Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I can’t believe we’re supposed to go back to school on Monday,” someone said. Ben, probably.

Eddie was too busy counting the droplets of blood that fell from his hand to the grass. When did one have to seriously worry about bloodloss? And what about air transmitted diseases? Surely something could be flying around —a weird chickenpox mutation, bronchitis or other stuff like that— and waving around an open wound would be the medical equivalent of a flickering neon sign that says sickness welcome (terminal diseases 45% off!). Oh my God. Tetanus.

Fucking blood oath.

“Yeah,” someone answered. Most definitely Stan. “Act like nothing’s happened…”

Finding out about the placebos didn’t mean every single one of his worries disappeared. Sure, maybe he couldn’t trust his mother’s word anymore, maybe he’d have to start questioning whether all his alleged allergies were actually real. But what about everything he’d read?! Surely all those medical diagnosis books he’d borrowed from the library couldn’t have been lying, could they?

Someone nudged his shoulder, effectively putting a stop to his internal turmoil. He knew it was Richie without even looking. He was about to shout something along the lines of “fucking what , dipshit?!” but then he looked at him. For once Richie was serious. He had his head cocked, a silent question in his eyes. 

Christ, that fucking clown had really done a number on them all. He’d lost all his spark. Annoying as it was.

“Well, it did happen,” Bill said, puffing his chest in the way that meant that he was deadly serious and about to give an important speech. “But t-t-that’s a part of growing up, i-isn’t it?”

“You’re right! I’m sure everyone goes through the typical clown-related-nightmare-fuel-scarred-for-the-rest-of-our-lives type of trauma when they’re about this age, Billiam,” Richie said, the cadence in his voice indicating he was trying to do a voice but not quite getting there. Nevermind, then —he was still in there.

“Beep-beep, Richie,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes and nudging his shoulder as retaliation. 

“Alright, so it h-h-happened to us. And it s-s-sucked. So what! We can’t let It f-f-fucking take over out lives even when he’s dead!”

“If it’s dead,” Stan muttered.

“C’mon, guys,” Beverly said. “Bill’s right. We should be enjoying our last weekend of freedom before highschool, not moping around like fucking idiots.”

“Ah, highschool,” Richie said, sighing and leaning back on the grass, hands under his head. “Can’t wait to- wait,” he stopped, sitting up again, confused. “Who’s gonna harass us now? Good ol’ Bowers is gone, isn’t he, Homeschool?”

Mike shrugged. “The fall from the well couldn’t have been more than 10 feet…”

“Did anyone actually see a body when we were going up?” Stan asked, uneasy.

“I was a bit busy screaming and running for my life, personally, Stan,” Eddie snorted.

“Maybe It got to him too,” Ben said.

“He definitely hit head on the way down,” Beverly said, “there’s no way to survive a fall like that.”

“I don’t know,” Mike continued, “with that much adrenaline in his body he might have- He seemed like a man possessed.”

“I think all his bullshit finally got into his brain,” Eddie said. “Bev’s right, anyway; one little cut in the back of the head and you could bleed to death or end up paralyzed or something-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, guys,” Richie groaned, getting up. “I say good fucking riddance! We should be celebrating this! No more fucking rendezvous between my pretty face and the fucking toilet bowl! Anyone got beer at home or something?!”

Eddie scoffed. “Don’t know why you’d be mourning the longest relationship of your life, Rich. Who’s gonna kiss you now?”

“Eat my shorts, Eds.”

“In your dreams, asshole. And stop fucking calling me-!”

“Yeah, Richie, I don’t think we’ll magically become high school royalty just because Bowers is gone,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “Have you seen us?"

“Ain’t ya the pessimistic kind, really,” Richie groaned again. “It’s like hanging out with a bunch of corpses.”

Eddie suppressed a grimace.

“Rich is right,” Bill said.

“He is?” Eddie frowned.

“I am?” Richie frowned.

“We should have a sleep over t-t-this weekend, like we used to do before classes s-s-started again.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes, “we’ve only doubled in size the last year-”

“Speak for yourself, Eds, I’ve tripled in-”

“Beep-beep, Rich,” Stan sighed.

“You think your parents are gonna let all of us run around your house?” Eddie continued, barely conquering the wish to hit Richie in the nuts.

Bill winced, and it was answer enough.

“We could always hang out in the clubhouse?” Ben suggested, in that tone of his that always seemed like he was asking a question, like he wasn’t sure about any of his statements. “I’m sure it's big enough to fit some pillows and blankets.”

“Hell yeah, cuddle session,” Richie grinned. “Eddie, make sure you sleep close to me, alright?” He tried to ruffle his hair but Eddie managed to slap his hand away in time.

“I think I’d rather suck on a dirty pipe, thank you.”

“Kinky.” Well, that didn’t even make sense.

“You’re so fucking disgusting-”

“I’m in,” Beverly said, smiling. “I think I could sneak out of my house with a pack of beers or something.”

Richie's attention was derailed. “Fuck yeah, Bev, have I mentioned you’re my favourite?”

“Only once or twice,” Beverly grinned.

“Well, I meant it.”

Beverly rolled her eyes, goodnaturally. Eddie rolled his in a different way.

“Well , I’m not going,” he said.

“Why n-not?” Bill asked. “It’ll be fun!”

“Eddie Spaghetti isn’t very acquainted with that concept, Big Bill, you’ll have to talk slowlier.”

“More slowly, idiot,” Stan corrected.

“Don’t call me that, dipshit!” Eddie said at the same time.

“Case in point,” Richie said, gesturing with his hand.

“You think my mom’s not going to wonder where the hell I’m going so late at night? What the fuck I’m supposed to tell her? That I’m gonna sleep in the ground, next to the spiders and the worms and the-? Oh, God, I can already hear her-”

“Just tell her you’re spending the n-n-night at my place, Eddie,” Bill suggested.

“She’ll probably call like a thousand times to make sure I’m okay,” Eddie sighed, groaning into his hands.

“You’re lucky,” Richie said, “she calls me about two thousand times every night, and I don’t have that much energy-”

“Beep-beep, asshole!” Eddie punched his shoulder for good measure.

“We’ll do it some other time, then,” Ben said, smiling softly.

“Yeah,” Mike said. “It wouldn’t be the same if we are not all there.”

Eddie smiled softly. Jesus, weren’t they a co-dependent bunch. “It’s fine guys, seriously. You guys have fun with your underage drinking and your spiders. I’ll be at home with a perfectly healthy liver and without eggs being laid inside my ears.”

Beverly and Bill scoffed.

“Can’t blame him,” Richie said, shrugging. “I’d also jump at any opportunity to spend the night in that house. Remind me again what your mother wears to sleep?”

“You keep talking and I’ll cut your tongue with the piece of glass, Trashmouth-”

“Maybe you can hang out with us for a while,” Bill said, ignoring Richie and Eddie’s bloodlust. “O-only a few hours?”

“I think I’ll spend the entire weekend showering, actually,” Eddies shrugged. He’d already showered thrice since yesterday. He still felt he needed more. “God knows what the hell has festered under my skin by now, other than this fucking guy.”

He pointed at Richie, who grinned delighted, almost proud.

Then someone said something about a tape they’d bought recently and something about cassette player and Eddie disconnected. The wound in his hand had stopped bleeding by now, which seemed to be a good thing. He had to clean it, though —the entire skin around it felt itchy and bloated and soft. God, where the hell had he put his inhaler?

That weekend Eddie, true to his word, stayed at home. He avoided his mother like the plague, a mix of anger, frustration and guilt in his stomach. That Saturday she’d only tried to smother him on five different occasions, which felt like some sort of compromise between them. Kind of. 

He laid in bed after his third shower at 10:32, like a fucking loser, and cried for a bit. 

He’d been doing that for the past few days, ever since they defeated It. He wasn’t sure what the hell was it about. Fear? Not exactly. He’d seen with his own eyes how It had- And it couldn’t have meant any other thing. It was gone . Tiredness, maybe? Could someone cry from exhaustion? Whatever it was, Eddie was glad he could handle the tears until he was alone. He thought he’d rather face It again before letting himself cry in front of anyone else. He’d done enough of that for a lifetime. He wondered if the others felt the same, if they too cried at night. 

Christ, highschool started in less than 48 hours and he was still a fucking baby. Great. Fucking A.

“Shit!” someone whispered-screamed. 

Eddie jumped. He sat on the bed and tried not to breathe. Wait, no. He needed to breathe. Where was the inhaler, where-?

A muffled bang. Outside his window.

Then Richie’s mop of hair appeared over the windowsill. 

Eddie stood up quickly and opened the window. “What the fuck are you doing, you fucking idiot?!” he whispered-screamed back at him.

“Oh, but what light through the window breaks or whatever!” Richie said, trying to stand up on the roof, a hand on his chest and the other up in the air. Eddie grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, forcing him to sit. “Your Romeo art here, your- fuck, that really hurt!” He looked down at his shin, where a little bruise was forming.

“Are you braindead?!” Eddie pulled him inside. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I’m here to escort you to the ball!” Richie grinned, half looking at him and half rubbing the bruise. 

Eddie couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

“The clubhouse,” Richie clarified.

“I know what you fucking meant, dickweed!”

“Great! Let’s go then!” Rich turned towards the window, as if he was going to get back down the same way.

“Are you insane?!” Eddie grabbed him by the collar again.

“I’m starting to get the impression you’re not very glad to see me, Eds,” Richie muttered, mock hurt.

“I told you I’m not going.”

“And I won’t take a no for an answer!”

“Rich-”

“Come on, dude! We are only thirteen-almost-fourteen once! I know for a fact that your nerd-ass isn’t going to take a break once high school starts, why not enjoy our last night of sanity?”

Eddie didn’t feel very sane, at the time. Hell, maybe he never did.

“Fuck off, Rich.”

“Fucking fine,” Richie groaned, a little too loudly for Eddie’s comfort. He walked towards his bed and sat down on it.

“What are you doing.”

Richie pouted and spread his growing limbs on the mattress. “You’re not going, I’m not going.”

“What.”

“You heard me.”

“Rich. Get out.”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“It’s either a night with me or a night with me and the rest of the losers.”

“Is there any option in which you aren’t involved?” Eddie crossed his arms.

Richie faked a punch in the stomach and put a hand over his chest. “It kills me when you say such sweet things, Eddie Bear.”

“I wonder how long it’d take you to suffocate under a pillow…”

“Come on, man!” Richie stood up quickly. He’d never been the patient kind. “What the hell do I have to do to convince you to go?!”

Eddie thought for a moment. “No more your mom jokes.”

Richie's soul evaporated through his eyes. “It’s like you are asking me to kill a part of me, Eds!”

“Your point?” Eddie answered, bored.

“I’ll give you a day free of your mom jokes.”

“Three weeks.”

“Are you insane?! Two days.”

“Two weeks.”

“I don’t have that kind of self-control, dude!”

“Two weeks is my last offer, dipshit.”

“Okay, okay, okay. One. One week. How does that sound?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t get a better offer. “I don’t know, man…”

“Alright, Jesus! One week free of jokes and I’ll do your math homework for two weeks!”

“You suck at math, Rich!”

“That’s not true, asshole! You know the ladies call me Hypotenuse Tozier!”

“Wh-?”

“For the size of my d-”

Eddie snorted. “Sure, keep telling yourself that, Trashmouth.”

“Why don’t you tell me what the hell you want from me and we end this fucking thing?!”

Eddie smiled. It was amusing to see him beg, if only to relish in the fact that Richie seemed sort of desperate. Maybe desperate wasn’t the word. Stubborn, if anything. But that’s just how he was with everything  —God knows Richie could hyperfixate on anything, especially if it was something he couldn’t have. They’d all been there that time he’d tried to get into the school band (even when he couldn’t play a single instrument and couldn’t carry a tune for the life of him); the guy had almost organized a riot.

Still, Eddie wanted to check just how much he wanted him to come.

“I want your Spider-man comic #89.”

Richie’s jaw fell to the floor.

Eddie had never seen him so quiet for such a long time before. He tried not to giggle.

“You are- You-” Richie muttered. “Eddie Kaspbrak, you little shit.”

Eddie looked at him, unimpressed. 

Richie had bought that Spider-man #89 a few years ago, with a couple of bucks he’d found in the street. It had been in one of those second-hand stores that was full of dust and smelled like rancid apples. It was an old number, from the 70’s, and the idiot had convinced himself that if he held onto it for long enough, he could sell it for a fortune. Who the hell would want to buy that old thing was beyond Eddie’s understanding. The fucking thing was missing a page.

“Fine,” Richie said through gritted teeth. Eddie’s breath got caught in his throat. “ But I get to make you drink at least half a bottle of beer. Compromise.”

Eddie was so stunned by the whole thing he could only agree.

Next thing he knew, an ecstatic Richie was trying to convince him to jump down the window with him while he was still tying his shoes.

“We are not going to jump, stupid,” Richie said, half his body on the roof already. “There’s a perfectly good tree right here. Have you no imagination?”

“What I don’t have is a death wish, Rich,” Eddie said, vehemently shaking his head. “I’ll see you downstairs. As I’ll be using, you know, the fucking stairs.”

“What, and risk your mom seeing you?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“She’ll be delighted to know I’m here.”

“Just- just fucking wait here, okay?!” Eddie half-screamed. Richie held his hands in the air, sighing. 

Eddie turned around and left the room. He came back with a helmet in his head and another in his hands for Richie. The fucking moron almost died laughing when he saw him.

“Are you serious?!” Richie giggled. There was a glint in his eyes, the fucker.

Eddie frowned. “Yes, I’m fucking serious, you stupid asshole. We can not risk you having even more brain damage.”

“I’m not wearing that, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that-”

“Come on, I’ll be fine.”

“Rich, so help me God-”

“My head’s probably too big anyway-”

“Fuck yeah, your head is big, you stubborn motherfucker-”

“Eds, hon, we already talked about this. What your mother and I have goes way beyond a mare physical connection-”

Eddie rolled his eyes. He punched Richie in the stomach, which caused him to double over, as expected, and then forced the helmet into his stupid head. Richie scowled while Eddie tied it securely under his chin. He looked a bit ridiculous and Eddie tried not to smile.

“Now we can go.”

Richie exhaled and followed him.

“I swear to God, Rich, if this kills me I’ll kill you.”

“You are specially cute when you threaten me, Eds, have I ever told you that?”

“Beep-beep, Richie.”

They got down just fine, which meant nothing —it was still dangerous and they would never do that again thank you very much.

Richie insisted on sharing his bike —“plausible deniability, Eds: if your beautiful mother happens to get up during the night (as I personally know she does) to drink some water or something, she’ll see your bike in the backyard and think you still are there, safe and sound”.

They rode in silence. Eddie held on for dear life to Richie, because he didn’t trust him for a second, even if they were still wearing the fucking helmets. Derry at night was not as scary as it once had seemed to him, but maybe is because, for once, he wasn’t thinking about the fucking clown or about dying or- Whatever. Derry at night was still weird, but still and quiet and easier to handle when he wasn’t alone. 

“You are so not going to endure an entire week without the mom jokes,” Eddie said, when he felt their silence was turning a bit weird. It was a normal assumption. Richie had already slipped twice.

“Oh yeah, I’m not doing that,” Richie said, shrugging.

“What?!” Eddie said, and punched him in the side.

“Ow, asshole! Don’t hit the driver!”

“You promised, dickhead!”

“I didn’t actually- ”

“Fuck you, dude.”

“Come on, I’m still going to give you the Spider-man, you selfish bastard.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Uhm.”

“But I cannot promise I’ll give up an entire part of my being just because you asked, Eds! No matter how cute you are!”

Eddie snorted. “We are talking about mom jokes, Rich.”

“Just the thought of them being gone-!” Richie pretended to cry. “I just can’t bear it-!”

“You are an idiot,” Eddie said, smiling softly. 

“Fuck yeah, I am,” Richie concieded. “I just lost my fucking Spider-man #89 for half a beer. It won’t even have any effect on you.”

Eddie chuckled. “Poor you.”

“Can I persuade you to drink an entire bottle?”

“Keep your eyes on the road, Rich.”

“You break my heart.”

More silence.

But Eddie had to ask.

“Why are you insisting so much, anyway?” he muttered, a little bit embarrassed for some reason. “It’s not like you haven’t hung out with the others without me before…”

“How can you say that, dude?!” Richie screamed, practically turning around. “You are my best friend!”

“No I’m not, Stan’s your best friend,” Eddie said, not even that bothered about it. It was a fact.

“Okay, yeah, he is.” Even Richie had to agree. “Well, I’m your best friend!”

“No, that’ll be Bill,” Eddie said, chuckling.

“Fair enough,” Richie sighed. He continued cycling for a few seconds in silence, like thinking. “I don’t know. It’s weird.”

It was. It didn’t make much sense. Richie was weirdly reverent, which only made it weirder.

“I guess,” Eddie said, slowly, a little unsure.

“Such a special bond we have, Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie said immediately, with another one of his voices. He moved the handlebars recklessly and caused the front wheel to take a sudden turn, almost causing them to go down and eat gravel.

“Don’t be an idiot, fucking hell!” Eddie yelled in his ear.

Richie laughed obnoxiously.

