Four months wasn't a very long time in the grand scheme of things. He'd only gone two months without any of his friends, and while living in a horror funhouse had basically retraumatized him, Eddie survived it. He survived a second relocation, too, half-expecting to find himself on the receiving end of a painted mouth, lips pulled back to reveal rows and rows and rows of teeth, but he'd woken up in yet another universe instead. Bracing himself for death was starting to get really old. Worrying himself sick over the fate of his friends was getting old, too. Most of all, though, not being around Richie had worn on Eddie in ways he'd tried not to think about. He was quicker to panic, tense to the point of exhaustion, bitter in ways he didn't like, and sad.
Maybe that was why Eddie expected to see the Richie he'd met in the house againâover 20 years older than him and haunted by a dead childhood friend. God, that had stung. So Eddie shut down. He carefully wrapped that pain up and stored it away, emotions that threatened to bubble up again when he saw a new post on the network. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. Because if it wasn't, and he let himself hope, Eddie didn't know whether he'd be able to handle rejection a second time. Not gracefully, anyway, and certainly not with healthy coping skills. He'd avoided the siren call of the medicine cabinet for most of his time away. He'd been doing so well.
And then he saw Richie standing outside, and Eddie's resolve shattered.
"You FUCKING asshole!" Several people on the sidewalk startled, but he was a blur of movement, heedless of the stares as he hurtled into Richie full-force. "You DICKHEAD. You JACKASS. You WET GODDAMN NOODLE." Eddie was distantly aware of the fact that he was crying, but it was easier to lean hard on fury when he was hugging Richie like his life depended on it. A very dirty Richie, apparently. He drew back with a wince, holding his friend by the elbows so he could survey him. "Oh Jesus Christ," Eddie muttered weakly, nauseous with intense concern and about a hundred other emotions he refused to analyze. "Okay, eyes on me. How many fingers am I holding up? You don't look like you have a concussion. What hurts? Can you keep water down? I brought you some." And if he was already shrugging out of his hoodie and draping it around Richie's shoulders too, well. Fuck it.
âOH FUCK-â Richie almost went running the other way when the pint-sized demonic mother-figure charged at him. It wouldâve been easier to run. It was weird enough as it was, cause heâd just seen Eddie like, five minutes before waking up in this place. Richieâs fight or flight was in full flight mode after heâd just spent forever doing the fight thing.
And he looked it - he was dirty, muddy, had shattered glasses and hair sticking up every which way (more than normal, anyway). There was blood smeared across him, but it wasnât his own (thank fuck), and now he had a tiny brunette grabbing the shit out of him.
âOKAY OKAY-- Jesus, man! I donât know, three? Canât you fucking see my glasses are broken?â His own words were rushing out at a similar speed to Eddieâs as he squinted at the shortie. âWhy didnât you bring me a BURGER?â
Eddie had woken up in a different horror house before they finished their fight with the clown. That meant, as far as he was concerned, they were all still trapped in Neibolt back home. Still very much in danger. Seeing how awful Richie looked in the daylight didn't make him feel any better about that. "You look like hell," Eddie bit out. He'd meant to snap, but his voice wavered and broke, and he had to cover his mouth for a minute while he struggled not to cry even more. It didn't even bother him that hugging his friend had gotten him dirty, too. He wasn't focused on that.
After a moment, and with shaking hands, Eddie reached up to pick pieces of debris out of Richie's hair. "I can order you a burger. They do delivery here." God, he looked awful. And somehow amazing. Eddie's stomach twisted into knots. "Come on, dingbat, let's get you cleaned up." He took his friend's hand without preamble and led him into the Morningside lobby, ignoring the side-eyed glances and open stares. If Eddie kept holding Richie's hand, well. Clearly he needed emotional support. Sue him.
"Ronan's working on your glasses." How was anyone's guess. He wasn't questioning it right now.
âLife is shit, Eds. So are the sewers.â Richie responded dramatically - Richie did everything dramatically. He made dramatic faces when Eddie was picking debris off of him, he held Eddieâs hand dramatically (how, you ask? Well, it was all in the swing) and he followed behind his friend with literal hearts in his eyes.
And then he flipped someone off for staring at them too long, and got an annoyed huff in return.
