Chapter Text
Richie Tozier is 15 years old when his parents sit him down in the living room one September evening and tell him the news that every kid dreads hearing:
They’re taking away his allowance.
“What the fuck for?!” Richie exclaims, sitting up straight in the family recliner.
His parents, seated across from him in the loveseat, give him disapproving looks.
“Language!” His mother snaps.
Richie takes a deep breath and fights back every instinct to roll his eyes into the back of his head. “Why do you hate me?” he rephrases, still earning exasperated looks from his parents, “I didn’t do anything!”
“That’s the problem,” his father counters, “You don’t do anything. All you do is hang out at the arcade and around town.”
“Well, what the hell else is there to do?” Richie scoffs, “Knit?”
“Richie,” his mother says patiently, “We don’t hate you; we’re trying to teach you something.”
“What, like how to suffer?”
“Like how to value hard work,” His father says.
Richie groans and slouches back in his seat. “Please don’t do this to me,” he pleads, sliding further and further down with every word. By the time he starts talking again, he’s looking up at the ceiling. “How am I going to go to movies? Or get a Super Nintendo?”
“By getting a job, Richard.”
So that’s that.
“It’s totally unfair,” Richie complains to the Losers the next day in the Derry High cafeteria. They’re all seated at their usual table in the back of the cafeteria, the one furthest away from the resident Senior assholes. “Doesn’t this shit qualify as cruel and unusual punishment?”
“I’ve been working for my grandad since I was eight,” Mike says cheerily, because of course Mike says it cheerily. “It’s not so bad.”
“Maybe you should stop being so lazy,” Stan says, taking a bite of his perfectly-quartered tuna sandwich.
“Maybe you should fuck off, Stanley.”
“I’m with Stan,” Eddie says. He’s seated beside Richie, elbow brushing against his as he reaches across the table for a napkin. “Stop being lazy.”
“Thanks for that valuable input, Eds,” Richie huffs.
“Welcome,” Eddie says, giving Richie a smug grin.
“Jobs don’t have to be b-bad,” Bill says, “Th-they can be fu-fun.”
Richie frowns, doubtful. “How?”
“By getting a job somewhere you like,” Beverly suggests, to which Ben nods in agreement.
Now there was an idea.
So, that day after school, Richie goes to one of his favorite places in this entire shitty town: the arcade. He can’t help but think about the big middle-finger it’d be to his parents if the one place they were tired of him bumming around all the time was the same place he got a job.
…Only, that turns out to be a bust, because apparently? He wouldn’t be allowed to play the games while he was working? He’d just have to watch other people play? So, what would even be the fucking point?
He doesn’t have much luck anywhere else. In the days that pass, his job hunt turns out to be a big waste of time. The movie theater isn’t hiring, the record shop only lets people over 16 work there, the guy that runs the video rental store looks like an actual serial killer (and somehow still remembers Richie from the whole getting-kicked-out-of-the-porn-section incident), and he’s not enough of a geek to apply to work at the library.
And so, that leaves him only one more place that he can think of. A place that’s only marginally less-geeky than the library. Emphasis on marginally.
“The diner!?” Eddie exclaims when Richie calls him up late one night, “You got a job at the diner?”
“That’s what I said, dipshit,” Richie says, leaning against the wall. He twirls the coiling phone cord around his fingers as he talks. Eddie’s the first person he’s told the news to, after his parents, just ‘cause. He’ll tell everyone else tomorrow, but for now, he kinda likes that Eddie’s the only person to know.
He wonders if Eddie’s talking to him on the phone in his kitchen, or the one in his room. The lucky bastard just got his own phone line, on account of his mother insisting that he needed one if some emergency ever happened in the middle of the night. For once, Eddie was happy to go along with her insufferable nagging when she suggested that.
He’s probably using the one in his room. Richie’s not sure why he cares. He doesn’t care.
“Isn’t that the place where they make you wear that dumb uniform?” Eddie says, and Richie can hear the smile in his voice.
“I mean, yeah, but one, I look super good in it, and two, I get free milkshakes!”
“Yeah, right.” Eddie scoffs.
“It’s true, I can have as many as I want! The manager said so!”
“Not that,” Eddie interrupts, and his voice breaks off in that way it does when he’s nervous, “The other thing.”
