Figuring it out with someone. Talking it over. Maybe that would've helped. Maybe the impact would've been the same but, at least, he would've been able to cling to someone and allow himself to be clung to. He could vent his frustrations and cry over his wasted potential. He could break apart. Hell, Richie could break with him. They could help build each other back up.
Finding out on his own gave him no room to break apart. Not visibly anyway. It was lonelier than it could've been and he felt this new isolation like a stab through the heart.
To make things worst, Richie seemed to focus more on that cracked lens than anything else. He didn't know what was so important about that crack but it was, obviously, something. A reminder of everything that had happened in those caves beneath Derry, maybe. Whatever it was it seemed to have most of Richie attention and Eddie hated it. He hated it in the same way he hated anything that held more of Richie's attention than he did. They were 27 years past a time when Eddie could crawl into his space and force the other to pay attention to him. So he filled his glass again and decided to drink until the pain disappeared.
At least it wasn't for nothing. He could feel the words on the tip of his tongue. The idea that, maybe, he could be okay if he could voice it. If he could admit just how much Richie meant to him. He'd died saving the one he loved the most. Maybe even the only person he'd ever loved. From the looks of things, he hadn't even been able to admit to that when he was at death's door. There was no way he was going to be able to say it now. Instead he just nodded and filled his drink once more. Maybe they shouldn't talk about it.