?" Richie clarified. The others all looked at each other in confusion and rushed to catch up to him. Richie confidently strode further into town, curiously passing through it. After a couple of minutes, they realized where he was leading them. The Aladdin was brightly lit, and on the walls, posters displayed the movies being premiered. Richie jabbed his pointer finger in the direction of one.

"What is that?" Ben asked incredulously. "The Guyver?"

"Well, I thought it looked cool," Richie said defensively, crossing his arms.

"I bet it is! I'll watch it-- will anyone else?" Eddie replied reassuringly, placing a hand firmly on Richie's shoulder. Mike and Ben shared an unsure glance, but Stan spoke up first.

"I have to be home by 8, so I can't. Next time," he said in a disappointed tone. Richie frowned and nodded. "Sorry," he finished, giving him one final apologetic nod. Ben and Mike agreed, promising to hang out the next day. Richie was offended, sure, but didn't mind just watching the film with Eddie.

"Fine," Eddie said, standing close to Richie. "Your loss," he shrugged. Richie grinned sheepishly, and the others walked off.

"See ya, guys," Mike waved before turning back around, striking up a short conversation with Ben as they headed for their bikes. 

"2 tickets for The Guyver, please," Richie said, his money ready in his hand.

"That'll be 9 dollars," the girl in the booth responded. She was cute and looked to be around 17, only a year older than the 2 boys. She seemed exhausted and spoke in a grumbling, low voice. Eddie began to hand over his portion of the cost, but Richie stopped him.

"I got it," Richie announced, handing the girl the 9 bucks. "I'm a gentleman... Well, since you came to watch with me." Eddie raised an eyebrow, slightly blushing.

"Thanks," he grinned, looking away in embarrassment. Eddie offered to buy them popcorn, so they decided to share a bucket. They located the theatre that was showing the movie, and found seats near the back-middle, chatting as they ignored all the previews on screen. The seats were uncomfortable and creaky, and the armrests were sort of scratchy. Eddie had been a little hesitant to sit in the presumably unsanitary chairs-- in fact, he had wiped the booth at the diner down before any of them sat-- but this time, he didn't have the chance to. He bounced his knee anxiously, tapping his finger on his leg. Richie noticed and pressed his lips together in thought.

"I'll go find something to wipe the seats with, okay?" he suggested, slowly standing up. "I think I have time before the movie starts." Eddie stared at him, hearts practically in his eyes. He smiled and thanked him, and Richie hurried away to the restroom. It wasn't empty, and he awkwardly maneuvered around a middle-aged man and a 20-year-old with a beard. The man nearly coughed in his face, and Richie grimaced. He almost slipped on the tiled floor as the man splashed soapy water on the ground carelessly. He grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet one of them, holding it so it wouldn't drip on the floor as he jogged back to the theatre. He sped-walked and slipped back into the row by Eddie, who jumped a little and quickly stood up, taking the towels from Richie. He scrubbed down the seats like he'd die otherwise, and then vanished to throw the towels out in the garbage can.

"Thank you, Rich," Eddie whispered in Richie's ear as he sat back down beside him. Richie shivered at the feeling of Eddie's breath on his neck and tried to ignore it.

"You're welcome," he replied, beaming and fidgeting with his hands on his lap. He had gotten back just in time; the movie was beginning, and the opening music started to play, growing louder and louder. The light from the screen washed over his face, making him glow a very faint blue. Eddie stared at him longingly, admiring the cool tint of his black hair and the sporadic clusters of freckles. His heart pounded in his chest, but he shoved it back down and forced himself to tear his eyes away and watch the movie. "He's so perfect," Eddie thought, ashamed of his emotions. They finished their popcorn eventually, and they both chugged water to get the taste out of their mouths.

As the move progressed, Richie felt something touch his hand. He startled, jerking his hand away before looking down and seeing that Eddie's hand was inching towards his. They both went red, and Eddie pulled back, looking away, feeling humiliated. Richie felt a pang of guilt-- he wouldn't have moved if he had known. He cautiously reached over and took Eddie's hand in his, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for the worst. Eddie's cheeks pinkened, and he held on, a cheesy smile crawling onto his face. Richie took a deep breath and focused on seeming nonchalant about it.

The movie was decent, but he found it a tad boring. But it probably didn't help that he was incredibly distracted.

The 2 walked out of The Aladdin, side by side, after stopping to go piss. Richie stepped in large strides like he was a little kid, spinning around, yapping about his opinions on the film. Eddie lingered a little further away, listening thoughtfully and occasionally letting out small laughs. His mind was elsewhere, and his attention was wandering, though he tried his best to tune in to Richie's rant.

"...But what did you think?" Richie asked, bringing Eddie back to reality, looking up abruptly. 

"It was pretty good," he replied casually-- though he couldn't summarize the story if his life depended on it. Richie smiled his bright, lively smile, and Eddie thought he might explode. Except now, it wasn't a feeling of boiling anger; it was a strong, hopeless desire that was destroying him. He watched Richie's lips when he spoke, and it took everything to restrain himself. "Do you want to get yourself killed?" he thought. "Just because he doesn't hate gay people doesn't make him gay!" and then he froze. "I'm not gay. What the fuck am I talking about?" The frustration flooded back, but he swallowed it back. He wasn't going to fuck up their evening over his stupid inner turmoil. He kept reminding himself that this was not on Richie, and it never was.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Eddie offered, checking his watch. It was almost 9:00 pm. Richie frowned a little and nodded.

"Sure, thanks," he agreed, falling in line with Eddie, stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk, antsy. "'Preciate it."

"Yeah," Eddie responded quietly and absently, watching their surroundings carefully. It was beginning to get dark, and the sky was a bright pink, fading into a deep blue. He desperately wanted to have Richie's hand in his again; he was itching for it, completely aware of how corny it was. He shook his wrists at his side, pressing his lips together. The street they were on was pretty barren and felt somewhat eerie. Eddie caught himself checking behind him every minute or so, slightly paranoid. He went out in the dark relatively often, but it still made him uneasy sometimes, when there was absolutely no one around. But he wasn't sure which was worse-- being isolated in the dark, or strangers being with you out in the shadows.

"It's kind of creepy, right?" Richie said suddenly. "Veeerryyyy spooookkyyyy!" he added in a shitty Dracula impression. Eddie rolled his eyes, chuckling softly. The anxiety dissipated a bit, and he moved a little closer to Richie subconsciously, feeling safer. Soon enough-- though disappointing, strangely-- they made it to Richie's house, the light on the porch on. Hesitantly, Richie spoke up. "I wanna go in from the back door."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just to chill for a minute. I want to get a smoke in-- if you don't mind."

"Okay, then," Eddie said, following Richie down his driveway and behind his house. Richie crouched down, sliding a pack of cigarettes out from under some shrubbery. "You keep them there? What if it rains?" Eddie questioned curiously. Richie shrugged as he stood up, also collecting a lighter. He fumbled around before picking one out and lighting a cig, sighing out a wispy cloud of grey smoke. Eddie scrunched his nose and backed up.

"It's not that bad," Richie laughed, placing it in his mouth and biting down so it wouldn't drift. He slipped the pack and lighter back under the bush and picked up the cigarette between his thin fingers. Eddie watched his hands, the shakiness and determination of them.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Sure," Richie replied, breathing out again. "I mean, for the most part. Why do you think I'm smokin'?" he smiled slyly. Eddie made a true expression and leaned against the wall, like Richie. Richie closed his eyes, and Eddie could see his chest going up and down rapidly, his breath shallow, and his hands trembling even more.

"Dude, do you need to sit down?" Eddie pressed, standing up straight and inching toward him. He was worried Richie would have an anxiety attack or something, and he was unsure why. Richie nodded slightly. "Get rid of that," Eddie included, pointing at the cigarette. Richie obliged and tossed it on the ground, grinding it into ash with his shoe. In his yard, there was a small wooden table with 2 benches on either side. Eddie guided him, and they sat down, him taking the opportunity to hold his hand again like a needy toddler. He watched Richie intently, worry consuming him. "What's wrong?" but Richie was hesitant to say anything. Eddie scooted closer, so that they were essentially pressed against one another. Richie gulped and stared at the floor, blushing intensely. Eddie continued to wait for an answer.

"I-- I dunno. Just overwhelmed, I think," he responded, and Eddie could see him flinch a little when he moved his jaw. He felt the debilitating guilt again, and his face fell. Richie dragged his stare to meet Eddie's. The real problem, that he didn't want to admit, was that he was so scared of Eddie. Well, not of him, but of what he made Richie feel. And what it meant. It flared up when he realized that there was a very, very, exceptionally high chance that the notion was returned. Why else would Eddie hold his hand? Maybe he was looking into it too much. He analyzed the look in Eddie's eyes and struggled to place it. He didn't think he'd seen anybody look at him like that before. It was new, and that made it nerve-racking. He couldn't help but glance down at his lips, quickly diverting his gaze to cover it up. The pain of the bruise had flared up, and he fought not to show it, but it was apparent. Eddie asked the question Richie was dreading.

"Does that hurt? I'm... I'm really sorry, Rich," he said slowly, his eyes shiny. Richie deflected the first portion of Eddie's statement-- and could not have predicted the result.

“You don’t need to keep feeling bad for this,” Richie said softly, shrugging his shoulders. After a hesitant moment of sort-of thinking, Eddie leaned forward wordlessly, his parted lips pressing gently against Richie’s jaw. Richie shuddered and froze in place, energy surging through him. It was so unexpected, and he let out a small gasp of surprise, unable to move. "Oh my god," he thought-- but not opposed to what was happening. Eddie worked his way up to Richie’s mouth and kissed him. Richie’s face felt like it was on fire, and he allowed himself to shut his eyes, accepting and relishing the situation and wanting to make the most out of it, because it would be fleeting and may never happen again if he freaked out. And he didn't want that. Without even thinking, he reached over to run his hands through Eddie’s hair, pulling Eddie to him. He could feel a small smile forming on his face.

The sensation was insatiable; every year of their lives was spent without romance or even anything casual. They didn't even realize how much they needed it until the moment when they were one, and their lips were against each other's skin, so desperate and passionate. There was a brief worry in the back of Richie's mind that someone might see them, but when he remembered that there were tall fences around the backyard and that there was a very low chance his parents would come outside, he let himself act without distraction or concern. His face had never been so warm in his life, or his body in general. Eddie's arms were around his waist, Richie's hands still carefully entwined in his brown hair.

Eddie had no idea what had possessed him, but he wasn't regretting it. After what felt like too short a time-- considering their non-existent prior experiences-- Eddie pulled himself away, breathing hard. Richie stared at him, eyes wide and his own chest heaving. His face was red and he quivered a little. Eddie's mouth opened, but he felt like he couldn't speak, and Richie fought the urge to just jump back in. "Jeez, Rich, I'm so so--" Eddie started before Richie gave him one final hard kiss on the mouth, silently communicating to him that he liked it, and that he meant it. Eddie smiled and sat normally, Richie following suit. They sat idly and somewhat awkwardly, not making eye contact, watching the grass twitch. But the silence was satisfied and calm, and Richie's heart was pounding for a different reason now. Richie came to terms with the fact that this event would be inevitable and didn't mind. He simply had a shit-eating grin on his face as he giddily swung his legs back and forth. "Are you fucking serious?" Eddie giggled, watching him.

"What!" he exclaimed, laughing. Eddie shook his head and looked away, still smiling brightly. Another couple of minutes passed, and they quieted down. Eddie sighed sadly.

"I should go home, right?" he asked, rubbing his eye and checking his watch again. 9:34 pm. "Christ," he thought in surprise. Richie sat thoughtfully, studying Eddie's now melancholic expression.

"I guess so," he responded, sighing too. Eddie got up, looking up at the dark sky. "I can walk by myself-- I want to," he added, stuffing his hands in his jeans' pockets. Richie nodded, eyes glued to the floor, still blushing.

"Okay," he finished, signaling Eddie to leave. Richie speedily stood up and grabbed his wrist, giving him a final small kiss, staring at him for a moment before letting go. Eddie grinned and waved, and soon was gone. Richie just stalled in place, having no idea what to do with himself. He supposed he was still in shock. He eventually went inside, shutting the door behind him. 

"Richie, is that you?" his mom called out from the other room.

"Yeah, I'm home!" he shouted back, receiving a loud shhhh!

"Your father is asleep!" she said, her voice getting closer until she appeared into view to greet him. "Where have you been?" 

"Me and... the guys... went to see a movie," he replied, reciprocating his mother's hug. "Sorry for getting home after dark," he apologized.

"It's okay, kiddo-- what's on your neck? It's red," she inquired, looking at the part of his neck that was located under his jaw. He froze. He wasn't sure since he hadn't looked in a mirror, but he definitely had an idea. "Fuck," he thought.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your neck! Is that a hickey? Richard!" she exclaimed, her eyebrows knitting together and her arms crossing angrily. "Were you with a girl?!"

"What?" he gasped, blushing a little and throwing his hand up, caressing the tender skin on his neck. "No!"

"Seriously?" Maggie scolded. "I know you're at that age, but-- you could at least be honest!" Her stance stiffened. Richie tried to speak but didn't know what to say. He wasn't lying! He wasn't with a girl.

"I was with my friends! This-- This isn't a hickey! Gross!" he explained frantically, becoming suspiciously defensive. Fear overwhelmed him, and he knew he needed to get out of the conversation. "I'm gonna go to bed, alright?" he walked to his room and heard his mom groan behind him. He plopped down on his bed, staring into space. "Holy fucking shit. Hoooolyyyy shoot," he thought, pausing to change into pajamas.

He slowly lay down on top of his blankets, on his back. He watched the ceiling, his pulse still rapid. He took deep breaths, curling into the fetal position on his side. He squeezed his eyes shut, unsure whether to cheese like a schoolgirl or cry-- polar opposite reactions.

But he landed on joy and fell asleep with a grin on his face.

Eddie was still awake at 11:00 pm, unable to sleep. He periodically stood up and paced around his room, stuck in pure amazement at his predicament. He felt both giddiness and terror. He wished he hadn't parted from Richie; he was empty in that moment, like he was missing a puzzle piece. Kissing the boy had replenished him with a fulfillment he had never experienced before, and he yearned for it again. He sat at his desk chair, pulling his knees to his chest. On the desk was the baseball cap Richie had gotten him. He had been wearing it nonstop since, and smiled as he shifted it from side to side with one of his hands, studying it thoughtfully. After a moment, he picked it up and stood. 

Eddie returned to his bed, holding the hat close to him, hugging it. And only then did his brain allow him to doze off peacefully.

Chapter Text

Another secretive week and a half passed, Richie and Eddie being intimate and all lovey-dovey (like the lame high schoolers they were) every once in a while (basically every other day). But they obviously had to hide away, keeping it between the two cautiously. "Hey, Rich," Eddie greeted calmly as Richie walked over to the Losers down in the 'Yard. 

"Hi," Richie smirked, giving him a quick wave before sitting down across from him, by Stan and Bev. Eddie had insisted that they needed to be entirely subtle and not obvious, and that he wasn't sure if the others would find out, but they couldn't let them. A day or 2 prior, Beverly had pointed out the blotch on his neck, to which Richie shooed the allegations away. Despite this attempt, it only sparked rumors among the Losers-- minus Eddie-- that Richie had an unknown girlfriend. The only person besides Eddie to doubt this was Stan, who joked that nobody would be able to put up with Trashmouth's antics. Richie only laughed at this, paranoid of discovery.

"We've buh-buh-b-b-been wuh-waiting! I'm r-r-ready to pl-pluh-p-play!" Bill complained, swiping ripped-up grass off his pant legs.

"Sorry. My mom had me wash the dishes," Richie reasoned, shrugging nonchalantly. It was about 10:00 am, and Eddie had only left Richie's place 1 hour prior, and miraculously made it to the field all ready 15 minutes before Richie even left the house. He had been sleeping over more often than not, being certain that he was safe with Richie, when he didn't feel that way around his mother. Richie would hold him and assure him that he'd be okay, calming him down from fits of rage after he biked to Richie's after an argument with Sonia Kaspbrak.

But they also were just clingy; their first kiss made them realize how touch-starved they both were and how badly they needed love in that form.

                                          ================================================

“Eddie?” Richie questioned as Eddie knocked on his window, scaring the daylights out of him. He slid the window open, revealing the midnight sky, which was littered with stars. His expression was confused and concerned. Eddie’s eyes had a red tint to them, and he seemed so exhausted. He was panting and was bent forward with his hands on his knees. Richie immediately was worried shitless. “Here… come through the back door. My parents won’t wake up.”He hurried out of his room, not bothering to shut his door behind him.

He cracked open the back door, peeking out, relieved to see Eddie waiting for him. He opened it entirely, ushering Eddie inside with one hand on his back, his fingertips pressed on the soft fabric of Eddie’s beige t-shirt. He also donned a pair of red shorts and white socks, his shoe laces limp and untied.

”Sorry to be here so late,” Eddie apologized, his voice slightly quivering. Richie immediately became worried and brought Eddie to his room quietly, double-checking that nobody woke up. When Richie turned back around, Eddie had his hands over his eyes, his jaw clenched. He walked to him, slowly wrapping his arms around Eddie in a hopeful attempt to comfort him at all. Eddie returned the gesture, and they just stood there for a moment. Showing such vulnerability and affection with another person— another boy, especially— was still foreign, and was kind of uncharted territory they were adjusting to, but did enjoy.

