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Chapter Text

The pair had been sat a table for a while now. It was just about 11am and they were drinking large mugs of coffee at Nomad’s and just talking about how glad they are that they escaped, that they were never free or safe. They often saw the world through rose-coloured glasses before Pennywise came into their life. The truth is that Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrack never had a safe childhood. They may have wished for it, dreamed of it, but there was only one constant in either of their lives back then. The sick and twisted way that they were treated when they were kids, and how it’s affected them now.

Eddie had not had the best sort of childhood, even if it seemed alright from the outside, it was total hell. His mother had not hit him, or touched him, but convinced him into an infantilised compliance through what, to others, seems like totally normal language. She sheltered him and kept him hidden, insisting he was sick and broken, needing fixing through endless pills that he is now sure contributed to his general ill health in his adulthood and the horrible intrusive thoughts that plague him through every waking moment.

‘That table has had a dirty plate on it, get out the pink cleaner and scrub it for 45 seconds or else’

‘He’s sick, you can’t be anywhere near him or you’ll become the leper’

‘She’s dirty, you better not speak to her or you know what will happen’ 

Or, his brain’s favourite

‘That boy’s wrong, you can’t be friends with him or mother will lock you in the house again.’

They were near impossible to escape, harder still to ignore, and that was the aftermath of Sonya Kaspbrack on Eddie’s psyche. He was frightened, broken and lost, all because of the ‘only person that loves him’.

That's not to say that Richie had no struggle as a child, not at all. He was picked on tremendously at school, called an outcast and weird and all sorts of names, ranging from smart-ass to slurs. His parents were kind enough, his mother especially was caring. When he grew up a little, and his parents tired of his endless imagination, was when the problems arised. His mother struggled with the fact that he was not a girl, like she had hoped he had stayed one all along… it was the only reason he really had to leave Derry, minus the murderous clown. He couldn’t stand being a girl one more second, so he put his vote in. It was unanimous.

The group left to escape the monster that was Pennywise. Now, away from it all, they’re realising that the true monster was Derry, and her inexcusable inhabitants.

Now, they’re out in Newbury, Vermont, having driven the entire way, all 5 hours of torture, in Richie’s car. That meant 5 hours of fart jokes, stupid remarks and just being holed up in the smallest space in the world with 5 other people (Mike had chosen to stay in Derry to try and keep some peace with the townspeople and keep watch in case Pennywise came back). That was about a month ago and -after sleeping in hostels for a couple of days- all of the Losers who’d gone had found jobs and shared a tiny apartment in Peach 4 Corners. Beverly had gotten a job at the nearest McDonald’s with Ben, him a line cook, her a cashier . Bill had found a job at a place called Nomad (the stutter never really helped him, mind), as a barista who often gave the crew small discounts (which were much needed) in the place beside the small bakery where Stan had found a job as a baker’s assistant for a lovely lady named Billie, helping make bread and such. Eddie had found a waiting job for a little restaurant. Literally, it was called The Little’s. Richie had also, somehow, ended up working there, doing comedy gigs every couple of days, providing live entertainment. He had been uncertain about how his comedy would be received, at first, having been all but had duct-tape on his mouth whenever he wanted to tell a joke. Surprising, his stand-up went down a treat, getting the tiny crowd roaring in minutes. Every Monday, Wednesday and Sunday night, The Little’s had become an impromptu comedy club and every night held similar treasures. Thursday was Trivia Night (Ben always helped with the questions) and he had Tuesday and Saturday off every night. He worked 20 hours a week and earned $275 before tax for his troubles, not much but until he found a day job that’d be his lot (officially-he did get some tips because people loved his sense of humour). And that was lucky enough, because Eddie was earning about $450 a week before tax (without tips, though he wasn’t exactly well tipped, being so quiet and anxious all the time). The owners of The Little’s (The Littles) were older people, but so very sweet. They often gave the boys leftovers to take home. They knew all about their current living arrangements-thanks to the ‘Trashmouth’ portion of Richie’s name-and the situation that put them in it (minus the giant, murderous clown, of course), and they took pity on them. That’s the entire reason that Richie ever got a job, if not he would never have been employed.

Having said that, the job was not all sunshine and rainbows. Eddie often came home just to collapse in the pair’s room (they had decided on the first day that Eddie, Richie and Stan were to stay in one room and Ben, Bev and Bill in the other-mostly because Richie liked calling it Room B-and they took turns sleeping on the floor or the twin beds) after working 8 hours with no break, dealing with disgusting people and resisting the urge to bathe himself in hand sanitiser that they can’t afford. They often had shifts scheduled somewhat close together, and Richie would make sure to try to calm Eddie down on the 10 minute walk to their apartment. Most of Richie’s nights on the bed, he ended up sleeping on the floor instead to try and make up for the fact that he didn’t have that horrible exhaustion and frustration that Eddie did. He’d made quite a home on that floor, in fact, of moth-bitten blankets and the duffle-bag he came here with. 

Richie was brought out of his own head by a little clicking noise that Richie made, bringing him to the land of the living. “Cheeeee, can you walk me to work?”

 Richie found himself giving a little goofy smile.

 “Fine. I’ll sit with the Littles until my shift, maybe they’ll have some cookies or something to eat!”

 Eddie sighed defeatedly, a soft grin playing on his rounded features. He could never quite hide his smile around Richie, that was always a fatal flaw. He never did understand how he liked being around the taller boy, considering his often-poor hygiene and tendency to just get on Eddie’s nerves, but he’d grown to look past those incredibly annoying qualities to find an incredibly kind and funny soul beneath it, ready to help his friends whenever he can. He’s sarcastic and reckless, but also more loving and loyal than anybody else he’d ever met. Richie stands and offers a hand, and Eddie leaves $3 on the table beside an empty mug of black coffee and one of hot chocolate. Richie pulled Eddie out of his chair and waved a cheesy goodbye to Bill, who was slumped behind a cash register and giving the pair a cheesy smile. 

 On the walk back, Richie once again noticed the ever-growing bags under the younger man’s eyes, the slight tremor in his hands from the excess caffeine and the broken, glazed stare forwards in his eyes. And again he felt the same worry he always had when he realised how drained all of the Losers were getting. It wasn’t so bad with Richie, he always had the best luck with his hours and such, even if the pay wasn’t brilliant. Eddie had the worst of it, grueling 8 hour shifts touching dirty plates and everything else he had to conquer working service. Bill was similarly off, of course, but at least got home a little earlier. 

 As they entered past the staff doors of The Little, Madam Little- though she preferred being called Linda- greeted the pair with a smile that went up to her eyes. She was a short woman, with ruddy cheeks and the kind of face that just immediately put you at ease. She tackled Richie into a hug and ushered the two boys into her office, offering tea and biscuits to Richie, telling Eddie about the day’s planned events. It wasn’t too different from normal, just who he’d be working with and stuff. Just a moment after Linda had finished speaking, Harod Little walked in.

 "We've just opened. Edward, you’d best get out there, son. Looks like today is gon’ be a riot.”