He had a lot of questions for Eddie, most of which started with what and ended in fuck. But instead he leaned in on this glasses thing, because it was easy. Easier than home. âSeriously, is he some kind of black market dealer for glasses? Cause what the fuck? I was just going to use some duct tape!â
Eddie used to wonder a lot what it was about Richie that he found so charming. It had a lot to do with those dramaticsâhow he could poke fun at any situation no matter how dangerous or chaotic, and somehow make it seem less frightening. Eddie loved that. He admired it, too, and it made him feel calmer like nothing else could. His heart rate was already beginning to dip back down to normal levels (it was doing that annoying skipping thing again, but that he'd gotten used to), and he even smiled a little bit when Richie swung their hands.
He was really cute. It was distracting.
"I don't know what he is," Eddie admitted, leading Richie into the elevator. He hit the close door button and shot someone a look who seemed like they might be contemplating coming in with them. They stayed out. "But I trust him. He made me something back at the horror house." And he doesn't remember, Eddie thought, but focused on tugging his own hoodie further around Richie's shoulders instead. He scowled. "You're not using fucking duck tape."
âUh huh, okayyyyy,â Richie was thoroughly distracted - and for once not by Eddie. Things were a lot more technologically advanced here, and he just let himself be led around by their joined hands, no complaints since it prevented Richie from going too far off the intended path. And it gave him a chance to stare at fancy elevators and fancy everything as they walked.
âFuck, man- Youâre getting shit all over your hoodie if you keep putting it on me.â And he was, that hoodie was going to smell rank for a week now. He dramatically sniffed his armpit and waved the air with his free hand. âI donât even think three showers are going to do it after the sewers.â Richie poked Eddieâs fanny pack. âYou sure you donât have duct tape in there?â
Eddie couldn't hide his smile this time. Richie was so clearly distracted, and it was painfully adorable, which was a normal thought to have about one of your closest friends. So was holding their hand pretty tightly, too, or at least that's what Eddie had decided. He had a long list like that stored away in his headâexplanations and excuses as to why Richie constantly made him feel warm all over, and excited, and confused as hell. These were all Normal Platonic Things because Eddie absolutely refused to even entertain the possibility of anything else. Doing that might threaten the balance of their group, not to mention his own identity, but worst of all, it might mean Richie would hate him. That was something he couldn't even imagine. Losing him was the worst case scenario.
"Are you complaining I gave it to you?" Eddie made a face when Richie started smelling his armpits. "Oh my god, you're so disgusting. I have bath bombs, dipshit. You'll probably have to shower twice, then do a deep clean." He was momentarily distracted by the thought of Richie showering. Also platonic. He smacked his friend's hand when he went for the fanny pack. "Stop that. We're getting you new ones." He threaded their fingers together and yanked his arm a little. "You said you wanted a burger, right? This is the one time I'm willingly letting you clog your arteries."
Richie had a thing for being yanked around. He pretended like he didnât, especially when it was one of the Losers doing the yanking, but âŚ. Well, there it was. A crossbreeze happened and Richie was embarrassed, as a teenager. He could still shrug it off with the best of them, though, that was something he was fantastic at.
And shrug it off he did. He got all casual dude and just pulled a face at Eddie as he left the hoodie around his shoulders. Maybe he was a little cold, sure. âOkay man, but tell me why I should put a bomb in the bath? Trying to get rid of me already?â His shit-eating grin was back, and he directed it right at Eddie. âItâd be way quicker than giving me a clogged artery heart attack. Which I do want. Double patty, double cheese, bacon.â
He slid up next to Eddie, that stupid grin still there. âIâm a growing boy, Eds.â
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
The grin.
Eddie puffed up immediately, scowling like his life depended on it. "Are you kidding me? We had bath bombs back home, Rich. They're a bunch of dry ingredients packed into a ball that you add to hot water. It has essential oils, and it dilutes easily, andâ" Yeah, he was ranting, complete with furious hand waving, at least with the hand that wasn't occupied holding his friend's. His lecture only stuttered to a stop when Richie sidled up into his space, and Eddie stared at his mouth, suddenly and acutely aware of the fact that he wanted to push up onto his toes andâ"Holy FUCK you have GREY WATER breath."âshriek. Definitely shriek. It wasn't exactly a thing, but maybe it would get his heart to stop pounding in his ears if he focused on Richie's nonexistent bad breath. Or the fact that he'd wanted something so bad he didn't dare think about.