”It’s okay. You can stay here,” Richie spoke, his face nuzzled into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He shivered in response, clutching Richie tighter. “If you want to, I mean,” Richie clarified, earning a small smile from Eddie, who nodded silently.

”Yes, please,” he replied, letting Richie go. He moved his hands up and cupped Richie’s face in them, pulling him into a brief, warm kiss, stroking his cheek with his thumb. He could taste the smoke on his lips, his eyelashes tickling him faintly. Though he had kissed Richie numerous times since the first, he was still filled with the same rush of adrenaline. Richie went bright red, and his gaze was shiny and loving, naturally making Eddie feel a little better. 

When Eddie got home that day, his mother was immediately on his ass, yelling at him angrily over anything she could think of. On this occasion, Sonia accused him of not taking his “medication”— which he admittedly hadn’t been great about. He detested it and argued that he had been, just not in front of her. But in all honesty, he couldn’t tell the difference between when he did and didn’t, since he wasn’t sick.

The ordeal ended with her commanding that she had to watch him take all his “vitamins” each day. And that if he didn’t, she wouldn’t let him go out. And if he was stuck at home all day, he believed he might explode. His palms had small indents in them from the strength of the fists he had formed, trying to restrain the rage he felt, and the onset of claustrophobia.

By nighttime, he couldn’t stay in his airtight room any longer, and had snuck out, careful to make sure his mother remained asleep. He had been successful and ran all the way to Richie’s house, completely out of breath and his body shaking with frustration, his Converse nearly flying off his feet. He could only see with the help of the dim streetlights and the mostly-shielded moon. “Waning Gibbous,” he recalled subconsciously, a random fact from his elementary school days that stuck with him.

Soon enough, he reached Richie’s house, using all his strength to not pound the window, and to just lightly knock at it. He didn’t have to wait long for a response, something he could always count on.

Richie had him lie down on the side of the bed, further to the door, and climbed in beside him, letting Eddie take most of the blanket. Eddie fought off any more tears, feeling completely humiliated over how emotional he was being. An unidentifiable amount of time passed, and eventually, he was being cradled in Richie’s arms, being held close as he continued to try and relax. His skin felt as though it was aflame, but he wasn’t going to pull away. Every once in a while, Richie would let out a comforting shhhhh, his breath tickling the back of Eddie’s neck.

Eddie leaned into him, feeling himself slowly but surely calming down. He had never felt so safe with another person in his life, except maybe when his father was alive. He continued taking deep breaths.

Within the next hour, his shaking had ceased, and he was finally able to rest, Richie’s arms still around his waist and his head against his upper back.

                                                                                 =====================================================

"Girlfriend stay over?" Bev teased, pushing his arm playfully. Richie glared at her, not really faking it.

"No," he grumbled, clenching fistfuls of grass in irritation. He struggled to keep up the mock-offended act; the joke was starting to bother him quite a bit. Bev giggled and thankfully dropped the subject, Eddie watching her with a cold and unforgiving look on his face. Bill continued to stare at them all expectantly, even more eager to start practicing than Eddie (somehow). After pausing for another minute, gleeful at how antsy Bill was, he exhaled. "Let's play ball!" Richie finally declared in his announcer voice, earning a sigh of relief from Bill and chuckles from the others. He leapt off the ground, jogging to his position.

He stood in centerfield, his hand sweating inside his mitt. His legs were bent slightly, prepared to make a catch-- something he became remarkably good at. Ben was basically permanently parked behind the batters, a focused look in his eyes. Mike appeared similarly at the pitcher's mound, and his seriousness sometimes unnerved Richie.

Georgie was still unable to play, which had been worrying Eddie immensely. The big game was not far away, and he was in a cast. This has instilled a growing anxiety in Eddie of getting injured, and they all noticed the hesitance in Eddie's actions and gameplay. It didn't mean his abilities were any less impressive, but his irrational worries were impacting him heavily.

Eddie offered to bat first, which Richie always relished. His trained sight never creeped Richie out; in fact, he found it to be somewhat attractive (which was undeniable for him). His gaze was intentional but also light, not as hard as Mike's or Ben’s. So there Eddie stood, crouched and clutching his bat. It felt like Richie only blinked when he heard an ear-splitting THWACK! that hurt his ears. He followed the baseball with his eyes, examining it as it fled away from them all, soaring across the cloudy sky. Richie darted backwards, nearly tripping onto his ass. He leapt forward, narrowly catching it, his mitt almost slipping off. Loud cheers erupted from behind him, and he whipped around to hurl the ball to first base.

But he immediately realized Eddie was already parked at 3rd base. Richie could hardly be surprised— Eddie was like lightning. Richie smiled brightly, incredibly proud.

”C’mon!” Stan scolded, waving his arm around. Richie snapped to attention, chucking the ball back to Mike apologetically, still transfixed by Eddie’s determined expression. 

That day, they chose to focus on batting more than anything else, but a couple of them remained further back in the outfield, ready to fetch the ball. Bill offered to go next, and the boy’s swing was much smoother than his speech. The ball hit the ground, slipping past Corcoran (their shortstop) and bouncing rapidly across the field. Bill immediately made a break for it and just barely reached 1st base as Georgie snatched the ball and stomped at the base only a moment too late. Bev cheered, and Eddie rolled his eyes in annoyance. He had made it back to home base, earning an imaginary point. As he moved to a different position, he made eye contact with Richie, who was still staring at him. Eddie flashed him a quick smile, which Richie returned, his cheeks warm.

As Richie stepped up to the plate, praying for another miracle, he clutched the bat tightly. Mike watched him with his strong, hard eyes, winding his arm back. Richie gulped and tried and failed to hold the bat any tighter than he already was. He didn’t own cleats, so he had a hard time planting his sneakers in the dirt. He shifted in place, nodding that he was ready. Mike whipped the ball his way, and Richie swung— and missed horribly.

His face set on fire in a blazing embarrassment. Stan burst out laughing, not in a tormenting way, but more so in a friendly-fire way. Richie sighed and readied up once more. Ben threw the baseball back to the pitcher's mound, which Mike caught flawlessly.

As Mike pitched the ball, Richie managed to hit it. It wasn’t some impressive play like Eddie’s had been, but he had succeeded in making it to 1st base. He glanced back at Eddie for approval, appreciating the small nod he was given. Richie scanned the field, and it looked so empty with so few people playing. The game functioned poorly, trying to both bat and stand in the field, but they made due with it. Bev went up to bat, and Richie had to duck as the ball whizzed past his head, nearly clocking him. “Jesus!” he exclaimed, eyes wide.

”Fuck, sorry!” she shouted. Bev was talented in the way that she could almost always hit the ball each time, but sometimes that meant that it would go rogue and fly unpredictably. “Sorry,” she repeated, quieter, an awkward oops look on her face. Richie shrugged, but felt an ounce of concern as she got ready to swing again. The second time around, she sent the ball across the field, where Eddie caught it and got her out— which always frustrated her, since nobody stood a fucking chance with Eddie, but also made her glad that she wasn’t actually on the opposing team. 

About 2 hours later, they all got tired and plopped back down on the grass, in the shade of a huge tree. And another hour after that, it was only Stan, Bev, Eddie, and Richie left. Eddie could tell Beverly was about to make another joking comment to Richie, and felt a flare of anger. He knew he shouldn’t let it bug him, but it did the fucking 10th time around. He was right, and Bev opened her mouth.

”So… whatcha doin’ after this, Richie?” she asked slyly. “A date with mystery girl?”

Eddie pressed his lips together and shut his eyes, shoving the overwhelming anger back down. “No, Bev,” Richie groaned, pulling his knees to his chest, interlocking his fingers around his legs. Beverly refused to drop it.

”Come on, fess up already! I’ve got to know!” she pleaded, throwing her hands up in a praying gesture. She was being nosy and she was aware of it, but that was just part of her nature. Eddie felt his eye twitch like a madman.

”Would you leave him alone with that!” he hissed, coming off way more rude than he had wanted. Beverly looked hurt for a moment, but then it faded to annoyance.

”God forbid I be curious,” she muttered, setting her head in her hands. Richie gawked at Eddie in surprise, but it didn’t seem like he thought his comment was too distasteful. Eddie sighed and lay flat on his back on the grass, staring up at the green leaves and the sun peeking in between them.

”Richie doesn’t stand a chance with a girl. Too noisy,” Stan joked, elbowing Richie in the side. The two were sitting right next to each other, something Eddie was inherently jealous of. Richie side-eyed him, crossing his arms, failing to keep his expression stoic.

”I don’t recall you having a girlfriend, hm?” he retorted, making Bev giggle loudly. Stan blinked at him, silenced. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh a little, too. Richie dropped his head onto his knees, his forehead smacking against them. His new glasses and cap had been next to him in the grass, so he was squinting a lot. “Sorry,” he apologized, though it was clear he thought it was hilarious. Eddie plucked his hat off the top of his head, the underside rimmed with sweat. The wind felt nice against his scalp, and he messed around with his hair, appreciating the unrestricted air flow. “God, I feel gross right now,” he thought to himself, sighing loudly.

”Someone’s moody,” Beverly said, only making Eddie more pissed. He smacked his palms on the side of his head, clutching his hair dramatically and groaning loudly.

”Yeah, because you’re being annoying!” he snapped. She frowned and went quiet. Richie awkwardly glanced between the 3, unsure what to do or what was going on. Stan shrugged at him, also a little nervous. I don’t know! he said with his eyes. He and Richie had become quite skilled at their silent conversations, and it was useful in times like this, when everything was off and the silence was growing a little too uncomfortable. “I think I’m gonna go home. I’m tired,” Eddie said, standing up. He had actually slept like a baby the night prior— for the most part— but the exhaustion was mental.

He felt less frustrated with his emotions, mainly the ones for Richie, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get stressed out over it at all. Finally, being with Richie (if that’s the wording he could use) had helped his confusion, but he wasn’t sure that it made him feel less like a freak. He didn’t think Richie was a freak, but he still viewed himself as one. He was petrified of anyone finding out, even if he was relatively positive that none of the Losers would judge them for it. He didn’t even know if this thing would last, anyway. Though he prayed to God it would.

”Oh,” Richie whispered, watching Eddie as he started leaving, his countenance suddenly dejected. Eddie winced as he backed up, staring down at the other boy guiltily. “I’m gonna go home for lunch, then. I’ll see you guys later,” Richie said quietly, beginning to walk in the other direction. Eddie paused, part of him wanting to follow Richie.

”Bye, Rich!” Stan waved, Bev doing the same, the agitated look still there. Richie waved back and left, slipping his glasses back on his nose and his hat on his head. Eddie hated feeling like Richie was upset with him, and he squirmed uncomfortably before jogging beside him. Richie jumped a little but relaxed when he saw it was only Eddie.

”Thought you were tired?” he said in a mock-hurt voice. Eddie felt a wave of relief that Richie wasn’t angry. 

“Sorry, she was just fucking bothering me,” he muttered bluntly, leaning against Richie’s side, their arms pressed together. Richie grinned, but focused on the ground before them. “Yeah, girlfriend,” Eddie laughed dryly.

”I mean,” Richie started, “What are we? If it’s not too soon to ask.” Eddie went mute, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It was the thing he himself had been wondering, but would never have had the courage to ask. He didn't know what to say, because he didn't know. Every other step, his arm brushed against the other boy's, his skin prickling. Richie immediately regretted asking, cursing himself. "Sorry," he muttered, taking a small step away and to the side. Eddie stopped himself from grabbing his hand, a pang of guilt assaulting his heart. "'Boyfriends' is a little much, no? What other labels are there even?" he thought in disdain. "Why does it have to be so fucking complicated?"

"Well, what do you think?" he said, unintentionally coming off as condescending. Richie's posture stiffened as if he had been stabbed, and he stared at the ground. He pulled Eddie off to the side, and they stood on a bridge, which was lined by wood fencing. On their left was a large red farmhouse-looking roof, shielding the road underneath. It was lit by warm colored light bulbs that dangled like a horror movie. Even with a quick glance, he could see all the words that were written deep in the planks. His interest was piqued, and he forgot the conversation to go study what was there. "They call this the Kissing Bridge or whatever. It's where all the corny teenagers go to write initals and shit," Eddie explained, still lingering behind as Richie walked along.

After a moment, Richie crouched down, running his finger across a blank space. He nearly gave himself a splinter and stopped, his eyes still glued to the spot as if it would vanish if he looked away. Suddenly, he dug out a pocket knife from his jeans, Eddie's eyes widening. "Where the fuck did you find that?" he exclaimed as Richie ignored him and began carving something, pressing hard and shakily. "You're going to cut yourself!"

Eventually, he paused, turning his head slightly but not facing the other boy. "Found it in the grass," he informed Eddie before returning to what he was doing. Eddie stepped closer, peeking over his shoulder.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"This is so sappy!"

"Oh, c'mon!" Richie laughed. Eddie just stared in disbelief at the "R+E" Richie had engraved into the wood, sort of a fan of it. "Is this enough?"

"Of what?"

"Of an answer to the question," he clarified, standing back up, slipping the knife back into his pocket nonchalantly. Eddie laughed and nodded, walking closer.

"I guess so," He grinned, looking over his shoulder momentarily. Richie cocked his head to the side, watching Eddie's parted lips half-expectantly. They moved as he said quietly: "If we're gonna be cheesy, then I ought to tell you that you're one of the greatest people I've ever met. And I mean that. You've done more for me since I met you than my mother ever has."

"You think so?" Richie responded, smiling. Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled Richie to him, planting a kiss on his cheek. "What a tease!" he gasped, putting on a false and exaggerated frown.

"Maybe even the best month or so of my life, hm?" Eddie continued, not acknowledging Richie's little show. He felt like a nerd saying that, but so what if it was true? He double checked their surroundings, moving even closer to Richie, who went red.

"What a flirt! Eds-- We're literally in public! What happens if some jackass passes by?" he yell-whispered anxiously. Eddie sighed and backed up, hands on his hips, his baseball cap tilted downwards and loosely on the edge of his head. He shrugged, grabbing Richie's warm hand.

"Don't worry-- and don't call me that!" he said, seeming to know where he was going. Richie was dragged along, nervously looking around.  "Oh God," he thought, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting the grin off his face. His shoes scuffed against the pavement as he stumbled after his incredibly determined counterpart. Eddie abruptly stopped, Richie bumping into him.

"Sorry!" he gasped a little, backing up apologetically. They were now hidden by the large red structure and the trees, on the edge of the forest. "But kissing at the Kissing Bridge isn't corny?" he persisted. Eddie huffed and rested against the wall on his back, crossing his arms. He had a dramatic little frown on his face. "Maybe you are a little moody," Richie joked, Eddie punching him in the arm playfully. Richie giggled, and they stood there quietly for a moment.

He rotated around, now in front of Eddie. He rolled his eyes teasingly and moved forward, wrapping his arms around Eddie's waist familiarly, knowing he liked it. He planted his parted lips onto his neck, and Eddie felt his cheeks get hot. Quickly, they were pressed against each other, and Eddie fixed Richie's messy hair as kisses were being planted across his skin fondly. He grinned and took Richie's face in his hands, kissing him and tasting that everlasting smokiness. He assumed he had smoked a cigarette before joining them at the field. But he didn't mind it; it added character.

Richie's hands travelled upwards and gripped the collar of Eddie's unbuttoned overshirt, slightly pinching the white t-shirt underneath. He pushed him further into the wall, somehow getting even nearer than before, though it seemed like it would be physically impossible to do so. Eddie's own hands were placed on Richie's hips, and he leaned his head back slightly as Richie returned to kissing his neck, letting out short breaths.

It felt good, but it also felt right. When he thought back to the Losers-- particularly Bev-- teasing him about when he'd have his first kiss with a girl, he had felt so wrong. Richie was a puzzle piece that fit together, and he could tell from the very start that he was in fact special. Richie's glasses were falling off, but he only ignored them, lost in the moment.

Eventually, he mellowed out, panting. Richie stopped and lay his head down on Eddie's shoulder, his face pressed into the side of his neck, his grip loosening. Eddie felt what seemed like tears on his skin, and instantly became alarmed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pushing Richie away just enough to see his face, his hands grabbing the sides of her upper arms. Richie shook his head, taking a deep inhale.

"No, nothing. I just-- I-- I don't fucking know. I feel like a geek for being a fuckin’ cornball when, yeah, I haven't known you that long. It's just-- how I feel, I guess,” He confessed, looking away. Eddie brushed the hair out of his face and gave him a sad smile.

"Listen, I understand. But think of it this way: we have time to get to know each other better. I feel it in my bones. I like you a lot," he reassured him, embracing that stupid corniness, because he meant everything he said. He pulled Richie back in for a hug and felt him let out a shaky, relieved laugh as he played with the hair on the back of his head absently. His watch told him they had been there for 15 minutes. "Geez," he thought. He tried to emulate the comfort Richie had made him feel, giving him a final smooch before releasing him.

"I hope so, yeah," he grinned. He pulled away, but Eddie intertwined their fingers as Richie led them away, back to his house. "I wasn't lying about being hungry. Pip pip and tally ho! Onward, Edward!”

”Oh my gosh do not do that!” he groaned.