 Eddie sighed and left, not forgetting to give Richie a word of good luck for that night

Chapter Text

About 7 hours later Richie is stood on that stage yet again, looking at a small slice of the world below him. The nerves coursed through his veins again, mingling with the caffeine lingering in his system. He focused on his rock again. Eddie. He was weaving in and out of tables, looking flustered by the world as a whole, rushing as fast as his body could physically take him. He took a breath, sipping some water and steeling himself. This was the largest crowd he’d worked in front of, the restaurant was as packed as Mr Little had said. The anxiety was beyond anything he’d felt since 1989. He quickly pushed that thought out of his head, no need for any of that now. He pulled out his paper, the one he’d been carrying in his shirt-pocket ever since before he got the job, the one that he believed was the sole reason for all of his recent good luck. The one that Eddie wrote him, wishing him good luck. He had ripped it out of his last high school yearbook, thinking that from some bad may sprout at least a little bit of good. He clutched it in trembling hands, gulped in air, and started.

“Hello there, this is Richie Trashmouth”

Eddie paused for a moment, admiring Richie’s confidence. That night, the restaurant was heaving, and Eddie was always amazed by Richie’s confidence, no less than now. The small man could still see the effect of Richie’s nerves, the way he ran his hands through jet-black hair and the slight tapping of his toes on the ground, but otherwise he betrayed nothing. He seemed comfortable on that stage, cracking the usual ‘Your Mom’ joke that he always did with the same vigour as usual. Claude, Eddie’s shiftmate, motioned for him to keep going. He was a young man, not much older than himself, but held himself with this stuck-up vigour. Every inch from his slicked-back blonde locks down to his waxed dress shoes screamed money. He was the Little’s great-nephew, and he had a great distaste for the Losers, both on and off the job.

Eddie ran back to the kitchen to grab a table’s mid-rare steak and spaghetti marinara, listening to Richie start up on his lines. Fine, it wasn’t his best work, but he was nervous. The lines that he had run through in the Little’s office were slightly shaky, misworded, but still had the audience roaring in seconds. So, he ran back to the kitchen, an ear still paying attention to Richie’s act.

“Eduardo?”

Eddie heard it shouted from the stage, grabbing his attention. He panicked a little, not quite expecting this.

“Richie, not the time!”

There was a level of exhaustion present in his voice as he snapped at Richie. This shift had felt endless, Claude constantly berating him for non-issues and the constant onslaught of customers. He was not in the mood for Richie’s tomfoolery, especially in front of so many people.

Richie kept going with his jokes as the audience mourned this simple torture, making jokes at his younger self- which he, ‘creatively’, named ‘Tiny Trashmouth’- and about their hometown.

Derry. Eddie still had mixed feelings towards Derry. Of course, it was hell, but it was also home. Eddie had read somewhere that migrating bird populations had this special, unbreakable drive back to where they grew up, and that’s why they didn’t often get lost on the way back home. He believed that similar things were true about humans. We are programmed to always go back home, no matter the cost.

These were the thoughts running through Eddie’s head as he ran back and forth across the packed room, listening to Richie make a fool of himself, talking about home and, of course, cracking crude jokes about Eddie’s mother. That was always a theme throughout each night. Richie had made it his mission to bring his mother into every night’s comedy section in some way, shape or form.

Eddie could feel himself getting more and more anxious throughout the sketch, winding himself up like a spring. He could’ve sworn that the dining room floor was out to get him with how many times he’d tripped over nothing that night. His breath steadily quickened every moment that the sketch wore on, starting from when Richie started speaking to this young man close to the faux-stage. The man was weasel-ish in complexion, tall and gangly with beady eyes and an aquiline nose, hence Richie’s descriptive nickname. Weasel-boy.

When Richie called this impromptu game, Eddie was stuck in his own head again, not quite listening and head going a million miles an hour, so much so that he didn’t hear Richie’s stupid question.

“Hands up, who hasn’t had their first kiss”

Eddie was brought back to reality, out of his work, with Richie being annoying (to be honest, this wasn’t a particularly strange thing to happen).

“Oh, look everybody, it's Eduardo again!”

The crowd cheered softly, some laughing at him, hunched over to avoid people’s lines of sight.

“Richie, shut it.”

“Oh, Eduardo, I need the details. Who did you kiss, where, when? I’m your best friend, remember”

This was when Eddie clued into this whole mess. Had he been in a better mood, the following events would likely not have happened. Richie would probably have laid off of him and the night may have gone as swimmingly as every night before it had. But Eddie was not in the mood for Richie’s shenanigans. He was cold, and anxious and hungry and much too frustrated for any of this. He tried to give warning, at least.

“I’m working, Richie. I’m not playing your dumb games.”

Of course, as usual Richie wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He continued to press.

“Really, Ardo? You know I’m not falling for that. Who?”

Eddie had had enough, now. His face betrayed his blatant exasperation.

“Just shut up, Richie!”

He was shouting now, having cut off Richie. He was seething, breath ragged and every fiber of his being screaming for him to get out of here, get out of this situation. The taller boy now looked stunned, clearly interested in all of this

“Come on, Eduardo. The people wanna know. If you keep resisting, we’re all going to think that you’re gay”

“BEEP BEEP, RICHIE!”

And he ran. Breath being dragged out of his throat with unnatural difficulty, feet pounding the ground, he pushed passed people, aiming for the door.

Chapter Text

Richie felt so very stupid. Bringing Eddie into this may not have been his best idea. Panic was written plain in his eyes as he saw Eddie make a beeline to the exit. He’d gone too far. His comedian personality dropped for a moment, and he saw in full force how stupid he was being.

And he watched his best friend run away with tears in his eyes.

As quickly as he possibly could, he slipped the ‘Trashmouth’ persona back on and stepped back up to the mic. It was usually comfortable but now it made him physically sick.

“Alright, I’m taking an early break. Hopefully pick up someone on the way to take back to my place tonight. Afterwards, I’ll get us started on some more games. See you in five”

And he ran, breaking through a solid wall of laughs and leaving his 'Trashmouth' face behind. He followed Eddie’s path, tracing his route out to the staff door, leading to the fences facing Peach Brooke.

When he broke outside, he found Eddie. Oh, how he found Eddie. He was curled up in a tiny ball, struggling for breath, tears glimmering upon his face. His face physically softened as their eyes met. He became ‘best friend Richie’ near immediately. His trembling hands found the spare aspirator tucked in the back pocket of his black jeans as he gently leant down to meet Eddie.

“Heya, Eds. It’s me”

Eddie screwed his eyes yet tighter as he turned away from the taller man, a grimace sat upon his crumpled face.

“Okay, I get it, you don’t wanna speak to me right now. That’s justified. Just lettin’ you know that I’m here. I’ve got your inhaler, you should probably use it, you’re wheezing pretty bad.”

Eddie took the inhaler, still refusing to look Rich in the eyes, and took a deep puff, then another. As he took the device away from his lips, he let out a deep sigh, showing that his breathing, although still slightly fast, wasn’t too bad anymore.

“I’m sorry, Eds. I went a bit too far with that.”

And that’s when the floodgates burst.