“You’re so fucking rude, Eds.”
“Bite me, Trashmouth.”
“Where at?” Richie says, grinning at he hears Eddie groan in annoyance. He also hears a soft thud of Eddie falling back against his pillows, and the thought of Eddie lounging in bed at night — staying up late to talk on the phone to Richie, thinking of Richie, probably wearing his ridiculous Thundercats t-shirt that’s getting too small for him and his pair of red shorts that are definitely too small for him — makes Richie stupidly happier than he should be.
“You’re obnoxious. Goodnight.” They’re so abrupt with each other sometimes, but Richie knows they’re both completely used to it at this point, too.
“Alright. ‘Night.”
“‘Night.”
The first days at his new job are tough, to say the least. As soon as school lets out, Tuesdays through Thursdays, he has to head right to the diner, leave his bike in the alley, and change into his uniform in the employee bathroom.
And, ok, he might have been full of shit when he was talking to Eddie: his uniform is beyond pretty dumb. Richie has to wear this button-up short-sleeved shirt, a striped red-and-white apron around his waist, a red bow tie, and this weird ‘soda jerk’ hat (whatever the fuck that means) that doesn’t want to stay on his head.
Also, the roller-skates.
He has to wear fucking roller-skates, something he hasn’t done since he was like, eight. But when he tries to complain to his manager (a swelling balloon of a man with red cheeks and slicked-back hair), the manager tells him to, in verbatim, “either skate up or get out.”
When Richie puts on his uniform on his first day, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, he questions whether this is really an upgrade from the library. Then he promptly slips and falls on his face, getting a face-full of grimy bathroom tile because, roller-skates.
The diner itself is long and narrow. There’s a bar in the center of the room with stools around it, and all around the sides of the room are plush red booths with cracked seats that expose the tan cushion and white cotton underneath. There’s an elaborate jukebox in the corner that’s always blasting 60s and 70s hits. Windows line all the walls, except for the wall behind the bar that separates the dining room from the kitchen; that wall is covered in kitschy memorabilia of all kinds: old license plates, Elvis posters, Coca-Cola ads, rusted bike wheels. Even though he’s eaten here a million times before, Richie can’t help but admire it all — there’s just something so homey about it — as Greta shows him around his first day.
Also yeah, Greta Keene works here, for some reason.
“Here’s where we keep menus,” she says, pointing to a stack of menus atop the bar as she gives him the tour (a task she was clearly thrilled to be assigned by their manager). She points to the coffee machine. “That’s where we make coffee.” Nodding her head to the kitchen, “That’s where the cooks make the food,” and toward the trash can under the bar, “That’s where we put trash.”
They put trash in the trash can? And the cooks cook in the kitchen? No way!
“No offense,” Richie cuts in, eyeing her, “But this is the most useless fucking tour I’ve ever been on.”
Greta, chomping down on a saliva-drenched wad of bubble gum, blows a bubble before flipping him off.
Thankfully, the other waitresses are nicer to him, and a lot more willing to help train him. Richie can’t help but vainly wonder if it’s because he’s the only guy waiter. It probably is. They keep doing that thing that girls do when they like someone: staring at him and giggling all the time even when he’s just standing around, and asking him questions like, so what’s your star sign (like Richie fucking knows, but they tell him he’s a Pisces, whatever that means)? The cooks are basically all guys, but they’re all in college and all unimpressed by Richie’s fantastic sense of humor. Total snoozeville.
But it’s fine, because talking to the girls provides him an all-access pass to the Derry High rumor mill. Richie doesn’t know how girls acquire as much gossip as they do, but he’s not complaining, because it turns out to be extremely interesting. While making fresh coffee, cleaning ketchup bottles, or hanging order slips on the cook line, he learns all about how Sally Meuller supposedly stuffs her bra, how Henry Bowers’ reportedly started talking to the moon in the looney-bin, and how apparently the whole school is convinced that the gym teacher’s secretly a cokehead.
He’s actually in the middle of comparing gym teacher theories with two of the waitresses during his third or fourth shift (because there’s no way that white stuff under his nose is just ‘chalk’) when the Losers visit him for the first time.