“I’m burning that fucking Spider-man when I get home,” Eddie threatened. 

Richie gasped loudly. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me, fuckface.” 

Everyone was already there by the time they got to the clubhouse, sharing a few blankets and a big bowl of popcorn. 

“What t-t-took you so long?” Bill asked from his spot next to Mike.

“Had to fight a few dragons to get to the princess, you know,” Richie answered quickly.

“Shut up,” Eddie said almost immediately.

Bill looked at them quizzically, gesturing to the helmets.

“Do not even,” Richie threatened, taking off his helmet and dropping it on the floor. 

Eddie rolled his eyes as he took off his own. Richie stepped over everyone to get to the popcorn and Eddie walked quickly to the luckily empty hammock. The bliss only lasted about five minutes: Richie came over and demanded his spot —as if the hammock itself was his — and insisted on crushing Eddie with his growing limbs and breathing all over his face. Like a douchebag.

No one slept much that night. Everyone sort of talked, ate and drank the few bottles of beer Beverly had brought with her —practically all of them made faces whenever they took a sip and Eddie gagged and almost threw up, trying to aim for Richie, who was obnoxiously laughing at him, even if he hadn’t especially loved the taste much himself.

Eddie remained vaguely aware of potential spiders and possible blisters that could get under his skin and cause a fatal infection, but for the most part he laughed and dozed off in the hammock and woke up and laughed again. The night was fuzzy; the slightly cold breeze that got through the hatch carried fireflies and the sound of crickets and moving leaves and Eddie felt an almost unidentified sensation he decided to call peace.

Richie kept trying to make him laugh with his terrible jokes, tried about four different voices —only two of them recognizable— and sung fucked up versions of songs they’d all heard in the radio during the summer. Eddie laughed only when others did too, perhaps because it’d be embarrassing to find Richie anything other than ‘sometimes funny but for the most part annoying’. How could someone tell when one is drunk, anyway? Eddie felt pretty much the same but happier, fuller.

“And then,” Beverly was saying through little fits of laughter, “I saw her wearing a hat during an entire week!”

Practically everyone laughed. Eddie hadn’t been paying attention, so he didn’t understand why it was funny. He noticed that Richie’s knees were full of scratches, most of them healed but some of them recent enough to look bloody. He wondered if he’d done that to himself while climbing the tree outside his window. The thought made him want to laugh and die at the same time.

Richie walked him home afterwards, just before the sun was about to poke through the mountains. Neither of them felt particularly inclined to use Richie’s bike, though Eddie should’ve been more concerned about getting home as soon as possible. They walked, almost wandering, and yawned the whole way back.

“You are an idiot,” Eddie said. Yawned.

“Ouch,” Richie said, though it seemed more mechanical than an actually insulted response. “What I’d do now?”

“You didn’t have to walk me back home, dipshit,” Eddie said. “Specially if we are not going to use the fucking bike.”

“Can’t have you getting lost, Eddie Bear,” Richie answered. Yawned.

“I know where I live, bastard.”

“Fuck me for trying to be nice, then, Goddamit,” Richie said, yawning.

“You’ve never been nice in your fucking life, Rich.”

“Fuck you, I can be nice! I’m nice!” he said with no bite.

“You could be sleeping now,” Eddie muttered, trying to sound exasperated but sounding like something else.

“Sleeping is for idiots. I’m the master of the night and the day and the Sun BOWS TO ME AND MY-”

“Jesus Christ, shut up!” Eddie laughed, grabbing him from the arm and pulling him forward. “You want to wake up the entire street, asshole?!”

“Listen, I’m just carrying on the conversation. You want me to not talk to you when you talk to me?”

“I don’t think you’d be physically able to. You’d explode or something.”

“Try me, you little shit.”

“Sure.”

“Just tell me when we start.”

“Right now.”

“Fine. Okay.”

“Alright.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.”

“Fuck off, Spaghetti, I’m doing it, aren’t I?”

“Are you, Rich? Are you? ”

“Well, this doesn’t count! Obviously.”

“I said we already started, you fuckface!”

“I was making sure we both understood the rules!”

“There are no rules , you fucking fuck! You just had to shut up for like a minute! ”

“Well, alright, how was I supposed to know that if I’m not allowed to talk about the rules!”

“There are no fucking RULES, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”

Richie bursted out laughing.

“Fuck you, man,” Eddie muttered, trying not to follow him.

“Fuck you!” Richie answered, still chuckling.

They walked for a while in (ironically) silence, broken by a few more yawns.

“Stop yawning, you asshole,” Eddie said. “You are transmitting them to me.”

“I’m not transmitting shit, dude.”

“Fuck off, yes you are.”

“You yawned first, douchebag!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Takes one to know one, darlin’”

“Rich, how many times do I have to tell you to stop using your Southern Belle voice with me.”

“Oh, at least one more, sugar!”

“I’ll punch you in the nuts and leave you infertile, bitch.”

“Oh, darlin’, first you’ll have to reach ‘em!”

“Fuck you, man, I’m not that much shorter than you!”

“Have you seen you, dude?! You are as cute as a button! I could just pick you up and carry you around in my pocket at all times!”

“I wouldn’t want to be in your grimmy ass pocket-”

“I’d feed you chips and shit.”

“Fuck off, Rich.”

“Don’t worry about it, Eds, it’s what makes you so chuck-a-licious.”

“I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“Promises, promises…”

They reached Eddie’s house just before 5am. Richie convinced — again , somehow— to climb the tree to get to his room!

“Live big, Eddie Spaghetti! You can do it!”

“I know I can do it, Richie, that doesn’t fucking mean I have to fucking do it, do I?!”

“You are almost there!”

“Richie I swear to God I want that Spider-man first thing in the fucking morning !”

“Sure thing, sweet thing!”

“You cannot rhyme a word with the same word, you stupid shit.”

“Nighty night, Eds!”

“Good night, Rich,” he said, smiling and rolling his eyes.

(Richie somehow managed to bring him the comic before ‘first thing in the fucking morning’. When Eddie woke up a few hours later, when the Sun was still slowly rising, he found the beaten up Super-man #89 on the feet of his bed, as if the idiot had gone to his house directly after leaving Eddie to pick it up and bring it to him as soon as possible. Eddie smiled, a little embarrassed and weirdly flattered by it.

And if Eddie kept the comic in the last drawer of his nightstand instead of burning it and spreading its ashes all over Rich’s room like he’d threatened to do that night multiple times, well, no one would ever know.)

The next week (the next day) they formally started high school —though it was anticlimactic because it shared the same building with the lower grades. It was only a difficult change because Beverly was the first one to leave. 

Bill took it the worst out of all of them —Eddie hadn’t figured out Ben yet, none of them had, because he was quiet and kept to himself almost exclusively and, anyway, they were all pretty stupid back then, weren’t they? Bill pined for weeks, especially when they stopped receiving letters or even postcards. Eddie understood Bill to a certain degree; he didn’t get the pinning, not in the way Bill felt it —that notion was still too hard to understand at their age; weren’t they too young to be in love? Eddie had seen it sometimes in the pictures, that puppy love, but he still felt detached from it. But he did understand the missing bit, at least. Beverly had been a fresh and soft breeze; foreign but welcome into their shitty club.

They never even had a phone number to call.

In October they celebrated Halloween with stolen candy and a weak repetition of the last party they had held at the clubhouse. They all felt like they were missing a limb but no one was brave enough to talk about it. Eddie worried about potential cavities and brushed his teeth three consecutive times when he got back home. Richie teased him about it; Eddie should’ve known better than to tell him anything.

In December first exams were coming through and everyone suddenly took studying very seriously, even if they were only in freshman year. “College is the safest bet to g-get out of this shithole,” Bill had said the first time he suggested going to the library (on purpose). Richie had said “I can’t believe I hang out with a bunch of nerds” and then followed them anyway. Eddie kicked him in the shin under the table every time Richie spoke too loudly for library standards —which was almost every five minutes— and Richie tried to distract him by throwing pieces of paper at his face.

In February (1990) Richie showed up in his room in the middle of the night —he still used the tree and the window, the idiot— and insisted on sleeping over for no particular reason. For the most part he looked and acted exactly the same, but Eddie thought that he could often see something sleep through his silences. The jokes seemed too regular and mechanical to be spontaneous and Eddie wondered if something had happened —something with his parents or with someone at school— and if that meant that Richie had chosen him to spend time with because he felt bad.

They read the old comics Richie had brought in his backpack and laid backwards in Eddie’s bed until they got red and dizzy. Eddie didn’t worry about potential concussions because it got Richie to laugh like nothing was wrong.

In March (1990) Eddie received a bunch from Belch Huggins (from all fucking people) for daring to try to use the bathroom while he was in it smoking. The pain in his nose was nothing in comparison to what Eddie imagined his mother would say if she saw him in that state.

“Don’t panic,” Stan said, later, when he was trying to clean the dry blood without hurting him too much.

“That’s like asking a kangaroo not to jump, Urine,” Richie said somewhere beside him. 

“Beep beep, Richie,” Ben muttered behind Stan.

“Oh, Haystack can give as good as he gets!” Richie celebrated. “ Man , I love it when you talk back to me, Benny Boy.”

Ben turned red and tried to ignore him.

“Can you shut the fuck up, Rich? For fuck’s sake,” Eddie mumbled. 

“I’m trying to distract you so you don’t panic!”

“It’s not fucking working, you fucking idiot! Being near you is like being face to face with a nuclear bomb full of shit,” he retorted.

“I don’t know if the shit component would actually make it a nuclear bomb,” Stan said mindlessly, still cleaning the room.

“Fuck off, man,” Eddie said, groaning. “My mom will kill me, then bring me back to life, then lock me up in my room for an entire month and then kill me again.”

“You shan’t worry, my dearest,” Richie said, starting with his British Guy. “I shall come over and rescue you from your prison! You shall let your long hair fall from your window and I shall climb the tower and-”

“Just because you use ‘shall’ doesn’t mean you’re speaking fancy, Richie,” Stan said.

“I’d rather rot in there, dipshit,” Eddie said, probably blushing (even if it was a joke, Richie had said something partially close to the truth).

“You wound me, Eds.” Richie pouted.

“Don’t call me that.”

(Eddie didn’t get a month of imposed isolation, but his mother did fuss about him for an entire afternoon and cried for hours until leaving him weak and small and exhausted.)

(Richie climbed through his window that night anyway, still pretending to woo Eddie with his old-fashioned talk and saying that “really you should let your hair grow longer” and talking so Goddamned much Eddie ended up tired from something other than his mother, which was certainly an upgrade. 

“I think you look badass with that bruise, anyway,” Richie had said, half joking, half serious. “I mean, your nose looks like a potato. But like a cool potato.” 

Despite himself, Eddie laughed and hit him in the arm.)

In June (1990) Ben announced his father had gotten an important job in Nebraska and that his family had already started packing. They tried throwing him a goodbye party in the clubhouse, but everyone was either too depressed or too angry to make it a good one. Ben, ever the sentimentalist, tried to put into words how much their friendship had meant to him and how much he was going to miss them all, even if thinking about them meant thinking about Derry. Richie booed him for being a partypooper and Eddie, who was the first to catch up with Richie’s plan, played along until everyone joined in and laughed and even Ben didn’t seem so sad anymore.

Richie was smart like that, Eddie thought he could be an asshole, a jackass, a full-time bastard, but he knew when people needed a laugh. He had to give it to him.

Despite all his promises, the waning Losers Club only received two postcards from Ben: one from Pennsylvania (just the beginning of their long car trip to Nebraska) and one from Indiana (half-way through). They hung them in the clubhouse, next to Beverly’s, and waited for more. 

Who would’ve though Nebraska was too cool and exiting to find the time to write to your fucking friends (blood oath be damned)? They tried not to be too upset about it. Forgetting about Derry altogether seemed like a recurring trend. Eddie could see the appeal of it; he was glad Bev and Ben had gotten away first. Pissed to be left behind, but proud nonetheless.

In August (1990) they swam in the quarry after Mike was done in the farm. Richie took off his glasses and took long strokes and kicked hard with his feet until he splashed everyone within a five yard radius. Eddie cursed at him for getting dirty fucking water in his fucking eyes and Richie laughed until Eddie pushed his head underwater.

In October (1990) Stan started talking about this girl from his History class. Off handed comments about sharing homework and reading lists.

“Damn,” Richie said during lunch, mouth full of food, “if I didn’t know any better I’d say Stan the Man has actually become a man, if you know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately,” Bill said, though he was smirking.

Stan turned red. “Don’t be gross, Richie.” He played with his food on the tray, which he never did.

“That’s like asking a fish not to swim,” Eddie said, still analyzing his lunch for any possible dead roaches.

“Don’t be jealous, Eds Spagheds, love will come for you too and you’ll be able to make out sloppy style under the bleachers just like our little Standley the Manley over here,” Richie said.

Eddie crunched his nose. “Do you know how much fucking germs could be under that fucking thing?! Have either of you actually seen anyone clean under there the whole time we’ve been here? I’d rather fucking die than make out with anyone under the fucking bleachers- no offense, Stan.”

“I haven’t made out with anyone under anywhere, Jesus Christ,” Stan muttered, still red.

“You want to, though,” Richie said, smirking. “You dog.”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

In January (1991) Richie started smoking for some fucking reason. He laughed off every speech Eddie delivered about losing teeth and dying because of lung cancer. Only “No one would fucking want to kiss that smokey ass mouth” seemed to get through to him, which in turn made Eddie burst out laughing.

In April (1991) they drove to Castle Rock even if there was nothing there to see, just to show off their new driving skills (Stan was the first to earn his driving license, then Richie, then Bill, then Eddie —in that order). They all drove maturely and respectfully, except Richie, who pretended to run into upcoming traffic or pass out with the wheel in his hands. Mike, who had probably been precariously driving tractors since he could reach all the pedals, laughed so much he complained about ‘breaking his stomach’.

In July (1991) Bill broke his arm trying to climb a tree and had to put up with Eddie’s blabbering about not swimming in the quarry with the cast on.

“It wasn’t even that b-b-big of a fall,” Bill kept saying, partly to placate him and partly because it had been such a dumb accident.

“Our bones aren’t as bendy as they used to be,” Mike said.

“We are getting older,” Stan said, nodding solemnly.

“To be fair, Eddie did break his arm at thirteen like it was nothing,” Richie said, poking the inside of Bill’s cast with a dirty fucking stick (Jesus H. Christ) to scratch an inch.

“Let’s not talk about that,” Eddie said.

In September (1991) Eddie realized he hadn’t seen Richie smoking since February.

In May (1992) Stan said that he was applying to an early admissions program in some university from New York.

“I didn’t even know those existed,” Richie said, trying to make fun of him but not quite getting there.

“That checks out,” Stan said. Eddie chuckled.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“You’re such a nerd ,” Stan mocked. “Grow up, Rich.”

“Eat my dick, Urine.”

“I’d starve.”

“Jackass.”

“Asshole.”

Eddie thought that was their way of saying they would miss each other.

In June (1992) Stan got accepted into the program and got a full scholarship, because he had always been a genius.

Richie’s jokes were erratic and off-tune. 

In July (1992) Eddie rediscovered the beaten up Spider-man #89 in his nightstand. He stared at it for what it felt like an hour and then put it somewhere else, hoping that if it was out of his mind, maybe it’d be out of his heart too.

In September (1992) Richie came through his window with foggy glasses and red eyes.

“I never liked him, anyway,” Richie said weakly. “I’ve been dying to tell you all how much I wanted to kick his ass out of the fucking club.”

Eddie hummed. They sat in his bed without looking at each other. It felt wrong to do or say anything, so Eddie just reaffirmed his presence.

“I can’t believe he beat me to it, the fucker,” Richie said, and this time it was clearer that he wasn’t joking anymore.

Eddie hummed again.

“Anyway!” Richie said, straightening out and looking at him. He seemed a bit deranged. “Congratulations, you are my new best friend.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “He can still be your best friend. Even if he’s in New York.”

Richie pouted. “You don’t want to be my best friend, Eds?”

“No,” Eddie said. “Full offense.”

Richie snorted. Eddie smiled, glad to be of service when Richie couldn’t cheer himself up.

In February (1993) Eddie spent Valentine’s day consoling Bill after being dumped for a girlfriend he didn’t even know he had. Apparently Rachel Cunningham didn’t see a future with him but she was a little boring anyway and she didn’t even like to read what he wrote (“she d-d-didn’t show en-n-n-nough enthusiasm!”).

“You are better off, then,” Eddie said. “You’ll find someone better.”

“So will you.”

“That implies that I had someone too, Big Bill.”

“I didn’t want to make you insecure about your lack of experience,” Bill said, still sniffling a bit.

“Fuck off, man,” Eddie said, chuckling.

In June (1993) they graduated high school and Richie got a letter of acceptance from a community college in Pennsylvania. Eddie got unexplainably mad at him and refused to talk to him for the reminder of the month.

“Come on, Eds,” Richie said one night through Eddie’s locked window. “Open up.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Eddie, please.”

Eddie frowned and got up and opened the window and kept frowning and sat on his desk and crossed his arms.

They looked at each other in silence.