“A bit too far. A bit? Richie, you were asking me to spill secrets about my personal life that don’t even exist! You know for a fact that I haven’t kissed anyone. I was working, Richie. What if they dock my pay for this? And the crowd. Richie, we’re going to see these people again, and they are still going to think that I’m a fruit! Not everybody is as accepting as us, Rich. Did you even think before you spoke? Because I don’t think that you did.”

“I didn’t. That’s why I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for upsetting you, I’m sorry for pressuring you and messing with your shift.”

The pair stayed in an uneasy silence for a moment. The tears stopped and Richie felt himself getting stiff from sitting on the concrete floor.

“Ugghhh, Claude is gonna have another reason to hate me.”

Richie chuckled at this. The misadventures of Claude and Eddie were a never-ending saga that Richie always loved to hear about. Then again, he always loved listening to Eddie speak. His voice had matured slightly from the Loser’s clown-fighting days, deepening and gaining a soft rasp. Richie wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt himself hanging on every word that Eddie said.

“Don’t take it personally, that boy has a stick up his ass bigger than that arm cast you had when you broke your arm.”

Eddie let out a small laugh, feeling like the two were 12 again, reassuring themselves about Henry Bower’s horrible behaviour.

Richie physically groaned when he had to stand up and work again. He held out a hand for Eddie and the pair walked back into the building. Just as they were about to move past the Little’s office, Richie put a hand on Eddie’s arm, bidding him ‘be safe’ before slipping back into the Trashmouth persona. He ran back to the stage, the audience cheering in his wake.

“I’m back, people. After a quick talk about something called ‘employee harassment’, I’m ready to give you guys some more games.”

The audience whooped and cheered and Richie smiled at how easily he could make those people smile. He only wished he could do the same for Eddie.

Another 3 hours and a bit had passed, and Richie was waiting for the end. It had just struck 11 and the crowd was still, somehow, kicking. The electric feeling was slightly fading now, still tingling in his fingertips with every good laugh that one of the clients put out, but was somewhat faded from the constant feeling across the night. He could feel the fatigue somewhat stifling him, but pushed through it. Just 5 more minutes and he’d go. He was still taking stories from the crowd, telling his own anecdotes too, but he wasn’t as in it. He was watching Eddie leaving the dining hall to go back to the little employee cloakroom, head down, careful not to mess with anything. Richie could see him being berated by Claude earlier, and that had clearly put a damper on his newly-chipper mood. Richie felt so bad, he had caused this.

After telling jokes about another man in the audience and prancing around like a fool, he finally called for the end. The crowd grumbled, calling for an encore.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow for Trivia Night, and that’s gonna be a hoot! Anyways, if I keep on going, the Little’s might kill me, it’s already past closing.”

He stepped off of the stage, becoming Richie Tozier again. He wandered to the cloakroom, finding Eddie sat there, pulling on a coat. He could see the evidence of him having just done his surgeon-quality hand wash in the redness of his hands. Richie found himself smiling as he saw that familiar feeling that was just so Eddie. He stepped into the cloakroom and started to pull on his own jacket. It wasn’t particularly cold, however he knew that Eddie would be horrified if he knew that Richie could potentially get a cold. Old habits die hard.

He held out a hand for him as he pulled on his tattered old rucksack, filled with little things that made him happy, mainly old movie tickets and arcade tokens, and some old photos of the Losers all together. He placed the . Eddie took it and the two got home as quickly as they could, both drained and quiet (which was an incredibly rare, perhaps disturbing, occurrence for Richie). Eddie never did let go of his hand, not even asking if he’d washed his hands (he had but, perhaps due to the inherent trust of the older boy, he didn’t even think about it). They stayed together, an eerie silence over them, before coming up to the scarlet door.

They were lucky, the Losers. They had found a brilliant apartment for their budget, it was practically a brownstone. 2 bedrooms with twin beds in both rooms, no damp, good plumbing and a decent kitchen. They didn’t use it often, of course, with the leftovers from the truly absurd number of food service and preparation jobs, but occasionally Stan would use the half-priced bags of flour and sugar with the cheap margarine and the vanilla extract that we found in the back of the cupboards to bake some incredibly simple cookies. It was often the only food that the Losers purposefully made every couple of weeks, thanks to the kindness of their Landlady, Mrs Wilkinson, and the Littles.

Richie pulled his keys from his jean pockets (the locksmith had cost them a bomb, but they really couldn’t do much better for it, she had already given them a discount due to the size of their order). Unlocking the door, they found Stan asleep on the old leather sofa, a blanket over him and a sticky-note beside him. On it was a short message in his gothic-style script.

“Left beds free for you two, figured that Richie deserved one day not sleeping on floor. Have already worked it out with the others, Bev doesn’t mind taking floor instead of sofa.”

Richie smiled and wrote his own note in messy, tired scrawl

“Thanks, Stanny. I owe you one.”

By the time that he had finished writing, Eddie had already opened the door to their bedroom and picked out his pyjamas from his chest of drawers, already leaving the bedroom with them for the shower when Richie had begun his long strides to the bedroom to get his own affairs in order. He pulled his clothes into his arms at the same languid pace that he always did. Bill and Bev weren’t yet back home, Stan and Ben were asleep, Eds and Rich were the only ones conscious in the house. It wasn’t too uncommon of an experience, but still somewhat eerie. Richie experienced that sort of silence for a long time, ever since he was outed to the school. Whenever he walked down hallways he felt the oppressive stares as people whispered. This was a welcome change.

He walked toward the bathroom as Eddie emerged, grinning, from the steam, dressed in light clothes, chestnut hair still wet and slicked backwards across his forehead. Richie felt something stir within him, an immense sense of joy and happiness coursing through him, perhaps stronger than usual.

Yay, he’s feeling better.

Richie stepped into the bathroom, smiling at Eddie as they crossed paths. He took off his clothes, taking great pains not to look in the mirror. He kept it quick, ran shampoo-smothered hands through unruly curls, let hot, sudsy water sluice over his body. He got out of there as soon as he could, feeling the same discomfort wriggling under his skin as he caught a glance of himself naked in the mirror. He clothed quickly in his favourite hoodie. It was soft and massive and only used for sleeping and when he was washing what he dubbed as his boob-girdle. He was perfectly aware of the consequences of sleeping the girdle, having done that the first night in the hostels before they found The Loser’s House. It was not the most pleasant of experiences.

He stepped out of the bathroom, feeling a little bit cleaner and his soul a tad heavier.

Chapter Text

Eddie lay on the bed, staring at the patchy white of the ceiling; Richie had been snoring for quite a while now. According to the old grandfather clock that came with the apartment, it was probably 3am. He couldn’t sleep, that familiar thrum of energy pulsing through him regularly. He’d woken up from a nightmare again, the same nightmare as usual. He was in his bedroom again, the old single bed still creaking under his weight even in dreamscape. His mother walked in, like usual, her ugly, piggish face poking through the crack in the door.

“Eddie-Bear, have you taken your medicine yet?”

“Yes mum,” he returned, the same deadpan monotony in his voice as usual, like this was a normal question that a generally healthy boy should be answering. Of course, he didn’t know that back then, didn’t know that all of those pills that she insisted on him taking were gazebos- no, placebos.

