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feminaexlux · 3 years

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Marinette’s Luckiest Charm 10: Knit

So much for WIPril. Oh well 🥲

Read on AO3 here!

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While Kagami was putting on a brave face after Adrien left, Marinette hadn't been so sure that Kagami was really as calm as she pretended to be. "Hey Kagami, Luka, maybe we can go to the arcade after this? It's not time to go home yet, right?" Marinette smiled, hoping the suggestion didn't come across as awkwardly as she thought it sounded in her head.

"Sounds good to me," Luka said affably. Thank goodness he was willing to roll with it. Marinette didn't doubt that Luka understood the intention behind Marinette's request.

"I… might enjoy that," Kagami said shyly, a small smile touching her lips. "Thank you. I would have left with Adrien in an hour but… I have more time than that if I request it. I'd like to spend more time with the both of you."

They finished off their floats and took a subway to the arcade, talking about the experience at the archery range. Kagami explained more about archery forms and her past competitions and how she prepared for them, with Luka listening in and absorbing all she said and asking clarifying questions. Marinette wasn't able to keep much of an interest but it was great to see Luka and Kagami interacting like friends as Marinette had always hoped they'd do.

They spent about 2 hours at the arcade before Kagami got a notification that her mother wanted her back home. Marinette and Luka said goodbye as Kagami stepped into Tatsue, and then rode the subway back to the bakery.

"I think Kagami will be fine," Luka said. "I sorta got the sense she was prepared for this."

Marinette sighed. "Yeah, I guess. It probably still sucks for her though."

"It probably does. But if you both want we can keep hanging out and spend more time together. Well," Luka then shrugged sheepishly. "I guess you can do that without me."

"No, it was great to see you two talking with each other. I want you two to be friends!" Marinette beamed up at him. "Thanks for hanging out."

"It's what I'm here for."

"To hang out?"

"To hang out with you," Luka smiled. "But I've taken up enough of your time. I'll head out. See you tomorrow." He leaned over and kissed her.

Marinette waved him off as he went back down to the subway. Marinette's parents welcomed her back and the family ate their dinner together. Marinette finally got back to her room and… something felt off. Her first instinct was to look for the Miracle Box, but it was hidden away under her sewing supplies, only… Only she had recently pulled out the Bee, hadn't she? She was wondering if she needed to find a new bearer for the Bee and had no idea who to give it to. She'd been toying with the idea of handing it off to Juleka before the date, but she had to set it aside to leave on time. Where had she left it?

Had she taken it out?

There was a thunk on her balcony roof. Hmm, she had actually expected him but it still gave her a little trepidation that he'd arrived now. She'd have to search for the Bee later, if she'd even taken it out at all, she must have just misplaced it somewhere like she did everything else! Marinette climbed up her ladder and opened the hatch to the balcony.

Chat Noir was perched on her railing. She hadn't expected him as Chat. "Ch-Chat Noir?"

"Hey." Chat said that so softly Marinette almost didn't hear.

She made her way out onto the balcony proper and leaned on her railing next to him. "Are you alright?" Chat didn't answer except for a shrug. "Kagami said it felt like you two broke up."

He turned to face her, looking surprised. "What do you mean?"

"The way you left today. She said it was the end for you two."

Chat laughed a little bitterly. "Yeah. I guess. And now you know who I am."

"Chat Noir would never give up his Miraculous to someone he didn't trust. And you didn't hand it to me. Kagami wouldn't give up Longg to anyone she didn't trust. It had to be you, Adrien."

"Surprise." He sighed. "I wish I told you earlier."

"You tried, remember?"

"Ugh, sorry. Not that way. In a nicer way," Chat sighed.

"It's… alright. What did you want to talk about, Chat?" Marinette tried to keep the question neutral but she was thinking he'd start talking about Kagami.

"I found my mother."

Marinette reeled back in shock. "Oh, oh my gosh, that's so…" Good? Exciting? Why did it sound like Chat was mourning? Was it bad news?

"My father is keeping her in some… life support thing. In a secret basement. A secret basement I didn't know we had!" Chat growled. "I thought she disappeared and she's been right under our noses, literally, for the past year and a half? How crazy is that? And why? Why would he do this?" Chat Noir slammed a fist against his thigh. "I hate this. I hate all of this. I can't believe he'd lie to me, I can't believe he'd just let me think that my mother was dead. I can't believe he and Nathalie are… some kind of together. I can't believe he put Mom in some suspended animation tube capsule thing in a garden underneath our house!" Chat let out a breath. "I needed Plagg back. I needed something to make sense. So yeah, I think Kagami and I are done. Or whatever. But I can't handle anything right now."

"I'm… so sorry," Marinette said softly. "What can we do?"

"I was gonna ask you that. I don't know, I really don't know. Somehow maybe I find myself wondering if my father is Hawkmoth after all? This seems like such a supervillain set up, you know?"

"But he'd been akumatized before? As the Collector?"

"Yeah, I guess." Chat hung his head in exhaustion. "I don't know anything anymore, Milady."

