Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To say Eddie is having a bad day is like saying getting shot in the head is likely to cause some discomfort. True, technically, but not exactly enough to grasp the extent of the issue.

He's had the shift from literal hell. Seventh level, definitely. He got called in two hours early when a coworker didn't show, and proceeded to spend the next several hours balancing rude customers, clogged toilets, a vile puking situation in the lobby, and a never-ending pile of dishes filled with half chewed food and dirty napkins. All without finding the time to grab even a short break. Whoever said working in a coffee shop is all cute banter and latte art has clearly never worked at one a day in their goddamn life.

And now, when they've finally closed and all he wants to do is lock up and get back to his dorm as quickly as possible, put on some pyjamas and collapse into bed, he has to deal with the homeless guy sleeping in the corner booth.

Well, probably homeless. Don't judge a book by its cover and all that. But this book is in pretty bad condition-- peeling cover, bent spine, the works. The guy's been asleep for the better part of four hours, after purchasing a single small black coffee paid for entirely with quarters (plus a couple of dimes stuck together by some mysterious brown substance-- Eddie doesn't even want to think about that).

Despite Eddie's best attempts at wishing hard enough for the guy to just wake up and leave on his own before closing, he remains sprawled out in the booth, head down on the table and a small pile of drool collecting by his chin. There's a beanie jammed onto his head, multiple holes in the cheap fabric doing little to conceal the greasy, tangly mess of black hair underneath. An oversized brown checkered flannel swamps the man's figure, mysterious stains littering practically the entire thing, sleeves pushed up to reveal veiny wrists covered in fraying bracelets.

All in all, Eddie would very much like to avoid having to touch this man while getting him out the door. He stands in front of the booth and clears his throat loudly, earning only a snuffled grunt in return. He tries again, and the man raises a hand as if to swat the noise away, still very much asleep.

Exasperated, Eddie marches into the back and grabs a spare measuring tape from his manager's desk. When he gets back to the man, he extends the tape and jabs it firmly into the man's shoulder. A bit harder than he needs to, maybe, but frankly he feels he's earned a little anger-fuelled violence by this point in his day.

The man snorts awake at the contact, head whipping off the table almost comically.

“Th'fuck?” He slurs out, voice thick and raspy with lack of use.

Eddie, remembering he's technically still on the clock here, pastes on his signature customer service smile. “I am so sorry to disturb you sir, unfortunately it is past our closing hours for the evening, and I must kindly ask you to vacate the store. We open again at 7am tomorrow, please feel free to return then!” He cringes internally at how fake his voice sounds, even to himself.

The guy squints blearily up at him, mouth half open with a few drops of drool still pooled in the corner. He blinks a few times, seems to be struggling to collect himself. “I'm gonna be real honest with you my guy. I'm gonna need you to repeat all of that, cause at that fuckin' pitch I'm pretty sure only dogs can hear you.”

Eddie's mouth drops open in shock. “Excuse me?” Who the hell does this guy think he is? Asshole customer, making Eddie stay late just to fucking deal with him, and now on top of that he's being a mouthy douchebag? Nope. Not today. Eddie is not dealing with this shit. “Look, I know you heard me perfectly fine, but just in case I wasn't clear enough, you've been passed the fuck out in this booth for four hours and it's time for you to leave. Don't really care where you go pal, you just can't stay here because, shockingly enough, I don't feel like spending me entire night at work.”

The guy, who remained silent during Eddie's little outburst, raises an eyebrow at him now. “Are you okay little man? You seem tense.” His voice comes out teasing, with a hint on condescension behind it that has Eddie bristling. “Y'know, I can think of a perfect way to work out those kinks of yours. No complaints so far, had some rave reviews from your mother-”

And. Okay. If Eddie's ever been curious about what his limit is, he never has to wonder again. This is it. This fucking devil customer has cleared that right up for him.

“Listen. You need to get the fuck out before- before I call the police!” (And maybe it's an empty threat, maybe even the thought of interacting with cops is a one way ticket to panic attack central, but this douchebag doesn't have to know that). “If you don't have anywhere to go for the night, there's a men's shelter a few blocks from here that I'm sure you could crash in until you figure something out. I'd be happy to give you directions if it means you leave and I can go the fuck home.”

His voice is sharp, unapologetic, and the teasing half smirk previously on the other guy's face has slipped off completely by the end.

In fact, the only trace of any emotion on the guy's face is a cold sort of anger. He finally stands up from the booth, and Eddie notices for the first time just how tall he is. “What the fuck, dude? Did you just call me homeless? I'm not fucking homeless, jesus.”

“Could've fooled me.” The words slip out before Eddie can stop them, but he can't bring himself to regret them as he watches the other man slip his ragged beanie off his head and run his hand through the tangled mess of curls. Eddie wonders how much oil is now clinging to the pads of the guy's fingers. He does a crappy job at repressing a shudder.

“Okay, first of all? Fuck you dude, is this seriously how you would talk to a homeless person?”

Eddie feels a rush of guilt at that, but pushes it down easily enough with more rage. “Look man, sorry for being a dick or whatever, but can you seriously fucking blame me? So great, turns out you have a home, is it just a mirror you're missing? Customers were literally giving this booth a wide berth for hours earlier after taking one fucking look at you!”

The guy sneers, literally sneers at Eddie, as he takes a few steps so that the two are practically toe to toe. “Oh, I'm so sorry to have ruined the ambiance, to disturb your shift at this highly coveted job at fucking Second Cup-”

“Wow fuck you dude, seriously, at least I can afford some goddamn soap with this job, you should try it sometime-”

“Well maybe you should try not being an uptight little bitch-”

“Maybe you should try not being the most disgusting thing I've had to deal with today, including the urinal someone took a shit in-”

Eddie doesn't know how this escalated so quickly, but there is sweat on his brow, his voice is hoarse from shouting, and all he can do is pray that nobody is watching the security cameras right now. He highly doubts this counts as service with a smile.

There's something almost exhilarating about it though, at being able to say exactly what's on his mind without having to worry about the fallout because, well-- the fallout's already happened. Shit's already hit the fan, and Eddie's content to let the blades keep spinning.

It's almost disappointing then, in a way, when the other guy stops mid-insult and just shakes his head. “What the fuck am I doing? You are so far from worth my time little man, I got better places to be.”

“Oh really? Hasn't seemed like it.”

The other guy glares, straight into Eddie's eyes without a hint of humour behind it. “Pretty sure anywhere would be better than spending another fucking minute with you. Thanks for the coffee.”

And with that, he spins around on his heel and strides to the exit, throwing the door open with an exaggerated shove.

“Come back anytime!” Eddie calls sarcastically to his retreating back, as the door slams loudly behind him.

As Eddie finally, blessedly, locks up and begins his trek back to the dorms on the other side of campus, one thought is stuck in his head, overshadowing memories about the rest of that hellish encounter.

Thank god he never has to see that guy again.

Chapter Text

Bzz. Bzzzz.

Richie presses the apartment buzzer relentlessly, feeling antsy at the lack of an immediate reply. “Come on Bevvie, don't disappoint”, he mutters to himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, holy shit I'm here, hello?” A tinny sounding voice comes through the speaker, annoyed and breathless but so endearingly familiar that Richie already feels slightly calmer.