“Good. Remember, Eddie-Bear, if you don’t take them, you may become me.”

It was then that she began to change before his eyes, the same sickening transformation that she always did, every bone snapping and crunching, every wart forming on her skin until she became it once more. The Leper. So horrifyingly usual.

It was normally about then that he woke up, gasping for air and clutching his pillow. The first nights he was here, away from her prying ears, he cried, sobbing into clenched hands. Richie was there. He kept the younger sane, held him as he shook, the tremors overcoming him as tears fell from his eyes,

He wished he was doing that now.

He kept going through the sleep techniques that Bill said he used when he was kept awake by nightmares of Georgie after It reared its ugly head.

All he had to do was pay attention. 5 things he could see, 4 things he could hear, 3 things he could touch, 2 things he could smell and 1 thing he could taste, it was called groundling or something, and it worked for Bill, so why shouldn’t it work with him. The ceiling, the unpowered lamp, the yellow stain in the white paint, the wall trim and the back of his eyelids when he blinked. Ben snoring next door, the quiet thrum of water rushing through the pipes, the soft sounds of breathing coming from Richie and Stan pacing in the living room, probably having woken from a nightmare like usual. The linen bedding, his cotton pyjamas and the feeling of air pressing on him due to the humidity. The faint smell of Richie’s hair gel and the cloyingly sweet strawberry laces shower gel they all used. He could still taste the mint in his mouth from when he brushed his teeth.

Sure, he felt calmer, but still not asleep. He tried to stay there and sleep, but came up empty, just feeling frustrated and annoyed by the sensation of living. He willed the world to stop, clenching his eyes tight and muttering curses under his breath, forcing himself not to cry again.

“Hey, Eds. Nightmares again?”

It was Richie, his heavy voice a bright whisper in the moonlight. He just nodded and Richie knew. He understood.

“Do you want me there with you?”

It was a simple question, it only had two logical answers, but it meant everything. It sent a pang of sweetness throughout him, like chocolate in a sea of liquorice. The same as those sweets that the two used to share.

“Please,” he whimpered, voice higher and breathier than normal.

Richie smiled, though he couldn't see it in the darkness, and walked the two steps to Eddie’s bed. He sat beside him and let him rest upon his lap, stroking the short brown crop of hair on his head for just a moment. A moment of them.

“Should I stay until you fall back to sleep?”

The shorter boy hummed, the tears that formed in his eyes not having dared fall somehow. They configured themselves so that Eddie was in Richie's arms, one hand caressing his cheek or stroking his hair, the other curling around his waist.

He wasn’t sure what happened between then and the morning, all he knew was that the pair woke to Stanley giggling, tangled in each other's arms. Eddie woke first, jumping away from Richie, waking him up.

“So that comment about you two being queer wasn’t so far from the truth, eh Eddie?”

“No, no. I’m not a pansy!”

Eddie defended his side with the startled deer-caught-in-the-headlights quality you might expect.

Richie, however, reacted in the way only Richie could.

“Didn’t seem that way last night, My Love.”

Stanley, seeing that the joke was- perhaps- badly timed, shook his head slightly.

“Beep Beep, Trashmouth. Nightmares again, Eds?”

Eddie nodded at his soft demeanour, feeling somewhat shamed by this familiar turn of events.

“Me too.” Stan admitted this quietly, touching the side of his head and feeling the small puncture scars still raised slightly on the side of his head. He picked up his clothes and left the room, gearing for a shower before his shift at the bakery.

Eddie quietly glanced at the time, just about 8:30am. He started work at 3pm, but he knew right that moment that he would not be able to go back to sleep. He closed the door. The pair dressed in silence, facing opposite walls. He turned to meet Richie’s eyes, looking at the younger whilst he pulled his shirt over broad shoulders. That was always Eddie’s favourite feature of Richie’s, those beautiful broad shoulders and maybe his giant mop of hair had he ever bothered to keep it groomed at the time. Richie smiled that ever-brilliant smile, the one that kept crowds riveted and laughing with him.

“Wanna go for coffee again, Spaghetti?”

Richie’s voice was light again, cracking as he adjusted to doing the ‘boy voice’ so early in the morning.

“Sure, don’t call me that.”

“But it's so fun!”

Eddie rolled his eyes and picked up $3, pulling a coat over his shoulders as Richie followed him, grinning sleepily. He shoved a hand in his pocket to make sure that the keys were in there and unlocked the door for the two to leave.

They took the familiar path to Nomad’s, knowing that Bill worked on Thursday mornings. Richie kept cracking those half-terrible jokes that he pretended didn't make him laugh to gauge how an audience would react and Eddie hummed quietly to the rhythm of an ABBA song that he had brought with him on his Walkman.

Standing at the counter of the empty cafe, Eddie struck up conversation with Bill, who was practically falling asleep behind the counter and stuttering at full force. The two had heard him wake up screaming from a nightmare again that night. It seemed to Eddie that the whole household had woken from nightmares but Richie.

He didn’t know that the only reason that he had asked if he’d needed comforting was because he’d woken from his own nightmare, the same one as always, walking through empty streets full of his own Missing posters and seeing the Losers, smiling at his funeral. Seeing them call him a girl with smiles on their faces and Eddie telling the others about how he pretended to be his friend and that he never even liked him. He didn’t know that Richie asking if he wanted to cuddle was his own selfish way of making himself remember that Eddie did like him, did tolerate him at least, because a world where Eddie Kaspbrak truly hated Richie was not a world that he ever wanted to live in.

Chapter Text

For the next couple of weeks, everything went smoothly enough. Every morning meant waking up with Stan or Bill or just to get to work on time, hiding away in the coffee shop until 11am and then getting on shift. Sleeping beside each other, often in the same bed. Eddie’s nightmares had gotten more frequent and Stan had gotten used to the sight of the pair waking up in each other's arms. No matter how much he thought about teasing the two, he never did. Maybe it was because they looked so sweet like that, or maybe it was because he knew that, as they were getting closer, they were getting happier. 

Of course, Stanley was no fool. He could see the way that Richie looked at Eddie when he thought he couldn’t see, the way that Eddie swooned whenever doors were closed. The B’s could tell just as well as Stan, but the subjects of all of this were painfully oblivious. Of course, it wasn’t too surprising, how long did it take for Richie to realise that Connor wasn’t into him. 

These were his thoughts as he saw the boys wandering into Billie’s, hand in hand, Richie laughing at something Eddie said and Eddie blushing like nobody’s business. Richie ordered both a cappuccino and a hot chocolate with an extra glass- to make their special chocolate coffee- and a pain au chocolate to share, their usual order. Eddie used to be so worried about sugar and carbs and calories and unhealthy anything that he used to solely drink coffee black, avoid sweets and chocolate and bread and starve himself until he felt sick. And, of course, his mother praised him. He grew to like the taste of black coffee, but Richie reignited that love of ridiculously sweet anything in him once they moved to Newbury. It wasn’t incredibly surprising, considering he always smelled of Lucky Charms or Starburst, but Eddie began to love the sweet and unhealthy again. When he looked in the mirror, he had gained a little bit of weight. He worried massively about it, but everybody in the group agreed it’d done him a wealth of good, he looked less like a skeleton, the hollows of his cheeks having filled out a tad. Richie certainly liked seeing a little bit more meat on his bones, he felt so much better seeing him a bit more healthy.