It’s a quiet afternoon, right in the lull before the big dinner rush. The bell above the door rings, and Richie almost groans, because he doesn’t want to start doing actual work. As much as he enjoys getting to chat up people all the time, taking people’s orders could be hard. Like, how is he supposed to not laugh right in someone’s face when they ask him for a dairy-free milkshake?
But thankfully, it’s not actual work that walks in through the door, but just his friends.
“Hey, Trashmouth!” Beverly calls out as they enter.
Richie brightens. “‘Sup, fuckers!” He greets, earning dirty glances from some of the older patrons currently dining. But whatever, it’s like 4:00, and who the fuck is honestly already eating dinner at 4:00? He grabs a handful of menus and skates over to them, wobbling only slightly as he tries his best not to slip in front of them.
Apparently, Stan and Eddie find this incredibly hilarious, as they both burst out laughing.
“What?” Richie says, coming to a stop and looking at them flatly.
“Y-Your uniform!” Stan says between laughs.
“You look like you’re in the fucking circus!” Eddie adds.
“Oh, fuck off, both of you! I’ll spit in your food!”
“You l-look professional R-Richie,” Bill says, but even as he says it, his eyes are crinkling in the corners the way they do when he’s holding in a laugh.
“I think your uniform is cool!” Ben says genuinely, which — and as much as Richie loves Ben — isn’t much consolation considering that it’s coming from the guy wearing the tie-dye New Kids on the Block t-shirt.
“Whatever, assholes,” Richie grumbles, “C’mon.” He skates over to one of the bigger booths and slaps the menus down, motioning for them to sit. The Losers follow him and cram into the booth, Stan, Mike, and Ben on one side; Bill, Bev, and Eddie on the other.
“So, how do you like it so far?” Mike asks as they open their menus.
Richie shrugs, getting out his little order-taking notebook from his apron and removing his pen from where he keeps it tucked behind his ear. “It’s alright.”
“Are you getting good tips?” Beverly smiles.
“Hell yeah,” Richie winks, “Derry can’t get enough of me!”
“Don’t expect a tip from me,” Stan says dryly.
“Wasn’t planning on it, Stanley. They already cut it off at your bar mitzvah!” Richie grins, making a slicing motion in front of his pants.
“That’s it, I’m leaving!” Stan scowls, trying to stand up, but he’s at the back of the booth, and Mike and Ben don’t look like they’re planning on moving any time soon, so…
Richie, 1.
Stan, - 69.
The Losers are scanning their menus, chatting amongst themselves about what to order, when Richie casually glances over at Eddie.
Only to see that Eddie’s already looking back at him. Whelp. His eyes are scanning over Richie, looking him up and down, and if Eddie was one of the waitresses, he’d be totally convinced that Eddie was checking him out.
Eddie sees that Richie sees, and suddenly looks flustered.
“What?” Richie asks, raising an eyebrow.
Eddie’s eyes motion to Richie’s collar. “Since when do you know how to tie a bowtie?” He asks, giving Richie a skeptical look.
“I don’t,” Richie smiles, tugging at it, “It’s a strap-on.”
“A strap-on?” Eddie sputters for a moment before he snaps back, “It’s called a CLIP-ON, idiot!”
Richie shrugs, still smiling. “Same thing.”
Eddie turns back to his menu, seething (adorably, if Richie might add).
“Alright, whaddya want?” Richie sighs, motioning for everyone to hurry up.
“Wh-what are you getting?” Bill asks Bev.
“I think I’ll just get a burger with fries,” Bev replies, smiling at Bill all starry-eyed.
“Me too!” He says happily.
Oh yeah, so they’re kinda dating now? Richie’s not sure, it’s not something they like talked about as a group, or anything. He doesn’t really know how he feels about it — after all, only an idiot wouldn’t notice that Ben’s been crushing on Beverly since forever — but whatever. Richie’s definitely got enough of his own shit going on.
“I’ll have a salad and vanilla milkshake,” Eddie says, closing his menu and looking up at Richie seriously.
“A salad?” Richie snorts.
“What?”
“Who the fuck eats a salad with a milkshake?”
“Me!”
“Fuck that, you’re getting a burger.”
“I don’t want a fucking burger!”
“Too late, already wrote it down. Ben, you’re next.”
Eddie rolls his eyes and slumps down in his seat, evidently not having enough effort to fight Richie on this.