“Bev! Darling! How are ya?”

There's a moment of dead air before a sigh fills the silence, followed by “Come on up loser, door's unlocked when you get here”, and the buzz of the front door being unlocked for him.

On his way upstairs, Richie's mind is curiously blank, thoughts racing no more than usual. Sure, he's still pretty pissed after that... whatever the hell it was in the coffee shop. It's not like he fucking meant to fall asleep, okay? He was buying coffee to achieve the exact opposite effect (although coffee never actually seems to wake him up, plus he fucking hates the taste-- so maybe not his best plan then, sue him). Either way, waking up to a screechy little gremlin flinging insults at him isn't exactly what he would call a solid end to his day.

Still, he meant what he had said. That horrible little man-child isn't worth his time, and all he wants is to push the incident firmly out of his mind. He's come to the conclusion in the last few years that the key to adult life is just repressing the hell out of everything and anything unpleasant, and it's worked out pretty well for him so far.

So by the time he makes it to the seventh floor, cursing the on service elevator and his own inability to make it up any amount of stairs without getting winded, all he wants to do is have a chill night in with his best friend. He's thinking a family size bag of bugles, It's Always Sunny reruns, a joint or two, possibly crashing there for the night without Bev asking any questions. Damn if that's not the dream.

Unfortunately, as he lets himself in through the front door, mindlessly humming the tune to some radio ad he heard earlier, he is met with the face of a very displeased and slightly concerned looking Beverly Marsh standing in the hallway, arms crossed.

“What the hell, Rich?”

Her eyes rake over his figure, brows pinching closer together with every sweep. Richie immediately feels on edge, reverting to his tried and true method of deflection.

“Heya Bev, top'a the evenin' to ya! Is Stan the man around or is this young madame here all by her lonesome tonight?” His voice starts off as some kind of Irish accent and ends up morphing into something vaguely like the Italian chef from Lady and the Tramp. He cranes his neck to try and see into the living room, looking for any sign of the apartment's other tenant.

Bev sighs, reaching up to tug a hand through her hair. “Stan's got the overnight shift tonight, Rich. That's why I invited Ben over, remember?”

As if he'd been waiting for his cue, the man himself steps slightly awkwardly out of Bev's bedroom. Light grin pasted on his face, he brings one hand up in what appears to be a half-hearted attempt at a wave. “Hey Richie, how are you?”

And oh.

Shit.

Richie actually does remember Bev telling him about her plans for the night, now that he thinks about it. Her face slightly flushed, a grin tugging insistently at the corner of her mouth when she brought up Ben's name. Richie can remember the warmth that bloomed in his chest at seeing Bev look so happy. She deserves it, more than anyone.

Of course he'd be the one to fuck it up.

“Ah, whoops! Well, you know what they say. If two's a party, three's a goddamn rager. By all means, don't let me stop you two. I'd be more than happy to contribute to the team.” He throws a wink in Ben's direction, before glancing over and locking eyes with Bev.

She drops her gaze, draws her shoulders up ever so slightly.

Richie immediately regrets his words.

The two of them have a... well, history might not be the right word. Richie and Bev have never been RichieandBev, but there were times where they could have been. Times where maybe they wanted to, where maybe that would have been easier than muddling their way through whatever the hell they were to get to where they are today-- friends. Best friends, really, an integral part of each other's lives, all their bullshit intertwined so tightly by this point that no sane person would try to unravel it.

Still, the reminder that they each know what the other looks like naked is always an unsettling thought, one Richie would prefer to live without. Maybe, maybe, he should try cutting back on the sex jokes.

Just then, however, Ben- beautiful, glorious, peacekeeping Ben- lets out a laugh, walking forward to clap Richie on the shoulder. “I don't know if we're quite there yet Rich, maybe we should try starting with a movie?” he asks, tone warm.

Richie loves Ben, he really does. In this moment, definitely, but mostly just overall. He's pretty new, still, to their group, him and Bev have been seeing each other for a few months now. Richie's so accustomed to it being Bev, Stan and himself against the world, significant others flitting in and out of their lives with no real impact, that the inclusion of Ben is still a little jarring at times. He's good, though. Just a genuinely good guy; sweet and awkwardly charming and whip smart and so, so good to Bev.

As Richie plants a wet kiss on Ben's cheek and moves to head toward the couch, Bev puts a hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait a sec Richie. Honestly, what's up with you today? Why do you look like a gas station attendant in a b-horror movie?” She wrinkles her nose slightly, removes her hand. “Actually, why do you smell like one too?”

Richie groans, loud and dramatic as he throws his head back. “God, what is today, just rip into Richie day? Can't you people just let me live?”

“What people?” Ben pipes up.

“Hm? Oh nothin', Benny-boy. Just met a demon child at a coffee shop earlier, ain't no big thang'.”

When it looks like Bev is going to question him further on that little statement, Richie spins around and starts heading away from the two of them towards the bathroom.

“I'm gonna grab a quick shower, let you two finish up,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Bev flashes her middle finger, “then let's watch a movie or something, yeah? Bev, what kind of loofah do you have? I really need to exfoliate.”

He shuts the door before he can hear her shouted reply, laughing to himself as he turns on the shower head.

***

Richie emerges some twenty minutes later, steam pouring out of the doorway behind him. Even wrapped back up in the same unwashed clothes as before, he can admit he feels a lot better.

He turns into the living room to find Bev and Ben snuggled together on the couch, and Richie has no qualms about throwing himself directly across both their laps.

Ben lets out a slightly pained grunt before huffing out a laugh, while Bev's only response is to start running her hands through Richie's hair, gently untangling the curls.

Richie moves into the touch, eyes closing as he shifts to get more comfortable. “So folks, what movie are we watching?”

Bev's hands still on his head, and Richie blinks his eyes open to see both her and Ben gazing down at him with concerned eyes.

Bev, never one to pull punches, cuts right to the chase. “Nope. What the hell is up with you today Rich, why are you even here?”

“Not that we mind or anything, of course,” Ben cuts in. “It just seems like something's off.”

“Nothing's wrong! Holy shit guys, maybe quit it with the therapy mode.” He aims for joking, but his voice sounds forced even to his own ears.

Bev fixes him with a look. “Is it Lucas?”

Richie is silent for a beat too long, which seems to be the only answer Bev needs. She sits up straighter, mouth pinched.

“Seriously Rich?”

Ben looks between the two of them, confused. “Who's Lucas?”

Richie, still splayed across both their laps, lifts a hand up near their heads and waves it vaguely. “No one, he's just my roommate. It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!” Bev's voice is sharp. “He's a total asshole, I've told you this a million times.”

“I mean? He's really not that bad. We're... friends, technically. In some sense of the word, I'm sure.”

“Rich, he was your weed dealer two years ago, and you should know by now that half-drunken hookups a few times a year doesn't count as a friendship”.

Richie doesn't know how to respond, just flops his hand back down and burrows further into their laps. This isn't anything he hasn't heard from Bev a million times before, and he really doesn't feel like rehashing all of this shit on top of dealing with his crappy day.