“Am I supposed to say something now?” Richie said.

“I don’t fucking know, asshole, you’re the one harassing me in my own fucking house!”

“You’ve been mad at me! I thought I’d come over to apologise or something, Christ!”

“Apologise for what?!”

“I don’t fucking know!” Richie said, waving his arms around in frustration. “I must have done something!”

Eddie scoffed and turned around in his chair; he pretended to look over the school yearbook. His photo was horrendous. 

Richie seemed to still be there, weary, waiting.

“I thought we all agreed we’d go to UMaine together. Bill, you and me. So we didn’t lose contact like with the rest of the Losers,” Eddie muttered.

Richie sighed but didn’t say anything. 

“Fucking Pennsylvania, Rich, really?!” Eddie exclaimed, turning around and standing up. He felt restless. “It’s like you wanted to get as far away from us as you could! What, there was nothing available in fucking Alaska?!”

“Aww, Eds, are you saying you’re going to miss me? That is so sweet-!”

“Fuck off with the jokes, Rich, I mean it,” Eddie warned him, pointing a finger at him. “What is in fucking Pennsylvania anyway? What, did you think you were gonna get bored of us or something? That you preferred to-”

“I didn’t get into UMaine,” Richie interrupted.

Eddie deflated. “What?” 

“I pretty much only got accepted into that fucking community college in Pennsylvania,” Richie said, snorting bitterly. “And I’m pretty sure that’s because they are desperate to update their student list from three to four.”

“Rich,” Eddie said, weakly, sad.

“Don’t feel pity for me, Eds-”

“But I don’t get it! You are just as smart as any of us! Maybe not smarter than me, but surely-”

Richie snorted. “Calm down, man. I don’t care about school. I haven’t been caring about school since freaking sophomore year. I don’t even know how I managed to graduate.” He walked to the bed and fell into it. He stared at the ceiling.

Eddie didn’t know what to say.

“The community college thing was only to please my parents, anyway,” Richie continued. “If it wasn’t for them I probably wouldn’t even go.”

“What would you be doing? What will you do after, if you finish?” Eddie said, laying next to him.

Richie shrugged. “Fuck if I now. Probably could work for a radio station or something, my excellent voices could pull big numbers. Maybe I could be one of those fucking comedians on TV telling jokes about how much they hate their wives. I could pull that off.”

Eddie snorted. “Well, I’d say I hope you achieve all that but I really don’t want to see your ugly mug each time I switch on the TV.”

Richie laughed. “You wound me, Kaspbrak!”

“I’m sure your big ego can survive it.”

Richie sighed. “I’m unavoidable, anyway.”

“What?”

“Even if I didn’t make it into the fucking radio or the TV or whatever. You’d still think 

about me. I’ve successfully infiltrated every part of your brain. I’ll be everywhere, all the time .”

“You mean like a parasite.”

“I was thinking something more fucking romantic, personally.”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

Silence.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner?”

“Why are you asking?”

“It feels weird to just say it.”

Eddie frowned. “This whole conversation feels weird.”

“Let’s stop talking about this, then.”

“Agreed.”

They ignored it for the rest of the summer.

In September (1993) it became impossible to ignore. Richie had to go a week earlier than anyone else because he had to drive there and get properly installed. He said his goodbyes, joked around and went home afterwards to pack his things and go to bed early. Eddie tried to act normal, as if he didn’t feel like he would break down in tears if anyone looked at him too closely.

That night Eddie went to bed but didn’t fall asleep. He stared at the ceiling, at his desk, at his closet. Sighed a few times. Felt restless.

When someone knocked outside his window, he almost sighed with relief. He went to open the door.

“I thought you said you had to get up early tomorrow,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been the responsible kind,” Richie answered. “Want to go for a drive?” He looked restless too.

“Sure,” Eddie said.

They didn’t actually go for a drive, in the sense that they took their old bikes. Richie had outgrown his so much he looked like one of those circus animals riding a tricycle.

“Where do you want to go?” Richie asked

“You didn’t have a place in mind?”

Richie shrugged. “We could go to the clubhouse.”

“We barely fit in there anymore,” Eddie said. It wasn’t true. He didn’t want to go backand see all the postcards, all the empty space.

“That field past the Kissing Bridge?”

Eddie shrugged. “Sure.”

They walked the last bit of the way, dragging their bikes until reaching the center of the field. They laid down and looked at the sky.

“So,” Eddie said after a while, “this is my special goodbye, huh?”

Richie looked at him. “What makes you say that?”

“Are you telling me you’re going to Mike’s and Bill’s after this?”

“Well, no-”

“Then it’s a special goodbye.”

“Alright,” Richie said, amused. “What do you think so far?”

“It kinda sucks.”

Richie bursted out laughing. “Fuck you, man!”

“Fuck you, too.”

They remained in silence. Eddie didn’t know what to say; anything he could come up with felt inadequate. He only hoped he didn’t cry in front of him —he hadn’t really done that since that summer in ‘89.

“You’ve got everything you need, then?” he asked, though he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“Yeah,” Richie sighed. “I didn’t think I had that much shit, the boxes barely fit into my fucking Honda. It’ll probably take twice as long to get there with all the extra weight.”

“You’re not coming back, then,” Eddie muttered. No one that packed all his belongings ever intended to come back home for the summer. “Are you?”

Richie shrugged. “I think my parents want to turn my room into one of those home-gyms, don’t want to ruin their dreams,” he said, chuckling. “Can you blame me, though? I mean, once you get out of Derry… I don’t think anyone would be too excited to come back, you know?”

Eddie shrugged.

“I mean,” Richie continued. “Look at all the others. They didn’t come back for even one summer!”

“I guess.”

“Even you’ll think the same when you get to UMaine.” Richie straightened his limbs on the grass. “Or you’re telling me you’ll spend a whole year on campus and then pack up your stuff and go right back to Good Ol’ Derry?!”

He was right. Eddie still didn’t really know how it was to live without his mother, without Derry, but he was convinced that once he got a taste of something else he wouldn’t be too eager to go back to the old ways.

“You gotta promise me, Rich,” Eddie said then, just to not agree with him outloud. He half-stood up in the grass and looked at him. “You have to promise me you’ll write to me. I’ll write to you, too.”

Richie scoffed. “What, you mean like the others promised?”

“No,” Eddie said seriously. “This is just between me and you. Now: promise.”

“I promise.”

“But really, really promise.”

“I really, really promise, idiot.”

“Rich, seriously.”

“I’m serious!” Richie stood up too and placed a hand over his heart. “I promise.”

Eddie sighed and laid back down. Richie followed.

“I like it when you call me Rich,” Richie said out of nowhere, quietly.

“Yeah?” Eddie responded, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

“Yeah,” Richie said. “This is the moment where you secretly confess that you love it when I call you Eds.”

Eddie snorted. “Keep dreaming, Trashmouth.”

Richie laughed and looked at the sky again.

Nothing much to say. Soon enough they’d have to go home, wouldn’t they? Eddie felt time was stretching too thin, and his lungs couldn’t keep up with the rhythm of his heart. He checked his pockets for an inhaler. He took a couple of hits and sighed.

“This sucks,” he said out loud.

“Yeah,” Richie answered. 

Then he placed his hand on top of Eddies and intertwined their fingers as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Eddie looked at him. He was serious, that was the worst of all; it wasn’t one of his stupid jokes; Eddie could see he meant it.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed, just to say something.

More silence.

“You know you’re my favourite, right?” Richie said suddenly, almost like the sentence had bursted out without his permission. “Like- I mean- From all of us.”

“Rich,” Eddie said, trying not to sound nervous, trying to sound like he always did. “Stan is still your best friend.”

“That’s not what I meant- I mean, yeah, he is. But you’re different. It’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “It is weird.”

After a short moment Richie turned to him, frowning. “Aren’t you going to say it back, asshole?”

Eddie bursted out laughing. “I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Jeez, I don’t fucking know! Something like Oh, Rich, yeah, you’re my favourite too. And my best friend —fuck Bill— and I’ve never told you this but I actually think all your jokes are hysterical and-”

“Shut up, Rich!” Eddie said between chuckles. “Sure, yeah.”

“Sure, yeah,” Richie mocked.

Eddie kicked him. “Asshole.”

“You’re like dead inside,” Richie wondered outloud, “it’s amazing.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, smiling.

They didn’t say much else. Eddie looked at him, conscious that they were still holding hands. Richie was using his other hand to lift his glasses up and down to see if his prescription altered how he saw the stars and Eddie couldn’t believe he was in love with him. Well, he did believe it: Richie had always been great, he had always had that stupid charm that dragged Eddie in like a moth to the light. What he couldn’t believe was that it was right then that he loved him. Right then, when Richie was going to another state and Eddie would remain in Maine, so far away from everything that mattered. What he couldn’t believe was that a part of him was sure that Richie felt the same way but that it didn’t matter either way because they were leaving. They were growing up.

Eddie didn’t say “I’ll miss you”. He did say “Stop it, Rich, Jesus Christ, you’re gonna get a fucking headache and become even more unbearable than you already are.”

Richie was gone in the morning, along with all his stuff.

The next week it was Bill and Eddie’s turn to go. Mike hugged them and gave them a long and meaningful handshake, reminding them of a promise they had made years ago. Eddie drove for most of the way while Bill dozed off in the passenger seat. All the songs on the radio were complete and utter bullshit.

In September (still 1993) Eddie realized the campus was so big that Bill and him could go weeks without crossing paths (specially since Bill was in the English department and Eddie was in Maths and Economics). It stopped being a problem around week two of freshman year, when Eddie seemingly forgot about his best friend’s existence. Needless to say, the rest of his friends also turned into a fog of broken reminiscences.

In 1994 Eddie went out for two months with Marie Bailey. She was cute and short but it didn’t work out. Eddie focused on his studies.

In 1995 he walked next to a record store and recognized This year's model by Elvis Costello and, despite not really being sure where he’d heard it first, bought and listened to it at home. Some of the songs were familiar yet weirdly distant —perhaps he’d heard someone else (or multiple someone elses) singing them instead. He didn’t know who, though.

In 1997 he graduated college and almost immediately started working for one of those companies where everyone dresses the same and you never really end up knowing the names of more than two or three people. They sent him to other palaces sometimes  and analyzed risks, but mostly he sat in front of a computer in his tiny fucking desk and typed numbers for days. He bought himself one of those briefcases and carried around like a douchebag.

In 1998 he thought he’d go to the movies. He saw Saving Private Ryan by himself because, even though he had friends —colleagues, more like— from work and from college, he didn’t feel like they were the proper ones to go to the movies with. Who the hell were the “proper ones” he didn’t know. 

In one of those lulls in the movie, when the soldiers were talking softly about something he probably should’ve been paying attention to, Eddie vaguely remembered going to the movies with friends, the sort of friends that talked and laughed through the whole thing and you ended up not watching the movie at all. 

There was that one time, wasn’t it? When Eddie accidentally dropped his popcorn on someone and someone else dropped their drink too, on purpose, so the whole blame didn’t fall all on Eddie. He couldn’t remember any faces, let alone names, but there was that deep sense of belonging—to someone, multiple someones, to somewhere, even if it was only because those someones were there with him.

Eddie’s worst fear was the possibility that none of those faint memories had actually ever happened and it was all a fabrication of his own imagination, perhaps out of a need to fill something that was missing. He couldn’t be sure about many things, he thought as he walked out of the theater and back to his small-crappy-lonely apartment, but he could be sure of something alright: he was missing something . He just didn’t know what.

In 2000 Eddie slightly panicked about the ending of the world —or worse, the ending of his job— and then he felt like an idiot when absolutely nothing happened. He took everything too seriously, didn’t he? He wouldn’t know how to put it into words, exactly, but he needed someone to ground him, to make him jump from somewhere high into freezing water that would shock him into feeling normal again. Instead, he took hit after hit from his inhaler for an entire week and convinced himself it worked.

In 2002 he moved to New York because of work. It was a fast city, full of people so neurotic Eddie felt somehow sane. His new apartment was even smaller than his older one. He threw a fit over the phone with his landlord about the patch of mold that stared at him every time he walked into the bathroom. Once he got that shit fixed and everything unpacked and all the remaining furniture properly assembled, he sat down on his couch and sighed, hoping to feel satisfied and at ease. He gave himself a few minutes. 

“Well, this fucking sucks,” he said outloud, as if he’d thought someone would agree with him.

That was what true loneliness felt like: being surrounded by people but having no one to actually talk to. He didn’t even know what the fuck he would say, given the chance. “I’m fucking lonely”? “I feel like shit but I don’t know why”? What difference would it make, anyway?

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat back down. He took a sip and winced —he still didn’t like the taste, but it was familiar enough to be comforting.

In 2003 he tried dating Betty Parker but she broke up with him after four months because he was, as she said, “too emotionally charging”. Eddie could see her point, but that didn’t make it hurt less. He focused on his work.

In 2006 he got a horrible haircut in a barber shop he never went to again. He wore a hat for months. In the summer. Like an idiot.

In 2009 he finally came around to the idea of visiting his mother. Being back in Derry was nauseating and he didn’t leave her mother’s place for the two days he managed to stay there. Faint memories threatened to come back but the mere thought of them was so painful Eddie was almost glad to leave them in that shitty town. 

Soon enough it was as if nothing had ever happened.

In 2010 he caught sight of a documentary about old Rock and Roll stans while flicking through the channels. Each time they put on a picture of Buddy Holly Eddie’s heart skipped a beat, as if it recognized someone that wasn’t actually there. Those big glasses and the even bigger gummy smile… Who the hell did Eddie know that looked like that?

In 2011 he met Myra. She was nice and caring and warm. She seemed to love him.

In 2013 he had to go out of town for something involving work and stayed in a very nice hotel next to a big empty field. In the mornings, before getting out of bed, the smell of grass and dead leaves entered through his open window. Laying on his bed, eyes closed, he could almost imagine being somewhere else. Somewhere better.

In 2015 his mother died and, unrelatedly, he decided to propose to Myra. She said yes with so much excitement he almost forgot about the doubts that had been in his brain from the moment he bought the ring.

What did “the one” even mean? There wasn’t a guarantee that there was a perfect someone waiting for you, much less the guarantee of meeting them in your lifetime. Historically speaking, marriage wasn’t even about love —not strictly, at least. And even if it was, even if marriage was supposed to be based on the foundation of true love or what-fucking-ever, maybe Eddie wasn’t capable of it, maybe he wasn’t worthy of it. So what did it matter, really? Myra was happy.

In 2017 he watched a comedy special about this guy, Richie Tozier, whom he’d seen around Netflix for weeks. He’d waited until one night when he had the house all to himself, so when he finally sat down to watch it he felt like a kid doing something he was well aware he wasn’t supposed to be doing. 

The weirdest thing of all was he didn’t even end up liking it. The jokes weren’t funny: they felt empty and detached and so far away from what Eddie considered to be remotely amusing. The show stretched on for too long and even the laughs from the public was annoying. 

But he watched the whole thing, from start to finish, with a frown on his face all throughout because he could’ve sworn the guy reminded him of someone else and the whole thing was so frustrating it pissed him off. 

If he watched the fucking thing sometimes late at night, when he couldn’t sleep… it wasn’t anyone’s fucking bussiness. He truly wouldn’t know what to say if someone found out and asked him about it. That he liked spectacularly bad comedy? That was a shitty fucking excuse if he ever heard one. That he felt an unexplainable connection to the worst fucking dude that could possibly be given a microphone? No one would believe him.

In 2019 he started remembering.

“I can’t believe we’re supposed to go back to work on Monday,” someone says. Ben.

Eddie doesn’t open his eyes but he knows he’s awake. His face hurts, his stomach hurts, everything fucking hurts. It smells like a hospital around him, so he guesses that’s where he is. He moves a hand slightly to caress the bed sheets —they are soft but stiff and those are hospital bed sheets alright. 

Eddie never liked hospitals. He’d gone too much as a kid, now he remembered. But if he’s here now, when his mother’s been dead for years and Myra doesn’t even know where he is, that means he is there because something had actually happened, something real and not made up. And Eddie would’ve panicked and gone into cardiac arrest had not someone interrupted his train of thought.

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that,” Richie’s voice says. “I’m definitely fired.”

Richie, who had emerged from the fog that had clogged his brain for twenty seven fucking years along with the rest of the losers. 

“Don’t say that,” Beverly’s voice says, then. “I’m sure everything will be okay.”

“You signed a contract, didn’t you?” Bill’s voice follows.

Richie scoffs. “Of course I did, Pa- Oh, and by the way, it is legal to get paid in grams of cocaine and soda cans, right?”

People chuckle.

“Please tell me no cocaine has ever entered your body,” Mike’s voice says. “Eddie will kill you when he finds out.” 

People agree.

“Please,” Richie scoffs again, “no one ever even offered coke to me. There must be something off-putting about me. You guys think something from my childhood left me messed up or something?”

There’s more conversation but Eddie’s so filled with relief —everyone seems relatively calm, so nothing too serious must have happened to him or to them, everything is fine — that he falls asleep.