                                                                     ==========================================================

"What time is it?" Stan asked. Richie bent forward in his seat, glancing at the clock on the oven. He had invited Stan over for dinner, because within 20 minutes of Eddie being over he received an angry call from his mother. She demanded that he was to come home immediately, which he begrudgingly did. He told Richie that he might come back later, once his mom went to bed for the evening.

”Almost 6:00,” Richie replied, turning back to face Stan, who was sipping a glass of water. Richie had his own soda, which Stan boldly commented on previously, not-so-slightly judging him. But Richie couldn’t give a fuck, he never claimed to be the epitome of health. His metabolism was quick like wildfire, so he got away with it. Stan sighed.

”My curfew is 7:00.”

”Jesus, are your parents running Alcatraz?” 

“No! They’re just strict,” Stan scoffed, setting his cup down. Richie chuckled, choking on his Coca Cola. This made Stan laugh, but he got up and smacked Richie on the back in a poor attempt to help him stop coughing.

”Agh! Stop!” he giggled, clutching his chest. Stan retreated to his seat, plopping back down. “Ow!”

”That wouldn’t have hurt as bad if that wasn’t carbonated,” Stan said pointedly. Richie rolled his eyes.

”Oh shut up,” he smirked, getting up.

”Where are you going?” 

“Hold on,” Richie said, walking away, toward the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, locking it. He took a deep breath, looking in the mirror warily. He touched his fingers lightly to his jaw, which still had a faint spot on it. Eddie hadn’t stopped apologizing since. Richie wasn’t upset anymore, mostly just impressed at how strong of a punch the other boy had. It did still hurt a bit, but he tried to ignore it. His black eye had faded, and was gone. He leaned his back to the door, closing his eyes. “I need to take a Tylenol or something,” he thought.

His mind flashed back to the feeling of Eddie’s lips against his jaw and went red. His desperate attached ass could admit that he missed Eddie, but he shoved it back down in humiliation. “You gotta chill out, you wastoid!”

                                                 ========================================

“Hey,” Richie whispered, letting Eddie inside. Both of their families were asleep, so the house was dead silent. They headed back to Richie’s room quietly. “Things go okay at home?” he asked casually. Eddie paused.

”Yeah. It’s fine,” he shrugged, his tone unidentifiable. He pulled his shoes off, neatly setting them next to Richie’s bedroom door.

”You can tell me, y’know?” Richie insisted, stepping closer. Eddie stiffened, but didn’t move.

”I’m just sick of her bullshit,” he spat, letting out a long sigh. He sat down on the edge of the bed dramatically, his head falling into his hands and becoming shielded by his hair. Richie moved to sit beside him, prepared to listen intently, which Eddie really appreciated. “I don’t know.”

”Yeah, you do,” Richie said bluntly, his hand on top of Eddie’s. Eddie glared at him narrowly and shut his eyelids.

”She treats me like I’m a baby. Like I can’t do shit by myself. And the stupid medication she makes me take is getting fucking old. It’s all placebos! She’s getting scammed for by Mr. Keene,” he vented, his voice agitated and rough. Richie simply sat and nodded, paying close attention. “Today when she was talking to me, she said ‘I need to protect you. I’m laying out my cards. Your mommy loves you very much, and you are very ungrateful for that,’” Eddie laughed sarcastically. “Like I need anything from her—“ he stopped, his voice cracking. He clenched his jaw, swallowing back his fury. “Whatever.”

Richie scooted closer, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder sweetly. Eddie smiled weakly, his exhaustion catching up to him. “I’m sorry,” Richie said, clearly tired. His clock read 12:00 am. “You deserve better than that b— woman,” he corrected. Eddie snickered.

”I need sleep. You do too,” Eddie murmured as Richie stood up, earning an expression of confusion. “What are you doing?”

”It’s a million fucking degrees in here,” Richie said matter-of-factly, yanking his shirt over his head swiftly, his hair sticking up goofily. Eddie’s face flushed, and he stared at the floor as if it was rainbow and glittery. “The window being open isn’t helping. This must be what Mars feels like,” Richie joked, tossing the shirt onto the messy floor, which Eddie itched to clean up. Richie’s speech was slurred with sleepiness, and he looked like he’d pass out any second. 

“It is hot as shit,” Eddie agreed, considering going shirtless as well. The past couple nights were a little colder, but using a blanket didn’t last long before they began sweating. Richie flopped onto his bed, on his back. Eddie hesitantly took his t-shirt off, folding it neatly. “Alright then.”

Richie grinned as Eddie lay down next to him. “Goodnight,” he yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Eddie whispered goodnight back, but stared at the ceiling still. He was curious as to what it would feel like for their skin to be against each others.

Within 10 minutes, Richie was fast asleep, and Eddie wondered if he’d ever know. “Screw it,” he thought, rolling onto his side. Usually Richie’s clingy self would be the spooning him, but he could return the favor. He nervously reached over and draped his arm over Richie’s waist, his hand resting over his chest— swooped under Richie’s scrawny arm— feeling it rise up and down, on the verge of snoring. Eddie smiled, pulling him closer. The sensation of their bare skin touching was so unfamiliar, but also lovely, and he cherished it. He moved up slightly, leaning over and placing a kiss on his cheek. Richie unconsciously shuddered, rolling over towards Eddie, still sleeping. Eddie smiled, running his fingers through Richie’s hair affectionately. “I didn’t know I could be such a softie over someone like this,” he thought to himself, his smile widening even more.

Part of him wished Richie was awake, but he looked so peaceful, and his face had a certain beautiful quality to it as he slept. It lacked worry, fear, frustration. Just contentment. His features weren’t hidden by his glasses, and his freckles were sprinkled across his cheeks and nose. “Goodnight,” he repeated, his voice low and quiet. He planted a final kiss on his nose, before allowing himself to get some rest.

“Morning,” Richie said softly, bent over Eddie from the side of the bed, shaking his shoulder slightly.

”Nghhh… What?” he muttered groggily, shielding his eyes from the sunlight beaming through the yellowed window curtains. 

“You gotta get up,” Richie whispered, closer to his ear. Eddie shivered, and forced himself to sit up. “It’s 9:00,” he added. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groaned, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. Richie laughed warmly, his voice brighter than the light peeking into his room. He slipped a new shirt on, a grey one that read “Freese’s”— the main mall in Derry. He realized he didn’t have one on, and blushed. “I forgot about that.”

”I sure didn’t,” Richie winked teasingly. Eddie grinned sheepishly, his arms shielding himself awkwardly. “Here, borrow this,” Richie said, handing him a clean shirt.

”Thanks, Rich,” he said warmly, to which Richie only nodded.

”Anytime, Eds.”

”Oh shut up,” he responded, smacking his hand jokingly. He put the shirt on, sighing. 

“I know what we could do today,” Richie suggested, making Eddie raise an eyebrow.

”Do you now?”

”Yup.”

Chapter Text

“Oh fuck. Is that…?”

”Who?”

”Look!”

”Shit.”

Once Richie and Eddie got ready, they walked downtown. Richie planned to take him to the comic store that he’d seen as he explored Derry. Because he was new, there were a lot of places he wanted to visit, so of course, he’d start at a store that sells comic books. Especially because he ran out of his own. Eddie had offered to lend him a few of his, but he still thought it’d be a nice date idea.

It was hot out, so they wore shorts instead of their regular jeans. Fortunately, there was a cool breeze that made the temperature bearable. As they walked, they passed a lot of buildings, most of which were made with brick and mortar. Richie looked around cautiously but also curiously. Chicago was much more crowded, and the towers were taller and more modern-looking. It was quieter in Derry, but that made it a little more intimidating.

They had made pleasant conversation the way there, but as they turned a corner, they caught a glimpse of probably the worst person they could have come across that day.

”Bowers,” Eddie scowled, crossing his arms.

”What do we do?”

”Pray he doesn’t see us.”

”Then let’s hurry,” Richie said stiffly, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and pulling him along. The two boys sped-walked across the street, eyes glued to the doors of the shop, which had a sign reading “Derry Comics”. He had a hand on the door handle, but got cut off.

”Look who it is!” Henry called out, making Eddie squeeze his eyes shut and shake his hand away from Richie’s speedily. “Oh fuck,” he thought fearfully. Richie, on the other hand, was mainly frustrated and turned to face Henry without hesitation. He glared at him, his eyes icy with a tinge of anxiety showing in them. “What are you two doing?” Henry asked with a false friendliness in his tone. Eddie swallowed back his nervousness and turned to Henry as well.

”What’s it to you?” Richie snapped, making Eddie side-eye him and elbow him in the side. Richie didn’t budge, and Henry was clearly getting agitated; the act was already failing.

”Am I not allowed to ask, you fucking fag?” Henry spat out, stepping closer threateningly. Richie’s stance faltered a bit, and he began to feel insecure. Eddie’s own anger flared up, and he was tempted to take Richie’s place in the situation.

”Leave us alone,” Eddie demanded, a newfound forcefulness in his voice that even surprised him. Henry raised an eyebrow, moving even closer, poorly attempting to be subtle about it. Eddie clenched his jaw and watched him hatefully. He tried his best to seem intimidating. He knew how much being called that word bothered Richie.

”I don’t know about that. Y’know, I wasn’t coming over here looking for problems—“

”Like hell you were!” Eddie interrupted Henry, earning him the most furious gaze he’d ever seen. Richie remained silent, but Eddie could tell he was regaining his composure after a moment of offense. Henry moved even closer and was now only a couple of feet away. Eddie backed up mistakenly, knowing he had messed up in doing so.

”Where’s your respect, huh?” Henry said, raising his voice angrily. He lunged forward and pushed Eddie back, causing Richie to step in and shove Henry away.

”Fuck off!” he shouted, catching the attention of passerby. Henry glanced away, where Richie noticed a cop car. A larger, balding man leaned on it, arms crossed, staring at the 3 boys. It was hard to make out his expression from so far away, but the guy didn’t look too nice. Henry whirled back around, and if looks could kill, Richie would be dead on the ground.

”Shut the fuck up,” Henry barked in a tone that was honestly very frightening, and caught the other 2 off guard. They looked at each other nervously, and then back at Henry.

”Or what?” Richie dared stupidly. Henry’s eyes had an eerie spark to them as he answered.

”Or I’ll fucking kill you and your faggot boyfriend,” he said coldly. The boys spent another moment making unnerving eye contact. Henry’s pale blue eyes were piercing Richie’s soul, and he did all he could to restrain himself from doing something stupid— which he did anyway.

”One more step and I’ll narc you out to that fucking cop,” Richie said strongly, moving so that he and Henry were only 2 feet apart. Henry’s gaze softened with fear, and he backed up.

”You’re dead, asshole,” Henry stated, beginning to walk away in retreat, seething with rage. Eddie felt a wave of relief crash over him and finally let out a deep breath once they were finally alone again. Richie made a whew! sound and comically swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, making Eddie laugh.

”Close call!” Richie joked around. “Now we can resume our date, yeah?”

”Date?” Eddie gawked as he walked into the shop, Richie holding the door open for him.

”Why not?” he smirked, shrugging. Eddie’s face flushed, and he smiled back.

He was immediately drawn to the Spiderman collection, distractedly walking over. Richie followed him, but his gaze was fixed on the wall of Batman-related shit, itching to go look. But he allowed Eddie to guide him over to the Marvel shelves, transfixed by all of the issues from various years and eras.

”Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Man, I haven’t been in here in ages! Bitchin’” Richie blushed at hearing Eddie use his lingo, but kept his casual demeanor. He watched Eddie carefully, adoring the amazement in his eyes. He was crouched down, skimming through the copies on the lower shelves precisely, already forgetting their encounter with the mullet-wearing dickhead. Eventually, he landed on an issue with both Spiderman and Green Goblin, colorful and, of course, decked out with spider webs and big bold font. As Eddie flipped through it, Richie finally scurried off to look at the DC section— though Eddie didn’t even seem to notice.

The rack adjacent to the DC one contained a lot of apocalyptic and zombie-related comics. “We’re gonna be in here for a while,” he thought gleefully. He picked up a random issue and opened it, checking it out. It featured the Joker, Batman, and Robin. Dick Grayson, specifically. He was Richie’s favorite Robin because he loved Nightwing. “I wonder if they’ve got some with him too,” his brain wandered as he set the one he was already holding back in place. He hummed and went on his knees, sorting through the comics like he was shopping for clothes.

Behind him, he felt a gentle hand on top of his shoulder and jumped. “It’s just me,” Eddie laughed warmly, squeezing and letting go quickly. Richie exhaled in relief and stood up, a comic in hand. “What’s that?” Eddie inquired, cocking his head to the side.

”It’s The New Teen Titans. With Deathstroke and Cyborg and whatnot,” Richie explained, turning around to stand at Eddie’s side, showing him the cover.

”Who?” he asked in confusion. Richie’s jaw dropped, and his eyebrows furrowed.

”What! I thought you knew about Batman stuff!” he gasped, bringing his hand to his chest in a mock-offended gesture. Eddie shrugged with a nervous smile.

”I mean, I know who Batman is,” he said defensively. “I just read Marvel stuff.”

”Tsk tsk,” Richie scoffed in a fake, disappointed tone, with a hint of flirtatiousness in it. He tapped his foot on the ground, leaning his body weight against the other. Eddie rolled his eyes, his arms crossed. 

“I wanna look over here,” Richie suggested, leading Eddie towards the Zombie comics. 

“Deadworld?” Eddie read aloud, picking up a copy. Richie followed suit and looked through another one. “Looks cool,” he said. The wooden shelves, which they were near, were located in the corner of the shop. The floor was carpeted and stained, and the walls were littered with superhero posters— such as Superman and Green Lantern— and the only windows were in the front. The main desk was surrounded by glass that shielded certain comics. “Whatcha think those are?” he asked, nodding towards them, the nerdy-looking cashier side-eyeing him moodily.

”Some special-edition stuff,” Richie replied, not tearing his gaze away from the shelf. Eddie curiously wandered over, scanning what was behind the glass.

”How much is this one?” he questioned, pointing at an issue with Dr. Octopus on it. The cashier, who looked to be 25 but could pass as 40, snapped back to reality and looked over to him with glazed eyes. He sighed and walked over, blank-staring for a moment.

“7 bucks,” he responded dryly, his voice raspy, and Eddie could tell he was wasted. His eyes widened, and he glanced down at the comic and back up to the cashier in shock.

”For that?” he asked in disbelief. “What’s so special about it?”

“I don’t know man—“ the guy coughed, which smelled like weed, “— I just work here,” he finished. Eddie pressed his lips together and walked away after another second of surprise. When he returned, Richie was still deep in focus, but looking at a different collection now. “He’s kind of cute when he’s being a nerd,” he thought, making himself giggle. Richie looked over at the sound and flashed him a confused smile.

”What?” he asked curiously, but Eddie just waved it off.

”Nothing,” he grinned. Richie made an ‘okay then’ face and didn’t continue skimming after. “Are you done?”

”Yeah, I think so. I’m just gonna get this one,” Richie responded, The New Teen Titans held up between his upper arm and side as he placed the others back. “Are you getting any?” he inquired, to which Eddie shrugged and shook his head no.

”Nah,” he said as they headed back to the register.

”That’ll be $1.50,” the stoner cashier said numbly, stuffing the thin-paged and delicate copy into a bag, making Richie cringe. He handed over the money and grabbed the bag hastily. “Have a nice day,” the man huffed, as if the 2 boys had been troublesome. They left the store, the bell on the door jingling as it shut harshly. 

“I hope that wasn’t really fucking boring,” Richie said apologetically, sticking his change into his pocket.

”No, no, it was nice. I was impressed by how you handled Bowers. You know that cop’s his dad, right?” Eddie replied, their footsteps and pace matching. Richie seemed surprised and looked over to Eddie.

”Really?” 

”Yeah. Butch Bowers. Grade-A asshole.”

”What did he do?”

”Who fucking cares? Nothing good, to end up with a son like Henry,” Eddie spat, still staring at the sidewalk. Richie made a hm sound and stayed silent. Wordlessly, they continued on, unsure where they were even going. It was even warmer out, since it was closer to midday, and the sun was blazing. It was a hot summer, especially for Maine, and it sucked. “Where are we heading?” he finally asked.

”I dunno. Where do you wanna go?” Richie answered unhelpfully. Eddie had no clue— but he could say where he didn’t wanna go. 

“Not home,” he laughed stalely. He didn’t mean to come off as rude at all, but it just happened. “I need to stop being such a dick! Fuck, what can we do? I don’t want him to go, so what am I fucking doing?” he thought in frustration. 

“Are we going to the ‘Yard today?” Richie questioned, freeing Eddie from his own mind. 

”I mean, we don’t have plans. But we could still go, obviously,” Eddie said, his tone unreadable, and Richie couldn’t tell what he was feeling. He was a little worried he had done something wrong, but ignored it for the sake of not being a total self-pitying idiot. 

“We could get food?” Richie offered as a last-ditch effort. After a moment of silence, Eddie agreed.

”Sure,” he nodded, relieving Richie by giving him a small grin. 

“We could invite the others, maybe? I don’t know, could be fun,” Richie suggested nervously. Eddie frowned but didn’t object. “Gather up ye laddies, perhaps, ay?” he said in some weird Irish accent.

”Man, these Voices are not good, Rich,” Eddie teased, still laughing anyway. Richie rolled his eyes, pushing Eddie’s arm. 