Bev, apparently, didn't get the memo, because she pokes his cheek, forcing him back into the conversation. “So, what was it this time? Did he eat your leftovers? Steal all your change for laundry? Do blow on the kitchen table?”

“Nah, repeat performances aren't really his style.” Richie sighs, able to recognize by this point that Bev isn't going to drop it. He throws one arm over his face, obscuring his vision and muffling his voice. “He didn't pay his half of the hydro bill and I didn't have enough to cover for him, so our hot water's been shut off for a couple days. Also, I got sexiled. Sock on the doorknob and everything, kinda cliche, but hey, it got the job done.”

“Are you serious? He can't just kick you out of your own apartment in the middle of the goddamn day. You pay rent, you live there too!”

“Well technically you're wrong ma deah', your lad's name isn't on the lease now innit? This poor lass has got no say over what goes.”

Bev bites her lip, shaking her head. “That's such bullshit. So is him not paying his own bills, for fuck's sake! You've gotta get out of that apartment babe.”

Richie groans. “It's so close to campus though!”

Ben, who had appeared lost in thought for the last few minutes, cuts in. “Hey, Rich, y'know, if you're looking for a new place I might know a guy.”

Richie sits up, startled. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah! This guy, Mike. We worked together freshman year, I still see him around campus sometimes. He mentioned something a couple weeks ago about needing a new roommate. I don't know if he's still looking, but I can check in with him about it, if you want?”

Richie pauses, considering. His place really is close to campus, but is that worth putting up with all the bullshit? No harm in at least meeting with this Mike guy, really.

“That'd actually be great Haystack! You're a real life angel.”

Ben laughs, shoving Richie back down from where he'd wormed his way under Ben's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his neck. Richie settles back down on their laps, and Bev picks up the remote to turn on the tv.

Who fucking knows really, maybe things will actually work out.

Chapter Text

“Mike, I'm gonna throw up.”

“Eddie it's a blind date, not a public execution, just breathe.”

“I would absolutely take a public execution over this, are you kidding me? My part in that would be over in like a minute, I wouldn't have to do any of the work or help clean up or anything. But this? This is going to be hell.”

“Ed I really don't understand what the big deal is, you've been on tons of dates before.”

Eddie huffs loudly, dragging his feet as he and Mike get closer to The Lucky Penny, the stupid bar a good twenty minutes off campus where Eddie has to go on this stupid date and probably end up paying his own stupid bill which will no doubt be stupidly overpriced.

“The big deal, Michael, is that I've never been on a blind date before. Who has a first date in a bar anyway? Also, what kind of a name is Dwayne? I'll be seriously fucking shocked if we don't get interrupted by somebody coming over to give him a wedgie.”

“Okay, Eddie,” Mike sighs, sounding mildly amused. “First of all, it's a pub. It's quaint, charming. I've been here a few times now, just trust me that it's the kind of place you'll like. Also, Bill is the one that set this up, remember? Our Bill. He seemed to think you guys would hit it off. Can you maybe have a bit of faith in him, and give this Dwayne guy the benefit of the doubt?”

Eddie swallows, the increased pace of his sneakers against the pavement giving away his mounting anxiety. “Fuck, sorry, you're right. I just tend not to make the best first impression, you know? I'm either super boring and can't think of a single thing to say, or I get really rambly and also probably pretty rude. I've never been on a first date where the guy didn't know all of this about me already.”

Mike lengthens his own steps to keep pace with Eddie, bringing up a hand to rub comforting circles on his back at the same time. “Hey, give yourself some credit Eddie. I liked you the first time we met.”

Mike's voice is nothing short of sincere and Eddie loves him for it, even as he fixes Mike with a look. “Mike, the first time we met, I was twelve years old and I bowled you over with my bike in an alleyway while trying to avoid getting beaten up. I mean, who wouldn't love me after that?”

Mike snorts, a wide smile breaking out on his face. He has slight laugh lines coming in around his eyes, but Eddie thinks they only add to his character. Hell, Mike could probably dress up like the bitchy older sister from Max and Ruby and get a Ninja Turtles tattoo on his face, and he would still be the handsomest person Eddie's ever met.

When he meets Eddie's eyes, his smile turns soft, his eyes looking almost sad. “We just wanted you to have some fun tonight Ed. You've been so stressed out lately, you've barely had a moment to breathe, let alone try to enjoy yourself. And if it really turns out to be awful, you can ditch and hang out with me and my possible roommate at the bar, okay?”

Eddie sends Mike a grateful smile, stretching upward to bump their shoulders together amicably. “Thanks bub. Hey, how are you doing? You nervous? What do you know about this guy anyway?”

Mike shrugs slightly, thinking. “His name's Richie. And I mean, not much really. We've sent a couple texts back and forth, mostly to set up this meeting. But Ben, you remember my friend Ben, right?” Eddie nods absently, even as he has trouble conjuring a face from his memories to go with the name. “Ben's apparently known him for a few months now, and swears he's a decent guy, so,” Mike shrugs, the gesture seeming to scream fuck it. “I'm kinda desperate by this point, I'll probably take anyone who's interested and has half a hope of making the rent.”

Eddie feels a wave of anxiety wash over him, both at the thought of Mike not being able to find a roommate, and at the idea of having to live with a total stranger. He really has no idea what he's going to do if Bill ever decides he's sick of rooming with him in the dorms.

Mike, I mean... you're a great guy you know? Really great, the best. You would have no problem finding a roommate, if you would just consider--”

Mike cuts him off, tone firm but resigned. “Eddie I know what you're gonna say, but you're not gonna sway me on this, no matter how many times you try. They're my pets and I love them and there's no way I'm ever getting rid of them. It's an animal friendly apartment, it comes with the territory.”

“Yeah but, Mikey, it's just kind of weird? I mean, not the fish or the hamster, but you've got two ferrets and a bird in that zoo as well, who would willingly choose to live with that?”

Mike huffs out a breath. “Well I guess we'll find out, won't we?”

The two of them have arrived at the pub without Eddie even noticing, and he glares at the front door of the building as though it's personally scorned him.

“You know what? I think I'm gonna take a pass. Just have a nice evening to myself, you know? Maybe take a bath--”

“You live in a dorm room Ed, you don't have a bathtub. Buck up, you've got this.” Mike grabs ahold of the door handle, pulling it open and holding it for Eddie to walk through first. Always such a gentleman, even as Eddie has to actively suppress the urge to pinch him.

Walking inside, Eddie realizes that Mike was right about at least one thing-- he does like this place. String lights lined in rows on the ceiling give the whole place a soft glow, as a chalkboard announcing the drink specials in neat handwriting and a hand-painted mural on the brick wall give it a personal touch. The dark wood counter-top of the bar is practically gleaming, and any worries he had about sanitation are blessedly wiped from his brain.

“Okay Eddie, I'll see you later? I'll just be at the bar, but try to have some fun okay?” Mike shoots him a reassuring smile and a small wave as he manoeuvres his way through the crowd to find a free stool at the bar.