"Well, no matter what happens, if Gabriel is Hawkmoth or not, we'll find a way to set things right together. We'll figure out how to save your mom. I promise," Marinette said as gently as she could, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. He turned toward her to put his head on her shoulder.

Except that wasn't what he did.

He had leaned in to kiss her.

Their lips had barely brushed before she shoved him and leapt away yelling out a "NO!"

"Sorry! I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't--I didn't…" Chat stuttered, clinging to the railing to prevent falling out onto the street after he lost his balance.

Marinette covered her mouth with both hands but gasped out a "Wh-why?"

"I…! I…" Chat gulped and stared down at his hands. He let out a breath and his entire body sagged, drooping down to hang his arms and chin over the railing. "You were the first girl I fell in love with. I saw you being so brave and courageous when you told Hawkmoth that you'd protect Paris. I thought 'there's a girl who has a plan and knows what to do and she isn't afraid of doing the right thing.' Whoever you were behind the mask, that's who I wanted to be with." He lifted his head slightly to look at her. "I still do."

Marinette looked at Chat for a long moment before shaking her head. "I can't do this." She turned around to open her hatch and go back down into her room.

"Wait!" Chat leapt over the railing and grabbed her arm before she dropped down. "Please, wait."

"Chat. Don't touch me."

"Wh… what?"

"I said don't touch me!" Marinette yelled, wrenching her arm from his grip. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tight. She looked around, anywhere but at Chat, and after a few tense moments she sighed. "What is it, Adrien?" She still wasn't looking at him.

"I'm… just scared. I really am sorry, please you have to believe me. I know this sounds like an excuse but it's the truth. You just… seem to have it together and… I really wanted to… have that too."

In that instant Marinette heard Luka's voice in her head: "Cool story. Still wrong." She laughed softly to herself, tinged with a little bit of bitterness of her own.

Oh no. Luka.

She had to tell him.

"I… know this is going to sound bad, but. I don't know where else to go, Marinette. You're the only one I trust."

Marinette looked up at Chat Noir, her forehead wrinkled with lines of worry and questioning. She searched his eyes and knew he was miserable. She took in a deep breath and let it out. "Okay. You wanna stay here for tonight?"

Not trusting himself to say anything, Chat nodded.

"Okay. Let's go back inside." Marinette silently prayed that she was doing the right thing. She dropped down to her bed, leaving her balcony hatch open so Chat Noir would follow. Marinette went down to her desk and… and there was something that she'd been doing before… looking for…

Well, whatever.

She needed to call Luka anyway. Marinette pulled out her phone and her last screen had been sending a text to Sabrina that it was alright to go in and pick up the group project. Oh, that must have been it, duh.

"Hey, Marinette?"

She flicked her eyes up at Chat Noir only for an instant. She looked back down at her phone and… she didn't feel like she wanted to call right now, so she pulled up Luka's texts and started typing. "Yeah?"

Chat took in a breath and started saying something but bit it back. "Thanks." She heard him sit down on her bed. "Claws in," he said quietly.

Good, it sounded like he was going to stay up on her bed. That was fine, she was hoping to get some more homework done at her desk anyway.

"Are you going to tell Luka?" Adrien asked.

"Yeah, I am."

"You… don't have to. It won't happen again. We can keep it between us."

Luka's voice was in her head again. "You can tell me everything, or nothing if you prefer." She nodded to herself. "I'm not telling him because I have to, Adrien. I'm telling him because I want to. He's important to me."

Adrien was silent for a few heartbeats. "Alright," he said, sounding defeated.

M: Chat Noir is here, he's

M: not doing okay

After a few moments she saw that he was typing back.

M: he tried to kiss me

L: Oh? Is he

L: What???

She was in the middle of typing out "it's okay, I stopped him" when she saw another message pop in.

L: I trust you

L: Hope you're okay

She felt tears falling from the corners of her eyes. Marinette was surprised by that. Maybe she wasn't okay after all.

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HAH take that canon

#fxl fic #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #pro lukamari #marinette dupain cheng #kagami tsurugi #luka couffaine #chat noir #adrien agreste #sudden angst >_>

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strangerthings-nstuff · 6 years

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Distance - Part One

Steve Harrington x Henderson Reader

Summary - Returning from college for winter break, Y/N is faced with the stinging pain left from her break-up with Steve Harrington.

Word Count - 1,944

Warnings - Angst, Break-ups

A/N - I finished, and I’m really excited for this series! I plan on building the reader’s romantic relationship with Steve, but also showing her relationships with other characters important to her too! I have a few good ideas for it, so I’m not sure how long it’s going to be. For now, I’m thinking at least three parts, and then see where I am with that. Please let me know if you like it, and what ideas you have for it so I can possibly incorporate them! Enjoy :)

To say you weren’t prepared was an understatement. It had been four months since you’d seen him. Four months since your eyes locked with his, yet here he was standing at your door-step, chocolate eyes burning into yours.