“They’re works in progress, okay?” he defended jokingly. “Well, are we inviting anyone else?” he pressed. Eddie began to feel more up to it; Richie’s jokes did cheer him up, even if they were dumb.

”Uh, yeah. What about… Stan and Bill?” Eddie suggested. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk to Bev, and he wasn’t all that close to the others. Plus, he’d been friends with those 2 boys longer, and you could never go wrong hanging out with them. Richie agreed eagerly. “We should call them from your house. I think my Mom’s home today,” Eddie stated, his voice becoming slightly shyer.

”Okay,” Richie said, resting his arm around Eddie’s shoulders once they weren’t in the middle of town and in front of tons of people. Eddie grinned and leaned into Richie’s side comfortingly. “Gosh, you stink!” Richie joked, causing Eddie to elbow him. “Ow!”

”Trashmouth,” he commented slyly, feeling halfway happy again. 

                                                                                  =============================================

“H-h-hey, guh-guys!” Bill smiled, waving as he slid into the booth seat next to Stanley. Eddie and Richie sat beside one another on the opposite side.

”Hi, Bill!” Stan greeted, shimming out of the way. They had been waiting for him, so once he settled in, Eddie called over a waitress. She trudged over, her messy brown bun nearly falling apart. Her uniform was pretty typical, but looked too big for her. According to him, she seemed to be at least 30. Her oval-shaped name tag was pinned onto the front of her blouse and read ‘Margaret’.

”Hello, my name’s Marge, can I get you boys started with drinks?” she asked, a forced cheeriness in her voice. They already had glasses of water, but Richie and Bill asked for lemonade.

”Like you need sugar, aren’t you hyper enough?” Stan jabbed once the waitress left. Richie scoffed at him, and Eddie guessed he’d heard this form of judgment from Stanley frequently. “Sort of boring inside joke,” he thought.

”You’re just lame! Live a little!” Richie argued, leaning forward, elbows on the aluminum table. “You care too much,” he included combatively. 

“Every time you drink literal liquid sugar, you bounce off the fucking walls!” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “You act like a chihuahua!” Bill snickered at this, quickly (and poorly) hiding it with his hand.

”Whatever, man! It’s hot out,” Richie exclaimed in exasperation, flopping back against the back of the leather red booth. After another moment, Marge returned with he and Bill’s lemonade, which was a slightly unnatural shade of yellow. Richie was right, it was at a minimum of 90 degrees, and barely any cooler inside. 

By the time he had drunk half of the cup, his knee was bouncing rapidly, and he restlessly scanned the whole diner, unable to pay any attention to the conversation. “What did I say!” Stan groaned as Richie ignored the story he was trying to tell him. Richie blinked at him in confusion. “You’re so distracted!” Stanley continued to scold. Richie frowned dramatically.

”Maybe you’re just boring,” he said sarcastically, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Eddie set his hand on top of Richie’s leg, trying to cease the bouncing that was starting to make a squeaky sound. He felt goosebumps form on his skin. 

“T-the stuh-st-story is k-kind of buh-boring,” Bill admitted, grinning a little. Stan glared at him in defeat and gave up.

”Whatever. What else is there to talk about?” he asked in annoyance. Richie watched as Eddie tapped his lips with his pointer finger, looking into the distance, thinking. “Should I tell them about Bowers? We should talk about the upcoming game anyway, right?” he thought, furrowing his eyebrows.

”Rich and I into Bowers earlier,” Eddie admitted, gauging the other 2 boys' reactions carefully. Bill gave him a look of both surprise and concern.

”What huh-h-happened?” he pried, setting his lemonade down, which made a clink sound against the table. Richie glanced at Eddie nervously, who paid no mind to it.

”He was just being a dick. And was taunting us and shit. Saying we’d lose again this year,” Eddie lied.

”A-a-asshole!” Bill stuttered. “Juh-juh-Georgie is g-gonna be fuh-fine in t-t-t-time, and we wuh-w-will kick th-their asses! We huh-h-have Richie n-nuh-now.” 

“Why, zank you, monsieur William! Merci!” Richie said in a poor French accent. Stan sighed and looked out the window.

”Monsieur William?” Bill laughed, taking another sip of his drink casually. Richie nodded confidently.

”Oui!”

“Alright, Mr. Frenchman,” Eddie smiled, patting his leg before pulling his hand away. “I agree. I got a good feeling we’ll win this time.”

                                                                                            ========================================

“Ma? I’m home!” Eddie called out, setting his styrofoam box of leftovers onto the kitchen table. He glanced around, his brain automatically checking the few locations his mother ever was. Not at the dining table… or the recliner… or the fridge… He went up the bottom steps of the creaky stairs, squinting his eyes. “Ma?” he shouted. 

“Eddie bear?” a voice responded after a moment of silence. Sonia was home. Eddie clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, bracing himself.

”Yeah, I’m back!” he said, quieter, in a strained tone. Heavy footsteps could be heard approaching, and soon enough, he saw the silhouette of his mother at the top of the stairs. He stared at her with cold and irritated eyes, even though he had hardly spoken to her yet. But to be fair, her gaze wasn’t friendly either.

”Where have you been?” she asked, crossing her chubby arms. 

“With my friends.”

”Who?” she pressed. Eddie felt his stance falter. Sonia hadn’t ever properly met Richie, but he knew she despised him. Once she found out he smoked, the hate train began. And on top of that, she hated all of his friends anyway. “Who?” she repeated angrily.

”Bill and Stan,” Eddie answered, leaving Richie out of the mix. Out of the Losers, she hated Bill the least— which Eddie presumed was because he was a ‘normal’ white boy. Nice family, girlfriend, Christian. Sonia let out a grunt-like sound.

“Did you take your medicine?” she asked. Eddie felt rage begin to boil under his skin. Moments like this made him realize where his internalizing/quick-to-rage temper came from. He contemplated lying, but knew that it would just fuck things up more if he did.

”No,” he confessed stiffly. After a minute, he heard his mother walk down the stairs, breathing hard like she had run a marathon. Eddie backed up once she reached the bottom, her pale irises sharp and unnerving.

”Then take them,” she demanded, her gaze unwavering. He only nodded and went into the kitchen, fumbling with all the pill bottles hastily. He wasn’t sure what half of them were for, and couldn’t even pronounce their names. As he shook the pills from the various containers, his eyes kept flickering to the phone on the hallway table. “I should leave Richie alone; he probably wants his bed to himself for a change,” Eddie thought, sighing. He took the meds, taking multiple at the same time in rounds. He gulped down water, grimacing at the weird taste in his mouth. When he turned around, his mother was still glaring at him harshly.

”See? Took them,” he snapped, putting his cup in the sink and storming upstairs to his room. Sonia didn’t say anything as he left, flinching slightly at the sound of his door slamming. “Jesus fuck,” he groaned as he flopped onto his bed face-first. He loosened his tense body, lying limp in defeat. Eventually, he rotated his head to the side, peering at his alarm clock. It was only 7:48 pm. “Why am I even home right now? It’s not dark!” Eddie groaned before squeezing his eyes shut. He reached forward, yanking his pillow over his head.

He rolled over on his back, lifting the pillow from his face to stare at the ceiling blankly. “‘Our date.’”

The words Richie had said earlier that day floated around Eddie’s mind, and he felt his cheeks get warm. “Was that really a date? My first real one?” he thought in disbelief. He sat up, glancing around before getting onto his feet.

He could sneak out if he wanted to. And though he did, he stopped himself. More so, the voices in the back of his mind did. The ones that doubted everything he was told, that were paranoid and snarky. The ones that told him he really was his mother’s son. Because what accompanied the memories of what Richie had said were the words he had said. And though those were minuscule, it forced him to recall how he had treated the boy in the start. Richie had comforted him and told him that it was okay, but Eddie couldn’t make himself believe that. He always found himself being reminded to be nicer, less controlling.

So maybe it was selfish of him to throw his shoes on and tiptoe downstairs.

Eddie tapped on Richie’s window, anxiously checking his surroundings for the billionth time. Due to sudden construction, he had to go a different route. This one went dangerously close to the area in which the Bowers lived. Fortunately for him, he didn’t see signs of Henry anywhere. The window slid open.

”There you are!” Richie exclaimed. Eddie immediately felt a weight being lifted off his chest and hurried over to the back door. He only waited for a minute or 2 before it opened and Richie brought him inside. It was 9:00 pm or so by the time Eddie finally got there, since he had procrastinated in every way possible during his trek there. The Tozier residence was dead silent, the only sound being the ticking of a clock. Eddie peeked into the living room briefly before Richie shut the bedroom door behind them, and saw Mr. Tozier passed out on the couch. “I didn’t know if you were gonna come tonight,” Richie said, turning to close the window and the curtains.

Eddie swallowed back tears. He had no idea what he had done to deserve this kind of love, and his self-doubts were consuming him whole right then. ”Yeah,” he whispered, cursing himself when his voice accidentally cracked. Richie’s eyes softened in the way they always did when he realized that that night would be dedicated to calming Eddie down. Eddie could recognize it, and felt both guilty and appreciative at the same time.

”What’s wrong?” Richie asked, approaching him cautiously. 

“I feel like a piece of shit,” he murmured, watching the floor in embarrassment.

”For what?”

”Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about!” Eddie said, unintentionally raising his voice. Richie’s expression became a little panicked, and he shushed him, glancing over at the door. Eddie acknowledged it, but struggled to mellow out. 

“I don’t,” Richie insisted. 

“I act like such an ass, and—“ Eddie paused to prevent himself from starting to cry like some baby, “I’m just like my mom.”

Richie’s stomach dropped, and though he was somewhat nervous to get close, he pulled Eddie into an embrace and could feel him shake. “No, you’re not,” he said firmly. “Not at all.” 

Eddie let out a choked sob uncontrollably and squeezed Richie tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Richie shook his head.

“You don’t have to be. Don’t say shit like that,” he reassured him, running a hand up and down his back comfortingly. “Your mom’s the piece of shit, okay? And I’m not afraid to say that. You— you have every fucking right to be angry. You aren’t a jerk for that.” Eddie finally moved his arms— which had been glued to his sides— and wrapped them around Richie, who melted at his touch. “Okay, okay, let’s lie down,” he said as Eddie’s stifled cries continued, though they were softer. Eddie nodded in response.

They resumed their position in the bed, and Eddie felt himself calm down quickly. He never failed to humiliate himself, but Richie didn’t seem to mind. 

Suddenly, Eddie wriggled out of Richie’s grasp, who gave him a confused expression. Feeling risky and like he had nothing (and everything) to lose, he lunged and kissed Richie deeply, pressing into him. Maybe it was because he was feeling emotional, or maybe the hunger he felt was catching up to him, but he hesitantly allowed his hands to travel up Richie’s t-shirt, caressing his pale skin, interrupting their kiss to pull the shirt over his head. Richie shivered, despite how warm it was in the room. His eyes widened and watched him hopefully, but also incredibly shyly. He hadn’t been expecting this at all, but he was admittedly excited.

“Are you—“ Richie started before being cut off by Eddie’s lips connecting to his once more. Eddie leaned away to pull his own shirt off swiftly. “Are you…” He spluttered again, unable to finish his sentence. He sat up, his skin on fire.

Before either of them could speak, he moved forward and pulled Eddie down under him, gently, somewhat nervously kissing his neck as if it was his first time doing so. He had one hand on the mattress next to Eddie, the fingers of the other running through his hair. Eddie’s own hands trailed Richie’s hips, fidgeting with the waistline of his pants.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing next, but Eddie seemingly did.

”Agh…” Richie groaned as he opened his eyes, rubbing them aggressively. He lolled his head over to check his clock, squinting. Not even 6:00 am. He noted several articles of clothing of his on the ground and went red. “Holy fuck,” he thought, hurriedly setting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. His blanket was up to his torso, and he felt like he was overheating. He rolled over slowly, now facing Eddie’s bare back and his brown hair. He was still fast asleep, as far as Richie could tell. Unsure what to do, he lay back down, staring at the ceiling fan. “Oh my God,” he exhaled. 

When he couldn’t sit still any longer, he carefully got up, threw some clothes on, and darted to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and saw that his hair was frazzled, and he did indeed have another bright mark on his neck. “Fuck!” he yell-whispered. “Bev’s gonna be on my fucking ass all over again. My mom, too.”

An idea clicked in his mind abruptly. He quietly walked back towards his room, peeking inside. Eddie was still sleeping. He closed the door behind him, locking it. It was still early in the morning, and his parents wouldn’t be awake for another 2 hours, probably. Taking a deep breath, he opened the window, repeatedly checking behind him to make sure Eddie didn’t wake up. Once he deemed it safe enough, he clumsily climbed outside, tripping and biting his lip to stay quiet. “Ow.”

It felt weird to be out so early, when the air still felt damp and dew still lingered on the grass. There were few cars out, only the poor chumps who had to be at work. “Where is Bev’s house?” he asked himself blankly, stopping. He had been there maybe twice and headed off, hoping for the best. He knew it was one of the apartment complexes, and hoped that that was enough to figure it out.

As he approached the building, he noticed the redheaded girl standing outside, cigarette in hand. When she saw him, her eyebrows raised in confusion. “Richie?” she called out, walking towards him. He jogged over, anxiety pulsing through him when he caught her reaction to his neck, again.

”Don’t say shit. I need your help.”

”Only if you tell me who did it.”

”Fine.”

Richie sat on a chair in Bev’s room as she fiddled around with a small fabric bag. “What’s that?” he asked.

”Foundation,” she replied casually.

”Foundations of what?”

“Jesus,” she rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’ll cover that up,” she clarified, walking up to him with a brush and a small peachy-colored bottle. He tensed, but she motioned for him to just sit still. She swiped the brush on the tender skin of his neck, and he flinched harshly.

”Why is it so cold!”

”Stop moving!” she instructed, grabbing his shoulder to hold him in place. He clenched his jaw and stared at the floor. As she worked, she asked the question Richie had been dreading: “Who?”

”You… you can’t say anything, okay? To anyone. I’m being dead serious— it’s really fucking important. Promise?”

”Promise,” she replied, a little nervously but also very curiously. Richie sighed, wringing his hands. He knew this was stupid and that this wasn’t necessary, but a part of him had to get it off his chest. “Fuck,” he thought, shutting his eyes.

”…Eddie.”

Chapter Text

Eddie sat up groggily, glancing around blankly. He was in Richie’s room— but was alone. The clock read 6:45 am. Hit with a wave of fear, he quickly got up and threw clothes on, noting that Richie’s own clothes were no longer on the floor, from where Eddie had thrown them off the night prior. When he remembered this, he froze in place. “Did that really—“ he interrupted himself with an incredulous laugh and waved it off. “Whatever,” he exhaled, his face reddening.

That was a future concern; for now, he wanted nothing more than to locate his boyfriend. “Boyfriend?” he immediately thought, correcting himself and shaking his head. “Shut up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw that the window was wide open, the curtains slightly blowing in the breeze.

”Are you serious?” Bev gasped, stepping away. Richie’s stomach dropped. He prepared himself for the worst, realizing this was a humongous mistake. But Beverly’s reaction didn’t seem hateful or judgmental, just shocked. “Actually?” she repeated, stepping back forward to fix up an anomaly in his neck makeup. Richie felt tears sting his eyes, but he swallowed them back. He had never come out to anyone before— besides Eddie, obviously— and terror was instilled in him, even though Bev wasn’t being mean about it.

”I… Um…” he choked, having to stop in embarrassment. Her eyebrows knitted together sympathetically and she placed a hand on his shoulder.

”Whoa, whoa, it’s okay,” Bev assured him warmly. “It’s okay, Rich. I won’t tell anyone.” She patted him, looking him in the eyes promisingly. When he looked like he was about to cry, she hugged him tightly, making sure not to touch his neck. He smiled at her appreciatively, rubbing his eyes, incredibly relieved.

”You can’t say anything to Eds, either,” he insisted firmly. Beverly nodded quickly, understanding. 

“Got it,” she agreed. “I swear on it.”

”Thank you,” he said, finally able to take a deep breath. “Can I see now?” he asked, pointing at the mirror. Bev jumped up and snatched it, thrusting it in front of Richie’s face. He took it and held it up, analyzing what she had done. It was pretty good, he and Bev had relatively similar skin colors— they were both pale and freckled. The hickey wasn’t visible anymore, at least not to someone who didn’t know it existed. “Bitchin’” he grinned, handing the mirror back.

”So are you 2, like, together now?” she inquired curiously. “Or do you just kiss sometimes?” Richie giggled at this uncontrollably, his hand flying up to his mouth. He exhaled and paused to think. He really didn’t know, but he hoped they were. “I mean, if we aren’t now, then what the fuck?” he thought. But he only shrugged in response.

”Maybe,” he simply said.

”Where is he now?” she pressed, tilting her head to the side like a puppy. “Oh fuck,” he thought, suddenly panicked. He had forgotten that Eddie was still in his room.

”Um… probably his house,” Richie lied casually, now completely distracted with worry. “I should probably leave though. When does your dad get home?” he asked. She glanced at her watch.