Eddie steels himself, and turns to face the booths lining the opposite wall. He has a brief description of his date from Bill- strawberry blonde hair, metal framed glasses, kind of nerdy but in a hot way (whatever that's supposed to mean). Not really a whole lot to go on, so Eddie scans the booths to try and spot somebody sitting by themselves.

He notices one guy sitting hunched over his phone in the corner booth, and, if Eddie squints, he thinks he probably matches Bill's description.

He walks over, hesitating the closer he gets. Clearing his throat awkwardly upon arrival, Eddie tries to paste a cute smile on his face. He's sure it comes out closer to a grimace. “Hey, are you Dwayne?”.

The guy glances up from his phone, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “Eddie, hey! Wow, Bill showed me a picture of you, but you're even cuter in person. Yeah I'm Dwayne, it's great to meet you!”

Eddie, slightly overwhelmed by Dwayne's enthusiasm (and a little pissed at Bill for neglecting to show him a picture), just nods his head awkwardly as he begins to remove his jacket. He's only got one arm free when, out of nowhere, Dwayne is out of his seat and enveloping Eddie in a hug.

Eddie, more than a little uncomfortable at the sudden contact, pats Dwayne's back, inwardly cringing as his jacket flaps gracelessly off one shoulder. The fabric of Dwayne's shirt itches at his neck where the collar presses against him, and the cologne wafting off him is almost overpowering.

When Dwayne finally lets go and Eddie is able to get situated in the booth, he finds himself at a loss of what to say. He's drawing a total fucking blank, mind an endless of stream of say something, say something, stop staring at him like a fucking weirdo and just open your mouth you lunatic. “So, are you cold?” What the fuck.

Dwayne gives him a slightly odd look at that, letting out a little laugh. “No I'm alright, are you cold? We could probably ask someone to turn up the heat if...”

“No, no I'm fine! Sorry, I uh-- I was just wondering cause of,” Eddie waves one hand vaguely in Dwayne's direction. “You know, your sweater. It's just kind of thick for the weather, that's all.”

Dwayne glances down at the beige woollen sweater he's wearing over top of a neatly pressed collared shirt. “Uh nope, I kind of just like this sweater? Hey, I'm gonna grab us some drinks, what would you like?”

“Oh, a vodka cranberry would be great, thank you,” Eddie replies, trying not to give away that he's currently dying inside. As soon as Dwayne walks away, Eddie buries his head in his hands, groaning loudly. Are you cold, what the fuck was that?

Okay. As soon as Dwayne is back, Eddie is going to stop accidentally insulting him. He's going to engage in pleasant conversation, he's going to be cute and flirty, and he's going to be a good fucking date, dammit. He nods resolutely to himself. That's that. The law's been laid down, all he has to do is follow through.

Dwayne returns quickly with their drinks, and Eddie accepts his with a gracious smile. As he takes a light sip, Dwayne slides back into his side of the booth. “So, how do you know Bill?”

Eddie is thankful for the question, figuring that discussing their mutual friend is a safe topic of conversation, no way for it to really backfire. “Oh I grew up with him actually, he's been my best friend since I was six years old.”

“Really? That's crazy, you guys must really get along to still be friends after all this time.”

Eddie smiles. “Yeah, the guy's alright. How did you meet him?”

“I met him in our SoulCycle class a couple of months ago. Have you ever been?”

Eddie, who had just taken a rather large sip of his drink, splutters loudly, hand coming up instinctively to try and catch some of the liquid that's now dribbling disgustingly out of his mouth. Trying to stifle the laughter clawing its way up his throat, he inhales sharply and swallows wrong, ending up almost doubled over from the hacking coughs wracking his body.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Dwayne's voice is laced with concern as he leans over the table, pressing napkins into Eddie's hand as he seemingly looks for some way to help.

Eddie clutches the napkins like a lifeline, wiping the alcohol off his chin as tears well up in the corner of his eyes. He can feel the sticky residue clinging to his face, and he kind of wants to die a little.

“Yeah I-- I'm all-- I'm all good,” He forces out, voice coming out croaky and slightly wheezy. His hands itch for an inhaler he hasn't carried in years, and he takes another large gulp of his drink to try and force the urge away. “I'm sorry, did you say SoulCycle? We're talking about Bill Denbrough here right? You met Bill Denbrough in a SoulCycle class.”

“Yeah... I did,” Dwayne sounds slightly defensive now, and Eddie wishes he could bring himself to backpedal. “He's actually really good, he's made it to the front of the class and is really getting in tune with his authentic self.”

“His authentic self? Oh my god, I cannot believe Bill's never told me about this.” Eddie's once again on the verge of laughter at the very idea, and he knows he sounds like a total asshole but he can't quite find it within himself to care very much at the moment.

“Okay, I mean... I don't really know how funny it is. I happen to take this stuff pretty seriously.”

Eddie tries to reign it in slightly. Straightening out his face, he nods with wide eyes. “No, yeah, of course. I'm sorry, it just uh, took me by surprise I guess.” He must still sound at least slightly mocking, because Dwayne sets down his glass with finality.

“Listen, Eddie, this has been... great, but I actually just remembered I have a paper due tomorrow that I need to finish. Raincheck?”

Eddie's not a complete idiot, is able to recognize a snub when he sees one, but the only thing he feels is a slight sense of relief. Maybe he can actually enjoy the rest of his night now. “Yeah, yeah, it's no problem. Raincheck, for sure.” He sends a smile Dwayne's way, the guy already getting up and sliding his jacket on, and scrunches his nose slightly. “And uh, sorry.”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry for, I just gotta jet. Nice meeting you Eddie.” And with that, Dwayne turns around and practically books it out of the bar.

Yikes.

Eddie shrugs it off, swallowing the rest of his drink while making a mental note to tell his friends that blind dates aren't really his style (like he tried to tell them before, but hey, who's keeping track--definitely not Eddie).

He meanders over to the bar, scanning for any sign of Mike. He just needs to tell him that he's heading out. That whole interaction with Dwayne lasted maybe fifteen minutes, so there's no way Mike will be ready to leave as well.

He spots his friend on one of the centre stools, face open and friendly as he chats with someone, presumably Richie, who's slightly obscured by Eddie's vantage point. He can just make out springy, curly black hair and rippling shoulder blades through the stranger's t-shirt as he stretches his arms high above his head. Cute. Maybe coming out tonight won't have been a total waste after all.

Eddie reaches a hand up to fluff his hair slightly, scrubbing his chin to try and erase all traces of cranberry residue from his skin. He sidles up to the bar, sliding up on Mike's right side and resting his head on his friend's shoulder.

“Hey Mikey.”

“Eddie? What are you doing over here, what happened to your date?”

Eddie snorts. “Well it turns out Bill has literally no clue what my type is. Also, get this, apparently he takes a SoulCycle class? That's how he met Dwayne. So uh, I may have accidentally been a total dick.”

Mike opens his mouth to respond, eyes sparkling at the SoulCycle revelation, but another voice cuts in before he gets the chance.

“You? Being a dick? Well colour me shocked.”

Eddie frowns, lifting his head off Mike's shoulder to try and find the source of the rude comment. Turning to his left, his eyes immediately lock with--

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Sitting there, eyebrows raised and eyes blazing behind his ridiculous glasses, is the complete asshat Eddie met at work the week before.