Richie felt so stupid. Eddie was clearly not gay, why did his stupid brain decide to give him a crush on him, make him love him. Maybe it was that adorable smile, the dimples that often appeared on his cheeks whenever he smiled hard or laughed too much, or maybe it was the trauma that they shared from facing It together- but then why Eddie? Why not Stan, he has the cute curls or whatever, but nothing compares to the way that Eddie always sweeps his hair out of his face and blows it away whenever its wet or ruffled, or the way that every night before bed he said goodnight to every one of the Losers, even if they were already asleep, but leaving him to last. Maybe it was the way that he was so quick to accept every single thing about Richie except for his hygiene, which he vowed to improve even the first day they met. 

He tried to stop, tried to stop thinking about it, but he couldn’t. It was hard when he lived with him, and living with him was something that Richie would not trade anything for. So he endured it, tried to keep the sexual comments to a minimum in order to stop himself from even thinking about it. He felt himself smile every time he saw him emerge from that puff of smoke, wondering how he got his skin so clear and how he kept the smell of their strawberry-laces shower gel lingering on his skin until his next shower, how he kept his hair so effortlessly shiny, even when they didn’t have shampoo. 

So, ordering their familiar Saturday order, he let his mind wander. Billie knew the Losers by now, knew each person's order, knew how Eddie never came without Richie, how Stan would drink his coffee on break. All of the Losers agreed that she gave off the aura of that one older tomboy who you find in every neighbourhood and you always wanna be with her or be her, she’s always hot. She seemed like that girl's older counterpart. Stan, due to speaking to her every day, knows quite a bit about her. Their conversations don’t often get private, but he can tell that she’s quite like them, skipped town when she was younger and made her life in 4 Peach Corners. If this was how life was to be for them, he couldn’t wait for that life. A life where they had a stable job and a cute business.

Stan confessed this to the boys late one night, when they were drunk on sleep-desperation but had no intention of sleeping. They laughed at him in the moment, of course, but on a deeper level, Richie agreed with that thought. Maybe not owning a business, but having a bit more money and a bigger apartment. He thought about that as he stared into space waiting for their breakfast, but it had a bit of a twist, one that he’d been thinking of for some time now. In this one, they kissed each other goodbye as they left for work and he called Eddie his darling and his love, but not in jest. It was beautiful.

This train of thought derailed when Stan called out ‘Trashmouth’ and he picked up his order, smiling as he walked back to his table and spotted the object of his affections.

Eddie was staring at a very attractive man before he turned around with a tray of goodies in his hands. It was Richie, of course. 

He’d gotten over the whole being gay thing a little while ago. He still found it hard to accept, harder still to say out loud, but he knew it wasn’t gonna change any time soon and just decided to live with it. He was still yet to tell anyone, sure, but he knew that he wasn’t surprised by it anymore. 

What he was surprised with was that feeling being a result of Richie Tozier. They had been best friends forever, and it was only recently that that friendship had felt more like a stepping stool to a relationship than anything else, that he started to get butterflies whenever Richie sat next to him or squabbled about the hammock in that blasted clubhouse, that every time he called him his love he would want to get down on his knees and pray that it was real. It was disturbing, scary to a certain extent, but he couldn’t care less as long as they were together.

So he smiled like everything was normal, ignoring the soft bubbles of fire coursing through his veins when he looked at him with those half-lidded morning eyes and passed him over their unholy drink and half the pain au chocolat. He returned to that familiar torment that he wouldn’t go without if he ever had the chance.

It was still early, Bev and Ben hadn’t gotten home yet and Bev was bringing the booze, but Richie was already helping Eddie rearrange cushions and generally tidy up. Nobody was coming over, nothing like that, but there would be a Losers party that night, celebrating 3 months since they first moved out of Derry. If you know nothing about a Loser’s party, then picture this. Six 18 year olds drink booze until they black out and play music just loud enough that they can hear it but still too quiet to have somebody file a noise complaint against them. They play stupid games and confess every single one of their secrets. It’s always a blast.

Eddie was stress cleaning. Richie figured that it was because of the bash or that Claude had been picking on him again or something like that. For all that Richie could read him, he never would guess that it was nothing to do with outsider stuff at all, you see, Eddie was a truthful drunk. They knew that from experience. Ever since they started drinking, the group was loath to give him any embarrassing secrets because they just knew he’d tell somebody the next time they drank together. Eddie knew that, of course, and was subsequently terrified of spilling anything about his love to anybody. It was only later recalling this that Eddie was shocked about how long he kept the secret that he was gay. All that anybody, even clinical psychologists, could guess was that his shame made it regress whenever he was spilling anybody’s beans.

Richie was similarly nervous. You know how alcohol can make you feel a little bit more comfortable around people and just lovey. Well, Richie could not hold his liquor in the slightest. This was one of those things that was also quite known within the Losers. Even a pint would have made him a little woozy. He was scared that he’d be found out.

The two worked in near silence, stewing over fears they didn’t know that they shared.

Chapter Text

The house was full, the vodka was flowing, the Loser’s Party was in full swing. Bev and Ben were dancing to the quiet hum of music from the boom box, Stan and Bill were in deep conversation about something or other. Eddie and Richie… not so much. They were quiet and slowly nursing a beer each. Quiet was not so much of a fearful response from Eddie, but if Richie was quiet, lord help the soul who takes the wrong end of his plotting. At least, that's what they all thought. Really, he was kinda stuck in his own mind. The alcohol had, miraculously, not shot up to his head yet. He sat on the sofa and drifted out into space. 

“Cummon, boys. What sorta night are you having? Dance with us!”

This, of course, was Beverly. She was already 4 shots in and feeling more than a little tipsy, now sipping at a screwdriver that sat on the old coffee table. This was ‘party Bev’, and would wear out in another couple drinks, but she was mostly loved, no matter how unsufferable she seemed as that second. Bev had always loved the Losers Parties more than anybody else, adoring the thrill and the buzz. Of course, neither boy wanted to upset her, so they reluctantly got up and started dancing. 

That's when they began to run away with the night.

Richie downed his beer in less than 5 minutes and started to dance to the quiet tunes. Eddie had a similar reaction, taking a shot to forget his nerves and starting to spill those little embarrassing nothings like usual.

“Richie’s girdle is only washed about once a week.”

“You know, Ben has all of the missing posters in a folder in the pot cupboard.”

“D’ya know Bill always jerks off in the bathroom when we're not home” (That one really annoyed him)

The only thought that sober-Eddie would be happy with in his mind was the one that circled around every three seconds. 

“Don’t tell them about how you feel for Richie.”