”Shit. He gets home any minute!” she exclaimed, ushering him out of the chair and then out the room entirely. “C’mon!” Bev guided him to the front door, past the living room and TV, and shut it behind him, leaving him by himself in the stuffy, dark hallway. He looked around at all the other shut doors, and at the stained floor. Richie sighed and found his way outside, breathing in the fresh morning air. After a moment of collecting his bearings, he snapped to reality and rushed home.

Eddie hesitantly crawled out the window, landing neatly on his feet. He peered around the corner, and didn’t see Richie anywhere. He had no idea where to search first. As he began to just retreat home, he saw Richie turn onto the street, speed-walking. When he sawEddie, he bounded over quickly, borderline running. “Where were you?” Eddie demanded, crossing his arms. Richie’s expression faltered and he stopped.

”Needed some air. Sorry,” he apologized, looking away. Eddie started feeling an overbearing insecurity— why was Richie not there when he woke up? After all that? What was he actually doing? They began walking back toward the house, Eddie looking at him confused when Richie went to the window. “Oh, the bedroom door is locked. Incase my parents… you know,” he explained, clumsily pulling himself through the window. Once he got inside properly, he reached for Eddie and helped him through as well. He wiped his hands on his pants before sticking them in his pockets.

”…Are we gonna talk about it?” Eddie mumbled, feeling sort of humiliated. Richie gulped awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

“What- what about it?” he said nervously, fidgeting with his hands.

”I don’t know… I’ve never done shit like that before,” Eddie said, unable to make eye contact, clenching his jaw tightly. “I mean, I sort of never thought I would. Or that I’d even get the chance to date someone in high school.”

”Me neither,” Richie replied, also shy. “Does that make me your- um- boyfriend? Is that the right word? I don’t know- Um,” he continued nervously, rambling, his heart beating out of his chest. Eddie’s eyes widened, not expecting him to actually say what was on his mind. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, especially amused by Richies inability to shut up. Eddie stepped forward, cupping Richie’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together sweetly.

”Yeah. I think so,” he nodded, hugging Richie closely, the side of his head leaning against his collarbones. “Y’know, that was… um, crazy,” he laughed nervously after a moment, Richie joining in.

“I mean, it didn’t suck though,” he added, Eddie feeling the vibrations of his laughter. Eddie rolled his eyes and playfully reeled his arm back to punch Richie’s.

”Oh, shut the fuck up!” he grinned. He’d never been so attached to someone before, not even with his childhood friends. He wondered if this was how Bill and Bev felt about each other. Over Richie’s shoulder, he saw that it was now past 7:00, meaning his mother could be getting up any minute now. Eddie had begun to pick up on patterns with the Toziers, especially their sleep schedule, for obvious reasons. Wentworth typically slept in an hour later than Maggie, and went to bed earlier too. As if on cue, shuffling sounds emerged from the pleasant silence.

”My mom,” Richie groaned, Eddie releasing him. Richie walked quietly to his door, leaning against it to hear any other noises coming from the other side.

”Rich? Are you up in there?” the voice of his mother asked, closer to his room than he realized, jiggling the door-handle. He nearly jumped out of his skin and clutched his heart. “Jesus Christ,” he thought. He glanced over at Eddie, who had a hand over his mouth so that he wouldn’t laugh.

”Uh- yeah, mom!” Richie replied, his tone stiff and suspicious.

”Is someone else in there? I thought I heard somebody,” Maggie inquired, most definitely picking up on her son’s awkward reaction.

”What? No?” he responded, doing better this time to sound genuine. Eddie had gone pale, and moved out of the field of view from the door if it was opened. He stared at the bare wooden floor, tapping his leg nervously. After what felt like ages, she spoke again.

”Alright then. I’m gonna make breakfast, so come out soon, ‘kay?”

”Okay,” Richie finished, waiting until he heard the creaks of the kitchen floorboards before letting out a sigh of relief. He backed away from the door, still feels anxiety pulsing through him. He turned to Eddie, who still had a worried expression on his face. “Hey, it’s fine. She doesn’t know. We’re just ‘friends’ around her. Well, around everyone,” Richie clarified reassuringly, easing the tension a little bit. “For now at least, right?”

“For now?” Eddie reiterated, raising an eyebrow. Richie shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed for being naive.

”Never-mind. I’m being fucking stupid,” he muttered, waving it off. Eddie knew what he meant— that maybe they could tell some people at some point. He wished for that too, but didn’t think that day would ever come. Derry, 1991. Not exactly the safest place for people like them.

”No, no, I get it. Someday, maybe,” Eddie said sympathetically, but it didn’t help much. 

“Yeah,” Richie nodded solemnly, watching the window carefully. It was still cracked open, and didn’t help with the temperature in Richie’s room.

Eddie had told him he needed a fan or something, that it was a million degrees in there. Richie had just rolled his eyes and sarcastically suggested that they stayed in Eddie’s room, if it was so bad. Eddie had glared at him, giving him a look that sparked a swift apology.

At 8:03 am, right as Eddie was about to sneak back home to wash up, there was a knock at the Tozier residence’s front door. Richie’s head jerked up, a confused frown on his face. After a moment, his mother shouted for him once more.

”I have to leave to run groceries, get the door!”

”Okay!” he yelled back, making Eddie cover his ears. “Sorry,” he said when he noticed. He signaled for Eddie to wait for him, quickly slipping out of the room and peeking out into the hall. He passed his mom, who fiddled with her car keys and purse. She wore a light blue sundress, and her blonde hair was curled and tucked behind her ears, revealing her white pearly earrings. When she saw him she hastily hugged him, setting her stuff down briefly.

”Be good, eat your breakfast. It’s in the microwave,” she instructed, looking him in the eye. “Oh, and the door,” she reminded, shooing him away. She picked up her things again, and left out the back door. “Is she on a tight schedule or what?” Richie thought jokingly. He quietly checked the living room, and his father was no longer there. He sheepishly peeked inside his parent’s bedroom, and he was sleeping in his own bed. “Good,” he whispered to himself, jogging to his room, opening the door. “Okay, all clear captain,” he said in a formal soldier-like voice. Eddie ignored him and walked past.

”Who’s here?” he asked impatiently, nodding at the door. Richie hurried over, hesitantly opening it only enough to where he was visible.

”Stan?” he blinked in confusion. Stanley had a panicked look on his face, and he fidgeted frantically. “What is it?”

”Bowers,” he stated ominously. Eddie suddenly pushed past Richie to see Stan.

”Wait, what about him?” he said in a concerned but firm tone. Stan watched him strangely, not comprehending what was happening.

”Eddie? What are you doing here?” he asked. Eddie’s eyes widened and his face flushed slightly. He spluttered with his words, so Richie interrupted him.

”We had a sleepover. What did Bowers do?” he said dismissively, throwing his hand up in an it’s whatever gesture. Stan shook his head and returned his focus back to why he had shown up to Richie’s house in the first place.

”Right. He’s- he’s at the ‘Yard right now. The others are still there.”

”He’s what?” Eddie exclaimed, eyes wide. Stan gave him a helpless look, one that seemed like he was holding something back. Eddie ran off, in the direction of Richie’s room.

”Where are you going?” Richie asked, throwing his hands up.

”Getting my shoes!”

Richie and Eddie followed Stan down to The Junkyard as he sped-walked as fast as he could without leaving the other 2 in the dust. They turned the corner around the chain-link fences, and lo-and-behold, Henry Bowers stood on their field, glaring at the Losers, facing away from Stan, Eddie, and Richie. Not only that, but Belch Huggins and Patrick Hockstetter were there as well.

“You didn’t say they were here too!” Eddie whispered in Stan’s ear in frustration. Stan stood in place wordlessly, like a ghost. Richie saw that Beverly had seen them, and she did her best to conceal it. Richie nudged Eddie’s arm.

”What do we do?” he asked quietly. Eddie seemed lost in thought, jaw clenched.

”How did you sneak away to get us?” he pressed suspiciously, not acknowledging Richie’s question and instead talking to Stanley. Stan’s face was strained and he had a guilty expression. 

“He made me do it,” he said defensively, his eyes and stance restless. Richie shushed him, not tearing his gaze away from the Bowers gang. He knew that they’d notice the boys any minute, and that they’d soon figure out why Bowers was looking for them. “This is gonna get really fucking bad,” Richie thought, feeling sweaty. At this point, everyone but the assholes had realized they were there, and stared at them expectantly. Because of this blatancy, Henry whirled around, making direct eye contact with Richie. The look in his eyes flickered from rage to a sudden amusement. He silently challenged him to come closer, his posture strong and incredibly intimidating.

”Get over here, fuckface. You know why I’m here. You fucked up,” Bowers shouted tauntingly, the weird and ever-present giddiness in his tone. Eddie worriedly turned to Richie, grabbing his wrist. Richie gently removed his hand, his eyes speaking for themselves. It’s fine, I got this. After a long pause, Eddie nodded and let him leave.

”I did?” Richie questioned, approaching Henry carefully. He had no idea how he was gonna work this out, but figured that he probably wouldn’t be handling it as well as he could be. Henry’s gaze never wavered, and he stood with utmost confidence.

”You bet your ass you did. Don’t ever bring up my old man. Alright, faggot?” he spat. Richie kept his composure, hoping Henry would interpret him as not being afraid. Because he was a bit scared— Henry most definitely looked like the kind of person who pummeled younger kids and stuffed their heads in toilets. Beverly had even told him that he had been held back twice, and that, somehow, Henry was in the same grade as them.

”Go blow your dad, you mullet-wearing asshole,” Richie retorted. He saw Bev’s eyebrows raise practically off her forehead. Even Patrick and Belch looked surprised. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and see Eddie’s reaction, knowing he’d immediately feel terrible in his moment of triumph.

”What did you just say to me?” Henry laughed incredulously. He walked closer, making Richie tense up, though he stood his ground. 

“I said—“ Richie started before Henry shoved him to the ground harshly, knocking the wind out his thin frame. He heard the Losers gasp as he sat up with some difficulty. “Fuck you,” he coughed riskily, bringing the back of his hand over his mouth. His elbows had scraped against the ground, and stung, and his palms were now caked with dirt. Henry loomed over him, a violent glint in his eyes that definitely unnerved Richie. When he glanced behind him, he saw Stan’s hand grip Eddie’s arm, stopping him from doing something idiotic.

”Uh-uh,” Henry shook his head. “Eyes off your wheezy little boyfriend, and over here,” he scowled, snapping his fingers by Richie’s head. Apprehensively, he turned back to face Henry. Almost instantly, Henry raised his foot and kicked Richie back down by his chest, his head slamming into the ground with an alarming pressure.

”Stop!” Eddie screamed, waving his arms. Richie had a dirty shoe print on his shirt, and a grimace on his face. There was about a 10 foot distance on both sides from the Losers and the Bowers gang, and nobody moved. After a moment of trying to collect his bearings, he flinched as Henry bent down beside him.

”I’ll fucking kill you. You keep my old man’s name out of your fucking mouth. If you don’t, I’ll kill you and your little fag friend. And don’t think I’m fibbing,” he whispered forcefully in Richie’s ear, filling him with fear. When he didn’t reply, Henry continued. “Got it?” he barked, jabbing Richie’s shoulder aggressively. Richie nodded quickly, both scared and pissed beyond belief.

”I got it,” he said, his own eyes cold and angry.

”Good,” Henry smirked, his voice returning to a normal volume as he stood back up. “Glad we came to an understanding.” Eddie watched in horror as Henry and his goons left, taunting the others the entire time. Before they were even out of sight, he dashed over to Richie, the rest of the Losers joining him.

”Rich! Are you okay?” Eddie asked, helping him sit. Richie rubbed his temples in a circular motion, his eyes squeezed shut. Eddie hesitantly reached and pushed Richie’s head to the side to check the back of it, and saw that there was a bit of blood amongst all the dust. 

“S-sh-shit!” Bill gasped. Richie winced as Eddie gently poked around the wound, trying to see the extent of it. It seemed to be only a tiny cut, presumably from one of the various rocks and pebbles in the dirt.

”Jeez, you’re covered in mud!” Stan commented, inching away.

”Damn, really?” Richie said sarcastically, failing to swipe off the dirt that was now imprinted into his clothes. He planted his hands on the ground, and dragged himself up to stand wobbly. “My head fucking hurts,” he groaned, feeling the blood on his fingertips. When he saw, he laughed in disbelief. “I feel like I’m in middle school again.”

”It’s okay. It’s just a cut. I don’t know if you’ve got a concussion, though,” Eddie observed, his hand clutching Richie’s shoulder. Richie nodded, glancing at each of the Losers in complete and utter embarrassment.

”And you guys play baseball with those guys?” he scoffed, his face warm. The pain was returning, and his elbows and lungs burned.

”Unfortunately,” Bev said dryly. “You get why we haven’t won?”

”Isn’t there a referee?”

”Yeah, but Henry or his fucking friends’ll hurt someone and rig the game beforehand.”

“But Juh-Juh-Georgie was uh-unrelated. We w-w-were already s-sc-screwed, anyways,” Bill said, hands on his hips.

”But you know what? We are still gonna beat them. I know it,” Mike jumped in, his leather mitt still on his hand. 

“Yeah, you keep saying that, but what’s so different this year? You don’t have your old player, who was definitely way more experienced than I am.”

Eddie, who had been itching to clean Richie up, interjected. “You’re a better player than you think you are. Braver, too.” Richie blushed and smiled, hiding his face. “You need to clean off, you’re filthy,” Eddie added teasingly, a strong hint of concern in his tone too.

“Q-q-quarry?” Bill suggested.

”That’ll burn him!” Eddie said, exasperated. Richie didn’t say anything, his head still throbbing painfully. He felt incredibly lightheaded, and abruptly grabbed Stan’s upper arm before he fell. Stan flinched and watched him, his eyebrows knitting together.

”Are you okay?” he asked, holding Richie up. 

”Yeah— yeah. Sorry,” he shook his head, waving it off. Eddie stared at them with a shameful jealousy, tapping his foot.

”You should sit,” Bev offered. Before Richie could protest, they brought him over to sit on the grass. He looked around, slightly dazed. “Oh, you definitely got concussed,” she commented, squatting in front of him. Richie sighed, dropping his head in his hands.

”Well fuck.”

”At least he didn’t hurt your pretty little face, huh?” Stanley joked, earning an annoyed glare from Richie.

”Oh shut up!” he said, accidentally letting out a giggle. Stan grinned, but stopped when he saw the look Eddie was giving him. The small giggles turned quickly into silence as a strange cloud washed over Richie’s face. He clenched his jaw and held his head.

”Richie?” Bev said, still crouching by him.

”Maybe he needs a doctor,” Ben mentioned, glancing at each of them. Eddie knew that if his mother discovered he’d been within a 100 foot radius of Derry General he’d never hear the end of it. But Richie was acting a lot like he needed it, even if he didn’t have many apparent injuries.

”I uh-uh-agree,” Bill said, watching Richie nervously. Hesitantly, Eddie agreed as well. Mike was the most muscular of the group— considering he lived on a farm— so he helped Richie around, even though he was only 5,7. Richie was the tallest and scrawniest of them, so it balanced out. Eddie led the way, since he was so familiar with their destination.

”I can walk by myself!” Richie persisted, trying to squirm away.

”Just listen! We don’t want you fainting or something,” Bev said. Richie rolled his eyes (which hurt) and allowed Mike to keep his arm hooked under his armpit. 

Richie sat in the waiting room with all the Losers, leaning against the back of his chair, his glasses on his head. “Eventful day, huh?” Bev teased from the left of him. He lolled his head to the side, watching her with an annoyed expression.

”Yeah, right,” he groaned, shielding his eyes from the bright fluorescent lights. Eddie sat right of him, bouncing his knee anxiously. They had been waiting for half an hour, and even then it was still early in the day. In fact, Eddie wasn’t sure if his mother was awake yet.

”I can’t see, what time is it?” Richie asked, nudging Eddie’s leg with his hand. He pointed towards an analog clock on the wall.

”It’s around 9:15.”

”Jesus,” Richie sighed, sliding further into the chair.

”Dude, you’re gonna fall off,” Eddie stated blankly. Richie sat up begrudgingly, rubbing his eyes.

”Richard… Tozier?” a woman in a nurse uniform called out, squinting as she read the name off the clipboard she was holding. Richie stood up, clutching the armrests tightly. Instinctively, Eddie also got up and helped him, earning him a curious glance from the nurse. “Are you all here together?” she asked, waving her pen around at all of the Losers, who were staring at her.

”Uh, yeah,” Richie said awkwardly. The nurse pressed her lips together.

”You can come with,” she finally said, speaking directly to Eddie. “Because at least 1 of you should.”

”Okay,” Eddie responded nervously. The nurse waved the 2 along, sending them into a room at the end of the hallway, labeled “09”. Both he and the nurse— whose name was Nurse Anderson— aided Richie in sitting on the crinkly-paper seat that everyone hates. She told them to wait before closing the door behind her, leaving them alone in silence. “How bad does it hurt?” Eddie asked after a minute.

”Bad. But it’s fine,” Richie replied, shrugging. Eventually, he got up and approached the sink across the room.

”Whoa! Sit down,” Eddie ordered, jumping out of his seat and pushing him back towards the chair. Richie rolled his eyes again, but obliged.

”I’m still covered in dirt and it’s really fucking uncomfortable,” he complained. It was true, he was getting dirt all over the paper. Eddie sighed and motioned for him to stay. He went to the sink and clawed out a handful of paper towels from a dispenser. He wet half of them with water, and walked back to Richie, handing them to him.