“Uh, Eddie?” Mike cuts in, sounding confused. “This is Richie, he's gonna be my new roommate. Richie, meet Eddie, one of my best friends.”

“Mike, can I please speak to you privately for a moment?” Eddie asks, voice much too loud, eyes still locked with Richie as he tries to drag his friend off the stool.

“Oh no, Eddie, I would hate to inconvenience you two. I'm sure whatever you have to say in front of Mike you can say in front of me. I'm all ears little buddy.”

“Do not fucking call me-- no, you know what? Fuck it. Mike, this guy is the worst person I've ever met and there's no way in hell you can live with him.”

Richie barks out a laugh. “Well shit, just laying it all out there aren't ya pal?”

Mike looks between the two of them, brows furrowing. “I'm sorry, how do you two know each other?”

“I had to drag his disgusting ass out of work after closing the other night--” Eddie starts, indignant, at the exact moment Richie says, “Your friend here jabbed me with a measuring stick and screeched at me so much I think I burst an eardrum--”.

They both cut off, eyes narrowed at each other. “Wait a second,” Richie says, craning his neck to look around the bar. “Did you say you were on a date? Is the poor guy still here, I feel like I should go give him my condolences for having to sit through an entire conversation with you.”

“Oh ha ha, you're really fucking funny. Congratulations on taking a shower by the way, you know it's always good to try new experiences.”

“Eddie!” Mike cuts in, scandalized. “Can you maybe lay off a little bit?”

“Mike I swear I'm not being dramatic right now okay? You didn't see him the other day, of course he fucking looks good now--”

“Oh really?” Richie sounds far too smug, and Eddie realizes belatedly what he said.

“Shut the fuck up dickbag, that's not what I meant!”

“Don't worry kid, my looks have been known to derail more than a few conversations in the past. Hate to break it to you though, twelve year old assholes aren't really my type, sorry.”

Eddie flushes, two angry red blotches appearing high on his cheeks. “I am twenty-fucking-one years old you dipshit, you know what? Let's just take this outside right fucking now, let's go, get up--”

“Eddie. Eddie! You're not fighting Richie behind a bar, jesus,” Mike sighs, grabbing Eddie's arm where he had started rolling up his sleeves. “Let's go okay, come on.”

“Mike, shit, I'm so sorry dude,” Richie swings around on his stool as Mike stands up beside Eddie. “I swear I'm not usually like this. Should I still swing by to see the place tomorrow?”

Mike hesitates, glancing down at Eddie then back up at Richie. Richie looks almost desperate, running a hand through his hair and clutching tightly onto the curls.

“Yeah Rich, come by anytime after three, okay? It was nice to meet you man.” Mike reaches over and he and Richie do one of those half bro-hugs Eddie could never quite get the hang of, before returning his grip firmly to Eddie's forearm and steering him towards the door.

Eddie doesn't protest, merely turning around to send one final glare and a middle finger Richie's way before he's gone from Eddie's sight. So much for never having to see that dickbag again.

Chapter Text

Richie's ass is numb.

His entire ass, and probably his entire body as well. He can't feel his fingers and he's shivering underneath his jacket, but he really couldn't give less of a fuck right now. He's too pumped. Leaning against the cool brick wall of Mike's building, he feels better, more hopeful, than he has in a long time.

Fumbling to pull his phone out of his pocket, he checks to see if Stan has messaged him yet.

Still nothing, which is fair. It's seven minutes before Stan said he would meet Richie, so Stan will be there in exactly seven minutes- it's one of his superpowers.

It's honestly a miracle that Richie isn't late himself, but he couldn't help actually being on time, let alone early, for once. The excitement coursing through him at the possibility of getting to live in this building, with it's two working elevators, laundry room, and garbage chutes on every floor, has wiped all other thoughts from his brain. He might have been scheduled for open heart surgery at this exact moment and he'd be none the wiser. His brain's got a bad case of tunnel vision. Thought vision?

Whatever. The point is he's excited.

And the thought of getting to live here with Mike, who, after less than twenty minutes of talking the night before, established himself as such a genuinely good and earnest guy, is more than Richie really feels he deserves.

So, it's probably a fair trade-off that along with Mike comes the personal hell Richie has come to know as Eddie. Four foot nothing of shrill insults and uptight judgments is definitely something he could do without. He really can't understand why Mike is friends with someone like that, but hey, to each their own. Even if Mike's own makes Richie want to stick his foot so far up the little dude's ass that he chokes on Richie's ingrown toenail.

The thought of having to interact with Eddie on a regular basis makes Richie more uncomfortable than he would have expected. He's no stranger to people thinking he's kind of weird, to stilted laughs and sidelong glances, rolled eyes and dramatic exhales, but the energy this kid puts into hating him so strongly sets Richie on edge.

And he knows, okay? He knows he made a pretty terrible first impression, and just continued piling more terrible impressions on top afterwards. But why should he have to work to redeem himself to this petty little asshole that never even gave him a chance to?

Still. He hates the effort he has to put into ignoring the insistent whine in the back of his brain that, after everything, still aggressively seeks other people's approval. Even people as awful as Eddie.

Richie could do with a win for once, and he thinks Mike might just be that win. His friends are more doubtful, urging him to think things through before just jumping into another roommate situation that could turn out to be just as shitty as his current one. Which is why Stan insisted on coming with him today to view the apartment and 'meet this Mike character' for himself.

(“Fine, I guess I can meet you there after my last class.”

“Stan, my dude, I literally never asked you to come. I have zero problems with going on my own, it's just a quick apartment tour, Mike's a good guy-”

“Richie. Listen. If you really insist, I can make time in my schedule. It's not the end of the world.”)

Richie had easily relented, secretly glad to have Stan's company. As much as they've been best friends since kindergarten, will always be best friends til death do them part, yada yada yada, the fact is school keeps them both pretty fucking busy all the time and Richie very much misses his favourite weirdo.

So when Stan finally appears across the street, on time practically to the second, Richie's mood boosts even more.

His eyes rake eagerly over his best friend as Stan takes quick steps across the crosswalk. Book-bag tucked neatly over his shoulder, jacket collar turned up against the wind, t-shirt tucked neatly into pressed tan pants. Richie squints to make out the writing on the t-shirt- plain block letters spelling out 'speaking of segways...', with a simple outline of a person riding a segway just underneath.

Richie snorts. What a beautiful dork.

Pushing himself off the wall, he stumbles over to Stan, trying to shake some feeling back into all his limbs.

Stan sends him a rare smile when he sees Richie, eyebrows raised. “Did the trashmouth actually beat me somewhere for once? Do you think google earth got a picture of this, I'd love to get it framed- oof!”

His sentence is abruptly cut off as Richie slams into him, picking him up and twirling him around. “Richie, hey! Put me down you giant dick!”

“Aw, Stan,” Richie smiles, squeezing Stan tightly once more before releasing him. “I'm glad you finally noticed, and it's so sweet of you to comment on it, but I don't think now's really the time or place, y'know? You just have to ask buddy, I'll give you a free show any time.”