To be fair, Rich felt much the same. He was terrified to bits to even stand next to Eddie. He wasn’t sure why he ever drank, he got so paranoid. So, after a while of dancing with Bev, he stood against the wall and smiled at the sight of Eddie dancing. He was so very terrible at it, no matter how hard he tried, but maybe that was the problem- he tried much too hard. It seemed that every one of his short limbs moved in different directions. It was embarrassing as hell, sure, but also somewhat endearing. He smiled at the younger boy. Eddie, as out of it as he was, caught Richie’s eyes as he smiled. He thought he’d quietly called him over and began walking towards him.

The panic that they both felt was instant and fierce, but- for want of seeming inconspicuous- they both went along with it.

“Heya, Chee. How are you?”

Richie’s throat near on closed up, he was so anxious. So, in typical ‘Trashmouth’ fashion, he opened his big mouth.

“Why’d you ask, Eds? Brilliant, of course, I mean, how else would I feel after a night with your mother?”

They both cringed in unison. Stan, overhearing this and- though he refuses to admit it- wanting to stir the pot, wandered back in beside the pair.

“Beep beep, Richie. Really? That was inappropriate. I think that the alcohol has gotten to your head somewhat, we know you’ve never been able to hold your liquor.”

Richie nodded aggressively- going to sit on the now-empty sofa. Eddie elected to speak with Stan for a moment, about much of nothing. Bill joined the pair, sticking to Stan much like he had for the majority of the night.

After a good enough time- long enough that Ben and Bev had gone to bed (mostly because they were too drunk to function properly)- Eddie sat beside Richie on the beat-up sofa, nursing a quarter-full glass of vodka-lemonade. Richie was far past tipsy, slurring his words and just being generally too happy. Eddie wasn’t too far from it himself, though not quite as far gone as slurring his speech, more in the realm of losing all filters. 

For the first couple of minutes, they sat in perfect silence-listening to the soft music still playing from their tiny stereo and taking in each other's company.

“Heya Eds?”

“Yea, Chee?”

In any other situation, this would’ve led to some sort of teasing, or even just an ask about the weather. However, they were much too drunk for that. When they were separated it was the calm before the storm. This was the point that they hit the eye-wall.

“I love you, man-.”

“Me too.”

Eddie blurted it out like it was nothing. He couldn’t believe it, but it could be worse, at least Richie loved him back, right?

It took a moment before Richie responded, and he was torn. He meant this statement platonically, but both ways were the same.

That moment stretched into what felt like hours to Eddie, drowning in anticipation, waiting for a miracle.

“I… I mean platonically- right?”

Richie wasn’t even sure what he meant anymore, how to cover this up, how to make it less weird. Eddie surely couldn’t like him that way, it had to be platonic. 

He swallowed his pride with his spit and decided that it was better to be true than to preserve this, even if it must’ve been the best friendship of his life. He had to be true, that was the promise that he made to himself just before he left Derry. He always had to be true, no matter the consequences.

“No, no I don’t. I’m sorry Eddie, I know that nothing will be the same after this, but I have to get this off of my chest, you know how it is. Eddie, I love you. I love the way that you always hesitate before making decisions from fear of messing up, I love the way that you can’t stop yourself whenever you start laughing, I love your eyes and your smile and those fuckin’ dimples. Eddie Kaspbrak, I love you, and not in just a friendly way.”

For another moment, Eddie was stunned into silence. Really? How? Why? He loved him so much that it was truly confusing to see that he loved him back. So he started to blurt out every word that he wanted to say that night, nay, since before they even left Derry about 2 months ago.

“I love you too, Richie. Those black curls and broad shoulders and boldness and just. Yes, Richie. I love you so much it hurts, even when you annoy me and I’d like nothing more than to wring your throat. I love you more than even this life, and, if I had to choose between you or staying in Newbury, I’d go back to that hellhole in a heartbeat.”

Richie’s dark eyes widened in shock.

“Really?”

Eddie’s face of wonder went sarcastically sour, he punched Richie’s shoulder playfully

“Of course, you idiot. Why else do you think I told you I loved you?”

“I mean, I don’t know. We are pretty drunk.”

This sent Eddie into all sorts of giggles. 

Whatever happened, now they knew. They knew that everything would be good now, and no matter what life threw at them.

Chapter Text

The room collapsed around them in a cloak of darkness. Eddie found himself in the clubhouse, fighting in the hammock with Chee again, Stan rolling his eyes, the ache in his tailbone when he was thrown out of it and the sound of giggles surrounding them, reminding them that everything is okay. He was trapped in it, the way that familiarity wrapped itself around him like a warm blanket, keeping the shadows of anxiety and pain at bay.

Of course, that was ripped out from under his feet.

He woke with a start, a jolt from under him causing the ground to figuratively fall out from under him.

Richie had moved the arm that Eddie was using as a pillow, causing his head to hit the pillow pretty harshly and knocking him out from the lovely memory he had cocooned himself into. He had woken up beside Richie, though, and that made him happy in a truly unfamiliar way. He was used to this feeling of constant butterflies in his stomach, but it was was not so much a cause for shame anymore. He could breathe a little easier. Stan had already left for work, but he wasn’t as afraid of his secret anymore, and that made his life so much easier than it was before.

He listened to soft intakes of breath coming from Richie at regular intervals that led him back into a state of dreamless slumber. 

It was hours later that Richie woke up to an ache in his ribs and an empty bed, not quite knowing whether anything that was said the night before was real or all in his head. For a moment, he felt the fingers of dread clawing down his spine. He had clearly been snuggling Eddie in his sleep. He could smell that distinct strawberry-laces shower gel embedded deep into the bedding just beside him. Did he do it in his sleep? Did Eddie have a nightmare and need support? Those were the good answers, the answers that could be explained. However, one answer sat deep in the shell of his mind, lingering there for just a moment. Maybe the reason that Eddie was gone was because he told him everything and put a hand over him as he slept, but took the nearest opportunity to get out. Maybe he knew and, worse, maybe he hated it.

He sat up in bed and looked around frantically to see the back end of Eddie getting changed out of his very dirty (for him) clothes and putting on his usual around-the-house attire, which included the addition of a near identical pair of short shorts to the ones that he had at the time of the incident just more than 6 years ago. He caught the younger boy's eyes and then averted his gaze. He was incredibly drunk last night, as evidenced by the raging headache that intensified with every move he made.

“There's a glass of water on top of the chest of drawers with some tylenol beside it. Take it for the hangover.”

Eddie’s voice seemed unemotional, almost cold as he spoke. In truth, that wasn’t it. He had tried to tone it all down to make sure that the headache that Richie suffered the day after every night they drank wasn’t exacerbated by his voice. This attempt to cool things down, however, sounded blank, almost upset. Of course, this did nothing for Richie’s already foggy recollection of the night before, leading him to worry that he did something stupid. Still, he did as he was told, taking down the tylenol and the full glass of water in one gulp.

“Alright, good. Now, I want you to get changed out of those clothes and into something that you can be around the house in. And take off the girdle”

Richie groaned at this, he was much too groggy to care about how he smelled or what he was wearing, and definitely didn’t want to take off his girdle. His ‘boy-issues’ were not something he wanted to deal with at all this early in the morning (it was, in fact, almost noon, but that was the thought going through Richie’s mind in that moment)

“Chee, I know it doesn’t make you feel good, but it’s gonna hurt your ribs even more the longer it’s on. You can wear the hoodie if you want, but you can’t keep what you’ve got on.”