When the elevator doors hissed open, he proceeded to tug Richie down the hall. "I'll order your monstrosity while you're in the shower. There's fresh towels in there already, and between me and Bill, you should be good on a change of clothes. I don't know if I can salvage ... any of that, but I'll try." Eddie made a face, stopping just outside the door to his and Bev's apartment. He knocked on it three times in a specific pattern, then unlocked it so he could usher his friend inside. For a second, he hovered there, eyeing Richie with a mixture of disbelief and hope, only to launch himself at him a second time for another squeezing hug.
"This better not be another dream, I swear to God," he muttered under his breath, savoring the contact for as long as he could. Richie even smelled the same. Or, well. Kind of. It was more than he'd ever thought he'd get again. Eddie would take his Richie over any other; filthy from the clown battle or no.
Richie had been fully willing and able to crack a joke at just the right moment to pull them apart - he was good at that - but then Eddie was shrieking in his face and it was unnecessary. He pulled a face, and then checked his breath comically as they exited the elevator. It didnât smell like grey water. But he knew Eddie was like a panic button being mashed repeatedly.
âMan, can we just have a bonfire somewhere? Burn this shit.â He picked at the corner of his shirt, which did smell like shit. It smelling like shit was only half the reason he squeaked when Eddie grabbed him and hugged him again. But theyâd been through a lot lately, and that seemed to supersede the desire to not also smell like sewer shit.
âFuck--â His voice dropped to a little softer tone. âShit, Eds. I dunno. Maybe after I take a shower and jack it, Iâll be able to tell you.â
Eddie threw his head back and groaned. "Oh my God. We can't light bonfires in a city, dipshit. You'd probably need a hell of a permit. Do you even know how much those cost?" To anyone else, his arguments and exaggerated shows of frustration might seem like he was actually annoyed with Richie. Nothing could be further from the truth. He was animated, and smiling despite efforts to hide it, and not particularly stressed. Well, he was stressed, but his baseline level, nothing worrying. Richie being here was calming in a way nothing else could be, and Eddie was trying so hard not to examine that. They'd been apart for months, longer than he could ever remember before they became friends, and that had been so profoundly jarring, like losing a limb.
So what if he smelled? Or looked gross? Eddie was delighted, and he was having a hard time hiding that. Especially when Richie was speaking softly. He smiled, and held on tighter, andâ
Flung his friend into the open bathroom door with all of his weight. "CAN YOU PLEASE KEEP THAT TO YOURSELF HOLY SHIT!" He covered his face with a grimace, a very different groan muffled from behind his fingers. Actually, scratch that: Richie being here would kill him. He'd die from blushing. Too much blood being redirected to places he wished they most certainly would not go. "I fucking can't," Eddie muttered, stomping away to find a change of clothes for himself now and then, like, four aspirin.
âIâll let you know when Iâm done, Eddie Spaghetti!â Richie called through the doorway as Eddie stomped off, leaving Richie alone surrounded by white tile. He really didnât know where to start, so he just stripped and threw everything in a pile, turned on the water and jumped right in. It didnât take him long to scrub off the muck of sewers, and blindly washed his hair and body with the fruitest thing in the shower he could find.
He ended up with a towel around his skinny waist and his head wrapped up in the other one, searching for where heâd dropped his glasses into the sink. Eventually, he shoved them on his face and poked his head out into the hallway. âEds?â No response immediately, so Richie left the bathroom in search of wherever heâd find the clothes Eddie had mentioned. âNot that I donât love playing out Home Alone scenes when itâs just me, I need some clothes, dude! Whereâd you go??â
Eddie was just coming back from meeting Ronan on the roof when he heard Richie talking further inside the apartment. "Sorry, I'm here," he called back, and really, it should have registered that I need some clothes meant his friend was wandering around half-naked. Really, it should. But it didn't because Eddie's head was still filled with a hundred different thingsâRonan's worry, Ronan's magic, the stress ball he'd given him, how he'd risked discovery twice just to help Eddie and his friends. He wandered down the hall with the new pair of glasses in hand, only to stop dead at the sight that greeted him. For a long, long moment, Eddie just stared, all the breath leaving his lungs in a rush. "Wow," he said before his brain caught up with his mouth.