Stan sighs loudly, heading towards the building's entrance and leaving Richie scrambling to catch up. “I had more than enough free shows when you used to strip naked at every birthday party we went to as kids, and if multiple conversations with your one night stands are to be believed, not a whole lot's changed down there since then. But thanks for the offer.”

Richie's grin widens. Stan can always be counted on to just verbally fucking destroy him at any given moment without breaking a sweat. Richie stopped taking offence to any of it way over a decade ago. At this point, it's basically a staple of their friendship.

“Okay first of all, you know I would always eat too much at those parties and end up with the cake-sweats-”

“I'm gonna need you to stop saying 'cake-sweats' like it's a term everybody knows, that not an actual thing-”

“And second, you wouldn't have to know such intimate details of my life if you just stopped talking to the people I've slept with-”

“You always bring them back to my apartment!”

“That still doesn't explain why you always cook them breakfast in the morning.”

“They just spent the entire night with you Rich, if anybody deserves banana pancakes it's those poor souls.”

Richie relents at this, if only because he has to buzz up to Mike's apartment, and it takes a seasoned kind of friend to be able to stand Richie and Stan's banter. Bev once described hanging out with them as 'third-wheeling that one kid we all knew in elementary school that was obsessed with digimon and his first crush who both insist they're arch enemies but each never shut up about the other'. Neither of them could actually think of a particularly strong argument against that.

“Hello?”

“Mike, hey, it's Richie! Is now an okay time?”

“Rich, hey! Of course man, come on up. It's the third door on the right when you get out of the elevator.”

“Baller, see you in a sec.”

Reaching Mike's apartment, Richie raps twice with his knuckles before glancing over at Stan. He tries to send him a reassuring smile, but Stan misses it. For someone who tends to have impeccable posture at any given moment, Stan is somehow standing even taller than usual. His jaw is tight and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Knowing Stan like he does, Richie is more than slightly concerned to see that Stan's stance is practically screaming 'ready to fight'.

“Stanley, will you relax? What's up with you?”

The door swings open before Stan has a chance to reply, if he was even planning on doing so.

“Hey Richie!” Mike Hanlon is grinning widely from his doorframe, eyes bright and sunlight framing him perfectly. Richie is struck for a moment by just how angelic he looks. From the quiet, surprised cough Stan lets out beside him, he can guess Stan's thoughts are somewhere on the same wavelength.

Mike claps him lightly on the shoulder before turning his attention to Stan, who has yet to say a word. “Hey, I don't think we've met before, I'm Mike.” Mike holds a hand out, and there's a strained pause before Stan seems to jolt back into action and reaches forward to give it a firm shake. “Stanley Uris. I'm a friend of Richie's.”

“Well it's great to meet you Stanley. You guys wanna come in?”

Mike moves out of the doorway into the hall, and Stan marches through with unexpected conviction. Richie follows just behind, confused and slightly wary.

“So uh, this is the entranceway- obviously, I don't know why I just told you that- um, kitchen's just on the left, nothing major but it's got decent counter space-”

“What do you do for a living Mike?” Stan cuts in with absolutely zero shame, vision laser focused on Mike.

“Stan, what-” Richie tries to cut in, but Mike just lets out a slight laugh.

“Uh, well, I'm a full time student at the moment, in my final year of a business degree. I think we go to the same school actually? I feel like I might've seen you around campus. Anyway, on weekends and occasional weekdays I work at the humane society a few blocks away. Mostly secretarial duties, but I help organize and run adoption days every few months and I'm hoping to be promoted to foster care placement staff soon.”

Stan seems to take that as an acceptable answer, if his obvious moon eyes are anything to go by. His steamroller, however, seems to have barely started its warpath.

“Ever had bedbugs?”

“Personally, no, and to my knowledge the building's never had any problem with them.”

“Throw a lot of parties?”

“I'm definitely not adverse to the idea but no, not typically.”

“How often do you clean?”

“Weekly, plus some everyday upkeep.”

“Do you bring home a lot of partners? How early do you wake up in the morning? Do you have an updated copy of the lease for the apartment?”

Richie could kill Stan. He's relentless, firing question after question, his protective streak raring its dramatic head far more ferociously than Mike deserves. Luckily, Mike seems to take it in stride, answering every question with a hint of amusement in his voice, like he finds Stan's complete invasion of every aspect of his life to be almost endearing.

Stan eventually relaxes, Richie can only assume because he must have lost his voice by this point. His shoulders slacken to their usual state of uptight rigidness, and he slightly downscales his terrifying hyperfocus.

As Mike walks them through the rest of the apartment, Richie already finds himself imagining living there. He can picture it so clearly, his Xbox set up in the living room, chats with Mike on the bar stools in the kitchen, early morning coffee on the fire escape. He wants this so badly.

When they reach a closed door at the end of the hall, Mike pauses, glancing at Stan slightly nervously. “So uh, I don't know if Richie mentioned this to you, but I have some pets. Rich said he's fine with them but I know they make some people kinda uncomfortable, so, just a warning I guess.”

As soon as he pushes open the door, something long and furry comes scurrying over. Mike's whole face lights up as he reaches down and scoops it up, cradling it in his arms. Mike coos at it gently for a few moments before looking back up. “Guys, this is one of my ferrets, her name is Miss Vickie.” A tiny brown head with markings around the eyes pops up and stares at them from its spot in Mike's arms. Richie's heart melts a little.

“Miss Vickie- like the potato chip?”.

“Exactly like the potato chip.”

Stan scoffs. “What's the other one's name, Lay's ketchup?”

“No, his name is Coleslaw.” Mike replies mildly.

The casual way Mike drops this name bomb and the absolute finished look on Stan's face as he struggles with it has Richie barking out a laugh before he's even done processing.

“Mikey that's real fuckin' weird, but I love it. Please tell me you came up with the names? I need to know if I'm moving in with someone who's funnier than me.”

“No, actually,” Mike laughs. “Eddie's the one who came up with them. He was sleeping over the night I got them and he gets munchies like nobody's business when he's high, so I think he was just hungry? Anyway, that's what he started calling them and the names kinda just stuck.”

Huh. So the names were Eddie's idea. Maybe they're not as funny as Richie first thought they were.

He tries to shake off how unsettled he feels as he continues looking around Mike's room. Mike seems to notice, and sets Miss Vickie back on the ground. “So anyway, I've got the ferrets, a hamster named Simon, the fish you guys saw in the living room, and this absolute beauty over here is a-”

“-Cockatoo”, Stan breathes, voice reverent. His gaze is focused firmly on a beautiful white parrot perched in a huge cage in one corner of Mike's room.

“Yeah!” Mike grins. “You like birds?”

Richie snorts. “This sounds like the beginning of Stan's dream porno. You got a swimming pool tucked away in a back room somewhere? Or I can get a pizza delivered, maybe ask that guy to wear a fake beak and feathers, anything to help scratch Stan's itch really-”

“Shut up Richie,” Stan replies automatically, still not looking away from the bird. Then, to Mike, “When can he move in?”.

Ah. So a single bird can do what a hundred invasive questions didn't and ease Stan's mind when it comes to Mike's ability to be trusted as Richie's roommate. That's cool. Logic at its finest.