After the rest of the Losers place their orders, Greta skates by, giving them a dirty glare. “You can’t curse in front of customers,” she says as she passes, to which Richie flips off her retreating back.
“Ugh, why is she here?” Eddie mutters as she skates off to her own table, “I thought she worked for her dad?”
“Guess he got tired of her ass and fired her,” Richie shrugs, “I don’t blame him.”
“Who fires their kid?” Mike frowns.
“I dunno,” Richie replies, “I think all the parents in this town are going crazy. Eddie’s mom is probably leading a cult, or something.”
“If my burger is fucking pink,” Eddie says, glaring at Richie, “I’m calling the health department.”
“Extra rare, got it,” Richie says, drawing a smiley face next to Eddie’s order as he pretends to write the words down. He looks up at Eddie impishly, who glares back at him.
“Stop flirting and take our orders,” Stan says, sounding bored.
Eddie and Richie’s faces both flush red as they break eye contact abruptly. “Fuck off, Stan!” Richie snaps, “For that, you’re getting a slice of white bread. Mike, Ben, chop, chop!”
“You do know that a waiter’s job is to take orders,” Bev says, giving Richie a playful smile, “Not give them, right?”
“Jesus Christ, are all of you guys on your periods today? I’m aboutta pass you all off to Greta.”
“Th-then we’re following St-Stan out of here,” Bill says, earning some light laughs from the rest of the group.
It’s still a little weird, getting used to the whole having-a-job thing, but knowing that he has his friends to support him (in their weird, teasing way), makes it easier. They hang around through the rest of the dinner shift, talking amongst themselves and giving him encouraging glances as he helps out other tables.
Also, Eddie winds up really liking his burger, so there’s that.
Even though Richie likes his job well enough, and it’s only three days a week, it kinda sucks knowing that all of the Losers are hanging out without him those three days a week. Well, he doesn’t know that they are — if they are, they don’t mention it — but still.
It all starts to feel worth it though the day he gets his first paycheck after two weeks: a whole $100! That’s already HALF of a Super Nintendo! Plus, with all the tips he’s been raking in, he’s already made over a month’s worth of allowance back.
Richie can’t help but brag to Eddie at school the next day as Eddie gets textbooks out of his locker before class.
“I’m basically fucking rich!” Richie says, leaning against the lockers beside Eddie’s.
“Congrats,” Eddie says sarcastically, but the smile he gives Richie is soft and sincere.
Richie glances down at his feet. “We should, uh, do something tonight,” he says CASUALLY BECAUSE HE IS VERY CASUAL AND VERY COOL RIGHT NOW AND NOT NERVOUS AT ALL.
“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, flipping open one of his notebooks, no doubt to check for the millionth time that his homework’s still inside.
“Y’know, to fucking celebrate, Eds! We could like, go see a movie, or something. I’d pay for everything.”
“What about our friends?”
“Fuck that! I’m not paying for all their broke asses!”
“We could still invite them, though. I know they’ll be happy for you, too.”
God, why does Eddie always have to use so much logic? “We can do something else with them then. C’mon, Eds. I’m literally inviting you to Tozier Town for free! You know how many ladies are scrambling to get in on that action?”
“If you call hanging out with you going to ‘Tozier Town’ I’m not going. That place is probably worse than hell.”
“Please, you’re the mayor.”
“No, I’m not!” Eddie frowns, glancing up at him.
“Too late, you’re elected. Your face is already on the Tozier Town currency.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but Richie could almost swear that he sees the corners of Eddie’s mouth curving up in a smile.
“Soooo,” Richie says after a beat, very CASUAL and COOL-LIKE, “You in?”
Eddie sighs and shuts his notebook, and then his locker. “Fine, I guess.” He says it with heavy reluctance, but Richie’s been friends with him for 10 years now, and therefore knows when Eddie’s full of shit. He can roll his eyes all he wants, but Richie still sees that smile hovering on his lips.
Then it’s a date, Richie almost says, but back-pedals real fucking quickly, because friends don’t go on dates.
“Sweet, I’ll swing by around 6, fuck your mom, and we’ll head out around 7.”
Eddie punches Richie’s arm. “You’ll get me at 6, idiot!”
“Alright, alright!” Richie yelps, grabbing his arm.