His tone was slightly softer this time, more sympathetic. Richie had once described to him what that discomfort felt like to him, before he ever explained that it was because he was a boy, and it was not at all lovely to even think about. He said that it felt like ants crawling under your skin every time you looked in the mirror, that it felt like being something that your not, like hearing your voice on tape for the first time or if somebody had just slightly messed with your face and you look in the mirror and you look just a little bit off. Eddie tried to understand it, but couldn’t picture it quite clearly. Instead, he just took Richie’s word for it and tried to keep him safe as he made efforts to alleviate it.

So, begrudgingly, Richie got changed into his giant hoodie and a pair of loose sweatpants. The light stung his eyes a little when Eddie drew back the curtains, but not anything that he hadn’t experienced before.

“Now then, Richie, just one last thing. Go and brush your teeth”

This time, Richie decided to push it. Why was Eddie being such a drill sergeant anyways? 

“But whyyyyy?”

His voice was whiny and high, but even so the point got across. Eddie smiled at him, finally addressing what was said the night prior.

“Well, after all that was said last night I’ve been waiting very patiently for a first kiss, and that kiss will not taste of alcohol and regret.”

Richie perked right up at that, in complete bewilderment that this was actually real and that everything last night actually happened.

“Wait, I actually said all of that, everything”

Eddie smiled, taking the opportunity to be a little bit sassy about the situation.

“Well, I’d hope so seeing that I’m here and waiting for my boyfriend to finally kiss me.”

Richie practically ran out of the room to brush his teeth, at which time Eddie was smiling ear to ear. Finally, the moment would come that he’d been waiting for for too long to comfortably admit.

Richie hesitated for a moment, opening the door slowly and normally, weighing the events in his mind, relishing them for just a second before the door shut.

They stepped up to each other carefully. Richie was more nervous than he could even imagine, shaking a little bit as looked into Richie’s big brown eyes. Eddie felt a sort of calm passion slide over him. He was so ready for this, he had waited for so long.

They took their one final step together and now the top of Eddie’s head had just grazed Richie’s chin. They looked into each other's eyes for a fleeting moment. 

And then, they dived.

The kiss was chaste, kind and soft. Eddie noted that his lips, beneath the taste of fresh mint, carried the exact smell of sugary cereal and candy that he always smelled of, a feature that he never wanted to lose. They kissed deeper, fully enveloped in a moment that should’ve lasted forever.

After a moment, Richie moved his head away, looking nervous.

“Wa-was that good? This was kinda my first kiss.”

Eddie smiled.

“I don’t think that any feeling could ever surpass kissing you. Not one.”

So he kissed him once more, and they felt complete again. Like two puzzle pieces connected, they felt so right in each other's presence. This only ever made sense, and it felt so perfect. Together they were whole again, they forgot about the outside world, and that was closer to love than they’d ever felt before.

Chapter Text

A couple of days passed and Richie was feeling somewhat pleased with himself. In the presence of the others, they had been hiding their relationship somewhat well. Or so he thought. Stanley could tell by just looking at them for one second after they left the room the morning after the party that something was… different between them. Charged. They were smiling so much more than he’d ever seen before and it made his heart swell. It’d been a while since he’d seen the 2 so sneaky, probably about 6 years- before the worst summer of their lives.They were wandering away from the group whenever the group went out together, sitting together whenever they could and always having a point of contact, looking startled whenever somebody entered a room that they were alone in. 

In any case, Stan approved. Even if he didn’t, what was he going to do? Even being both of their best friends, he could never pull that sort of love apart. It was so clear that they were made for each other- every little detail of one made the other better somehow. 

 Beverly walked into the room and saw Richie and Eddie jump away from each other. They were sat on the sofa again, clearly stilted in movement. Were they kissing again? She thought this as she ignored them, moving into the kitchen to make herself a tea. She’d seen them before, they just didn’t know it. She pretended she didn’t notice when they made out round the back of the house at the same time that she had taken out the trash (it was her day). 

She pretended that she didn’t bother with gossip since she joined the Losers. That was a blatant lie. She still loves her gossip, loves to feel like a woman again (not the easiest feat when living in a house with 5 dudes), and this is always the easiest way to do it. So, when she’s at work without Ben, she’ll speak to her co-worker Sue about the group. She wouldn’t dare speak to her about this, but similar things, sure. Things like who in the house had pissed her off, the old postcard of which she still wasn’t sure the sender, things like that. So she wrote it down, telling the piece of paper how happy she was that the boys had finally seen through the glass door that was the inclarity that each liked the other. They were so much happier, and that any idiot could realise. That was all that she wanted for them

Bill was busy working at Nomad’s when he first saw them. He’d had an early shift the morning after the Loser’s party. This, along with being fucking miserable, gained him quite a bit of information. 1st off, never even attempt to drink that much before a long, early shift in a coffee shop. 2nd off, there was something… weird between Richie and Eddie. Like, not bad-weird, he had done enough of that to know the difference. They were… touchy. Really touchy. It was kinda cute actually. 

Bill wasn’t stupid, he knew that there was definitely something between them, but never did he think he’d see the day where Rich would put his arm over Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie not flinch, but blush. And Richie would notice! It’s a miracle!

In any case, Bill approved. If he didn’t, why were they supposed to care? It’s just one dude, and they’re clearly happy. Well, that’s his opinion, anyways

The night after the party, it was only Ben, Rich and Eddie at home. Bev had to stay a little later at work, she had a later shift, and Ben longed for her conversation. Home with Richie and Eddie used to be more fun, that he was sure of. Richie would pull out his imaginary box of tricks and Eddie would facepalm and they’d start working on the questions for Trivia Night. Ben would always have his little list of fun facts for them to pull from and they’d sit for about 2 hours at a time working on the questions. Those questions tended to sit along pop-culture lines or just stupid facts. They had a mass of questions on ‘Friends’ because there were so many things about it. It generally wasn’t the most unpleasant time. Today, however, there was no such conversation. It felt like he was alone in the house. Richie and Eddie were nowhere to be seen.

Of course, this left much area of suspicion in Ben’s mind. He had seen some of the panic in both of the boys during the party, he wasn’t blind, and he knew that there was some… tension between them. Most people did, they weren’t exactly the most secretive people on the planet. Still, he wasn’t exactly sure, especially seeing as Eddie never exactly said he was a ‘friend of Dorothy’s’. 

All of this led to the unfortunate incident in which he knocked upon the non-’b’ door, waiting for Richie to come out and start working with him. What he couldn’t have known was that this was the boy’s first venture into the world of making out. As he knocked, Eddie started freaking out pretty badly whilst Richie tried to pour the cold glass of water left on the chest of drawers onto his face to try and stifle his growing arousal.

“Just a moment!”

His voice was strained, almost broken. Ben was so lost, what on earth was going on behind those doors? Eddie was panicking, he wasn’t ready for this! He wasn’t even close to being in a comfortable place to come out, especially in this less than savoury way, so the dread was coming off of him in waves. Richie was also nervous, mostly for Eddie’s sake. Hell, every one of the Losers knew that he was gay, that’s why he makes so many womaniser jokes. It’s difficult for him, trying to stay quiet, he’s really not good at this secrecy. 