”Thanks,” he blushed, immediately scrubbing at his hands and elbows, wincing. Eddie grabbed more, and reached over, lightly holding Richie’s head. He froze, and his face went warm.

”Stay still,” Eddie instructed, carefully getting the dust out of Richie’s hair, making his scalp tingle. After a moment of surprise, he returned to cleaning himself off. He was irritated about the condition of his clothes, but deemed it unimportant. “Okay, all good,” Eddie finished, having prepped Richie for whatever they’d need to do for the cut. He stole a quick kiss and quickly went back to his own chair as they waited for the nurse.

”Looks like you cleaned up a bit,” Nurse Anderson said, looking him up and down in approval. She shifted her eyes back to a chart on the table near the sink. She picked it up, studying it thoughtfully. “So you explained to the woman in front that you tripped, and hit your head?”

”Yes,” Richie confirmed. She raised her eyebrows, not believing him at all.

”And the dirt?”

”We were playing baseball.”

”Right…” she said slowly. “Can I see?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” Richie said as she walked up to him, turning his head so she could see the cut, which was slightly bleeding still. “Is it bad?”

”Mm… not too deep. You might need a few stitches, in case,” she replied, marking something down on the chart that neither boy could catch a glimpse of. “And you say your head hurts?”

”A lot,” he admitted, staring at the linoleum floors.

”Are you dizzy? Lightheaded?” she continued. He nodded. “Are the lights making it worse?” he nodded again as she kept writing things down. “Alright then. Anything else hurt?”

”Um,” he started nervously, glancing at Eddie. “My chest.”

”Your chest? From tripping?” she pressed, tilting her head to the side. He sheepishly nodded for the 3rd time. “Where?”

”I don’t know… just… around here?” he tried to explain, waving his hand around his torso unspecifically.

”Any bruising?” she asked. He shrugged. “Okay, well, can you check? If you’re comfortable lifting your shirt up that works too. And your friend could turn around.” Richie hesitantly agreed, nervous as to what she might see. He looked at Eddie, who didn’t move whatsoever, and turned back to the nurse. He peeled his shirt back quickly, and the nurse simply nodded slightly and returned to her chart. Relieved, he dropped the fabric and fidgeted with hands impatiently. “Minimal bruising. Nothing serious.”

”…Okay.”

”You definitely have a concussion, and we should fix up that cut, but other than that you’re alright,” she clarified, clicking her pen and trapping it under the clip of the clipboard. “I’ll have another nurse come check it out in a minute.” Richie and Eddie thanked her, and then she was gone.

The other nurse joined them 10 minutes later, carrying supplies. Richie watched her nervously, which she noticed. “Scared of needles?”

”What! No!” Richie insisted in embarrassment. The nurse chuckled and began prepping him. Eddie could see how nervous he was, and walked over, holding his hand. Richie’s eyes widened in surprise, and he repeatedly looked back and forth from their hands to the nurse. But she didn’t seem to think much about it. Instead, she began the stitching, and Richie let out a sharp ouch! sound. Eddie squeezed his hand tighter as Richie sat stiffly and painfully. His eyes watered slightly, but he took a deep breath.

It only took a couple minutes and the nurse was done, patting his shoulder and saying goodbye to them. “Thank you,” Eddie said in place of Richie, who was still being dramatic. “Okay, c’mon soldier,” Eddie teased as they walked back to the waiting room.

”A-a-are you uh-okay?” Bill asked as soon as the 2 boys returned.

”Yeah, I’m fine,” Richie promised. “Needed a few stitches, but I’m okay.”

”Stitches? That bastard!” Bev exclaimed loudly, in reference to Bowers. Bill shushed her when other people in the waiting room looked at her uncomfortably. Quieter, she asked, “Are you still dizzy?”

”Yeah,” Richie confessed, wanting to move past this subject badly. 

“Let’s get some water,” Eddie suggested, walking away with purpose.

                                                ========================================

“What’s that?”

”Huh?”

”On the back of your head?”

”A cut,” Richie said, poking at his food with his fork. It had been a regular meal, until his father had noticed that Richie was sort of “out of it”. He seemed off— because he was. He had yet to sneak a painkiller, he didn’t want his parents to know he was getting bullied again (though Richie didn’t see it as bullying at that point). He felt less lightheaded after drinking some water, but he wasn’t really hungry, and kept nearly nodding off at the dinner table.

”Are you high?” his father suddenly asked, catching Richie off guard.

”What?” he exclaimed.

”Why are you being different? You smoke?”

”No! I just feel sick,” Richie reasoned, completely surprised. He had been intoxicated once, but only once— maybe twice, at most. And it was at least 2 years prior, because of peer pressure from some jackasses at school. He’d never told anybody about that though, why would he? He wouldn’t ever try that stuff again anyway— he had felt so ill he thought he was gonna die. There were plenty of things he’d done in the past that he would never do again, and it’s what made having a fresh start in Derry not suck so much.

“I’ll trust you on this, son,” Wentworth said slowly, eyes narrowed to slits. Maggie watched them in shock, unmoving.

”Why would you say something like that!” she snapped at her husband, eyebrows furrowed. “Oh shit,” Richie thought, setting his fork down.

”It’s just what it looked like!” Wentworth remarked defensively. “I don’t think our son would do something like that, but look at him!” Richie blinked and felt suddenly insecure and under scrutiny. He showered when he got home, and did what he could to seem normal, but admittedly he was still acting different. His head ached, his mind felt fuzzy, he was exhausted, and he was dizzy— still he tried his best.

“I’m not high, dad,” Richie said, starting to get irritated.

”Alright! Alright!” Wentworth said in exasperation, throwing his hands up in surrender, shaking his head before returning to his food. His mother had cooked chicken and broccoli, which Richie didn’t quite enjoy, but he’d never say that. His mom was a good cook, and was incredibly consistent.

”Where did you get the cut from?” she asked in a concerned tone, turning to look at him.

”Tripped,” he lied, shrugging.

”Okay.”

He went to bed early, hoping to fall asleep quick. Eddie had informed him that he’d let him get rest that night, and that he wouldn’t come by, much to Richie’s unspoken disappointment. He’d also been told that he should take a break from playing ball, but that he should still join them at the ‘Yard, to which he obviously agreed.

So he lied on his bed, bored, the space next to him empty. His shirt was flung on the floor, since his room (per usual) was unbearably hot, and in the dark the bruise was very noticeable. “I should grab an ice pack,” he thought before deciding he was too lazy and dizzy to get up. 

He had taken a Tylenol an hour prior, but it only eliminated the throbbing pain. As he stared at the ceiling fan, he was consumed by random thought processes that kept him awake.

”Literally just last night I was… with… Eddie, and now I have a fucking concussion. Henry Bowers. What a fucking asshole. He’s just like Tom Rogan,” he thought, the name making his blood run cold. “Tom.” 

Middle school wasn’t great for Richie— school in general. He was bullied his whole life, for various reasons. Most of the time it didn’t bother him, in fact he made it worse by being a smart-ass about it. He was able to play it off and not take it seriously, because usually what they said wasn’t true, and they were just being assholes. But he mainly was picked on for his sexuality, which he wasn’t even open about. He guessed that it must’ve just been more obvious back then, or that he just got better at repressing and hiding it. Tom Rogan was a year older than Richie, and pure fucking evil. He was the one who perpetrated all of the physical violence, rather than just making fun of him in the hallways or cafeteria. 

Tom was the kind of boy who hurt animals for fun, hit all his girlfriends, rebelled against his parents, and smoked weed. And he especially hated anyone who was different from him.

Chicago: February 3rd, 1989 // 2:12 pm

”Fuck off!” Richie shouted, backing up against the wall, nearly hitting his head on the paper towel dispenser. His nose was bleeding, and some of the blood was smeared on the back of his hand, a sickening red color. His heart was pounding, and he stared at the boy in front of him in pure fear. His face ached, and he could see a crack in his glasses.

“No,” Tom said matter of factly, getting closer. His knuckles were scarred, but had fresh blood on them— Richie’s blood. Tom’s eyes were wild and frightening, and watched Richie with a scary precision, like a lion hunting it’s prey.

”C’mon man, I didn’t do anything,” Richie pleaded, shaking his head, eyes glued to Tom’s fist. He was telling the truth for the most part, all he did was say something stupid (as always). It was just his nature to do so, he couldn’t just take the insults. He really hadn’t done shit to Tom, but that seemingly did not matter at all.

”Someone’s gotta wipe that ugly grin off your fucking face. Gotta give you a fuckin’ whuppin,’” Tom spat, lunging forward. Richie gasped as Tom clutched the collar of his shirt, fist raised. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

He screamed in pain as Tom’s knee collided with his crotch, making him collapse to the floor in agony.

”Fuck!” he cried out.

”Faggot,” Tom scowled as he left the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him. Richie scooted backwards, jaw clenched and eyes closed. Tears streamed down his face helplessly, making him feel even more humiliated. 

“Fuck,” he repeated quieter, bringing his knees to his chest slowly, dropping his head in his hands. He didn’t even care that the tiled floor was filthy and bacteria ridden, pain was shooting up his body, and the blood from his nose was now wiped on his forearms as well. Moments like these were the ones that instilled terror in him revolving around that word, training him like he was Pavlov’s dog to react in a certain way that always fucked him over.

So there he sat, huddled in the corner of some gross middle-school bathroom, alone and afraid, only 13 years old. He felt cowardly, like some pansy-assed mama’s boy.

A faggot. That’s all he was to anybody.

Chicago: May 7th, 1991 // 3:23 pm

Richie leaned against the brick wall of the school, standing out back by the basketball court. He was risking it all that afternoon, so he might as well have a cigarette to top it all off.

He stared at the pavement patiently, his shoes scuffing the blacktop. There wasn’t anyone there, not even playing basketball. No one in direct sight where he was, but he knew he’d be able to see the streets if he walked 20 feet to his left, around the corner. He could hear the roar of cars, and the screeching of bus tires.

He was waiting for Tom to show up. Richie was the one to demand that they “meet outside” at 3:20, after class. He was a sophomore in high school, but that didn’t mean shit to him that day. So what if he got expelled? If this worked out in his favor, it would be worth it.

”Tozier!”

Richie whipped his head to the side to see the one and only Tom Rogan. Good. Richie pushed away from the wall, tossing his cig onto the ground, stomping on it and waving the smoke out of his face.

”No smoking on campus, dipshit. Mommy’ll be mad at you, you know,” Tom taunted, his strides purposeful and relaxed. Richie felt his nerves act up, but he had to remain calm. He let Tom get within 10 feet before standing up straighter, trying to make his posture stronger. Fortunately, the other boy picked up on this and stopped. He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You really want to do this, you no good homo?” Tom hissed. Richie’s eyes lost their edge for a moment, but he shook it off.

”Yeah, I do, you no good hick,” he said coldly. Tom moved closer, and Richie fought to not retreat.

”Alright then,” Tom replied emotionlessly, rolling up his white sleeves. “You can do this,” Richie thought to himself, taking a deep breath. “You’re taller than him, and he’s not smart, he’s an idiot.” he stepped up, hoping Tom would move first— he had no idea how to actually initiate the fight, or really how to fight at all, he just needed the closure of winning.

As he expected, Tom abruptly threw a punch his way, which Richie narrowly dodged— it struck the side of his head rather than the middle of his face. He quickly rebounded and thrusted his own fist forward, striking Tom in the nose, making him yell and throw his hands up to his face. Both their eyes widened, and Richie quickly snapped back to attention, hitting him again while he had the chance.

Eventually he was able to shove Tom to the ground, tossing punch after punch, each one relieving a little more rage that was boiling over inside him. He wasn’t even thinking anymore, just acting on pure impulse. Tom shrieked from under him, bloody and battered. Richie could barely even process when a cop yanked him off of Tom, sending him skidding across the ground. He could tell there were 2 cops now— 1 helped Tom sit up, 1 screaming at him, pulling him off the ground and throwing handcuffs around his sore wrists. But he wasn’t even mad or upset anymore, and he definitely did not regret anything.

He was pushed into a cop car, his brain foggy and his knuckles a mess. Soon enough his senses sharpened again, and he was able to tune in the loud shouting of the police officer from the front seat.

”…You’re going back to the station!”

”What…?”

”You’re under arrest,” the cop said, which finally clicked in Richie’s head.

”Oh shit.”

”Yeah, ‘oh shit.’ You probably broke that damn kid’s nose.” Richie couldn’t help but grin at this with a strong sense of pride. Luckily enough the cop didn’t notice it.

The same day // 5:07 pm

The station was bustling and crowded, and Richie simply sat in a chair, still cuffed. His hands stung badly, and he still was filled with adrenaline. A couple feet away his parents were talking with a different man, who had a badge peeking out of his shirt pocket. He shuffled his feet on the ground, observing the fake potted plants beside him.

Occasionally his father would angrily glance over at him, which would force him to stop staring nosily and to just look at the floor again.

“What the fuck was that about!” his father exclaimed, completely enraged.

”Went! Language!” his mother scolded, smacking his arm. He ignored her.

”No! This is complete bullshit! Young man, you better explain yourself, and why we just had to pay your God damn bail!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. Richie recoiled back in fear as one of the officers unlocked his handcuffs. The instant they were off, his father hauled him out of the seat and out the door of the station, gripping his arm fiercely. Wentworth pushed him in their own car (which gave Richie a shocking feeling of deja vu) and he sat grumpily in the back, rubbing his wrists, which were ringed.

”What happened, Richard?” Maggie pressed, turning around to face him. He lifted his gaze to look at her, not feeling nearly as ashamed as he should’ve been. He didn’t feel bad about what he did to Tom, but telling his parents why he did it was much different. He didn’t think anyone would understand, or wouldn’t view him as a violent freak for it.

”He hit me first,” Richie said, which was true. His goal in this conversation would be to be as honest as he could, vitalizing as many white lies as possible.

”So you beat him to a fucking pulp?” his father demanded loudly. Richie flinched again, scooting further away from the drivers seat, into the corner.

”No…” he started, unsure what to say. “He… he… I had to do it.”

”Had to? You had to do it? You didn’t have to do shit! And now you’re going to get yourself expelled!”

”I’m sorry,” Richie mumbled, making himself look out the window so his parents wouldn’t see the state he was in. He knew damn well he’d probably get expelled.

He knew this would happen, and it did. So he’d have to accept the consequences.

Derry: May 26th, 1991 // 8:09 pm

”What do you think?” Maggie asked, her arm around Richie’s shoulder. Their new house wasn’t much smaller than their last one, but it was still incredibly different and strange. It was sort of hard to see, it was dark out, and obviously none of the lights were on inside. It looked like a haunted house to him.

”It’s… nice,” he replied unsurely, studying it carefully, listening to the slamming of the car trunk behind him. 

”Well, you better get used to it,” Wentworth said, spite in his voice.

Chapter Text

Derry: July 1991 // 10:10 am

Richie shot awake in bed, turning to see that Eddie wasn’t there. Moving that fast made his head feel like it was gonna explode, and he was drenched in sweat. “Holy fuck,” he exhaled, his chest heaving. Memories from Chicago had plagued his mind, and he did not like it one bit. He tried to focus on the positives of Illinois, though there were few. He had a couple… acquaintances… at best… they were really just a couple of kids who treated him like shit (the same ones who pressured him into things he still regretted).

He liked city life, the liveliness and loudness. He actually enjoyed how there was so much constantly going on; Derry was incredibly under-stimulating for him. It was too quiet and empty— he missed hearing the late-night traffic, the bands playing in bars, the persistent smell of smoke and rain. But Derry wasn’t awful; he had friends! Actual friends. 

And a boyfriend. One that he was definitely missing, even if it hadn’t even been a day since he last saw him. His clock read 10:12 am. His eyes widened, and he shoved his glasses on his face, tripping on his blanket as he tried to get out of bed, falling over. “Ow!” he groaned, lying on the floor for an extra moment in exasperation. Slowly, he planted his hands on the ground, hauling himself up. He opened his closet, scanning over his few clothing garments and plucking a white t-shirt out, pulling it over his head. He slipped on one of his infamous Hawaiian shirts, leaving it unbuttoned. 

After fishing out a pair of jeans and yanking them on, Richie hurried out of his room.

”You’re up late,” his mother observed, looking up from her book. She sat on their living room couch, her right leg resting over her left, a dress draped over both of them. Buster ran up to him, licking his hand and trying to jump on him, nearly knocking him over. He quietly scolded him and shooed him away.

”Yeah. Was really tired, I guess,” he responded numbly, standing in the doorway uncomfortably. Maggie didn’t say anything else, returning to the novel she was reading. “I’m gonna go out,” he said, pointing at the front door with his thumb.

”Alright,” she replied absently, flipping the page. He sighed and walked out the door, lightly shutting it behind him.

”Rich!” Eddie called out. “Was wondering where you were,” he smiled, jogging over to Richie as he walked towards the group in the field. Richie was a little nervous being there, and he could almost feel the back of his head hurt even more.

”Slept in,” he said, his odd tone only noticeable to Eddie. Eddie gave him a concerned look, fighting to keep his hands off Richie, itching to hug him. But that’d probably arouse suspicion considering all of their friends were 15 fucking feet behind them, sitting in the shade.