“Thank you,” Eddie says, breathing out slowly.
“...You can have a go with me first, and then your mom.”
This time, he manages to dodge Eddie’s punch before it lands.
The bike ride to Eddie’s house that night feels both incredibly short and impossibly long. It’s long because he can’t wait to get there already, and short because he doesn’t have enough time to practice what to be like around Eddie.
A part of him really hates that. It seems like as he gets older and older, it’s becoming harder to just be around Eddie. He’s constantly evaluating himself: what he’s saying, how he’s standing. He just wants to go back to a time where he wasn’t scared of himself around his best friend.
He leaves his bike on Eddie’s front lawn and knocks on his front door, absentmindedly humming a new Nirvana song he’d heard on the radio recently.
“I’ll get it!” Eddie calls out from somewhere inside the house, which seems like a pointless thing to say. It’s 6:00 on a Friday, which means that Mrs. Kaspbrack has sunken into the la-z-boy with a TV dinner and the latest Days of Our Lives episodes (she tapes them all even though, in her opinion, the characters on the show are so “immoral”). Of course Eddie’s getting the door.
It swings open, and then Eddie’s standing there in a navy blue sweater tucked into his jeans, and his hair is perfectly combed and swooping off to one side, and his signature fanny pack is around his hips, and Richie can’t stop staring. Also, he kinda feels dumb for showing up in the same clothes he wore to school today.
“What?” Eddie blushes, tugging on his sweater’s sleeve.
Richie stands up straighter and quickly recovers. “Jeez, Eds, where’d you get that sweater? Did you raid Stan’s closet or something? You look like a divorced dad!”
He’s being a dick, like a major one. Eddie clearly put time and effort into looking nice, and Richie can’t force his mouth to form actual nice words about it.
“Wow, thanks.” Eddie frowns, obviously hurt.
Shit. There’s still time to fix this.
“Just, here—“ Richie says, stepping forward. He untucks Eddie’s sweater from his pants, definitely not even thinking about the way his fingers brush against Eddie’s bare skin as he does so. “You need to loosen it up, Eds! It’s the 90s! Live a little!”
Eddie eyes him as Richie steps back. “You think this is better?”
“Totally. Now you’ll be a total chick magnet!”
“Whatever,” Eddie sighs, but leaves his sweater untucked.
“Who’s at the door?” Sonia calls from the living room.
“Bring me the Wookie,” Richie whispers in a low, croaky voice, which forces Eddie to bite down on his lower lip to keep from laughing.
“I-It’s just Richie, Mommy!” Eddie calls back, swallowing his laughter, “We’re going to a movie!”
“It’s already after six, Eddie Bear,” his mother says gravely, “You know you’re not supposed to be out late.”
“It’s Friday!”
“Eddie.”
“I’ll be back by 9, I swear!”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. K!” Richie pipes in, slipping into the foyer to talk to her, “I’ll take good care of Eddie Bear! I won’t let anything happen to a single hair on his adorable head!”
Eddie gives him an unamused glare that’s disappointingly similar to the one Sonia gives him.
“Don’t you hurt my Eddie,” she says warningly, and it takes everything in Richie not to shoot back, are you fucking deaf?
“He won’t, Ma!” Eddie huffs, grabbing Richie’s hand and pulling him toward the door, Let’s go, his eyes say, and Richie couldn’t agree more.
“Jesus, I don’t know how you live like that,” Richie says as Eddie leads them over to their bikes, hands still intertwined, “I’d wind up in the psych ward with Bowers.”
“Well, maybe I’m already crazy,” Eddie smirks, letting go of Richie as he reaches his bike, “I mean, I’m friends with you.”
“Methinks Eduardo doth protest too much,” Richie says, giving Eddie a wink, and Richie’s day is made when the tips of Eddie’s ears flush red in response.
As promised, when they get to the theater, Richie pays for two tickets to Child’s Play 3 (the attendant is apparently too checked out to care that he’s selling R-rated tickets to a pair of 15 year-olds) as well as one large bucket of popcorn for them to share.
“Let me hold the popcorn,” Eddie says immediately after Richie buys it, “I don’t want you to eat half of it before the movie even starts.”
“How do I know you’re not gonna eat it all, fat-ass?” Richie says as he hands it over.