He falls in and out of consciousness for what feels like a week but can’t be more than a few days. Mike, Beverly and Richie stay the longest, probably because the others have to go back to work. Eddie isn’t upset. He’s probably drugged as hell so everything feels okay and fine and better than ever before. Everything is fine , isn’t it? Nothing to worry about, really.

“Does someone know if Bill called his wife yet?” Beverly’s voice asked. Alright, maybe there was something to worry about.

“We couldn’t get into his phone,” Mike’s voice says. “We don’t have her number.”

“She’s probably her emergency contact,” Richie’s voice says. “That’s the sort of thing married people do, don’t they?”

“Yes, Richie, that’s what they usually do.” Bev’s voice seems amused, but also a little bit distant. 

But no, Eddie hadn’t done that. He hadn’t put Myra as his emergency contact. Not that Myra knows that, oh no. He could never tell her that. He wouldn’t even know what to say. He just hadn’t done it, the same way people don’t normally jump into a house on fire.

“Well, she should be here already, then,” Mike’s voice says.

“Who should be here already?” a new voice asks. Bill. Oh, he hasn’t left yet, that’s nice.

“Eddie’s wife.”

A bit of silence. They are probably making a few interesting faces. Eddie is too tired to open his eyes and see for himself, so he just imagines them.

“You know how these things work,” Bill’s voice says. “Hospitals and their bureocracy… It’s probably not their top priority right now. The important thing is that Eddie is okay.” Oh yeah, that’s quite important. “He’ll call her and tell her that himself.” Oh, well. Eddie isn’t looking forward to that.

He falls asleep this time because he doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

First thing Eddie had remembered about Derry had been, funnily enough, his bedroom. But that makes sense, doesn’t it? He spent half of his time there as a kid —studying, sleeping, doing other things. His bed was in the middle, there was a closet right next to it and a desk in front. And then a window. That had been his proper first image back from oblivion. 

When Mike had called him, when he was in the car, there had been no image, just an incredibly overwhelming sense of dread. His stomach had shrunk and his hands had started sweating and his left eye had begun ticking. But no image —that had only happened when he set foot on Derry. 

And the succession of images had been pretty much constant from then on, unrelenting and dizzying. His friends, his mother, the pills, his broken arm, the leper, Bowers… It was like finally realizing why the hell he was so messed up. But the images hadn’t come all at once. It was more of a movie —a long one— that continues playing but in slow motion in the back of his mind. Even after It is gone (properly gone, this time), Eddie still feels like the movie isn't quite over yet. But maybe that has nothing to do with the fucking clown, maybe he is just that fucked up.

When he wakes up again he says to himself “come on, dude, you can’t keep this on forever” and forces his eyes to open and adjust to the light. Richie is the only one in the room right now. He’s trying to close the door with his feet while balancing two microscopic cups of coffee. He really has grown up, Eddie thinks again. There’s so much more of him, it’s ridiculous.

“Hey, Rich,” he says, because he figures that’s the kind of thing one says in these sorts of situations. 

Richie jumps and burns one of his hands with the coffee, almost dropping the second cup when he turns around and screams “Jesus fucking Christ!”

Eddie finds it amusing so he chuckles. It hurts so much he starts coughing. “Fucking hell, dude,” he groans when he’s done. “Don’t make me laugh, I’ve just been fucking impaled, you son of a bitch.”

Rich gapes at him for three whole seconds before breaking into a weird mix of laughter and angry screams. “Fuck you, dude! Who the fuck awakens from a fucking coma and just says that?! You fucking psycho!”

“I wasn’t in a coma,” Eddie says, frowning. “I was sleeping.”

“That’s what a fucking coma fucking is, you insensitive motherfucker!”

“I could hear you all talking. You, specially, are very fucking loud, by the way.”

Rich gapes at him some more until someone bursts through the door. Beverly, Ben, Bill, Mike.

“You alright? We heard-” Beverly stops walking when she sees him awake. “Eddie!” She jumps him and hugs him so hard he worries for his remaining unbroken ribs

“You scared the shit out of us, man.” Bill smiles and grabs him from the shoulder, shaking him a bit, the same way he used to do when they were kids.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” Eddie asks, because all this attention is starting to be too much. The last fucking thing he needs right now is to blush in front of all this people —and in the same week he almost fucking dies, too. No, thank you.

“We called in sick,” Ben says, as if it’s obvious.

Eddie shrugs. The rest find it funny.

In the end, they all stay for an entire extra week until Eddie is free to go.

Eddie hates all this fussing over him. Doesn’t matter where it comes from —the doctors, de nurses, his friends—, he hates it. It makes him feel weak and small and breakable. The only ones who seem to be aware of this are Bill and Richie, who instead try to treat him like absolutely nothing has happened and fail miserably. It’s the thought that counts, anyway. 

Eddie thinks that if Stan was here, he’d be sitting in one of the corners of the room, completely calm and almost still as he reads something and waits. Him and Eddie would share a look whenever Rich would say something stupid and then join forces to insult him into a stupor. Instead, Eddie rolls his eyes at almost everything and says he needs to sleep in peace just so he doesn’t have to hear anyone for more than three consecutive hours. 

He loves them, he really does, but he’s had enough fussing over him for a lifetime.

The hospital is a nice liminal space, anyway. He’s not a part of the world, there. Time is frozen and, as much as he’s dying to get out of there, he’s in no actual rush to go back to How Things Are. That is a problem for Future Eddie. And Present Eddie, the one who’s comfortably high in the hospital, doesn’t want to think about any of that.

“You think we’ll forget each other again?” Bill asks, because that’s the sort of person he is. He loves to ruin Eddie’s drug-induced escapade. There’s no blissful ignorance, no avoidance with Bill Denbrough, no sir.

Eddie shrugs. “I have no fucking idea.”

It’s just them in the room. The others are having lunch. Eddie has a lot of pasta in front of him and it smells rancid.

“Do you remember forgetting?” Bill asks. “Like, with you and me, specifically. When we were in UMaine- I mean, it doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“That’s the sort of conversation you want to have with Mike, Big Bill. I don’t have any answers.”

“Humor me.”

Eddie sighs. “Alright. I don’t remember forgetting per se,” he says, “but if I look back it’s like… I simply stopped thinking about you —or the others, for that matter. Around the time the classes started.”

“Yeah,” Bill says, nodding his head. “And you got all your memories now?”

Eddie shrugs, a bit selfconscious. “I don’t think so. There’s like these… missing pieces.”

Bill nods again. “Yeah.”

Eddie hums. He wonders about something and thinks that asking might be toeing the line between high-chill-Eddie and neurotic-Eddie a bit too vicariously. He decides against it. Instead, he asks: “So, married, huh?” 

Bill smiles warmly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Eddie shrugs. “You’ve talked to her yet? She must have been worried sick.”

Bill nods. “Right after taking you to the hospital, when they told us you were in stable condition. Seems like I still have a lot of explaining to do but- yeah. It’ll be okay.” Eddie smiles at him. “That reminds me,” Bill says suddenly. “We tried to reach your wife but we didn’t-”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard all that,” he says after waving a hand. “I’ll talk to her myself, don’t worry.”

“Wait,” Bill interrupts, “you mean you haven’t talked to her yet ?”

“I- well, I’ve been a bit fucking busy trying not to die, dude!” 

Bill shakes his head, like he can’t believe him. “You- Just give me her number, I’ll call her, and tell her where you are and-”

“No!” Eddie jumps

“Trust me, okay? I have the experience with the explaining-” Bill chuckles.

“Come on, Bill, don’t. She- she’ll worry and-”

“Yeah, I’d expect her to, she’s your wife-!”

“No, you don’t- Bill, you don’t get it alright?! Just- just let me deal with this myself, okay? Please?”

Bill puts on that face he makes when he knows something is wrong and he must do something about it or he’ll die. Eddie puts on that face he makes when he wants to just stop talking about this, can we please stop talking about this and never mention this again in front of anyone please and never even think about it ever again, please?

He must have been pretty convincing because Bill drops it.

“Alright, man, whatever you want.”

Eddie sighs with relief.

“Anyway,” Bill continues. “I think we will remember each other.”

“What?”

“When we leave Derry again. I think we will remember. I don’t know, I feel like something in the air shifted, don’t you? Like a dirty pipe that’s finally clean and unclogged to let the water pass through.”

“Yeah…”

“We’ll keep in touch, properly this time. And if anything happens, we’ll have each other,” he says, meaningfully. Eddie almost wants to roll his eyes —that was Bill, relentless in his confidence, his loyalty, his love. “Everything will be okay.”

And Goddamit, the fucker always pulled through: he always managed to make everyone feel better.

Richie is sleeping all the time, Eddie notices. There he is right now, shifting uncomfortably on the chair from the corner, slowly waking up from his two-hour nap. He opens his eyes, blinks a few times and fixes his crooked glasses —because of course the idiot falls asleep with his glasses on every single time. 

“You sleep a lot,” Eddie says. “Are we sure you don’t have any kind of brain damage? Should I call a nurse for you?”

Richie scoffs and chuckles softly. He rubs his eyes. “You’ve been wondering if I have brain damage since we were twelve.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s a fair assumption.”

“Fuck you,” Richie says. “How are you feeling?”

“Well enough, considering.”

“Doctors say you can go home by the end of the week.” He looks weird. Not exactly serious, but apprehensive, maybe. It looks weird on him.

“They did say that.”

“Whay are you going to do later?”

“Later?” Eddie thinks for a minute. “I’ll check on what’s on TV, I think. Please tell me you are not gonna be on any channels, because in that case I’ll just take a nap or ask for a yoghurt.”

“Hilarious,” Richie smiles fakely. “I meant later-later, when they let you go home?”

“Probably go home, then.”

Richie laughs, but it’s a little forced. “Ah, Eddie Kaspbrak, always so-”

“Why don’t you just ask me what you want to ask me, Rich? It’s clear you want to. Let’s skip all the bullshit.”

Richie closes his mouth and sighs. “Bill- Well, he said you still haven’t talked with your wife-”

Eddie groans. “Of course he fucking said that- He told all of you, didn’t he? For Christ’s sake-”

“In his defense, he’s really worried about you —we all are-”

“Of course you fucking are-”

“You almost died, man!” Richie says, almost infuriated. Eddie had always felt very uneasy when Richie was serious, like if he wasn’t talking and spitting awful jokes all the time maybe he’d look at Eddie and figure out something Eddie didn’t want to be figured out about him.

“So did all of you ! Or did you forget already about the murderous clown shaped after shit beyond our comprehension?!”

“I’m sorry, Eds, but none of us were in a fucking coma for days, alright, so maybe shut the fuck up.”

“I was not in a fucking coma, Richie, stop fucking saying that because I fucking wasn’t, alright?!”

“We are not having this discussion again, Eds! The point is that we all care about you and that if you’re, like, I don’t fucking know, going though some rough patch with your wife or something we want you to know that you can’t talk with us if you ever need it- and, Bev, specially, she keeps insisting that she’ll make you talk about it whether you like it or not and she’s kind of scary, actually, so in a way I’m just telling you to beware, ‘cause- yeah, she’s- you know how she is. Why have you stopped talking?”

“Are you done?”

“Huh?”

“With your philanthropist-bullshit-let’s-all-pity-poor-Eddie speech. Are you done?”

“We don’t pity you, dude, you’re missing the entire point of-”

“Jesus, Rich, I don’t want to talk about this-”

“We care about you. And that’s the truth. You gotta believe me , at least. Why else would I be going through this awful conversation if it wasn’t the truth? It’s like fucking pulling teeth, Jesus.”

“Alright. I do. I believe you.”

“Promise, bitch.”

“I promise.”

“Good. You better.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

They don’t say anything else. Well, Eddie does, just to change the subject:

“What are you going to do, once you are done babysitting me?”

Richie sighs and shrugs, feigning fatigue. “Probably go back to all the babes and the parties and the alcohol and stuff, you know, the usual…”

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“I’m serious, man. No one warns you how shitty being famous actually is. Like, one party is fine, you know? Even two! But I cannot go to a party every single day of the fucking week, you know what I mean?! The chicks thing is pretty nice but, in the end, no one really asks me how I am, you know?! They just want me for my body.”

Eddie waits.

“In other words: I don’t know if I’m that eager to go back home. Maybe I should buy a house in the middle of nowhere and take care of a couple dozen sheep, you know? Like Paul McCartney did.”

Alright, fuck waiting. “You are such a fucking idiot.”

“What?!”

“I’m asking you a serious question, asshole! You are the one that started with all the fucking seriousness, all “oh, Eds, tell me about your wife and your pathetic miserable life yadi-yadi-yada” and now you won’t answer me ?!”

“I don’t know, dude, I don’t think the actual answer is that interesting-”

“I didn’t ask you to be entertained, bitch, I asked you because I wanna know!”

“Alright, Jesus, Mr. Serious Guy, okay!” Richie shifts on his chair. “Well, if you want to know, I’ll probably have a few awkward meetings with my manager and the producers of my tour, where we’ll talk all about my fucking ‘future’ or whatever and then , I’ll probably go back home and get drunk as as a sunk until I pass out or something.”

“That’s not that bad,” Eddie says. “The meeting thing, not the alcoholism.”

“Of course your nerdy ass loves meetings- Normal people, Eds Spagheds, have problems focussing and not making your-mom jokes in front of important people with expensive suits, alright?!”

“Oh, yes, Rich, sorry, your life is so complicated-”

“As we don’t know shit about your life, Eds —because you fucking refuse to tell us more than three words— for all intents and purposes my life is, at least, more complicated than yours, so shut up!”

“... Fair enough.”

Richie frowns. “Wait, did I just win an argument against Eddie fucking Kaspbrak?”

Eddie fights to keep the smile out of his face. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head-”

“Too late, babe, this is already the best day of my life- other than the day I finally scored your mom, of course.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You had to slip a your-mom joke in there, didn’t you? Asshole.”

“Fuck you, man, for a moment there your last words would’ve been a fucking your-mom joke, I get a free pass for life!”

Oh, that’s right, Eddie had said that. Jesus Christ. “Fair enough. Again.”

“Another?! Fuck off, dude, I have to call my dad, maybe he’ll finally say he’s proud of me!” Then he puts on an almost annoyingly perfect imitation of Lorne Michaels’ voice and says: “ You did it, son, I’m finally proud enough of you to say I love you. Son. Because I do, now. Just because you managed to shut up Eddie Kaspbrak’s mouth twice. Two times, son! Well done! ” Richie sighed while Eddie laughed. “I can finally die, now.”

“Do you often consider Lorne Michaels’ as a father figure?”

“What the hell is this, my therapist’s office? Tell me, Dr. K, what’s wrong with me?”

“We don’t have enough time left in this session to go over the entire list, I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule.”

“You have a list?” Richie nodded, proud. “Thorough as always, Spagheds.”

“Of course I have a fucking list, what sort of doctor do you take me for?”

Richie chuckles and looks at him like he can’t believe he’s here and talking to him. Eddie briefly wonders if he’s still connected to a heart monitor because it’d be really awkward if it suddenly started beeping rapidly and altered the nurses. That’s the effect of having Richard Tozier’s full attention, Eddie thinks, remembering all those times as a kid when he got it and blushed like a fucking rose.

“Anyway,” Richie says after a while. “Don’t know if Bill or Bev told you already, but we are all doing this groupchat thing with all our numbers to make sure we still keep in touch when we leave. You should’ve seen Bill trying to make the thing: he put on his glasses —he needs reading glasses, can you believe it?— and fought with his cellphone for five minutes until Mike took pity on him and did the thing in under two seconds.”

“A group chat with you in it? Wonderful. How much annoying shit will you spam us with daily? Just so I can prepare myself.”

Richie smiles stupidly. “Aw, Eds-”

“Do not even finish whatever you are about to say, I don’t have the strength.”

“Whatever you want, darlin’, but you just missed on the punchline of a lifetime.”

“I highly doubt it, but okay.”

“Maybe if you’re nice I’ll tell you sometime.”

“I bet your stupid ass doesn’t even remember it, asshole.”

“Stop talking about my ass, Eds, you’ll get me all excited.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it-”

“Are we interrupting something?” Beverly says from the door, Ben standing right behind her. They are both trying not to smirk and Eddie feels like he just got caught doing something.

“Ah, the replacements, yes, thank you,” he says. “Can you make sure they don’t send him again? I think he’s causing me an ulcer.”

“You should’ve seen the ulcer I caused your mother when I-”

"That doesn’t even make sense, asshole?”

“Alright, alright, fun’s over Richie.” Ben walks towards him and forces him out of the room. “Why don’t you go eat something in the cafeteria? I think Bill’s in there, too.”

“Whatever you say, handsome. Just stop looking at me or I’ll melt into a puddle.”

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend, Richie, I just got him,” Beverly says, amused.

“You literally can’t stop me, Marsh!” Richie’s voice screams behind the already closed door.

“I feel much better now,” Eddie says. “Isn’t that weird?”

Bev smiles and sits on the bed with him. Ben takes Richie’s chair and places it closer to sit down with them.

“How are you really feeling, though?” Beverly asks.

Eddie shrugs. “Restless.”

“I bet you are dying to go back home, huh?” She’s trying so hard to look normal —bless her— but the sound of her voice is slightly strained, as if she’s secretly hoping to get more out of this conversation. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Whatever Bill told you, please disregard it. My problems are my own and, as much as I appreciate your meddling, I don’t need anyone’s help, thank you.”