“Well, as long as it works for Richie, next Saturday would be ideal. It's just easier rent-wise if he moves in on the first of the month.”

Richie's heart races as the words sink in. This is real, this is happening. He really gets to move into this awesome apartment with this awesome guy as his roommate. He'd ask Stan to pinch him if he didn't know that Stan and his weirdly strong fingers would no doubt follow through.

“Saturday definitely works for me Mikey, can't wait.”

Realizing they still have some more technical things to work out in terms of lease agreements and rent, Stan suggests continuing their discussion over coffee.

“Sounds great!” Mike agrees, sending a quick glance at Richie before smiling. “Actually, I know just the place.”

And, oh. Richie is suddenly very sure he also knows the place.

Meaning... meaning he also knows the person.

Chapter Text

“--Bill, listen, all I'm saying is I wish you had told me! My aunt's godson works at LuluLemon, I could’ve gotten you a discount on some spandex shorts. What are your thoughts on neon?”

“This isn’t funny Eddie, okay, it’s just an exercise class!”

Eddie snorts, flicking water from the sani bucket across the counter where Bill’s nursing a stale cup of coffee. He always takes it black, some kind of misguided attempt to emulate the same ‘broody, mysterious aura’ of the classic lit authors he constantly misquotes. The effect is kind of ruined with every additional spoonful of sugar he dumps into the concoction.

“Yeah, and since when do you exercise?” Eddie asks over Bill’s dramatic spluttering.

“Uh, I’ll have you know I went to the campus gym just last week.”

“Yeah I know. Mike sent me a snap of you asleep on the bench beside the weights, which I’m pretty sure is the closest you’ve come to lifting since you had to retake ninth grade gym. Spill please, I’m here for six more hours and you’re my only form of entertainment.”

Bill huffs, staring down at his hands as he bends a stir stick in half, letting it spring back before bending it again. “Okay. So. There’s this girl, Audra, in my screenwriting class-”

Eddie laughs before he can stop himself. The only thing Bill’s worse at than exercising is picking up girls. He’s kind of notorious for it.

Bill’s head shoots up. “What? Why are you laughing already!”

Eddie shakes his head, his grin fond. “Nothing, nothing. Keep going.”

“Right. So. She’s in my screenwriting class, and I’ve always thought she was kind of cute, y’know? Her hair’s all curly, but like - smooth curly. And she wears a lot of high waisted pants.”

“What’s with you and high waisted pants?”

“What’s with you and always interrupting? I don’t know man, I just like them. They’re… flattering.”

“Gag.”

“Gag yourself. Anyway, so I’ve always thought she was cute, but it would be really weird to just go up to her in lecture and start talking to her, right?”

“Wouldn’t be that weird man, people do it all the time.”

“Okay, I know, but I actually tried that one time and I spat on her a little when I introduced myself and I just didn’t want to tell you that part.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, that sounds about right. So, what, you spit on a girl by accident and decide to work out your embarrassment in SoulCycle? Odd choice man, but whatever works for you.”

Bill grins, looking a little sheepish. “No, I, uh, I kinda overheard her talking to her friend a while back about this exercise class she takes, and I really didn’t mean to listen at first! But then, I mean, well I did keep listening, and I just thought, that could be good, you know? Working out together, it could be a good, like, bonding experience or whatever. So I decided to sign up.”

Eddie’s not quite sure where to start with that. ‘Yikes’ is the main thought floating through his mind. “Okay Billy, first of all, eavesdropping that starts off accidental is still eavesdropping. Little creepy, dude.”

Bill rolls his eyes. “Oh like you’re so perfect. Mike told me about how you fought his new roommate in a bar the other night.”

Eddie slams down the rag he’s been absentmindedly wiping the counter with in an attempt to look busy. “Hey, that is such bullshit, I didn’t fight anyone!” Bill fixes him with a look, and Eddie forces himself to relax. “Mike wouldn’t let me.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Bill says, grinning.

“Wait, don’t change the subject! I’m not done making fun of you for this yet.”

“Ugh, I joined SoulCycle to talk to a girl. That’s literally the whole story, laugh it up.”

“Oh, I will. I definitely will. But that’s not the whole story! Have you guys gone out yet? Can I meet her? I’d love to meet the girl you like enough to spit on and stalk.”

“Oh my god, can you not say it like that please?! And we haven’t … exactly gone out yet or anything.”

“I’m probably gonna keep saying it like that. Also that’s super cryptic, explain.”

Bill drops his forehead to the counter. “I only talked to her there for the first time last week.”

Eddie laughs, the sound sharp in the empty store. “What? Billy, how long have you been taking this class?”

“Two months,” Bill replies, voice muffled. “Twice a week. But,” He lifts his head up with resolve. “She has a spot at the front of the class and I had to work my way up there! I had to earn that conversation.”

“Was it at least a good conversation? Did you both ‘get in tune with your authentic selves’?

“Uh,” Bill’s eyebrows furrow. “How authentic are we talking here?”

Eddie narrows his eyes, suspicious. “Why?”

“I told her I eat okra.”

“Is ‘okra’ code for chicken fingers and pad thai?”

“I also told her I do yoga every morning.”

“Jesus, Billy.”

“Also I know you were making fun of me before but I need you to know that I actually do own spandex shorts from LuLuLemon, they’re lime green and really comfortable and I think they make my legs look good.”

“Bill, I’m sorry, but your legs are not your best feature. They’re too gangly, you’re all legs and neck. Where’s your torso man, where is it?”

“I’d like you to know that does not get less hurtful the more times you repeat it. Also, listen, have you seen my legs lately? It’s insane, turns out exercise actually changes the way your body looks, who knew, right? I actually have calf muscles now, look!”

The bell on the front door jingles just as Bill swivels on his stool and hikes one of his legs right up on to the counter, a very unwelcome display.

Eddie glances over to greet the customers at the same time as he reaches over to push Bill’s leg back down, pausing when he sees that it’s Mike walking through the door, followed by some random guy with curly hair and really good posture.The smile has barely formed on his face, however, when a third person slouches through the door after them, his messy hair and scowl unfortunately all too familiar.

Eddie ducks behind the counter on instinct. Or rather, tries to. His shoulder smacks into Bill’s leg on the way down, knocking him off balance and sending him sprawling onto his ass. Judging from the loud thump and pained groan that follows a moment later, he also succeeded in pushing Bill off his stool.

“Ow, shit, fuck,” He hisses as he peels himself off the floor, hurrying around the counter to check on Bill. Mike beats him to it though, grabbing a whining Bill by the hand and hauling him bodily back to his feet.

“Geez, Bill, are you alright?” Mike asks, dusting him off. “Why was your leg up on the counter?”

“He thinks his calves look good,” Eddie replies absentmindedly as he turns, reluctantly, to face the others. He’s greeted with a bemused look from the stranger, and from Richie the Asshole leaning on the counter like he owns the place.

“Well howdy-doody Eddie Second Cup,” he says, judgment etched into every line of his smirk as he drums his fingers on the linoleum. “With a stunt like that, one might think you’re not happy to see me. Weird, right?”