“Because I’m not a dickhead, dumb-ass!”
It’s pretty busy in the theater right now, being a Friday night and all. The line for the box office is long and snaking, Eddie and Richie had waited in it for a solid 15 minutes. Richie can’t help but feel self-conscious as he glances around the theater lobby. Two guys could go see a movie together, right? That didn’t have to mean anything, it didn’t mean anyone would question or doubt or know...
“Earth to Trashmouth!” Eddie cuts in, waving a hand in front of Richie’s face.
Richie flinches and pushes his glasses up his nose. “What?”
“Let’s go sit down! I wanna get good seats!”
Richie glances around at the busy room and nods. “Yeah, we better hurry up. This place is filling up faster—“
“Than my mom’s vagina,” Eddie finishes flatly.
Richie beams at him. “You’re finishing my sentences now, Eds? That’s adorable!”
“It’s not adorable,” Eddie huffs, “Your jokes are just lame.”
Richie jolts dramatically, slapping a hand over his heart and closing his eyes. “Y-you wound me, Eds,” he says with an exaggerated, rattling breath, before stumbling backward and sprawling out onto the floor. He keeps his eyes closed and sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth for extra effect.
“Oh my god,” He hears Eddie laugh, “Get up, idiot!”
“Can’t. Dead. You meaned me to death.”
“Mean isn’t a fucking verb!”
“Tell that to my corpse!”
He hears Eddie sigh in exasperation before a hand slips into his and starts pulling him up. Eddie, no offense, is definitely not strong enough to pull up Richie on his own, so Richie helps him out and stands up slowly.
“Wake up,” Eddie says, slapping his cheek a few times.
Richie’s filter (what little of it there is) has apparently seen itself out for the night, because Richie doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Maybe true love’s kiss will wake me up, Eddie Bear.”
Augh!!!! What kind of cheesy shit was that??? Richie wants to kick himself.
Eddie’s quiet for a second, before, “Then you’re fucked, because my mom’s not here.”
Richie grins and opens his eyes. “What the fuck? I’m not in love with her!”
Thankfully, Eddie’s smiling back. “You sound like you are.”
“No fucking way,” Richie insists, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, “See, all that crazy fucking we do is all just a ploy for me to get closer to you, Eds.”
(W h y t h e f u c k d i d h e s a y T H A T ?)
“Ew!” Eddie blushes, shoving Richie’s arm off, and Richie’s not sure if the ‘ew’ was meant for the ‘crazy fucking’ thing or the ‘getting closer to Eddie’ thing. He really really hopes it’s the first thing.
Richie pushes up his glasses again and hopes he’s not blushing. “Alright, Spaghetti, let’s go sit down.” The idea of sitting in a dark theater where he has to be quiet and can’t put his foot in his mouth anymore sounds like a great change of pace.
Eddie nods and follows Richie as he leads them out of the lobby and into the back of the building. It’s quiet and more dimly lit back here, with a small handful of doors that lead to each theater.
“Which one are we in again?” Eddie asks.
Richie glances down at their tickets. “Lemme see—“
“What the fuck do we have here?” Someone cuts in, and Richie doesn’t even need to look up to know who it is.
Shit.
Victor Criss and Belch Huggins, who seemingly took it upon themselves to terrorize the younger kids of Derry after Henry got locked away.
The two older boys apparently just finished watching something; they’re coming out of one of the theater doors with empty popcorn buckets in hand. Even though Richie’s getting rapidly taller these days, they still are broader and feel impossibly bigger than him.
“Looks like a couple of queers to me,” Belch snickers to Victor.
“Leave us alone,” Eddie says, and Richie can tell he’s using every ounce of strength in him to keep his voice from shaking. Richie wants to hug him for being so brave.
“Look at this!” Victor croons, motioning between them, “They got popcorn to share and everything!”
“Fucking sick!” Belch laughs harshly.
The lobby was so busy, and yet somehow everyone else out there seems to be taking their sweet time coming back here. Fucking fantastic.
Victor takes a few steps closer to Richie, slow and purposeful, his eyes clouded over and dark. He comes to a spot only inches from his face, and their gazes lock. “Didn’t you know fucking faggots aren’t allowed in this town?” Victor hisses, spit landing on Richie’s glasses. Richie can’t help but find it cruelly ironic that he can take down a demonic clown and feel brave, but finds himself shitting his pants over facing some crackhead school bully.