“So there are problems.”

“Bev, please-” Eddie almost implores, like a kid.

“I’m just saying-”

“I think,” Ben says, a little loudly so as to be heard, “I think Eddie here looks a little tired. Don’t you, Bev?” Eddie has never felt more grateful.

“Ben, have I ever told you you are my favourite?”

“I’m flattered, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“Really,” Eddie insists, “if I had any say in it I’d send all these idiots home and keep you instead. I’ve always thought this, I swear.”

Ben scoffed.

“Alright, we’ll leave you to rest, now,” Beverly says. “But you know that you can always talk to me if you need it, right?”

“Yeah, Bev, I do-”

“I mean it, Eddie,” she says, somehow even more seriously. The next bit she says whispering, as if it’s for his ears only: “I’ll understand, okay? Whatever it is, I promise I’ll understand.”

Eddie nods because, even if he doesn’t want to, he believes her.

When they leave the room and before Eddie falls asleep once again, he assimilates that a long and painful phone call with Beverly is as inevitable as death.

When they say goodby this time, they all linger. Of course they had also lingered when they were kids —no one wanted to say goodbye to the best friends they’d ever had, after all—, but there was also that fidgety eagerness to just get the fuck out of there. This time they linger properly because they don’t want to forget again.

“I mean, if you think about it,” Richie says once they are all in the motel’s lobby, bags in hand, unwilling to cross the door, “we did leave Derry. Hospitals are like international waters, right? Noman’s land.”

“You are thinking of airports, asshole,” Eddie says.

“Everything should be okay,” Mike says and Eddie is inclined to believe him because, you know, a lifetime of research and all. “Now that It’s gone, whatever kept us linked to it should disappear, too.”

“Well, then,” Bill says. “That sounds good enough for me. Who’s gonna be the first?” he asks, looking at the door.

“The way you talk of this as if we’re about to walk the green mile is really building up my confidence, Billy Boy,” Richie says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, and technically speaking,” Mike says, “we really aren’t going to leave Derry until we get into our cars and drive for at least five minutes-”

“Well, yeah, Mike- I know that, I was using the door as a metaphor, as a symbolic step into-”

“Christ, Bill,” Eddie says, “we already know you are a successful writer, you don’t have to prove it with every other word.”

“Yeah, Big Bill,” Richie says, “take five, will you?”

“Jesus Christ,” Ben mutters under his breath. “You are all stalling.” He picks up his bag and crosses the doorway, extending a hand to Beverly. She smiles and takes it.

“See you, guys,” she says.

“We’ll keep in touch!” Ben follows.

They disappear together.

“Sounds like a threat,” Richie says.

“It is!” Ben’s voice responds from afar.

“I don’t like how confident he’s become now,” Richie mumbles, crossing his eyes and shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “What happened to our little quiet boy?”

“He grew up,” Mike says. 

Richie rolls his eyes and looks at Eddie for some sort of support. “We’ll that’s just fucking cheesy,” he says.

“Don’t worry, Rich,” Bill says as Mike walks out of the door too, “maybe someday you’ll grow up too.”

Eddie chuckles.

“Oh, har-har-har!” Richie deadpans. “It’s make-fun-of-Richie o’clock, I get it. I’ll wait a little so y’all grow a heart again.”

“Every hour is make-fun-of-Richie hour for me,” Eddie says. Richie winks at him, he rolls his eyes.

“I’ll see you in L.A, Rich,” Bill says, also stepping outside. “Call me when you get home, Eddie!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Richie frowns. “Why can’t I call you?!”

“If you call me I just won’t answer,” Bill says without turning back. “See you later, guys!”

“Well, well, well,” Richie says, looking at him. “And then there were two. The two fucking chickens.”

“Fuck you, Rich, speak for yourself. I’m no fucking chicken.” He looks at the road ahead, where three different cars drive off into the distance.

Richie shrugs. “The way I see it, the last one to cross that door is the supreme chicken, that’s all I’m saying.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You are a fucking idiot. What are you, seven?”

“Why are you clutching your bags like that, then?” Richie smiles sweetly. 

Eddie looks down, where his hands sure are grasping the bags, so tightly his knuckles are white. He scoffs and looks back at Richie, shaking his hand like speaking with a naive child. Then he leaps for the door quickly, almost at the same time that Richie takes his stuff and jumps too. They both clash in the entrance and make it on the other side almost safely. Eddie trips with Richie’s foot and almost falls, Richie stabilizes him and they both drop their stuff on the floor. All this sudden exertion causes him a deep ache on his side and he hopes any of his stitches have opened up. 

Yeah, Eddie didn’t know what he was expecting.

“You are so fucking childish…” He takes his stuff and walks towards his car.

“You also ran, you hypocrite!” Richie says behind him.

Eddie rolls his eyes and smiles. God, he hopes he doesn’t fucking forget Richie again.

“Hey, asshole!”

Eddie turns.

“Fucking what?!”

“Drive safely.”

Eddie chuckles. “Sure thing.” He gets into his car and has a feeling that Richie is still watching him, as if he too doesn’t want to forget.

When he sits in front of the wheel he counts to ten before putting the key. How ridiculous he must seem, to be more scared to go back home than to stay in Derry. Well, he’s going to have to face it someday, isn’t he?

Eddie married his fucking mother. There’s no other way to put it, isn’t it? He committed psychological incest and married his mom. He’s literally one step away from actual incest, if you think about it, and that’s just no way to go through life, specially when you’ve got most of your memories back and realized that the abuse that you went through with your mother didn’t end when you left home, or even after she died, but that actually it messed you up so badly you went and found yourself a replacement to perpetuate your misery.

It’s not even Myra’s fault. Hell, Eddie could go as far as to say that it was not even his mother’s fault: what she went through when his father died messed her up so badly, left her so paranoid, so scared… Eddie was just collateral damage. He hadn’t been able to help his mother, in the end, she never recovered. And now he was going to have to leave his wife. Jesus Christ.

Mike Hanlon: Just got to Texas. Staying in a nice hotel!

Mike Hanlon: (picture attached)

Mike Hanlon: Just checking in, how are you all?

Beverly Marsh: Ben and I are in California! All safe and sound.

Bill Denbrough: Me too! 

Richie Tozier: Sorry, I think you got the wrong number. I don’t know who you people are.

Beverly Marsh: What?

Bill Denbrough: Richie, come on.

Richie Tozier: Jk, jk. Lighten up guys! 

Richie Tozier: Hey Bev hows Bens house I hear hes loaded

Beverly Marsh: Dick.

Mike Hanlon: Dick.

Bill Denbrough: Dick.

Richie Tozier: Answer me goddamit does he have a pool or not

Eddie smiles. He’s already in New York and he still remembers. All the good things, all the bad things, but mostly the good. That’s something to cling to, at least.

Eddie Kaspbrak: Yeah, Beverly, maybe he can come over and drown in it!

Bill Denbrough: 😂😂😂😂

Beverly Marsh: Good point, Eddie! I’ll keep it in mind.

Richie Tozier: Y’all mean! It turns me on, keep going

Mike Hanlon: Where’s the button to block people? Asking for a friend.

Eddie Kaspbrak: We cannot block him out of our lives, Mike. He’s forever.

Richie Tozier: Awwww ❤️

Eddie Kaspbrak: Like a long term condition. Multiple sclerosis, for example.

Richie Tozier: ☹️

Eddie doesn’t say a word to Myra for two days. Mainly because he’s scared shitless. Myra spends the first day crying and screaming at him for daring to disappear for two whole weeks without telling her anything. The last thing she’d hear from him, she kept saying, was that he’d been in a car accident and just what the hell was she supposed to think, really?!

On the third day, Eddie caves in and calls Beverly. Myra is out shopping. He presses the call button with a heavy heart, sighing.

"Yes? ” Beverly answers almost immediately.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Eddie sighs. “You said I could call you, right?”

“Of course, honey, let me just get out of the room so we can have some privacy. Wait a- alright, talk to me. ”

Eddie shakes his head. “I think we’re gonna have to ease into it, I can’t just- I don’t-”

“Sure, of course. ”

“How’s California?”

“Sunny, kind of nice, actually. I didn’t think I’d like it. ”

“But you do?”

“Yeah, well- The company is a big part of it, I guess."

“How’s Ben?”

“Great. I mean, we are both still a little shaken, and he had to go back to work immediately, but I think it’s good for him, being distracted. It’s sort of fascinating watching him work, actually. It keeps me a bit busy, too. ”

“That’s nice.”

“I- Well, I’m actually also dealing with- with the divorce thing. It’s all over the phone, thank God, but- yeah, it’s a bit stressful. Entertaining too, that’s for sure. ” She chuckles bitterly.

Eddie winced. “Yeah, Bill… He told me a bit about that.”

“How much did he tell you? ”

“Nothing much, I swear! Just that you were married and that it wasn’t going too well-”

“Yeah, that’s the understatement of the century. You, uhm, you remember my dad, don’t you? ”

“I mean, I didn’t actually meet him, but… I guess I heard a few things.”

“Yeah. Well. Tom was- I don’t want to say the same, because that’s not actually true but- I don’t know. The way my dad used to make me feel, like-”

Eddie’s throat is dry. “Small?”

“Exactly. Well, I supposed Tom made me feel the same way. And he was… equally violent,

to say the least. ”

“I am so sorry, Bev. I didn’t know, I-”

“Don’t apologise, Eddie. ” Beverly sighs. “The point is- seeing you all again, Ben and Bill- and just killing that fucking thing once and for all… It was liberating, wasn’t it? Like, it opened my eyes, you know? All these years, these twenty seven years, without even knowing it, I had managed to become unchanged. As if I never grew up, even after leaving Derry and my dad behind. I couldn’t go back to that, after everything we went through, I just couldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. 

“What is going on with your wife, Eddie? ”

“Ha, yeah, about that.” Eddie paced around the room. “You’ll laugh, really. ‘Cause, Myra? My wife? She, uhm, she’s just like my mom!” He delivers it like a joke because that’s what it feels like: a big fucking punchline.

“Oh, Eddie. ” Beverly doesn’t sound surprised, which is weird because Eddie didn’t tell any of them much about Myra. But he guesses there was just something about him that she could recognize and empathize with. That’s why they’d all become friends in the beginning, right? Their relationships with their parents weren’t perfect, some much less perfect than others.

“And I don’t mean like- like- Oh, she likes the same movies or something! I mean she’s pretty much a carbon copy! And she fusses all over me the same way my mother did, makes sure I don’t miss any of my medical appointments, tells me how fragile and breakable I am and- and- I just let her! Isn’t that the worst of all, Bev?! I just let her!”

“Eddie- ”

“That’s why I didn’t want any of you talking to her when I was in the hospital! Because what if she came?! What if she got so upset and started crying and then told all of you that you put me in danger and what if she took me away from you the same way- No, I just couldn’t-” Eddie realizes he’s crying. He always hated doing that, hated how it made him feel. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I think you do, honey, ” Beverly said, patiently. “ I think that was the first thought that crossed your mind the moment you realized. ”

“Well, yeah, I know I have to leave her but-” Eddie sniffles. “ Can I do it? Like, do I have the actual strength to do it?!”

“Didn’t you yell at your mom once about the placebos? ”

Eddie chuckles, remembering. “That’s not the same, Bev. She’s my wife, she- And anyway, what if I do it, huh? What if I do manage to leave her? Will that actually fix anything?” Will that fix me?

“Have I ever told you I kissed Bill? ”

“Wh-” Eddie stops, confused. “Well, yeah, I know that. In that play.”

“Yes, in the play and later, in the summer of ‘89, before I left, but- ”

“I didn’t actually know that one.”

“Well, it happened. But what I meant is I kissed Bill like, two weeks ago. ”

“Two weeks ago? And now you’re with Ben? Beverly, I don’t know if that’s very nice of you-”

Beverly laughs at the other side of the line. “ Listen to me, idiot. I kissed Bill, two weeks ago, because I was scared, because I was starting to remember things and I didn’t like what I saw. And, I don’t know, when I remembered the kiss from that summer I… I felt like maybe that was the key to maybe feel sane for once, you know? Getting back something that had been good from those years? Does that make sense? ”

“Yeah, I guess…”

"But the thing is, I was wrong. Being with Bill wouldn’t have been the answer. ”

“Because he’s married.”

“Not just because of that ,” Beverly chuckled. “ But also because that would’ve been trying to be something I was, and not something I should become. I love Bill, like I love all of you, and yeah, maybe I had a crush on him when we were kids, but I was also a terrified girl, helpless and alone, when we were kids. Are you following? ”

Eddie shrugs. “I think so.”

“The answer, Eddie, is to face what happened, is to actively realize you deserve nice things in spite of everything else. ”

“And that nice thing is Ben?”

“That nice thing is divorcing Tom, is to get back in touch with your friends, is being in a relationship with someone that actually loves you. I’m far from being fine, Eddie, but this , this right now is so much better than going back to Tom .”

“I’m glad, Bev. Really.”

“Thank you,” she says. “ Now. You. What are you going to do now? ”

“Well, I guess- leave my wife.”

“Good. ”

“And…”

"Come to California! ”

“Beverly, I can’t just- just drop everything and go to California.”

“Of course you can. ”

“I can’t just leave my job and-”

“You don’t have to actually leave it, Eddie, people these days work remotely and- ”

“I don’t know, Bev.”

“We are all here, Eddie, in California .” Her tone was strict and left absolutely no space for doubt. “And what you need right now, most of all, is people to be by your side and a change of scenery. You’ve been alone for twenty seven years, we’ve all have. But you don’t have to be anymore. Come home. ”

By the end of that week, Eddie’s already packed his things and bought a ticket to California.

He calls Bill just mere hours before getting on that plane.

“So, wanna talk more about forgetting and stuff?” Eddie says. “Or is it too early for philosophical bullshit?” It’s 9 am in New York, so about 6 am in California. 

“Eddie? ”

“Yes?"

“Why are you calling me? ”

“I thought you wanted to talk about these things. I have questions too. You still remember being my best friend or should I fuck off?”

Bill chuckles, tiredly, and groans probably stretching. So Eddie did wake him up. Oops. “Alright, I’m here, I’m awake. What’s eating you? ”

“So, almost three weeks since we killed the clown, one since we got out of Derry. I still know who you are so it’s pretty safe to say this thing is sticking.”

“I guess so, ” Bill says. “ I talk regularly with Mike who, aside from you, is the most isolated out of all of us, what with being all over the country and everything, and he keeps saying he’s not feeling anything different. ”

“Good, that’s good.” Eddie stays silent.

“That’s all ?”

“No, I-” Eddie rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I wanted to ask if you also felt that, I don’t know, that big fucking void , during those twenty seven years?”

“The- what? A void?”

“Yeah, like- like even if you couldn’t remember anything, and you didn’t even think about remembering or forgetting because your brain was basically empty… Did you still miss something?”

“Yeah- Yes, actually. I realized when I got to the restaurant and saw Mike and then you and- Yes. I was missing all of you .”

“Yeah, but- I mean, I also felt that. Like, I also saw you all and thought ‘oh, hey, there you are, I’ve been looking for you’ sort of thing- But did you also feel like you were missing something else , apart from the Losers? Something different?”

Bill hums. “I guess not,” he says. “What were you missing? ”

“I don’t fucking know, man, I still don’t remember. Isn’t that stupid?”

“Of course not, Eddie. Your brain is still blocking things. Mike told me to- when I asked him how to accelerate the process of remembering, he told me to actively send my brain back in time.”

“... Like, with drugs? I’m not taking any drugs, Bill.”

“No, no, more like… choose a memory you are very sure of, something that has come back in its entirety and go from there. ”

“Go from there. Alright. I can do that.”

“Great. I love you. Can I go back to sleep now?”

Eddie chuckles. “Good night, Big Bill. See you soon.”

“Yeah, yeah… You, too…” And he hangs up.

So, the first thing Eddie remembered after going back to Derry was his room, as already established. Then his mother, then his friends, then the Bowers gang, in that order. Not everything about his mother, his friends and the Bowers gang, though, no, just his overall existence and their importance in Eddie’s life. And then bits and pieces.

So Eddie makes an actual effort of remembering, not just waiting around for the memories to come back. No matter how painful it is, he must remember. 

It takes him almost 12 hours to reach his destination —the flight takes longer than expected, there’s a lot of waiting around in airports and traffic in L.A is a fucking nightmare. Following Bill’s (and Mike’s) advice, Eddie manages to remember a few things (episodes, details, people, and the like). To put some examples:

• He had a dog when he was a kid, right before his father died. Afterwards his house was silent for years.
• He tried beer for the first time in the clubhouse, during that we-finally-killed-the-clown-(but-not-really) party, because Richie kept saying he wanted to get him drunk and a part of Eddie wanted to impress him.
• Bill and Beverly spent a lot of time together, alone, and when they were with the rest of the losers they looked at each other shyly for hours; Ben would quiet down even more than usual.
• Every time Richie and him fought over the hammock and ended up sharing it was because Eddie had seen him there and had walked to him with the sole purpose of demanding some time in it too, even if he knew it would end up in a fight and in sharing them later. He wanted to be close to him.
• Stan and him studied together in the library when the school day was over, Eddie worried about failing History.
• That time Eddie caught on the news all the awful things they said about AIDS and the people that had it; how he went to his room and cried until falling asleep.
• Each time Richie climbed through his window Eddie pretended to be annoyed by it while he felt butterflies on his stomach.
• Eddie loved making Richie laugh, especially when it took him by surprise; it made him feel like he could do anything.
• Richie owned four different kinds of Hawaiian shirts over the sumer, Eddie’s favourite was the pale one but he didn’t care either way.
• Eddie got annoyed when Richie’s glasses were dirty but was delighted whenever he could take them off and clean them himself.