‘Just a moment’ later, Richie stepped out of their bedroom. Eddie was reading the comic that Richie left on his chest of drawers (some X-Men Volume that neither boy could remember). Ben knew something was up, why would they need another moment when they were just reading comics? Also, why was Richie’s hair wet? He was sure that the curly-haired boy wouldn’t’ve showered yet. So, as an isolated incident, this was incredibly odd. However, in conjunction with other strange moments (for example, the day that he just found the two boys staring at each other. Out of curiosity, he waited for how long it would take for them to snap out of it. The answer was 15 minutes), it was obvious that there was something positively different between the two. They worked on the set for that Trivia Night, but Richie was distant and left early to ‘continue with his comic’ (he hoped that he would be kissing Eddie again, but ended up speaking to him about the damn X-Men)

Needless to say, Ben connected the dots pretty quickly that the two were dating and, though it really didn’t matter too much, he was happy about it. He figured that it would make them happy, and that was all that he wanted for his best friends after all.

Mike found out via letter 4 weeks after that fateful party. He was happy, sure, especially because he was kept in the loop. He was really scared about being forgotten these days, trying to stay sane and wondering if the summer of ‘89 was all in his head.

A lot of them wondered that from time to time, tried to block out all of the terror that they experienced by Pennywise’s hand, but they could never truly forget, no matter how hard they tried. The sights of their individual horrors would forever be ingrained in their nightmares and seen behind the backs of their eyelids after long days.

Chapter Text

It’d been 3 weeks since the start of their relationship when Richie suggested telling the rest of the gang. I mean, even he knew that they weren’t hiding it too well, their stolen glaces not quite as stolen as they had wished, their kisses not as quietly hidden as he had hoped. It was the unfortunate truth of living in a house with his secret lover and 4 of his other friends, they sorta figured things out pretty quickly, and Richie knew it couldn’t be too much longer until their charade finally fell through. 

Eddie was silently conflicted about this, having not given Richie a clear answer. He was simultaneously terrified of the prospect of both coming out about his sexuality and relationship at the same time and loving the idea of being able to kiss Richie wherever he liked in the apartment. It took him 24 hours total to fully decide that the benefits outweighed the risks so, on one cloudy Saturday, the 2 gathered the whole house into the kitchen for the monthly meeting. They had, as a household, decided that that would be a good idea after tensions got high about the chores and rules in the first month of having the place. Each roommate wrote down their grievances, put them into an old tissue box that came with the place (with tissues originally, obvs) and each one would be settled within the meeting. They were supposed to be anonymous, but the person reading it out definitely knew who each grievance belonged to, either through the content of it or by the handwriting. The proceedings were pretty typical, changes to the chore-board, little additions to ‘policy’ (it was all spoken-word, but everybody remembered and followed perfectly), goofing around a little, going through shower grievances and suggestions to buy more cushions for anybody sleeping on the floor (Richie suggested that last time and got told to ‘be a man’ jokingly. It was only that Bev, the princess of the group in many ways, suggested it that it actually got listened to. I mean, she bought them liquor, how were they to say no to her). Eddie started to have this nervous pit in his stomach. He was so scared of being slandered for this, perhaps irrationally, I mean they accepted Richie after all. That was why Richie was calm enough, but he was still a little worried, whispering ‘this is to be true’ in his mind over and over. 

Soon, the rest of the meeting was over. All normal calls of business had passed and the meeting had fallen into a normal conversation. Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand and squeezed. Just as he was about to start speaking, Eddie’s voice rang through the room.

“Guys, um, I have something to tell you.”

The whole room seemed to stare at him in a quiet sort of focus, though they all knew what was coming. The way that Eddie held Richie’s soft hands so tightly for comfort, the way that he looked like he was going to explode with secrets the whole meeting, but they were still a little curious as to whether he’d explain his apparent love of men. 

“So, um, I’m gay. Like very, I’ve known that for at least 6 years but didn’t figure that you guys would care too much because Richie is so clearly gay too”

That earnt a small “Hey,” from Richie and a punch to the arm which Eddie giggled at, “I’m not that obvious, am I?”

All the Losers replied in sync “You are” and he looked in mock betrayal at the whole group. They were taking this well, and Richie was glad for it.

“Well, yeah. That’s part one of today’s confession. Um, I think I should probably tell you who made me realise that.”

With that, Richie picked him up by the arse and kissed him chastely, just to set an example. He let him down and kept a protective arm around his shoulder, careful to watch the groups reaction. But, they were blank, no expression. Richie piped up after about 10 seconds of this, believing that they might just not have processed it.

“Eddie’s my boyfriend.”

“W-w-we know”

Bill’s voice was quiet but spoke volumes in its vague impression of annoyance. And that's when all of the Losers started laughing, hard. The boys were so confused at this, which was somewhat understandable. Richie tightened his arm over Eddie’s shoulders. 

“Sorry,” Bev began, still in fits of giggles, “You’re just so obvious!”

The boys waited until the laughter had died down to speak. Eddie was practically shaking with nerves and fear. Richie kissed his forehead and kept his hold on him while he snaked an arm around his torso.

Eddie was nervous to say it, but still he did.

“In what way were we particularly obvious?”

That set Bev off again and Stan started to speak.

“Whenever you come into the shop, Eddie stares at you like you’re tastier than the cakes and Richie’s eyes soften, also you wake up in each other’s arms 90% of the time because of some nightmare or something. I think you were still friends when you started doing that, but it was still pretty obvious.”

All of the Losers nodded (except for Bev still laughing) and Bill began to tell his tale

“You guys l-literally drink from the same c-cup and Eddie blushes at every one of your f-fucking stupid j-jokes. Also, I-I’ve seen you slap R-Richie’s ass before”

Everybody was still nodding. Eddie was red-faced in embarrassment and Richie had one of his signature pretending-not-to-care grins. He liked that they could tell that he loved Eddie, no matter if it was by less-than-honest means.

“Yeah, I nearly caught y’all making out as I was about to help Richie with the Trivia Night set, and you guys have been extra touchy anyways.”

Bev finally recovered from the giggles to speak up a little bit.

“And, as discreet as you think it is, Eds, I haven’t seen that boner go away at all when Rich has his arms around you, no matter how utterly un-pretty and gross he is.”

And now Eddie turned even redder, almost puce. Richie smirked, how he could make such an effect on the shorter boy, he wasn’t at all sure, however he was massively glad for it nonetheless. The rest of the Losers began to giggle again at Bev’s statement and, this time, Richie quietly joined in, not because he found Ed’s arousal as funny as the others did, but because he was so nervous. He found Eddie’s ear and whispered.

“We were worried about this? They care more about how good I must be physically than our relationship.”

And then Eddie started laughing, hard. Soon the whole group was laughing harder than they had in a while, letting the situation wash over them. They would be fine in their household, not needing to drop anything, and that meant that they were going to be okay again. They could breathe