”Are you okay?” he asked softly, leaning forward. Richie shook his head.

”I’m fine. Wish you were with me last night, though,” he grinned (though he didn’t mean it the way it was interpreted). Eddie went red and pushed Richie’s arm.

”Shut up!” he yell-whispered, waving him off. Richie laughed and threw his arm around Eddie’s shoulder as they walked over to the rest of the Losers, who were listening to some long story Beverly was telling them, who was incredibly expressive with her gestures.

”Whatcha talkin’ about?” Richie asked, letting his arm drop and land back at his side (much to Eddie’s disappointment). Bev’s eyes lit up.

”Richie! I was just telling them a story about this girl from school. Do you know Mr. Keene?” Richie nodded slightly. “He has a daughter, Greta. She’s a fucking witch, I tell you!” Bev said, throwing her hands up dramatically.

”What’d she do?” he inquired, tilting his head to the side curiously. Eddie hid a small smile at that with his hand.

”I saw her yesterday. I was in town, and I saw her at the pharmacy. Well, leaving the pharmacy. Her dad was waving goodbye, and she didn’t see me, right? I’m just walking down the sidewalk, right? BOOM!” she yelled suddenly, making all of the boys flinch. “Smacks right into me. I was all like, ‘What the fuck!’ and whatever, and she starts cussing me out! Like, you weren’t paying attention, bitch! But anyways— she got her bubblegum all over my freaking shirt. And naturally, I was mad, of course,” she ranted, the others barely processing anything she was saying. “So we got into a bit of a catfight on the street,” she added casually, now catching their attention.

”Actually?” Richie raised an eyebrow. Bev nodded.

”Yeah! I won, obviously. A lot of hair pulling, and she’s got way more hair than I do,” she fluffed up her short ginger curls with one hand, smirking.

”You and Rich are both catastrophically careless,” Stan commented, rolling his eyes playfully.

”Ooh, big words from Stan the Man,” Richie said dramatically, doing jazz hands. “Another nickname,” Eddie noted mentally. This sparked a little jealousy, but Richie had given him plenty of stupid nicknames (none of which he admitted to liking).

Eddie actually found himself to be jealous of Stan and Richie’s companionship on numerous occasions— even though most of their conversations were stupid arguments. But it was more than that. They could have conversations with their eyes, even if they hadn’t known each other that long. They just had chemistry in that way.

But Eddie just kept reminding himself that Richie was his, and that he had nothing to worry about.

”I mean, you two are the only ones getting into dumb fights,” Stan pointed out, his elbow on his knee and his head resting on one of his hands. Bill let out a mock offended gasp.

”I-I guh-g-get into fuh-fuh-fights too!” he said defensively, a bright and entertained smile crossing Stan’s face in response.

”It’s not a good thing,” Stan laughed as Bill crossed his arms. “Mr. Tough Guy,” he teased. Bill huffed and mumbled something inaudible under his breath. Bev giggled, leaning against Bill’s arm, sitting close next to him. Eddie was forced to watch Richie sit next to Stanley, though, and couldn’t be affectionate with his own boyfriend (a thought that sent a pang of sadness through his heart). Instead, he sat between Bev (whom he still held a certain distaste for at the moment) and Mike, Richie sitting across from him. 

Eddie watched him intently, hoping to lock eyes, to try and communicate wordlessly like he did with Stan. But Richie didn’t look his way— but to be fair, he seemed rather out of it in general. Eddie wanted to ask if something had happened or if it was his head hurting, but he remained silent. Richie himself had gone relatively quiet— in comparison to how loud he usually was, at least.

”You okay?” Stan asked in a low voice, subtly leaning towards Richie so he could hear him. Richie snapped to focus and flinched before realizing it was just Stan talking to him. He did want to tell Stan, in all honesty. He would be less nervous telling Stan; he didn’t want Eddie to look at him differently. He didn’t want to seem crazy, or, subjectively worse, weak. He knew there was a good chance Stan would make fun of him (not seriously, but still), but that wasn’t as scary.

After a moment of thinking, he stared at Stan, speaking telepathically. “Let’s talk.”

Stan nodded slowly. “Richie and I are gonna get water; his head still hurts,” he announced to the group, helping Richie stand. The others agreed and thought nothing of it, but Eddie glared at the two. “What the fuck?” he thought, his heart beating faster. Soon enough, Stan and Richie were out of sight, so all he could do was try and push the notion away. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

”What is it?” Stan asked. They still stood nearby, under a different tree to avoid the blazing sun. Richie watched him anxiously, an emotion Stan wasn’t familiar with on his face. “What?” he repeated, starting to become concerned.

”I had a nightmare— or flashback. I don’t know.”

”About…?”

”What really made my family move here,” Richie said carefully. Stan was both nervous and curious and glanced around them.

”What do you mean?”

”Back in Chicago,” Richie paused, “I got in trouble. With the police.”

”What?” Stan yell-whispered, eyes wide.

”Well, I got into a fight with this fucking douchebag, and I went too far.”

”Did you kill him?”

”No!” Richie exclaimed. “No. I just— I broke his nose… fucked up his face. Someone called the cops, and I got arrested. And expelled,” he explained carefully. Stan listened in shock. He couldn’t envision Richie doing something like that.

”Why’d you do it?” he questioned, inching closer so they were huddling in secrecy, as if they weren’t already by themselves. Richie didn’t care; he was stressed.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. Every fucking day for years that son of a bitch tormented me. And last night it was all I could think about.”

”Why did he bully you of all people? What did he do?” Stan pressed. Richie froze, unsure if he should elaborate. He had told Beverly, but that was in return for her help. In fact, he had been incredibly careful to wash around the spot on his neck, so the mark was mostly covered, even if the texture was uncomfortable. 

“He’d beat the fucking shit out of me. Humiliate me in public. The works,” he elaborated, ignoring Stan’s first question. Stan gave him a sympathetic frown.

”What a dick,” he stated plainly, crossing his arms. Richie sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah. He was,” he said, his voice accidentally quivering slightly.

Eddie became impatient and got up, the Losers looking at him in confusion. “Where a-a-are you guh-going?” Bill interrogated, his eyebrows scrunched together as he struggled to spit his words out. Eddie turned his head to look out across the empty land in front of them.

”To find Stan and Rich,” he reasoned, envy and fear coursing through him. “You are your mother’s fucking son,” he thought painfully.

”I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” Ben interjected in a bored tone, fidgeting with the grass. Eddie ignored him.

”I’ll be back,” he said, walking away quickly. He wasn’t sure if the 2 were actually going to get water, but he didn’t think so. He aimlessly headed away from the ‘Yard, turning around the fence. He suddenly was able to hear the missing boys’ voices, and he moved faster.

”Thanks, man,” he heard Richie say from out of sight. He turned another corner, the area being shielded by a tarp lying over the chain link. He peeked around and saw Richie hug Stan. Eddie’s heart dropped, and he felt nauseous. “Please tell me you’re joking,” he thought, clenching a fist disdainfully. Richie let go— they only hugged for a maximum of 10 seconds.

”Of course, dude. You weren’t crazy for that. You aren’t crazy, I mean. You didn’t deserve that,” Stan responded, which only made Eddie even more desperate to know what was going on. Richie gave Stanley a sad, strained smile and waved it off.

“Y’know, I could go for some water, actually. And a Tylenol,” he laughed shakily, Stan joining in.

”Okay then,” he agreed, and they started walking away, towards a water fountain located further into the park. Eddie stayed frozen in place, filled with rage and hurt. He told himself that he was misreading the situation, that it wasn’t as deep as he thought it was, but to no avail. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with— Stan, or his freaking boyfriend. “What the fuck do I do??” he thought, leaning against the fence, slowly sliding down til he was on the ground. He dropped his head in his hands, trying to take deep breaths.

                                                                        =======================================================

Over the phone, Eddie had told Richie to meet him by the Kissing Bridge that night. Normally, this would excite Richie, but the way Eddie spoke told him this wasn’t going to be good. Eddie’s voice had been distant and inconsistent in pitch. Richie asked what was wrong, but he only repeated, “Meet me at 9:00 pm.”

So Richie started walking, climbing out his window (a little more gracefully this time around), the road barely illuminated by the streetlights. 

When he made it to the bridge, he couldn’t see Eddie anywhere. It was super dark, and he had to squint. He went closer to investigate, relieved when he saw the silhouette of Eddie’s body standing against the wall of the red barn-like structure. He approached him hesitantly, admittedly nervous. “Eddie?” he said shyly, now able to see him clearly. His eyes were red and puffy, his nose and cheeks pink. He clearly had been crying or something along those lines, though it didn’t look like he was anymore. “Eddie? What happened?” Richie asked, alarmed and confused. He stood in front of Eddie, his hands holding his arms comfortingly. Eddie didn’t say anything, but clenched his jaw, the faint light revealing the shiny watering of his eyes for a minute.

Abruptly, he reached forward and his lips crashed against Richie’s, bringing Richie to him closely, entirely pressed against each other like 2 puzzle pieces. He kissed him roughly, his hands traveling across his body smoothly and intentionally. Richie’s eyes widened, and his face went red, letting out a sharp gasp, his eyes then fluttering shut. He managed to push his glasses on top of his head, as they were falling off.

Eddie pushed him against the wall, feeling the warmth of his body even more so. He allowed him to trail kisses down his face, jaw, and neck, helplessly lost in the moment. Though he really didn’t want to, he stopped Eddie momentarily, his skin still tingling with goosebumps. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this feeling,” he thought, exhilarated.

“Wait— wait. Can you tell me why you’re crying? What is it?” Richie asked, holding Eddie’s face in his hands.

A strange expression washed over his countenance, and he pulled away rapidly. Richie watched him in surprise, unsure what the fuck was going on.

Eddie shook with a sudden frustration, and he was consumed by strong negative emotions and a humongous mood swing— which almost always led to him doing or saying something he’d regret. “What, would you rather be kissing Stanley?! Is that it?” he spat, fists squeezed tightly. Richie’s brain practically short-circuited.

”Huh?” he blinked, so genuinely confused that Eddie’s rage faltered for a moment. “Eds, what are you talking about??”

”Don’t— that’s not my name!” he exclaimed, raising his voice slightly, worrying Richie immensely that someone would hear them. “I-I saw you!” Eddie argued, looking broken. Richie’s stomach dropped, and he just watched him, feeling guilty for something he didn’t even do.

”Saw me what?” he pressed, his own feelings flaring up. He was both terrified and frustrated— his boyfriend was pissed at him, and was accusing him of something he’d never ever do!

”You leave with Stan! And then you were hugging him and it- and-“ Eddie paused, stuttering. He brought his hand to his mouth, biting it so he wouldn’t burst into tears. He was shaking violently now, and Richie could tell the anger was simmering down to just feeling incredibly hurt. Richie’s eyes softened, and he cautiously got closer to Eddie, who tensed but didn’t back away.

Richie gently hugged Eddie, wrapping his arms around his waist as always, feeling his chest heave with raspy breaths. He raised one of his hands, running his fingers through Eddie’s hair. This action finally broke Eddie, and he began to cry (even though he felt ridiculously embarrassed about it-- but he was just an emotional person, no doubt because of his mom).

Richie held him close, whispering a quiet shhh every minute or so. “I would never ever do something like that, okay? Never,” he told him reassuringly. “And with Stanley? Pfft,” Richie joked, in a successful attempt to make Eddie laugh. He smiled at the refreshing sound and gave Eddie a firm, brief squeeze before loosening his grip.

He gazed into Eddie’s eyes, which had softened, and his breathing had slowly returned to normal. Richie brushed a lock of hair out of Eddie’s face before planting a gentle kiss on his lips. Eddie watched him with pure adoration. “I can’t believe I said that to this boy,” he thought guiltily. Richie wouldn’t do that to him, and he was able to feel sure of it now.

Before he could stop himself, he spoke the words that both of them knew anyway.

”I love you,” he said, immediately cursing himself, a panicked expression blooming on his face.

Richie’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Eddie thought. “Oh, please say it back, or this is gonna be really—“

”I love you too,” Richie responded warmly, giving him another kiss, a smile on his lips. Eddie let out a laugh of relief, pulling Richie into an embrace. He wished he had better control of his emotions— that they were more consistent, really. But in that moment, he returned to his almost default state of appreciation for his Trashmouth. The words felt good to say, to finally verbalize. 

"I'm sorry for accusing you of cheating on me," Eddie apologized hesitantly, listening to Richie's heartbeat as it quickened. "I'm just a jealous piece of shit," he continued with a dry chuckle.

"Don't say that," Richie shushed him. "Can I be honest with you? I'd probably get jealous too," he confessed. Eddie grinned.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Eddie laughed again, blushing aggressively like a schoolgirl. "Let's go home," he suggested, pulling away but taking Richie's hand in his. Richie didn't protest and let Eddie guide him. He was getting tired and was not opposed to the idea of just sleeping next to his boyfriend (who just told him he loved him) and being able to rest. 

"God, I'm so tired-- and barely did anything today," Richie said, tossing his shirt on the ground and putting on a pair of shorts.

"I mean, that's good. Is your head feeling any better?" Eddie asked, already sitting at the foot of Richie's bed, choosing to wear his t-shirt despite the heat.

"Sort of, yeah," Richie replied, stretching before plopping down next to Eddie. "It's fine."

"Alright then," Eddie shrugged. He didn't know if he should bring it up, but he remembered what Stan was saying to Richie earlier, and his interest was thoroughly piqued. Clearly, Richie had told him something important, something serious. If he could tell Stan, why couldn't he tell him? "Why not..." he thought. "Hey, Rich?"

"Hm?" he responded, getting ready to lie down. Eddie took a deep breath.

"What were you and Stan talking about earlier?"

"Oh," Richie froze, his blood running cold. "Long story," he said. Eddie's eyebrows knitted together.

"Long story? I've listened to you rant about Batman for an hour straight!" he exclaimed, Richie immediately throwing his pointer finger up to his mouth to hush him. Richie sighed and moved his hands to cover his face, his glasses sliding up to the top of his head.

"It's just... I don't know. I don't want you to see me differently," he confessed, rubbing his eyes harshly before Eddie moved his hands away.

"You can talk to me," Eddie said calmly, a trusting look in his eyes. Richie nodded and carefully thought out his words.

Chicago: March 7th, 1987 // 12:01 pm

(Over 4 years prior)

Richie knocked at the door aggressively, with all the energy in his small frame-- which wasn't a whole lot at that age. 

"Let me out!" he screamed, banging on the door harder. "Someone!" but he couldn't hear anyone come to his rescue. He backed away from the door, breathing hard and overcome with panic. Tom had convinced Richie's friends to lock him in the janitor's closet as a "prank," and he worried he'd never get out.

"Cmon, Richie! We put your birthday gift in there, that's all."

"Why would you put it in the janitor's closet?"

"To keep it hidden!"

"Okay..." he had said, slowly approaching the closet, continuously glancing behind him to see his 'friends' watching him eagerly, as if they were waiting for the big reveal during a horror movie. The moment he had stepped inside, Tom had shown up from around the corner and slammed the door shut in his face. Richie thought they were joking around until he heard the click! of the handle. He stood there in shock before becoming fueled with pure terror. He pounded on the door, rattling the handle, pleading with them-- but they had already left. Some 12th birthday.

He had been so excited that morning, his mother had made him dress a little nicer that day, so he wore a blue button-up shirt and actual pants instead of shorts (which he used to wear year-round before being teased for having 'chicken legs'). She had cooked him breakfast, sending him off to the bus stop afterward, hyper and thrilled to see his friends, nearly leaping out of his seat when the bus parked outside of his middle school. One of his best friends (or who he'd considered his best friend) was a girl named Jackie. Everyone always taunted him and acted like he had a crush on her, but he really didn't. Even then, he knew he was different in that way. Nonetheless, Jackie didn't seem to mind him too much. 

Sure, there was the time she dumped her milk carton from lunch on his head, or stole things from his backpack, or joined in when Tom made fun of him (And, 1 year later, pressured him to smoke weed and try a beer-- and was the reason he started smoking cigarettes), but at least he had someone to talk to periodically. It was something, right?

She and his other friends, who were really just Jackie's friends, were acting nice to him at first, until they and Tom thought it would be hysterical to lock him in a small room for hours on end. By the time they came back, he had practically lost his voice. The closet wasn't near any classrooms, and apparently, the janitor was out sick, so it was perfect.

His nice shirt was now drenched in sweat, and his blood pressure had to have been through the roof. When they freed him, all they did was giggle at him and point. He tried to play off, but he was shaking like a blade of grass in the wind. When he finally made it to one of his classes, a counselor had fished him out to interrogate him about where he'd been all day-- he just said that he had been skipping class, and that he was sorry.

Usually, Richie could come up with quick-witted remarks and stupid jokes, but the betrayal he had felt had broken him.

When he had tried to bring it up to Jackie, she simply changed the topic and ignored him. 

On the road: May 25th, 1991 // 4:00 pm

(Around 2 months prior)

Richie stared out the window, counting the tick marks on the street. The car ride was quiet and awkward, but he understood that this was mostly his fault. His father managed to get transferred to a small town in Maine from Chicago, so his parents used it as an excuse for why they were moving away. Richie kept his mouth shut; he didn't need to be any more of a disappointment to them. 