By the time he reaches his destination, Eddie has realized that he is not only a closeted homosexual, but also that he was in love with one of his best friends during practically all his adolescence. Which is funny, really, considering he is right in front of said best friend’s door, about to knock on it. That’s the sort of thing that only happens to Eddie Kaspbrak, isn’t it? 

It’s funny only for like two seconds, though. Then he panics. Oh my God, he can’t do this. Is he still in love with him? He doesn’t think so, that can’t be right, can it? Twenty seven years is more than enough to get over someone, surely. He saw him a week ago, for Christ’s sake! He hadn’t felt particularly in love with him then? He was very, very glad to see him, like something made sense again, but that wasn’t love , was it? 

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing? He can’t stay here. But he can’t just not knock on his door, he’s already been there for at least five minutes, what if Richie has already seen him and is weirded out because not only is Eddie on his door, he’s also not knocking and then he’s also just fucking leaving like a fucking psycho? For the love of God, just knock on the door, it’ll be fine. It’s Richie. It’s just Richie. It’ll be fine. Knock.

He knocks.

He searches for his inhaler, realizes he threw away his last ones because he is not fucking asmathic, Jesus fucking Christ, and then regrets throwing them out.

The door opens in front of him and Richie appears in sweatpants and a really ugly t-shirt. Eddie’s heart sighs and sings and does all the kind of shit hearts do when they are in love and he realizes he is screwed, actually, because turns out Eddie Kaspbrak is not only a closeted homosexual that was in love with one of his best friends for most of his adolescence, he is also still very much in love with said best friend. Even after not seeing him for twenty seven years. Maybe part of what was wrong during those twenty seven years, apart from all the obviously shitty stuff that was just wrong , was that Richie wasn’t beside him to help him deal with it.

Jesus, get a grip.

“Hi,” he says, high pitched.

Richie looks at him confusedly, as if he’s not sure of being awake or not.

Then Eddie notices his eyes are red. “Have you been crying or smoking weed?” he questions immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Richie says, strangely calm. “What the fuck?”

“Were you crying or-?”

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here? Are those suitcases?” He raises both hands to his head and starts messing up his hair. Eddie cannot deal with this right now, he’s been traveling all day.

“Good observation, stupid, are you gonna let me in or not?” He shifts on his feet, hoping to look impatient rather than nervous.

“Oh, no, no way, not until you tell me why you are here and right in front of my door and-”

“I left my wife.”

“Come right in.” Richie steps back and gestures inside.

Eddie leaves his suitcases in the entrance hall and sits on the first couch he sees. It doesn’t smell like weed, so Richie had probably been crying.

“Are you, like, okay?” Richie asks, approaching him slowly, like he’s afraid of him. “Because you seem mostly okay, maybe just a little tired, but otherwise like just a normal dude. Definitely not a guy who just left his wife.”

Eddie sighs. “If I tell you something will you promise to a) take it seriously and b) never mention it ever again?”

“Now you’re scaring me,” Richie says, chuckling weakly, still a little scared. “Did you kill her? Christ, did you make sure you hid the body well and that no one saw you leave right after? ‘Cause I don’t know if we can continue to be friends if you’re in jail, amigo, I’m funnier in person than over the phone.”

“Rich,” Eddie says. “Shut up.”

“Yes, of course, shutting up.” Richie sits down on the couch as well and looks at him expectantly.

“Myra, she’s- she’s not very nice. I mean, she is nice, but maybe too nice. The kind of nice that wants to keep you locked inside the house because she doesn’t want you to get hurt?”

“I don’t think that kind of nice actually exists, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says. “She’s…” he sighs and he’s just so embarrassed, for crying out loud, he’s a grown man. “She’s just like my mother, Rich. I just let her turn me into that weak, stupid, little twelve year boy I was when my mother was still alive and- I just can’t go back to that, alright?”

Richie doesn’t say anything immediately, so Eddie continues.

“And Beverly said I was going to need support and that I should come to California because you are all here and- I trust her, you know, because she went through something similar and I don’t know if I’ll ever be as strong as her but maybe I can come close if I try, you know? And Bev is with Ben now, and they are fine and I didn’t wanna bother them with my shit, and Bill is married for Christ’s sake and I can’t just barge in on him and Audra and- and I thought to myself that maybe you wouldn’t mind the company ‘cause, I mean, I didn’t wanna assume, but you said you’d be doing all those meetings and probably- I don’t know, I just thought you wouldn’t-”

Richie hugs him tightly and Eddie shuts up. He’s teared up again and he sobs a couple of times. Well, there goes that. At least he’s crying in front of Richie and no one else. He can deal with Richie. It’s okay.

“You can stay here,” Richie says, not getting away from the hug. “For as long as you want. I have like a dozen empty rooms, too, it’s ridiculous.”

“I won’t bother you?”

“You could never bother me, idiot.”

Richie leans back and looks at him and he looks so sincere and serious and- nope, Eddie cannot deal with this right now.

“Alright, you can go back to normal now,” he says.

“What?” Richie chuckles.

“No more earnest-Richie, it’s freaking me out. I need to go to sleep and be unconscious for at least three days.”

Richie laughs. “Sure thing, Eds. Do you need anything or-”

“Christ, Rich, don’t cradle me, okay? I think I’d rather prefer it if you punched me in the nuts or something.”

“Fuck you, dude, I’m trying to be nice!”

“Stop trying, you are horrible at it and I’m the last person you should be nice to.”

“Fair enough, fuck you, asshole!”

“That’s better.”

“Cunt.”

“Good night, Rich. This way?”

“Yeah, on your right. I hate your shirt, by the way!”

“See you tomorrow!”

“And your face! I hate your face too!”

For the first time since he got out of Derry and returned to How Things Are, Eddie smiles. When he gets in bed, in one of those dozen empty rooms, he thinks that, yeah, he is still pretty much in love with Richie Tozier, but he can deal with it. He managed to survive all those years, hadn’t he, even when he knew Richie couldn’t feel the same way. He could survive this too.

Probably.

He wakes up the next morning at 10:34. He intends to go to the bathroom and realizes he has never been in this house before and he doesn’t know where the hell to go. He ends up in the kitchen, where Richie is nursing a coffee and looking through his phone.

“Morning,” Eddie says, and it sounds a bit like a question.

It makes Richie jump. He almost drops his phone on the cup. “Jesus- Hi, good morning, hi.”

Eddie stands there, like a fucking weirdo. “Hi.”

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, good, that’s good.”

“Yeah.”

They just look at each other. Richie is staring at him like he still isn’t sure if Eddie is real or a vision.

“Rich?”

“Yeah?”

“Bathroom?”

“Oh, shit, sorry, yeah, of course- that way, at the end of the hallway, to your left? Yeah.”

When Eddie comes back there’s another cup of coffee on the kitchen table. 

“Alright, full disclosure?” Richie looks at him from his seat, a slightly guilty expression on his face. “I called Bev, and Bill and everyone last night to tell them what happened.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? I’ll-kill-you-later-when-you-least-expect-it-Okay or You-are-the-best-Richie-I-don’t-know-what-I’d-do-without-you-Okay?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I-don’t-give-a-shit-Okay, Rich. Now I don’t have to extend my suffering and tell everyone myself.”

“Well, okay , but don’t come at me when Bill starts calling you every day just to check in.”

Eddie scoffs. “I’ll survive.”

They have breakfast.

“So,” Richie says. “Divorced, huh?”

Eddie looks at him. “Let’s stop talking now.”

“Thank God, I had nothing.”

They continue to have breakfast, in silence.

Nevermind, he can’t do it.

“Did you have those meetings yet?”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” Richie says. “Hilarious, actually. I told them I didn’t think I could go on performing the rest of the shows we have scheduled for the tour and they told me to fuck off! Fun times, fun times.”

Eddie frowns. “Why can’t you do the rest of the shows?”

“Because the show sucks, Eds, because it fucking sucks.”

“Uhm.”

“You are not even denying it!”

“It’s just-”

“You said you knew I hadn’t written my own stuff, didn’t you?”

Oh, God, Eddie had said that. “Did I say that?”

“You did!”

“I don’t remember saying that-”

“No, no, this is good! You watched my stuff when you thought you didn’t know me, which means you had an objective point of view of it! And you thought it was shit!”

“Uhmmm.”

“So, basically my whole career is a fucking sham, a disgrace, a fucking lie and I’ve never been good at anything and probably never will!”

“Rich.”

“Is this too much for this time of the day?” Richie scoffs self-depracatingly. “In my defense, it is like 11 am-”

“Maybe you should just try writing your own shit next time.”

Richie looks at him like he’s insane. “Are you insane?!”

“What the hell would you do instead?! Sell fucking vacuum cleaners?!”

“I could totally do that!” He does an impression of Al Pacino, of all fucking people. “ Hey-ho! Say hello to my little vacuum! I gotta tell you, there are many things my father taught me here in this room. He taught me: keep your friends close, but your PrettyCare Robot Vacuum and Mop Combo closer! ”

Eddie closes his eyes and purses his lips. “I think you’ll be fine, Rich.”

“I’ve never written anything in my life.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“You are a visionary, truly," Richie says, sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, apparently we are all messed up from the clown thing and, according to Bev, we need to make a conscious effort to change and become better versions of ourselves.”

“So your divorcing-your-wife Everest is my write-something-original Kilimanjaro, is what you’re saying.”

“Essentially.”

“You need to reset your standards, dude, those are not on the same level at all.”

“You’re right, leaving Myra was nothing compared to you writing a single sentence with sense. Do you even know how to write?”

Richie bursts out laughing. Eddie considers his job done.

Eddie watches Richie’s way of life around the apartment, with the intensity of someone that catches a half-played documentary on the Discovery Channel about a species of beaver they never knew existed and discovers that they care about beavers a lot, actually, and watches the whole thing without even blinking.

Richie Tozier in his natural habitat leaves clothes all over the place, socks specially. He walks without a shirt, sometimes, and causes an unsuspecting Eddie an aneurism. He sits down in front of his computer on the couch, staring at it with a frown on his face, and writes a couple of sentences he then deletes with a heavy sigh. He walks around the place like he doesn’t know where the walls and furniture are, hitting his hands or his toes with them when he passes by, as clumsy and absent-minded as he was when he was a kid. He makes stupid and exaggerated impressions of Elvis Costello while he’s in the shower. Whenever Eddie is with someone over the phone (normally they are all work-related calls) and Richie walks in on him, he makes a show of miming him how sorry he is for interrupting and that he’s going to go now, sorry again, tip-toeing out of the room like one of those fucking animal cartoons. He watches old SNL sketches and recites all the lines without missing a bit, and often tries to convince Eddie how good this or that sketch actually was.

Eddie’s favourite thing to do now that he’s living there —that’s the word he should use, shouldn’t he, after being there for almost three weeks?— is to sit together at the kitchen table and work. Eddie is on his computer, calculating this thing and checking that other stuff, and Richie is on his computer, writing this and deleting that. They don’t even talk much; sometimes Richie gets bored and starts delivering jokes in an effort to distract Eddie, but for the most part they just sit in silence and exist next to each other. It’s almost absurd, how much Eddie likes to be near him doing nothing.

Stan’s letters for Richie and Eddie arrive in two consecutive days; Richie’s on a Tuesday and Eddie’s on a Wednesday.

“Nuh-huh,” Richie says on Tuesday when he reads the sender over breakfast, shaking his head vigorously and completely forgetting about his cereal. “Absolutaly not. No, thank you. Nope. Fuck that, I’m not reading this fucking shit.”

“Richie…”

“No! No, no, no. You don’t even have one, yet! That’s just not fair!”

“Now you’re just stalling.”

“Can you blame me?! I just got a letter from a dead guy! From- from my best friend, who also happens to be a dead guy, which makes it no less creepy and, like, twice as painful!”

“Alright, give me that,” Eddie says, reaching across the table and snatching the envelope from Richie’s numb hands. He throws it behind his head and carries on drinking his coffee. “No more letter. Forget about it.”

Richie stares at him, confused.

“Respecting the game, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says, “but I’m not really sure that’s the way to do this? Like, we shouldn’t repress and avoid this shit- and you , as the slightly more mature one out of the both of us, you should know!”

“We aren’t avoiding shit, asshole,” Eddie says, and starts talking the way one would to a particularly inattentive child. “When my letter gets here you’ll open yours too and read it. It’s called a compromise . This way you’ll have enough time to mentalize and start behaving like a proper well-adjusted adult.”

Richie scoffs. “ Well-adjusted …” he mutters.

“Promise.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Good enough, Eddie thinks. He finishes his coffee.

Unfortunately for Richie, Eddie’s letter came just the next day. Eddie handed him his letter meaningfully and Richie took it while looking like he was going to be sick.

“I’m going to be sick,” Richie says.

“Don’t puke in the living room.”

“You are completely heartless, it’s amazing.”

“Live with it.”

That same night, when Eddie is about to go to bed, Richie knocks on his door.

“What.” 

“What light through yonder window breaks?”

Eddie starts smiling.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t make me say it again, dude, it was so hard to memorise.”

Eddie walks to the door and opens it, a hand on his hip.

“Don’t you memorise shit for a living?”

Richie winces. “Give me a break, man,” he whines, “it’s late.”

Eddie has never wanted to give Richie a break, and he is not about to start now. “You know, last time you said something like that you were climbing through my window. What, you got too lazy and you thought you’d just cross the hallway and I’d let you in anyway?”

“Hey,” Richie smirks, “your door is open, I think I’m doing a good enough job so far.”

Eddie crosses the room and sits down on the bed, taking a book he was looking through and pretends to read. Richie follows him. He jumps into the bed, causing them both to wobble.

“So, dude, excited to go back to school on Monday? ” Richie says with a high voice. “ I heard senior year sucks but that the birds are alright! ”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “I would never go back to senior year.”

“Why not?” Richie wonders. “It was fun.”

“Was it fun, Rich? Was it really? Or did you just smoke weed under the bleachers for theentire thing and cause irreparable damage to your brain cells?"

“I could never get weed in the nineties, man!” Richie complains, sighing like he missed on some vital teenage experience. “Fuckin Sammy Olsen, you remember? The little prick that hogged all the stuff and then tried to sell it after school? The fucker tried to scam me for it! I never even got a puff!”

Eddie rolls his eyes, amused. “Poor you.”

“Poor me, indeed!”

“You did smoke, though. I remember that.”

“I did? I didn’t.” Richie shakes his head.

“You did, you asshole! I remember.”

“Oh, yeah, maybe I did. But I stopped.”

“You did,” Eddie says, pensive. Why the hell had he stopped? “Uhm.”

“Uhm.”

“Grow up, Rich.”

“I’m 44 years old, asshole, so are you!”

“And yet, you still behave like a prepubescent dick.”

“Don’t talk about my prepubescent dick, Eds, I’ll get-”

“All excited, yeah, yeah.” 

Richie chuckles.

Richie would climb through his window, that’s right, to hang out. Eddie remembers that most of the time they would only read comics in silence and playfight to get the biggest spot on the bed, but that some other times Richie would come in tired and tender, like he needed the company to forget about something else. His parents, Stan.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks before he can change his mind.

“Huh?”

“Like, did you want to talk about something in particular, like, I don’t know, some unusual correspondence you might have received recently, or you’re here just for the pleasure of my company?”

“The pleasure of your company all the way, Eds! You being here is like an eternal slumber party, it’s great! Should I get some beers and pillows to smack the shit out of each other with?”

Richie had always done that, too. Pretend that nothing was wrong at all.

“Whatever, asshole, don’t talk about it, then. That’s healthy.” Eddie goes back to his book.

Richie is silent for a few seconds. “Fuck off, alright?”

Eddie shrugs. 

More silence.

“I miss Stan, okay?” Richie blurts out. So he had read the letter.

“I imagine.”

“Fuck you, insensitive prick, I’m trying to open up here!”

“I meant that I imagined that’s what was wrong and that I’m glad you told me!”

“Then fucking say that, motherfucker!”

“Fuck you, I’m not good at these things!”

“Yeah, trust me, I know !”

“Then why come here in the first place, you fucking idiot?!”

Richie hides his face behind his hands and groans. Eddie wants to do the exact same thing.

“This is awful,” Richie says. “Just trying to be normal and shit. It fucking sucks. I fucking suck, you fucking suck-”

“And my mom fucking swallows,” Eddie completes.