He can feel his body shaking, his internal I’m fucked! meter is cranked up to an 11, but when he glances out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Eddie is starting to shake, and he just looks so scared, and he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anyone hurt Eddie.
And so, he does what he does best.
He starts talking.
“Then you better start packing, ‘cause you two are the gayest thing I’ve ever seen! Just fucking look at yourselves! I mean, what the fuck are you two doing alone here anyway? You don’t even got dates for a Friday night and you’re fucking Juniors? Fucking brutal. But who needs girls when you can jerk each other off watching Mystery Date, am I right?”
Eddie bursting out laughing is the last thing Richie hears before getting his lights punched out.
He’s lying on his back,
looking up at Eddie in the dark.
His face is wet — it’s raining? He can feel the thunderstorm rattling the earth, raindrops leaking through the ceiling and landing on his cheeks.
Eddie’s smiling down at him and then he’s kissing him, and they’re in the hammock and Eddie’s kissing him hard and Richie can’t move because he’s scared that if he does he’ll wake up and realize that this is all in his head.
Much too soon, Eddie pulls back, lips still hovering over Richie’s.
“Eddie—“
Eddie smiles, and Richie’s face is still wet, and Eddie whispers back—
“RICHIE!”
And suddenly Richie’s awake, and Eddie’s not smiling down at him; instead, he’s kneeling and he looks scared as he clutches Richie’s face. And Richie’s not in the hammock, but sprawled out on the dingy red carpet of the movie theater hallway, and the reason his face is wet isn’t from rain, but from the blood streaming out his nose. Also, everything is blurry.
“Eddie?” Richie mumbles.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Eddie mumbles, letting go of Richie and sitting back on his heels, “You looked fucking dead.”
Richie sits up, rubbing at the back of his head. Miraculously, his glasses seem to have survived the punch, as they’re laying beside him perfectly intact. He grabs them and slips them on, blinking as the world comes back into focus. “It’s gonna take a whole lot more than two dumbass motherfuckers to take down Richard Big-Dick Tozier,” he says.
“Your middle name is not Big-Dick,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling with relief, “Shut the fuck up.”
Richie glances around. “How long was I out?”
“Like 5 minutes. Vic and Belch took off after...uh, you know?”
“Decking me?”
“Yeah.”
Silence settles over the pair for a moment, and Richie suspects that neither of them know what to say.
“Hey!” Eddie suddenly bursts, looking shy for some reason, “The good news is, I saved the popcorn!” He holds up the bucket, “They tried to take it but I wouldn’t let them.”
Eddie looks so stupidly proud of himself over this that Richie can hardly stand it. The smile he gives Richie as he shows him the popcorn is beyond fucking adorable and Richie wishes, not for the first time tonight, that he could kiss him.
He’s worried that if he talks, he’ll say something stupid again, like, I could kiss you for that, Eds, or hey, that was badass, let’s celebrate by making out for several hours. So, instead, he just laughs, which proves to be a mistake since the action causes the blood that’s coming from his nose to sputter into his mouth.
“Shit,” Eddie mutters. He unzips his fanny pack and just like that, Dr. K is in session. He cups Richie’s face with one hand and grabs a tissue with the other.
“I told your mom I’d keep you safe,” Richie teases as Eddie blots at his nose.
“Doesn’t mean you have to get yourself killed,” Eddie grimaces, “We could have tried to walk away.”
“A punch isn’t killing someone, first off, and also, I’m not gonna let anyone talk shit about us.” He says his words more confidently than he feels them. In truth, Victor and Belch’s insults are still rattling around inside his brain violently, as if they have the power to shake his secret
(his dirty little secret)
loose.
Eddie fixes up Richie with impressive efficiency, and by the time he’s done, Richie’s feeling as close to good-as-new as he can, considering the circumstances.
“Thanks,” Richie mumbles as Eddie packs everything away.
“No problem.”
As Eddie stands up to go throw away the bloodied tissues, Richie rises to his feet and sighs. “Guess we missed the movie, huh?”