Then he realized what he'd said and blushed. "I mean, wow, just walking around naked, huh? What if somebody else walked in?" Determined not to let this get to him (and it was getting to him, holy hell), Eddie focused on walking over to gently remove Richie's old pair of glasses so he could slide on the new pair. He eyed him for a minute, checking his friend's pupil dilation. It had nothing to do with the fact that he could feel Richie's heat when he stood this close, or smell the soap from the shower. Nope. Just friend things. "He, uh." Eddie swallowed. "He said they should be indestructible. Do you like them?" I like them, he thought, but he wasn't thinking about the glasses.
Richie was a skinny dude with not a whole lot going on, so it wasn't like he immediately felt the urge to flex or anything. He mightâve blushed, but heâd never admit it. Theyâd all seen each other in various states of undress before, but not as often as they got older - somehow it felt different, after 16, to go skinny dipping with your friends. But instead of making a thing he just tightened his towel with one hand.
âWhat do you mean theyâre fucking indestructable?â Richie asked, taking the glasses right back off again so he could look at them from the outside, with squinted eyes. âI mean, yeah, theyâre cool I guess.â Being the shithead he was, he immediately tried to bend the frame to break them. The plastic bent, but didnât break. âSweet.â
Eddie had always thought Richie was beautiful. You know, objectively. He'd cloaked it in overblown annoyance over the fact that his friend had shot up like a tree, leaving Eddie behind in the height department. But really, any glimpse of skinâand this was one hell of a glimpseâalways made him feel jittery and too big in his own skin, like he was coming down with a fever faster than was really natural. It was attraction, obviously. Eddie knew that. He knew it, and he buried it, continuously, every time it surfaced, though he couldn't exactly stop himself from following that blush with his gaze for a second.
You're making him uncomfortable, he thought, and glanced away quickly, embarrassed. He was distracted and flustered enough that he missed what Richie was about to do. Hence the squawk. "Jesus FUCK! Stop that! Heâ" Eddie lost steam quick, staring when the frames didn't break. "Damn. He wasn't kidding." A beat. He blushed again. "Okay, over here. You can change in my room." He led Richie to the place in question where he'd laid out some clothes he thought his friend could use, mostly a combination of his and Bill's accumulated possessions. "Your food should be here soon. I ... uh. Yeah." This was how Eddie would die, surely: not being skewered like a fucking shish kebab, but losing his cool around Richie because he was out of practice hiding how he felt. Not that he felt anything other than very platonic things. Obviously.
He shut the bedroom door and covered his face for a second, forcing air into his lungs.
Richie shoved his glasses back on his face just in time for the bedroom door to be shut. He cackled through the door, loud enough for Eddie to hear. It took him a second to compose himself, leaving Richie just staring at the door after it was closed.
He blew out a breath and his shoulders slumped, finally relaxing now that he was actually alone. He took his time changing, but was sufficient enough that Eddie hopefully wouldnât suspect he was going through his shit.
Even if it was tempting. Find out why kind of porn Eddie was hiding under the mattress, if he had anything fun in the drawers. Maybe a diary. Maybe something with a page full of âEddie Tozierââs written. It was a fun enough image that it made him laugh again as he finished pulling the shirt over his head. He was smiling when he emerged from the room, at his own stupidity.
Richie didnât do anything quiet, not with the shit theyâd seen, and made his presence known so that Eddie wouldnât have freaked the fuck out. Finally, he spoke up, âAlright, letâs eat. Iâm fucking starving, I could eat an entire damn demon clown as celebration.â
Eddie had much the same reaction as Richie when they were finally out of each other's sight. He slumped a little, too, not out of relief, necessarily, but it was becoming a chore to keep himself together around his friend. It hadn't been this difficult when they were kidsâhe'd pushed into Richie's space constantly, fearless and eager, but it couldn't be like that now. They weren't little anymore. It would be weird. Not that his insecurities really stopped him too much, but they gave him pause. And now they were going to be sharing a room? A bed? It made Eddie nervous, but it also made him excited. What a weird, disorienting mixture of feelings. He ignored them, and went to go grab the delivery he'd made for his friend's frankly appalling food order.
He didn't miss the fact that Richie made himself known long before he announced his presence, though, and a warm feeling swept over him. Eddie smiled, and chewed on his bottom lip to keep it contained. "Yeah, yeah. Come get your heart attack on a plate," he grumbled, having set it all out for him with cutlery. Because he wasn't an animal, thanks. And maybe he reached out to rest his hand on Richie's back, briefly, before redirecting his energy somewhere else. This new arrangement would take getting used to.