Richie snorts and presents his grown up face to him again. Eddie misses young Richie like a limb but old Richie is a sight for sore eyes —the wrinkles, the new glasses, his stupid fucking hair… It’s like a reminder that young Richie survived and transformed into someone else, someone who lived more or less a happy life (trauma and murderous clown excluded).

“I keep imagining this voice in my head,” Richie says, softly. “This like, imaginary Stan, going all-” he puts on a different voice, all nasal and high, “ Richie, you fucking idiot, Pluto stopped being a planet in 2006 and that is not a fucking robin that’s so clearly an European goldfinch, goldius maximus in latin- ”

Eddie snorts. “I could hear him saying that.”

“Yeah,” Richie replies sadly. “I don’t know what am I supposed to do with this- this Stan-shaped missing piece. Curly hair and all.”

Eddie wants to reach over and caress his hair or something. Instead, he shrugs. “There’s nothing you can do. Awful shit happens all the time and one day we’ll all die.”

Richie looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this supposed to be comforting?” he asks. “Is there, like, a second part to that fuckass little speech? Because, let me tell you, right now I kinda wanna kill myself-”

“But ,” Eddie interrupts, frowning, “there are good things too, we are still here and- and someday, maybe not tomorrow, but someday you’ll wake up and still miss Stan like crazy but it won’t hurt like it does now. The only thing you can do now is wait, unfortunately, just remember him and wait. Also, don’t fucking kill yourself, I’d miss you.”

“Aww, you’d miss me?”

“Did you even hear the first bit of that, idiot?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t very good, though I appreciate the effort. Back to the part where you admit you’ll miss me in the case of my inevitable death… Would you really? Would you come to my funeral and weep? Would you stop eating for days and then kill yourself too? Best friend goals, if you ask me.”

“Get out of my room, Rich.”

“Jeez, Pa, just five more minutes!”

“Fuck you and good night!”

Ben Hanscom: Checking in!

Mike Hanlon: Doing good! Driving through Nevada at the moment!

Bill Denbrough: Nice, Mike! Call us when you pass through California, we could have dinner!

Mike Hanlon: You got it, Big Bill!

Eddie Kaspbrak: Please tell me you aren’t texting and driving, Mike.

Mike Hanlon: Of course not, Eds. Also, you of all people asking me that…

Eddie Kaspbrak: I’ve learned my lesson so shut the fuck up!

Bill Denbrough: 😂😂😂😂

Richie Tozier: Guys living with Eds is so great look at this pics i took when he was napping the other day

Richie Tozier: (pictures attached)

Richie Tozier: He looks like one of those sleeping otters!!!!!!!!!

Beverly Marsh: Awww he does!

Richie Tozier: Sounds like one too this is wonderful

Eddie Kaspbrak: Why.

Bill Denbrough: 😂😂😂

Richie Tozier: Billy buddy we gotta teach you more emojis, man

Bill Denbrough: Give me a second.

Richie Tozier: There we go

Eddie Kaspbrak: Rich I’m so serious delete those photos and any other you might have fuckface.

Richie Tozier: Too late babes Ive already printed a thousand copies and handed them out to every person I could find in Main Street

Eddie Kaspbrak: I know where you keep your underwear, idiot

Richie Tozier: Yeah you do 🥴

Richie Tozier: BEV HIGH FIVE!

Beverly Marsh: What?

Ben Hanscom: We are texting, Richie.

Eddie Kaspbrak: Currently ordering a pack of itching powder as we speak

Bill Denbrough: 🥸?

Richie Tozier: Oh Billy so sweet 

Richie Tozier: He’s like a baby taking his first steps

“Heard through the grapevine someone is finally officially divorced! ”

“That’s a wild way to begin a phone call, Bev,” Eddie says, amused. He steps out to the backyard because he doesn’t wanna distract Richie while he’s trying to cook —and, really, Richie needs all the concentration he can muster because he’s capable of burning water if he doesn’t focus enough. “But yeah,” he says.

“Congratulations, honey! I’m happy for you. Maybe you should come over, we could celebrate with a bottle of champagne or something. Ben has a lot of expensive stuff in the cellar- he has a cellar , can you believe it ?”

Eddie snorts. “First of all, I can believe it —Ben’s fucking loaded, having a cellar is the exact sort of thing I’d expect him to have, besides maybe a fucking jacuzzi or something-”

“Well… ”

“Second of all , I don’t know if this is the sort of thing normal people celebrate, Bev.”

“We aren’t normal people, Eddie! We are incredibly fucked up! We should celebrate this kind of shit! ”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie says, “I’m sorry if I can’t get into the spirit, now that I’m a single loser in his late forties.”

“You are not in your late forties -”

“Any moment now, Bev! And when the time comes, I’ll die alone. Fucked up and alone.”

“You are not going to die alone. Just the fact that you are saying that you want to be with someone means that you are ready to start dating again! ”

“Oh, fucking great, now I have to date again?! I was already shit at it before marrying my mom-”

“Look, I could always set you up with someone. I have a lot of friends from college that I still talk with, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t hit it off with any of them! ”

Eddie starts sweating a little. “Yeah, knowing me I’d manage to find Ma 0.3 and marry her too…”

“Don’t think like that. You opened your eyes, you left Myra, you are officially on the path of something better. You just have to have enough confidence and courage.”

“Ah, yes, confidence and courage, the two things that define my character! This is going great, Bev! What do I do next? Jump into another fucking sewer and bathe in all the shit because I just love grime and filth?!”

Beverly sighs. “ You are brave, Eddie. ”

“I have my moments,” he admits, “but overall I’d say I’m below average."

"Eddie- ”

"It’s fine, Bev,” Eddie sighs. “I’ve accepted it. I’ll be alright. Better to be alone than in bad company, right? And I won’t be exactly alone, because I have you all, now that you remember that you exist, and you are never getting rid of me, whether you like it or not.”

“Well, that is true, ” Beverly concedes. “ But also: you are a catch! Now that I think about it Amanda would find you-”

“Bev, I’m gay.” Eddie shuts his eyes hardly because, yes, he’d been meaning to say it, but maybe not like that .

“Oh,” Beverly says. “ Alright. Thank you for telling me. ”

Eddie lets out a deep relieved breath. “Sure, Bev,” he chuckles.

“That was pretty brave of you. ”

Eddie scoffs.

“Just saying! ”

“Let’s get over this, okay?”

“It doesn’t change anything I said, Eddie. There’s some guy out there who’d be the luckiest bastard on earth just to share a room with you. ” Eddie can’t help but glance at Richie through the glass door; he’s still at it in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make meringue, of all things. 

“Maybe.”

“Not ‘maybe’, ‘definitely’! But you can’t just sit around and wait, Eddie, you gotta take a leap of faith and put yourself out there! The moment you do you won’t be able to walk down the street without at least a dozen guys wanting to jump your bones. It’s gonna be exhausting.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose and snorts. “Well, now you’re just exaggerating,” he says, still looking at Richie. “Besides, I don’t want any guy-”

“Oh?”  

Fucking hell, he hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean- In the sense that, uhm- I gotta have high standards, right? Like, I can’t just- just go for the first dude that looks my way, right? Gotta have some self-respect.”

“Of course, Eddie ,” Beverly says, and it sounds like she’s about to figure something out but that she’s not quite there yet. “ You know you can tell me anything, right? ”

Eddie coughs. “I think that’s enough personal stuff for today, Bev,” he says and, in a way, that’s an explanation in and of itself. Who else could’ve Eddie been talking about? Bill? Please.

“Sure ,” Beverly. “ Listen, I have to go now. Ben’s preparing lunch for me —how weird is that? ” Beverly giggles and she seems so genuinely ecstatic about it that Eddie’s heart melts.

“You got a catch, Bev,” Eddie says.

“Hell yeah I did, ” Beverly confirms. “ Now, go get yours! Bye, love you!”

She hangs up before Eddie can argue about just what the hell was that supposed to mean. He sighs. Beverly always makes him talk too much.

“Okay, Eds?” Richie screams from inside. “We may have a tiny little problem-”

Eddie gets inside and encounters Richie walking blindly towards him —hitting his shin with a coffee table—, whipped egg whites all over his hair and half of his face.

“Okay, before you get mad-” Richie tries to appease him by raising his hands in the air.

Eddie bursts out laughing.

Richie opens and closes his mouth, confused.

“How-?” Eddie tries to say between snickers. “How did you even-?!”

“You know that thing people do when they wanna check if the egg whites are whipped enough?”

More laughter. 

Richie chuckles a bit, also amused. “They put the bowl over-”

“Over their- their heads?!” Okay now Eddie’s stomach is starting to seriously hurt —for Christ’s sake he’s supposed to be taking it easy with the recovery. “Ouch! Fuck- You’re such an idiot-!” You’ve ever been laughing and in pain? Delirious experience.

“Wait are you-?” Richie takes off his glasses and Eddie’s not sure it does anything to help with his visibility.

“What are you doing?”

“Did you open one of your stitches or something? Fuck- Maybe I-” Richie tries to clean some of the egg whites of of his eyes.

“You are still fucking blind, Rich, what-?” He bursts out laughing again. “What-? What are you expecting to ah- achieve with that?!”

Richie chuckles. “I don’t fucking know, Eds.”

Eddie laughs more.

“Are you done, now?” Richie asks, a big smile on his face.

“One second.”

“Take your time.”

“Alright,” Eddie says, composing himself. “Alright, I’m fine. Come here.” He takes Richie’s hand and guides him to the bathroom. “Careful.”

“Wait, wait- What are you doing? Where are we going-?”

“Easy, idiot, we’re gonna clean all that-”

“But- Ouch!” Richie bumps with a door.

Eddie tries his damnest not to laugh. “Sorry.”

“Did you do that on purpose?!”

“Of course not-!”

“Asshole,” Richie says, but he’s smiling so he can’t be that serious.

“Alright get in here. Lift this leg-” He tries to get him into the bathtub.

“What-? Is this the bathtub?! Eds-” Richie smirks.

“Don’t even-” Eddie interrupts. “Get in there, Jesus Christ-”

“If you wanted me to get naked all you had to do was say it, baby.”

Eddie’s glad Richie’s eyes are closed because he can freely smile at the stupid fucking joke without losing his dignity. He takes the shower head, puts it right in front of Richie’s stupid unsuspecting face and fires.

“Ow, shit, Jesus, Eds!” Richie complains, putting his hands in front of his face. “It’s cold!”

“You are such a baby,” Eddie says, snorting.

“Surely there was a- ow! You just got water in my ear! Surely there was a better way of doing this!”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. But not as funny as this one.”

“Oh, you are such a little fucking demon, aren’t you?” Richie squints and opens his eyes a little, now that the big majority of the egg whites are down the drain. “Oh, there you are!”

Eddie sprays him with water again. Richie splutters and curses and Eddie chuckles. Once Richie is somewhat clean —at least his eyes and hair are free of failed meringue— he says.

“How sweet, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “What.”

“Taking care of me like this…”

“Shut your mouth.” Please God, don’t let him blush.

“You deserve like a big hug or something-!”

“Don’t even-”

“Just to show my appreciation!”

“I don’t want it- No-!”

“Too late!” Richie takes him in his big fucking wet arms and pushes him against his chest. “Awwww! This is so nice, isn’t this so nice?”

It is nice. “I hate you.”

“Uhm, shhhh. Let’s enjoy the moment.”

Eddie sighs. He hugs Richie back to indulge him, but mostly himself. It is very very nice. He feels like he misses him even if he’s right there. When they pull apart they have one of those moments. It’s ridiculous to even put it into words but it really is true. It is Moment. Richie looks at him, like wanting to say something but not daring too. Eddie half raises his hand to push his wet hair out of his face but cowards in the last second. But Moments are only Moments because they never end the way people (namely Eddi) would’ve like them to end.

“You should get changed and uhm-” Eddie splutters, stepping back. 

“Yeah-”

“Because you could catch a cold or something.”

“Makes sense.” Richie is doing that thing he always used to do as a kid when he was embarrassed; he looks down at his feet and pushes his glasses up his nose. Except he’s not wearing glasses now, so he just touches the bridge of his nose and then lowers his hand immediately upon realising what he’s done.

Eddie tries not to smile, which is actually very easy because he’s fucking mortified. He’s a grown ass man, for God’s sake. “I’ll see what I can- uhm- salvage from the thing-”

“The meringue.”

“The meringue. Yes. That.” Eddie stumbles out of the bathroom.

During the next couple of weeks, Eddie turns slowly but surely insane. Because they keep having Moments . That can’t be possible, can it? The only other thing that characterizes a Moment aside from never ending properly is that they seldom happen! That is to say, the reason why Moments are Moments —why they are so special— is because they happen like, once in a lifetime! That’s why people appreciate them! 

Supposedly.

Eddie doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he’s doing; he’s probably never known a thing since he discovered the placebos thing and he said to himself “alright, then, you know nothing, the world as you know it is a lie and also fuck you!”.

Anyway, he may have to redefine what a moment is. Because whatever keeps happening with him and Richie are Moments if he ever experienced one, and he can just tell , he can feel it .

For example: Richie and Eddie watch a rerun of all Back to the Future movies. They have both seen it a hundred times each but they can’t just not watch it if they are putting them on TV for free. 

They watch about 85% of the first movie; the other 15% is missed while they talk about inaccuracies, continuity errors and plotholes. They watch 68% of the second movie; the remaining 32% is spent bickering over why this movie fucking sucks (Eddie’s case) or why it fucking rules (Richie’s case). By the last movie they are too tired to talk, which is saying something; they watch only about 23% because the rest of the time they are just fucking glancing at each other with the excuse of checking if the other is still awake even when the other very much is. 

Richie looks at him, and Eddie can feel it so he waits about two seconds and then looks back, only for Richie to say “thought you were unconscious, dude” (like a fucking idiot) and return to the movie as if nothing. Eddie freaks out internally because Richie can’t just check if he’s awake 30 times in the span of one fucking movie, so he steals a few hundred of glances at Richie just to see if he can figure out just what the hell is going on inside his head; Richie catches him staring and the whole game begins again. 

Another example: once Mike finally drops by California, the Losers all have get together in Ben and Bev’s house, where they celebrate multiple things —being alive, Bill writing a book with a decent ending, Bev and Eddie’s divorces, Mike finally getting to see the world outside of Derry and Richie finishing the first draft of his next show (“it sucks, but at least is finished!”). They talk about the old times and tell stories about Stan until they run out. Eddie notices Richie zoning out more than usual and, because he can’t think of any other thing to comfort him with, he lightly kicks Richie’s foot with his own under the table. Richie returns to reality and half-smiles. Eddie keeps his foot there because it makes sense. Richie lightens up.

What really dawns on Eddie is just how much they know each other, really. How easy Richie seems to read but only because it’s Eddie that’s doing the reading. How easy it is to help someone just with your company and what it says about how much you mean to them.

Last example: the flirting. Can it even be called that? Eddie wouldn’t have put it that way, ever, in a million years had it not been for Beverly sweet, strong, amazing Beverly, who’s steadily carrying out her plan of simultaneously fixing and ruining Eddie’s life. Eddie had been on a telephone call with her and they had been bonding over shared traumatic experiences (as one does). Eddie got distracted by an argument with Richie about popsicles —because of all the foods they could’ve been talking about, of course it had to be the most phallic one.

“Have you eaten the last lemon one?” Richie had yelled from the kitchen, where he was bent over the refrigerator —a distracting sight but nevertheless Eddie endured.

“Nope,” he had said, hoping that was the end of that. “Anyway, Bev, in the end my-”

“Fuck off, of course you have!”

“Are you accusing me, asshole?!”

“Yeah I am, and you know what? This thing,” Richie had said walking towards him and pointing them both, “ this thing is long overdue, buddy, because I know you’ve been eating my goddamned popies!”

“Do you hear yourself, Rich?! I cannot have a serious conversation with you about this if you keep saying ‘popies’!”

“You cannot have a serious conversation with me because you know you’ll lose, fuckface! You can have any fucking flavor you want , man, I’ve said this a hundred times, but you don’t fucking touch the lemon ones! Especially if it’s the last one!”

Eddie had rolled his eyes.

“It’s like you want to break my heart, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that-”

“What? Eds? You don’t want me to call you Eds, Eds ?”

“Shut up, Rich.”

“Eds, Eds, Eds, Eds, Eds-”

“I will end your life. I will get into your room in the middle of the night and smother you with a pillow-”

“Oh, yes, Eds, please do come into my room at night and smother me with a pillow, Eds! Please, Eds! End my suffering! EDS !”

“You are unbelievable, Rich.” Eddie had shook his head and rubbed his temples, phone call practically forgotten.

“Uhm, yes, I love it when you call me Rich, Eds, please keep going-”

“Alright this is weird, now ,” Beverly had interrupted. “ I can’t listen to you flirt like that, I’m not strong enough. ” And then she’d hung up. 

Eddie had stood there, frozen. 

“What’d she say?” Richie had asked, almost completely calm now. 

Eddie had shook his head and gone to his room to hide for a while.

They just talk like that! That is just what they do! It’s their thing, but only because Richie can never shut up for the life of him and Eddie is the only one capable enough to keep up with his mouth! And, yeah, okay, maybe Eddie likes playfighting with Richie, even if they aren’t kids anymore, because it is fun —Richie is and always has been funny — and Eddie feels comfortable enough to say things he’d never dared to say before in his life for fear of being put into permanent isolation by his mother. 