Eddie tosses the tissues into a nearby trashcan and checks his watch. “Only like 20 minutes. We could still catch the rest,” He pauses, smiling nervously, “I mean, only if you want to”
“I want to!” Richie says too quickly.
Eddie raises his eyebrows.
“I mean,” Richie blushes, “That’d be, uh, fine.”
Eddie smiles at him, and Richie feels his breath catch.
At the end of the night, Richie and Eddie walk their bikes back to Eddie’s house, talking about the movie. It’s one of those late-September nights that’s not quite cold, but not warm either. Richie looks at the side of Eddie’s face as he talks, watching as his features come in and out of focus as they pass under street lights.
“I just don’t fucking think dolls are scary,” Eddie rambles, looking at the sidewalk ahead, “All you have to do is kick them, and they’re down.”
“Yeah, but sometimes he has a knife,” Richie counters, “Then what?”
“Then kick him harder! He’s like, one foot tall!”
“All good points, Eds.”
“I know,” Eddie says confidently, “But whatever, all of those movies are pretty shit anyway.”
They’re nearing Eddie’s house now, and Richie can’t help but feel sad that the night’s coming to an end. You had fun though, right? Richie wants to ask as they walk up to the side of Eddie’s house. But it sounds too cheesy, even in his head, so he settles with, “Your face is pretty shit.”
Nailed it.
Eddie leans his bike against his house and glances at Richie. “Your mom’s pretty shit.”
“Your fanny pack is shit.”
Richie leaves his bike for now, and Eddie leads Richie to his front step. “Your…uh…bike is shit!” The porch light is left on, which either means Mrs. Kaspbrak is waiting up for Eddie, or fell asleep before turning it off. Considering it’s 9:30, Richie hopes for the latter.
Eddie stands with his back to the door, but doesn’t seem in any hurry to go inside. Richie doesn’t blame him, honestly.
“Your freckles are shit,” Richie says, standing in front of him.
Eddie’s brow furrows. “My freckles?”
Shit. Because that was too mushy, and now Richie’s staring at Eddie’s freckles, and Eddie’s staring back at him, and the silence between them is palpable.
“Yup,” Richie says, slapping Eddie’s cheek lightly. “Total shit.”
Eddie still looks a little confused but doesn’t press him further. “You’re so fucking weird,” he says instead, but not in a mean way.
And that’s why you love me, Richie almost says, but stops himself.
Except for the part where he doesn’t actually, because then Eddie’s eyes are widening a little, and he looks all flustered, and why the fuck couldn’t Richie ever keep his mouth closed?
“You wish,” Eddie finally says, but he breaks eye contact and tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear as he says it.
More silence. Richie hates this awkwardness between them, it fucking sucks. Part of him wishes they could go back to being 11 again, where they shared ice cream and snuggled in the park without giving it a second thought.
“Well, I guess I better get inside before my mom kills me,” Eddie says dryly. He glances up at Richie, and their gazes lock.
If this was a date, now would be the time for them to kiss. If this was a date, Richie would cup Eddie’s cheeks and pull him in for the best kiss of his life, probably soundtracked by that one old song by The Crystals about kissing. And Eddie would float back to his bedroom and fall asleep replaying the kiss in his head, and they’d live happily ever after, and all that cheesy shit.
But this isn’t a date. Because it could never be a date, and boys don’t date each other, not in Derry, and not with Richie and Eddie. Still, Eddie looks like he’s waiting for something. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet a little, looking up at Richie hopefully.
Richie doesn’t know what he wants. He as in Eddie, and he as in himself. He wants to kiss Eddie. He doesn’t want to kiss Eddie. He loves Eddie. He loves Eddie. It’s all so confusing and overwhelming, and the more he tries to sort through it, the more paranoid he feels that Eddie can somehow hear his thoughts and he’ll know.
There’s no way to vocalize his feelings, and he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t even want to, and so, all Richie has to say is:
“Okay, goodnight!”
Eddie pauses, looking a little disappointed (Or does he? Maybe Richie’s just projecting). “Right…goodnight.”
And then he steps inside his house, closes the door, and the night is over.
Until a couple of seconds later, when Eddie opens the door, sticks his head out, and claims, “Tozier Town is shit,” before quickly shutting the door again with a proud grin.
And then the night is over.
And Richie can’t stop thinking about everything that happened tonight all the way home.