Packing up had been the worst part-- he had to leave so many things behind, and knowing that that moment would be the last time he'd step foot inside his childhood home hurt. He had stood outside on the front lawn, staring at his house longingly. The flowers were growing back in the planters, and his father had freshly mowed the lawn for it to be put on the market. The curtains were drawn back, and the empty rooms inside were slightly visible. 

After a few more minutes, his parents shouted for him to get in the car (which Maggie was driving; Wentworth drove the truck with their furniture). He whispered a final goodbye and dragged himself away. 

At that moment, he detested the idea of Derry so much he thought he might puke. Why the fuck did they have to go to some stupid trash town nobody's ever heard of? 

Richie was also worried about what school would be like there, but he supposed he had a few months until then anyway. He also couldn't help but wonder if he'd get bullied again, or if he had the chance to hide his sexuality better this time around. He knew he had to perfect that; he assumed he'd have to suppress those feelings for the rest of his life. 

The drive was hours and hours, all of which were agonizingly boring and made his bones ache from sitting for so long. His parents spoke minimally, not really concealing their frustration with him. Even his mother was blatantly angry, which she rarely ever was. 

Richie sighed and tore his gaze away from the window, pulling his knees to his chest on the car seat, defying his seat belt's tug. His knuckles hadn't fully healed yet, and he constantly found himself studying them carefully, a strange but somewhat prideful emotion overwhelming him. He knew hurting people was wrong-- his parents constantly reiterated it-- but in this case, he didn't feel bad at all. 

Richie's room: July 1991 // 11:19 pm

Eddie listened silently, patiently waiting for him to finish his recollection of middle school (and first 2 years of highschool) and his old life. When he stopped, Richie watched him expectantly, analyzing Eddie's expression cautiously. Eddie wasn't sure what to say or how to react-- but Stanley was right, Richie hadn't deserved that. And when he thought about it, Richie had every fucking right to do what he did. Eddie was a little surprised about that whole ordeal, but he didn't become scared of him like Richie had worried. 

Richie winced at Eddie's apprehension, but felt a wave of relief when it faded away. "I'm sorry that happened," Eddie whispered softly, clasping one of Richie's hands in his.

"It's over now, right?" Richie shrugged shyly, fighting off the warmth on his cheeks. 

"Yeah, it is. You've won all the Losers' hearts; they'd never do any of that. And you've got me. Always," Eddie said reassuringly, giving him a sweet and empathetic smile. Richie nodded, feeling much better getting everything off his chest. 

"You've got me, too," he responded, a grin blossoming on his face. 

After a moment, Richie yawned and told Eddie that he wanted to sleep now. He agreed, and they lay down beside each other. He frowned when Richie rolled over, facing the other way. He poked him, but got no response. "He falls asleep so damn fast," Eddie thought to himself. He let out a brief sigh and draped an arm around Richie's waist, breathing in his hair, which had smelled of the outdoors but had the faint scent of soap and smoke. It was nice. 

He was lucky that Richie rarely snored, and when he did, it was softly and only slightly audible. This night was one where he snored, and Eddie couldn't help but let out a giddy little smile at the sound. This was his boy. He planted a light kiss on his shoulder, scooting closer. That fact never got old to remember. Even though Richie was unconscious, muscle memory told him to shift and roll back over so that they were facing each other again. Richie's hair had a funny quality where it got messy and wild easily, and though he had only been sleeping for 15 minutes, it was sticking up and looked stupid. 

Eddie fixed it, careful not to wake him up. He felt terrible after listening to Richie's story. He'd never seen a picture of Richie from middle school, but he could imagine in his head-- scrawnier, much shorter of course, and having glasses far too big for his face (a description he'd later find to be incredibly accurate). And as he envisioned that boy being tormented and afraid, a surge of sadness was sent through him. He frowned and analyzed Richie's complexion, as he always did. It hurt him to picture Richie getting injured so badly, to have such a terrified expression on his face. He prayed he'd never have to see it, for it to never be there again. 

As Eddie closed his eyes to sleep, he was forced awake by memories of his own. Though his experiences may have been less mentally demanding, they plagued him nonetheless. He felt his heart beat faster, and entwined his fingers with Richie's, taking deep breaths. 

Not only had he been bullied by the Bowers gang, but his own mother was working against him as well. He inhaled, thinking, "Go away, go away, go-

Derry: October 29th, 1988 // 11:49 pm

(A year and a half prior)

-away! Leave me alone!" Eddie shrieked, getting ready to sprint. "Please.”

” Aww, did you hear that? He said ‘Please!” Patrick Hockstetter taunted, bringing his hand to the side of his head, cranking it back and forth in a ‘crybaby!’ gesture. Eddie clenched his jaw, tears welling up in his eyes. 

At the age of 13, he was one of the shortest kids. Much shorter than his friends, at least. He was frail— (or, to clarify, his mother told him so) and an easy target— a bully magnet, per se. Additionally, Eddie had asthma, bad asthma at that, but in that moment, it didn’t even cross his mind. All he was thinking was that he needed to go, and fast. Hockstetter and Bowers had almost cornered him, hiding in the alleyway outside the pharmacy.

He had gotten done listening to Mr. Keene’s concerned babbling about gazebos— “Or was it placebos?” and was ready to walk home, his tiny white paper bag in hand. As he attempted to head left down the sidewalk, he caught a glimpse of the scariest kids he'd ever fucking seen. 

“You’re 2 days early, dick!” A girl shouted at a boy in a creepy Halloween mask. He had jumped out of a bush at her and her friend, and freaked them out. As she and her friend hurried away, another taller and lankier boy joined him, and they laughed like maniacs.

The perpetrator pried the mask off his face, revealing a 15-year-old Henry Bowers. Eddie’s eyes widened, and he backed away. The last thing he needed was to be around Henry. The other boy pulled his mask off, and it turned out he was actually Patrick Hockstetter (though Eddie had already assumed so). “Oh, great,” he thought dismally. Suddenly, Henry looked his way, and they made eye contact. Eddie’s stomach did a back flip, and he continued to back up. A sadistic grin blossomed on both Henry and Hockstetter’s faces, sending chills down Eddie’s spine. Acting on impulse, he whirled around and darted away, dead leaves crunching under his feet as he zig-zagged around, foolishly running away from downtown.

He didn’t stop, though, and eventually made it to the ‘Yard. When he saw the other Losers were there (and fortunately had yet to spot him), he kept their best interest at heart and got out of there before Henry caught up to him. Panting, he made the split-second decision to try and get back to the pharmacy, to ask Mr. Keene or anybody for help. He took a moment to brace himself and sprinted back into town, hearing the shouts from Henry and Hockstetter from behind him.

Eddie tried to go through the most confusing route possible, his breath raspy and hoarse. But right as he got his hand on the doorknob of the pharmacy, he was yanked backward by the back of his shirt. He let out a yelp of surprise and felt himself being dragged away. Where to? He didn’t want to know or find out. He tried his best to squirm out of (presumably Henry’s) grip, but he stood no chance. Henry turned a corner, and the side of Eddie’s body scraped against the bricks painfully.

He was pulled into the alley between the pharmacy and the deli and shoved against the wall harshly. “Help! Help!” Eddie screamed over Hockstetter’s shoulder to a couple walking by on the sidewalk about 15 feet away. They ignored him. Eddie turned back to the 2 boys in front of him, hearing the horrific click of a pocket knife.

”No! Don’t— No— Stop!” he spluttered, overwhelmed with panic as he writhed away, narrowly slipping away from being pinned. “Get away from me!” 

“Aren’t you having fun, Girlyboy?” Henry trolled hhis creepy mask's headband around his neck eerily. 

Eddie later supposed that this was the reason nicknames bothered him for the longest time— they never had positive connotations. He only accepted them if they came from Richie’s mouth, something he never thought he’d say.

”No! I’m not!” Eddie responded fearfully, preparing to run. Hockstetter slowly raised his arm, flashing a blade. The confirmation about what the clicking noise was made Eddie sick to his stomach. 

The instant Hockstetter took another step closer was the one where Eddie took off, his feet flying off the ground in faster strides than he’d ever taken before. But, of course, he wouldn’t be able to get out of this unscathed.

He was so close to freedom, but he was pushed over from behind, crashing into the ground. He let out a cry of pain, quickly flipping over so he wasn’t on his stomach. He started crab-walking backward, panic-stricken. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Wheezy?” Hockstetter taunted, crouching over him. Eddie’s mouth opened, but he was unable to vocalize anything. He waited for a moment before speedily getting back up, the element of surprise favoring him.

He managed to escape, free with only a cut on his arm from where Hockstetter’s pocket knife had nicked him. He applied pressure to the wound as he jogged home, tears streaming down his face, and his baggy left far behind.

The Junkyard: August 5th, 1990 // 6:12 pm

(Almost 1 year prior)

Eddie and the Losers sat on the curb with solemn expressions. He had tossed his cap on the ground, fighting the urge to stomp on it angrily. None of them spoke, just simply watched people walk by.

”It was a good game. Better luck next year,” a random man said sympathetically, pausing before them before retreating to his red Honda with his wife and daughter. A few of the Losers gave him a brief nod of gratitude, but they didn’t agree with his statement. It wasn’t a good game— not even a bad one. A terrible one, to put it lightly. Henry and his team, the Tomcats (a stupid name, or so Eddie thought), had won by 20 points. The game was a regular 9 innings, all of which were agonizing. Outside of their age-related disadvantages, Bill was playing with a limp, and Corcoran with a sprained wrist. The show must go on, right?

Both injuries were courtesy of the Tomcats and their psychotic ass players. The Losers put forth all the effort they possibly could, but to no avail. Not to mention they’d be losing a player at the end of the season. Eddie honestly couldn’t imagine a replacement for Jimmy. But he wouldn’t let their team just give up once he was gone. They just needed to find the right person. Maybe then they would finally win, after seasons and seasons of losses. 

Not that Jimmy was a bad player, though. All of them were good, but 15-year-olds playing against 16 and 17-year-olds (evil ones at that) was a low blow. 

Every year was humiliating for the Losers. They always spent all summer practicing, but a few weeks before the game, someone always got hurt, and it was almost never an accident. But what could they do? Tell the ref? Some other adult? Bowers would fucking kill them! 

So they all kept their mouths shut, worked harder, and tried to stay motivated in the face of challenges. 

But this year, Eddie was on his last nerve. He wasn’t sure he could take another loss like this. How would he ever expand his career in baseball— if he chose that path— if his team didn’t make the playoffs once?

He glanced across the field and saw Henry and his friends celebrating, cheering as if they had won fairly. Eddie scoffed and turned away, unable to even look at the sight. "Fucking a-a-assholes," Bill said angrily, spitting a loogie onto the pavement. Bev sighed, holding his hand. Eddie rolled his eyes.

Another thing he only really processed until he met Richie was why Bill and Bev bugged him so much: he was jealous of their relationship. Ben and Mike had girlfriends (or did at some point), only he and Stan had never experienced romance or a first kiss yet (to Eddie's knowledge). He always itched to have somebody to love, but he'd always felt like it would never happen, though he didn't know why at that point in his life. Because of this, whenever Beverly or Bill showed affection towards one another, he couldn't help but loathe them for it. Ben was in fact dating someone then, but the Losers rarely saw her, so it didn't have the same effect. Ben had told Eddie that he just hadn't found the right girl, and that he was plenty likable. Eddie didn't believe him at all.

"Why are we even doing this anymore? What's the point?" Stanley complained, throwing his arms out in annoyance. Eddie barely had the energy to argue, but he did anyway, because he had no idea what he'd do if not for baseball. 

"The point is that we aren't quitters! And we can't give Bowers the fucking satisfaction of ruining this for us!" he interjected, his tone aggressive. Stan furrowed his eyebrows.

"Why not, Eddie! The same thing happens every year!"

"Well--" he paused. He didn't disagree with that sentiment, but he needed this sport. It was the only damn thing he was good at. Plus, he'd go crazy knowing he gave up before beating the Tomcats at least once. "We're a team! What else are we supposed to do?"

"Calm down, guys--"

"No, Bev! What is wrong with you guys? We are all in this together!"

"Duh-d-don't be r-rude tuh-to her!" Bill joined in, jabbing his pointer finger at Eddie, who couldn't give a flying fuck. Before he could continue, Mike cut him off.

"I'm going home. I can't listen to this right now," he said coldly, standing up. "See you around, maybe."

"I have to be back for dinner anyway," Ben included awkwardly, slowly getting up as well. Eddie felt a pit form in his stomach, and he watched in distress. He glanced at the remaining Losers, the ones who weren't leaving, and they looked at him like he was someone else.

"Quit yelling!" Stan said harshly, making Eddie's sadness fade back to rage.

"Quit being a douche!" he answered snarkily, immediately regretting it. Stan's expression was surprised and hurt. He scoffed, starting back to his bike.

"I'm going, too. Goodbye, Bill, Bev," he replied quietly, his fists balled up in constraint. Eddie clenched his jaw, and Bill and Bev sat across from him uncomfortably.

"Just go," Eddie said, his voice accidentally cracking-- something that would normally make the couple laugh. They looked relieved and left quickly. Once they were gone, he crossed his arms on top of his knees, letting his head fall onto them carelessly. He let out a shaky breath, squeezing himself tighter to make himself as small as he felt on the inside. 

He didn't want to go home, either. Seeing his mother was the last fucking thing he needed in that moment. So there he sat, unmoving as the sun set and the sky darkened.

The streetlamps flickered on, and that's when he knew he should go home. Sighing, he forced himself up and hopped on his bicycle. He pedaled home, occasionally hitting a crack in the sidewalk and nearly hitting a pothole. The streets were mostly empty, and he only passed a couple of people walking their pet dogs. Eddie's watch, which was supposed to tell him when to take the medication in his fanny pack, read 10:00 pm. "Holy fucking shit," he thought, pedaling faster. He zoomed into his driveway, shoving his bike into the garage with a horrible clanking sound. He hurried inside, slipping through the back door as sneakily as he could, the light on the wall still on, surrounded by moths.

He tiptoed around his house, peeking through the kitchen into his living room. Inside, his mother was passed out on the recliner, the TV still on and blaring. He frowned and stopped being overly careful, now sure she was out cold. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and went upstairs and into the bathroom to shower.

When he got out, he wrapped his towel around his waist and retreated to his room, clawing his hair out of his face. He felt a little better, but a pang of regret hit him when he thought about that afternoon.

He was just about to sleep when he heard a voice call his name: "Eddie Bear!" his mother screamed. He shut his eyes in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. He got out of bed, walking to the top of the stairs.

"Yeah?" he called back in an annoyed tone.

"Get down here!"

"Okay..." he responded, slowly going down the steps. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, her curly hair greasy and wild-- she looked terrifying. Eddie hesitantly approached her, incredibly uneasy. 

"Where have you been?" she demanded, her voice weirdly calm but very condescending. Her eyes were mean, and her face was slightly scrunched up.

"I've... been home?" he lied, lowering his gaze to the wooden floor. He had no clue how long his mother had been sleeping, and just hoped it had been a while. He dreaded every damn interaction with this woman and couldn't wait to leave Derry when he turned 18. He knew she didn't believe him, and she narrowed her eyes.

"No, you haven't. Where were you, Eddie Bear?" Sonia demanded. Stupid nickname. 

"I was out with my friends, but I got home at like..." he glanced at the clock on the oven-- "7:00," he finished. His mother watched him suspiciously, but seemed to be too lazy to continue to pursue his lies.

"But have you taken your vitamins?" she asked, in reference to his unnecessary medication he'd been told the truth about ages ago. He froze, his lips pressed together.

"Yeah," he answered dishonestly. Sonia eyed him, scanning him up and down.

"Really?" she said, heading to the cabinet, pulling out a tray of pill bottles. "Oh God," he thought. She lifted the bottles one at a time, peering through the orange tint, shaking them, and mentally counting the pills inside. When she was done, she slammed the final bottle down loudly. Eddie flinched and took a step back. "How could you lie to your own mother!" she yelled, bringing a hand to her heart. "I know what's best for you, Eddie! You're just a child!" quieter, she continued, "The world is dangerous, sweetie. All I do is protect you."

"Protect me?"

"Yes! You don't appreciate all I do for you! Do you know how much I do for you? You'd be dead without me!" she hollered, completely enraged. Eddie backed further away in fear, bumping into the wall. "Where do you think you're going?" she kept yelling. His eyes watered, and eventually he couldn't stand there a second longer. He whirled around and sprinted up the stairs, slamming and quickly locking his bedroom door behind him. He fell to the floor, letting himself cry in frustration and exhaustion as his mother continued banging around and shouting downstairs. He curled up on his floor, alone and afraid.

Richie's room: July 1991 // 12:40 am

Eddie's heart raced, and he closed his eyes to try and relax.

He wasn't alone anymore. Now, he had somewhere to go when that sort of thing happened. Everything was okay. He pulled Richie to him, his arm around his waist again, his hand on his back. He buried his face in the crook of Richie's neck, honestly shocked by how deep a sleeper the boy was. He was ridiculously glad he had Richie with him when he was stuck in his thoughts.

He heard Richie make a small mumbling sound and realized he may have woken him up. Richie shifted, his eyes slowly opening. They widened for a moment, but quickly a smile bloomed on his freckled face. "Are you okay?" he asked, appearing concerned as he studied Eddie's expression. Eddie nodded, smiling too, feeling relieved.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."