But flirting ?! It can’t be that. It’s not possible. Richie isn’t like that, and even if he was he couldn’t like someone like Eddie. Fuck confidence and courage, Eddie would never risk what they already have. If he has to insult Richie and roll his eyes at him for the rest of eternity, so be it. Eddie’s already happier than he’s ever been in his sad, lonely and miserable life.

He just hopes this can last.

This can never last. 

Eddie looks at his ceiling, the same way he did when he couldn’t sleep and waited for Richie to read his mind from afar and enter through the window and save him. 

This can never last, he repeats in his head, over and over again, with the finality of one of the Ten Commandments. You shall not get too comfortable. Life is finite, everything has to end. Change is inevitable and an intrinsic part of the human experience.

One day we’ll all die, we’ll all go.

Like Richie. Richie had left Derry a little before turning eighteen. He’d gone to Pennsylvania, hadn’t he? For college. Community college. For the first time in Eddie’s life, he’d understood what it meant to lose someone —not even his father’s death or even the departure of the rest of the losers had shook him so fiercely. Of course they had all hurt —it’s never nice to stop seeing someone you loved or cared about— but a part of Eddie had been so sure, so absolutely certain that he’d never see Richie again that he’d spent the whole summer with a weight over his shoulders. 

And for the most part he’d been right, hadn’t he? Richie had been gone for 27 years and only just now Eddie’s got him back —maybe not the way Eddie would like to have him, but he’s here and Eddie can look at him and talk to him whenever he likes so, all things considered, this is fine.

Except it isn’t. Because this can never last. Someone will also realise how amazing Richie is and take him away.

And how unfair is that?! When they were kids, it was Eddie Richie went to when he was upset, it was Eddie’s window he climbed through whenever he could so they could hang out even more than they already did, it was Eddie he let clean his glasses for him, it was Eddie he shared the hammock with, it was Eddie’s hand he’d held on what they’d thought it was their last night together-

Wait, that one’s new.

Eddie sits on the bed, heart beating. He’s probably going to start hyperventilating. He wants to check if there’s something in the nightstand that might help, like water or a paper bag, but he doesn’t want to move in case that new vague memory fades away again. He needs to concentrate. He closes his eyes.

Hand. They had been holding hands, actually holding hands. Where? In his room? No, they had left that night. Richie had showed up and he’d asked if he wanted to drive. So they had driven- no, they had cycled. Around Derry and then stopped in a field. Eddie had said that, if this was his special goodbye, it fucking sucked and Richie had laughed and he’d held his hand. No, first they had promised to write to each other, then they had held hands. Richie had told him he was his favourite. Richie had reached for his hand.

Eddie jumps from the bed and almost begins laughing hysterically. Of course it had been Richie; he’d always been the bravest out of the two of them. Richie had gone to his house because he’d wanted to say goodbye properly, he’d told him he was his favourite and he ’d held his hand —like sealing a promise, like saying “not now, but someday”.

His epiphany is slightly interrupted by an even older memory. Before he even remembers it properly, he starts looking around his room —the closet, his empty suitcases, his bags, a few boxes full of stuff from New York that he didn’t want to throw away. It’s there, in one of those unopened boxes that he finds it. The fucking Spider-Man #89. He chuckles delighted.

Then, he gets immediately pissed off.

He walks directly towards Richie’s room, taking long strides. It’s like 3 am in the morning, he doesn’t fucking care. He opens the door without even knocking and switches on and off the lights a few times until Richie sits up, dishevelled and confused.

“What-? Where-? What’s wrong?!” He puts on his glasses and looks at Eddie, worried.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Eddie says, shaking his head. He throws the comic at him.

Richie barely manages to catch it. He looks at it for a second, squinting and pondering. When he recognizes it he beams. “Hey, it’s my Spider-Man #89!” he says, excited. Then the meaning of the whole thing seems to dawn on him. He freezes and widens his eyes. “My Spider-Man #89,” he says again, like it’s his last sentence before death.

“So you do remember!” Eddie accuses, pointing a finger at him.

“Remember what?” Richie asks, high-pitched. He looks terrified.

“You gave that shit to me, like, fucking eons ago, because you were in love with me!”

“I-” Richie gapes, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of the water.

Eddie begins counting with his fingers. “ That’s why you gave up smoking after I told you no one would ever kiss you if you tasted like smoke, that’s why you always wanted to share the hammock with me, why you drove me home when I still didn’t have my drivers licence and why you held my hand in that fucking field before leaving for college, you absolute dickhead! ”

“Oh, yeah?” Richie gets out of bed and walks towards him. “Well, you- You, uhm, fucking kept the comic! For, like, thirty years! Pathetic much?!”

Eddie can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“And you were, like, properly pissed off when Sandy McAdams said she had a crush on me in sophomore year and you didn’t talk to me for an entire week even if I kept saying I didn’t like her back! And you kept holding my hand in that fucking field before leaving for college, so take that !” He delivers his final blow with a finger on Eddie’s chest, pushing him a bit backwards.

“What?!” Eddie says.

“The fuck do you mean ‘what’-?!”

“Why are you pissed off at me?!”

“You were pissed off first, asshole? You- you come into my fucking room in the middle of the night all-” He mimics what Eddie guesses to be angry otter noises. “How the fuck am I supposed to take that? All- all- fucking accusing me of being a raging pining homo-!”

“Well,” Eddie says, breathing harshly, “are you?”

“Of course I fucking am, but you didn’t have to ask it like that !” Richie jumps a little bit on his spot, as if jumping around will make his case more dignified.

“I’m sorry, Rich, but I just happened to remember that the love of my life loves me back, idiot, so excuse me for being a little pissed for having wasted so much fucking time.”

“Your what loves who what?” Richie stands there like an idiot. Which he is.

Eddie smiles, breathes in and out and takes a step towards him. Richie leans his head back slightly, as if he’s scared that Eddie will punch him. Instead Eddie puts both hands on his shoulders to demand his attention.

“Rich?” he says, slowly.

“Uhm?” Richie asks.

“You are the love of my life-”

“Huh.”

“And I had the most embarrassing crush on you when we were kids-”

“That’s nice.”

“And then I kept finding you in everything I did even when I didn’t remember you existed-”

“Well, that just doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“And I still very much love you and I don’t think I’ll ever stop and it’s all very embarrassing but I just thought you should know.”

Richie looks like he’s about to cry. “See?” Richie says, softly. “You could’ve just said that, asshole, you would’ve saved me the fucking grief you just put me through-”

“When have I ever chosen not to give you a hard time, Rich?” Eddie asks, openly staring at his face.

“I love it when you call that,” Richie mutters, more to himself than anything.

“I know,” Eddie smiles. He stands on his tiptoes and kisses him like he should’ve done years ago.

And kissing Richie is so nice. His glasses get in the way and the stubble on his cheeks pokes at his skin and the height difference is definitely gonna cause a number on his neck but he’s kissing Richie so it’s alright.

When he pulls apart he notices Richie is clinging to his shirt.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Richie begins to say, “this was great. Like awesome , loved it, 10 out of 10. Perfect first kiss, if you ask me-”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “But…?”

“But I sort of need to disgustingly make out with you, like, right now.”

Eddie laughs.

“Because- don’t laugh this is serious- I mean it- You said it was frustrating to waste so much time, you know, what with the whole 80’s “Smalltown Boy” by the Bronski Beat thing and then the whole post-Derry mind-fog thing… So I just think we owe it to our younger selves, you know?”

“Make up for all the time lost,” Eddie grins, nodding. “Makes perfect sense.”

“Don’t agree with me that easily, Eds, you’ll only get me going.”

“Isn’t that what we kinda want for this situation?”

“Fuck, yes. Yeah, you’re right. Keep going.”

Eddie shakes his head and kisses him again, allowing himself to take it further and further until they basically fall on the bed.

“We need to be careful actually-” Eddie starts saying but gets interrupted by Richie’s mouth.

“Aha,” he mumbles.

“Remember the whole impalement thing? Pretty much still happened, so maybe-”

“There’s a joke in there-”

“Rich,” Eddie says.

“Just gimme a second-”

Eddie kisses him again, straddling him and taking handfulls of Richie’s shirt so he gets the fucking hint.

“Okay, okay, on it.” Thank God.

Richie takes off his shirt and Eddie wants to cry, actually, thinking of the Barrens and the quarry and everything between then and now. There’s something so sad about finally getting to be with someone you’ve wanted to be with ever since you can remember.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, no, I’m just-” Eddie sniffles and Richie freezes.

“Okay, fuck me- Not like that, Jesus- No, I meant ‘fuck, what’s wrong are you okay’?”

Eddie dries his face and sighs. “I’m just- I feel -”

Richie makes a noise of understanding. “Amen to that, brother.”

Eddie punches him in the shoulder. “Don’t call me brother when we’re about to fuck, Rich.”

Richie’s eyes widen ridiculously. “Are we?! Gee Wiz! Luckily for me, I’ve been carrying a condom in my wallet since 1992!”

Eddie burst out laughing.

Richie looks at him with a proud smile.

“Look at you laughing at my stupid jokes,” Richie says. “How the mighty have fallen.”

“I was never mighty, Rich.” Eddie shakes his head.

Richie leans back on his forearms and mockingly frowns at him. “Are you telling me you’ve spent decades pretending I’m not funny?!”

Eddie shrugs.

“Jeez, Kaspbrak, you could’ve been laughing all this time! You didn’t need to play hard to get, you already had me!”

That’s a nice thought —having someone, belonging to someone. “I have to keep you in check, Tozier, otherwise you’ll end up writing even worse shows than the ones written for you.”

“Makes sense,” Richie concedes. “Are you better now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I keep kissing you?”

“Please.”

“Sloppy style?”

Eddie snorts and kisses him. Richie’s hands are immediately on his hair and just how great is it to hear someone’s heartbeat echoing in your own chest?

Afterwards —what a wonderful word it turns out to be, aftwards — Richie and Eddie lay on their backs, holding hands the same way they did when they were seventeen.

“When did you realise, anyway?” Richie asks, looking at him. “That you were in love with me?”

“Oh, no, we are not doing that.”

“What?!”

“No, absolutely not. I’m not doing this reminiscing thing with you like they do at the end of every romantic novel I’ve read, it’s beneath us.”

“How many romantic novels have you read for you to say that?”

“Mind your business.”

“Your business is my business now, darling,” Richie smirks. “We are practically married!”

Eddie frowns. “Did I miss the part where you proposed to me?”

“I mean, I did, essentially, while we were at it-”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie interrupts. “Let me get this clear: you think-”

“I know -”

“You think you know you proposed to me in the middle of having intercourse but that I just somehow missed it?” Eddie knows Richie is just messing with him and that Eddie’s pointlessly indulging him and dragging the joke for longer than it should. He does it anyway because that’s just what they do, but at least Eddie is self-aware.

“I mean there was a lot going on and, in my defense, you were, like, moaning and screaming ‘yes, yes, yes!’ so I just assumed you’d heard me and were just, like, enthusiastically accepting my beautiful proposal.”

Eddie scoffs. “You’ll have to do better than that to trick me.”

“Excuse me?” Richie half sits, serious look in his face. “I didn’t think I’d have to trick you into being with me for the rest of our days.”

“Think again, Tozier.”

“Heartbroken,” Richie says. “This is my heartbroken face.”

“That’s your normal face.”

“I’m a very sensitive guy.”

Eddie snorts.

“So you aren’t even going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“When you realized you love me, fuckface!”

“You start and if I like your answer maybe I’ll say mine.”

“‘Maybe’?! It’s not even a sure deal?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“We have the rest of our lives to drag this argument, Eds, I can wait .”

Eddie shakes his head. He turns to his side (his good side) and closes his eyes.

“You falling asleep on me?!” Richie continues.

“You are boring.”

Richie gasps. “You are heartless.”

They don’t say much for a while.

“I knew I love when I have you that fucking comic,” Richie whispered. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“However misguided,” Eddie whispered back, “it was a sweet gesture.”

“What do you mean ‘misguided’?”

Eddie turns to look at him. “I don’t know how to tell you, darling, but you were never gonna make a fortune with that thing. It’s not as valuable as you thought it was.”

“Of course it’s valuable, Eds, it’s a nearly perfect copy of a comic from like 1971!”

“It’s missing a page!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Eddie snorts and turns back.

Richie hugs him from behind, hands carefully over his nearly healed wound.

“You wouldn’t believe how much you scared me,” Richie says. “I think I freaked the others out. Seriously.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I mean, it wasn’t your fault but-” He sighs. “For a moment I thought I might have to learn how to live without you. And then, in the hospital, even after they told us you were stable and all… I don’t know I just kept thinking ‘this is too good to be true, somethings going to wrong and-’”

“That’s why you were so sleepy when I woke up?”

“I couldn’t just sleep, dude-”

“Don’t call me dude-”

“You looked so weird, all pale and still… I thought I’d never seen you so quiet.”

“Well, I’m fine.”

“Hm.”

“Pretty much alright.”

“I know.”

“Never been better, actually?”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

They stay silent for another while.

“You remember that time when we started high school, right after Beverly had left, and my mother decided to ground me for an entire week?” Eddie asks softly.

“Huh?” Richie sounds half asleep.

“Yeah, she said that I was worrying her —this was after I found out about the placebos and it was weird between us, she kept trying to take back all the space I was making for myself. She said I was worrying her because I was changing and she could not recognize me anymore.”

“Poor Mrs. Kaspbrak.”

“Shut up.” Eddie hits softly one of the arms surrounding him. “It wasn’t even that big of a deal- I mean, I had been grounded thousands of times before. I was just extremely pissed off because I couldn’t believe she was still acting like that even after I’d confronted her about the pills!”

Richie hums in agreement, touches the back of his head with his forehead.

“Anyway, I kept bitching about it whenever we were at school. Bill was too heartbroken about Bev to pay any attention to me, so you, Stan and Ben had to deal with the worst of it-”

“Gotta tell you, Eds, so far it is not ringing a bell. Proceed.”

“And I was so annoying, like, stupid-teenager-annoying, and I guess one day you all had enough because you took my arm between classes, took me to one of the janitors closets and said ‘Okay, listen, asshole, there’s been a council and the rest of the losers think that you need to take a chill-pill’.”

“Did I actually say ‘chill-pill’?”

“You may have said something else, I don’t know.”

Richie snorted.

“Anyway,” Eddie continued. “I remember being so angry and sad and insecure. And I asked ‘You think so, too?’, because I cared so much about your opinion, you know? Like, you were always saying I was annoying but I knew it was a joke, right? That time I just needed to make sure you didn’t actually think that.”

Richie hums again.

“And you said ‘Well, Eddie Spaghetti, I think you need to punch someone and get it out of your system’. You said that I’d been put into a corner for all my life, by my mother and the fucking bullies and the entire town, you said you thought I just needed to punch back. Just once.”

“Oh my God, did I ask you to punch me? I asked you to punch me, didn’t I?”

Eddie chuckles. “And you ask me to punch you.”

Richie groans. “See that? That was me thinking ‘hey I have a crush on this dude I’ll tell him to punch me I’m sure he’ll love me back!”

“And I was like ‘No way, dude, I’m not going to punch you, are you insane?!’ and you just kept insisting, saying it wouldn’t hurt that much, that you’d been punched before and knew how to take it. And we argued about it forever until I said enough and punched you in the nose.”

“Yeah that rings a bell,” Richie mutters, raising a hand to touch his nose. “Did you break it?”

“No , are you kidding?!” Eddie says. “But I did make you bleed. And the moment I saw the blood I got so upset I almost started crying because I couldn’t believe I’d done that but you just started laughing. You laughed so much, Rich, and you said you were proud of me. I tried to clean the blood from your face with my shirt but you said ‘Leave it, it’s a patch of honor, the proof that Eddie fuckin’ Spaghetti has guts’.”

Richie groans again. “That is so-”

“That’s when I knew I loved you.”

“Wait, really?!”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, shrugging.

“Do you realize how fucked up is that?” Richie laughs, holding him closer. He puts on his News Anchor voice and says: “Fucking fourteen year old Eddie Kaspbrak falls in love with problematic horny Richie Tozier after punching him in the face!”

“Fourteen year old Richie Tozier asks anxious Eddie Kaspbrak with repressed anger to punch him in the face!” Eddie tries to follow.

“That voice sucked, man”

“Now you know how we felt when we were kids.”

“Ouch!” Richie laughs.

“I mean, it’s either that or the same night you gave me that comic,” Eddie says, yawning at the end. “When you gave it to me I just couldn’t believe you’d done that.”

“That’s sweet,” Richie says, also yawning. “We have matching stories!”

“If we ignore the violent one.”

“The violent one is just for us; when we talk about this we’ll say the Spider-Man one.”

Eddie nods, half asleep already. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

“I already said deal, Rich, you don’t have to say it back.”

“Why can’t you ever let me have the last word?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Go to sleep, Rich.”

“Eds.”

“What?”

“Last word.”

Eddie snorted. “We could go on like this forever.”

“I mean, we have time.”