Chapter Text

Richie doesn’t know why he said it, really - why he feels this need to push push push, to jab and spew his bullshit before Eddie can get a word in edgewise. It feels safer, almost, to be the one who gets there first. To be the one to throw down the gauntlet, the one to take a shot before anyone else can turn off their safety.

It works just how he thought it would; Eddie, still wincing from his collision with the floor, rolls his eyes as a deep flush starts to work its way up his neck. It sends a twisted sense of satisfaction through Richie’s chest. “Yeah, weird. Really weird, right? I should be delighted, a top customer returns! Your booth is free or, if you’d prefer, I can just run out and get you a mattress. Some pillows, maybe a blanket? Something moisture wicking, for sure, considering the puddle of drool I had to clean up last time.”

Richie grits his teeth as the others send him confused glances. That wasn’t one of his proudest moments, and he really doesn’t need it thrown back in his face in front of all these people.

Stan frowns. “Rich? Why were you sleeping here?”

“Well it was just such a welcoming environment, y’know,” Richie starts, unsure where he’s going with this explanation. All he knows is he’s definitely not airing his latest roommate baggage right here for everyone to see. Luckily, the one guy he doesn’t recognize interrupts first.

“Hey man I’m Bill, I’m a friend of Mike and Eddie’s. I take it you’re Richie?”

“Sure am, nice to meetcha Billy boy. Great calves.” Bill glances down at his legs, looking pleased. Eddie lets out a scoff.

“And I’m Stan,” Stan cuts in. “Since Richie didn’t bother to introduce me.”

“You’re a man who needs no introduction, Stanley,” Richie says, moving to wrap his arms around Stan from behind. Stan reaches back and pinches him on the hip.

Mike huffs a laugh before turning to Eddie and Bill. “We’re just here to do some paperwork stuff for the apartment, Richie’s gonna be moving in next Saturday. Hope we’re not interrupting?”

Eddie sends what could only be interpreted as a sneer Richie’s way, turning back to Mike with a smile. “You could never, Mikey. Want some tea?”

And jesus. What is with this kid? He could give Jekyll and Hyde a run for their money. But Richie forces his gaze away from Eddie bustling around behind the counter and onto the rest of the group.

Mike’s sat himself down on one of the stools, sitting cross legged as Bill stands behind him and spins him in increasingly faster circles. Mike laughs, tilting his head back with a laugh, closing his eyes.

Stan perches himself on the edge of the stool beside him, looking unsure. Beyond that, though, Richie can see something else. Something amused, something almost fond.
Richie needs this. He really needs this. He needs the apartment, needs a roomate like Mike, he just - he needs a change. He needs something good, and there’s a part of him that’s telling him this could be it. This could be exactly it.

So he settles onto the stool beside Mike, pulling the lease agreement closer and flipping it open. When Eddie slams a cup full of coffee in front of him hard enough that flecks splash onto the papers, Richie doesn’t look up, simply taking an extra loud slurp and smacking his lips.

He needs this, and he’ll deal with what he has to in order to keep it.

***

Moving day goes pretty smoothly, all in all.

The hardest part actually came days before, when he told Lucas he was going to be moving out. Lucas was - well. He was Lucas. He was totally fine with it. Said he knew a guy who could move into Richie’s room, and that was that.

He didn’t care at all, and Richie cared too much. It was a constant in Richie’s life that he’d come to almost rely on.

So he’d swallowed the hurt, offered one last farewell blowjob, and he was kidding, really, he was, but Lucas turned it down and it stung and Richie didn’t know why, it’s not like they were ever anything. Lucas had made that clear.

Richie can still picture it, their fated last hookup. Something about that night, about the hours between midnight and dawn, the hazy smoke that curled in the air from the joint they were passing back and forth, it had made it feel almost like a dream. It had made Richie feel brave.

So he’d suggested something more. It didn’t have to be much, he’d tried to explain. He just wanted something more than these brief moments that only occurred when Lucas wanted them, these moments that had started feeling stolen, started feeling shameful.

But he’d known, before he was even finished talking, that he shouldn’t have tried. There was a look on Lucas’s face that Richie hated more than anything, a pull to his eyebrows and a quirk to his mouth that Richie wanted to physically reach out and wipe away.

Pity.

“Look, man,” Lucas had said, and it was coating his voice too, it was dripping off his tongue. “I just… you’re Richie Tozier, you know? You’re not really the type of guy people take seriously. Like, the type of guy people feel serious about. You get that, right?”

And, without waiting for an answer, he’d taken one last hit, rolled out of Richie’s bed and padded naked down the hall to his own bedroom like he hadn’t just carved something right out of Richie’s chest.

Richie hadn’t told anyone about that night. Not even Bev and Stan. Why would he?

Lucas and him weren’t anything more than Richie had built them to be in his head, it wasn’t ever a big deal. Nothing is if you don’t make it one. It’s a cornerstone he’s learning to build his life on.

But it’s fine now. Everything’s going to be fine. He’s officially moved in with Mike. Everything’s going to be great.

Stan, Bev, and Ben helped him with his boxes. It was kind of unnerving, seeing everything that’s his in the whole world fit easily in the trunks of Stan and Ben’s cars. It left him feeling oddly unbalanced, untethered.

But now the boxes are stacked up in his brand new bedroom, his mattress sprawled on the floor and his rusty bed frame propped against the wall. He’ll feel grounded again soon.
The five of them are in the living room, sharing a few cases of beer that Ben brought, when the front door opens and Bill and Eddie let themselves in. Bill kicks off his sneakers and takes a running leap to sprawl himself onto the top of the sofa, jamming himself between the cushions and the wall as he reaches over and grabs Mike’s beer, taking a sip.
Eddie shuffles in after him, taking a seat on the carpet next to the coffee table, folding his legs up underneath him as he introduces himself to Bev and Ben. He’s so damn polite about it, smiling and shaking their hands, asking how the move went.

Richie’s the one who actually moved, and Eddie’s barely even glanced in his direction. He shuffles down on the couch, stretching his leg out until his foot is directly beside Eddie’s head. Eddie still seems not to notice, and Richie’s never taken well to being ignored.

He moves his foot until it’s mussing Eddie’s hair, toes curling to dig into his scalp. Eddie jerks away like he’s been burned, spluttering as he splashes beer down his front.
“What the fuck!” He screeches, shooting to his feet as he pulls his sticky shirt away from where it’s clinging to his chest.

Richie laughs, letting out a burp as he takes another swig of beer. Bev sends him a disappointed look as Eddie starts trying to scrub at the stain with a napkin.
“If it’s any consolation, dude, I doubt the beer makes much of a difference, that shirt can’t really get much worse.” It’s too far, Richie knows, but too far is where he’s learned to make his home.

“Seriously?” Eddie looks up to meet Richie’s gaze, and for a moment something flashes in his eyes that looks dangerously like hurt before that familiar irritation clouds his features. “I mean seriously, Richie, is everything a goddamn joke to you?”

Mike gets up from the couch, leading Eddie over to the sink to try and rinse the beer out. Richie frowns, avoiding the gazes around the room that he can feel burning into his skin.

You’re not really the type of guy people take seriously.

He sinks further into the couch, and takes another swig of beer.