“Steve…” You speak softly, voice breaking as another sob escaped your lips. He cupped your face with his right hand, and you leaned your head into him. “I… I don’t want this.” Your breathing was broken and forced as you spoke, you felt like you were suffocating. “You know I don’t want this.” He wiped your tears with his thumb, a few of his own running down his soft cheeks. He was trying to be strong for you, but his heart was breaking at the sight of you so upset, especially since he knew he was the reason.

“I know baby, I know…” he whispered. “But, you need this.” He thought it was best for you. You were going to New York City to attend NYU, and he was staying here in Hawkins to work for his dad. He didn’t want to hold you back. He couldn’t hold you back, he thought to himself. “You have to go without anything holding you back in Hawkins, your mind has to be in New York City with you. I can’t be your burden, Y/N.” You took his hand off your face and held it tightly in both of yours.

You spoke fiercely, annoyed by his words. “You are NOT a burden, Steve Harrington.” More tears slid down your cheeks, your eyes starting to burn from the salty tears. “I love you… I love you so-” you couldn’t finish your sentence, cut off by your own sobs. Steve pulled you into his warm chest, and you could hear him crying softly along with you. This hurt him too, you could feel it. You knew his intentions were only good, but God, was he being stupid. How could he think he would ever be a burden to you?

You stayed there for a moment, crying into each other's arms, you much louder than him as he was trying to hold himself together. Once you calmed down a bit, he pulled away, looking at you with glossy eyes. “I love you too, Y/N. God, I love you so damn much…” You gently stroked your hands through his hair, waiting for him to continue. “That’s why… That’s why I have to leave you.” You shook your head, still not accepting what was happening. He tilted your head up and softly pressed his lips to yours. You tugged gently on his hair, and he pulled you closer by your waist. It only lasted a moment longer before he pulled away and whispered, “God, I’m gonna miss that.” He kissed you quick and soft, just before turning around and shutting your bedroom door, leaving you a crying mess.

You sucked in a breath of air, your chest burning from the painful memory seeing him had brought you. Realizing it had been quiet for uncomfortably long, you decided to speak, praying your voice wouldn’t break. “Steve... Hi” your voice was soft and gentle, just as he had remembered it. He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“Hey, Y/N… I- uh, Dustin invited me over to watch The Terminator with him… I didn’t know you were home yet.” He spoke, stumbling over his words. You smiled softly, hoping to somewhat ease his nerves, and your own if you were being honest.

“There was a cheaper flight a few days before break started, so I left a little early.” You explained, nervously tucking your hair behind your ear. “I actually just got home a couple of hours a-” you were interrupted by Dustin yelling across the living room.

“Steve! Come on in buddy.” He said pulling Steve’s arm into the house as he approached the door, pushing you to the side. “Y/N, you can schedule your own Steve-time.” You flushed at your brother’s words, annoyed at him for making things even more awkward between you and Steve than they already were. You shared a faint smile with Steve, before making a bee-line for your room upstairs, away from Steve’s stupid, pretty face. You fell on your bed, taking a deep breath to relax. You knew you would see Steve, it was inevitable seeing as how close he was with your brother, and how small Hawkins is. You just weren’t expecting it to be so soon, and to hurt so bad. You grabbed your pillow and screamed into it, as it seemed to be the only option to release your emotions without running downstairs and telling Steve everything you’ve been holding in since that night in August.

Throwing the pillow back on your bed, you got up grabbing your walkman, a coat, and running downstairs and out the door before Dustin, or Steve could question you. Bowie flooded your ears as you made your way down the street, cold air ripping against your skin. The more steps you took, the colder your fingers got. You could barely feel your hands and thought about retreating to the warmth of your home, but you figured the pain the cold was bringing you was nothing compared to what it felt like to be breathing the same air as Steve again.

You continued down the road until something stopped you dead in your tracks.You thought you were hallucinating from the cold when you saw a very familiar redhead sitting on the side of the street with her head in her hands until you heard the very real cries coming from her shaking body. “Max?” You yelled, caused her to snap her head up, quickly wiping her tears. You ran over to her, shoving your walkman in your jacket pocket to give her your full attention. “Hey, Max… Are you okay?” You kneeled down beside her, realizing she was shaking. “Jesus, Max! Where’s your jacket?” you spoke softly, trying not to scold the already distraught girl.

“I… I left it in-” her voice was cracked, and you could tell she had been crying for a while. “In Billy’s car. I left it in Billy’s car.” She started crying again, clearly still upset. You quickly discarded your jacket, wrapping it around Max’s shaking shoulders. You helped her up and wrapped her in a hug, letting her cry it out for a few moments. You pulled away, quickly rubbing up and down her arms to attempt to warm her up even more.

“Let’s walk back to my house and warm up with some hot chocolate, yeah?” She gave you a shy smile, nodding quickly. You had been around Max quite frequently, as she had been in your brothers “party,” as they call it, for over a year now. Max was usually strong, witty, and hard-headed in a good way. She was one of your favorites of Dustin’s friends, as you saw a bit of yourself in her. You had conversations with her, but usually, it was sarcastic banter, being that it was the nature of your brother’s friend group. You’d never seen her like this, and it broke your heart.

You thanked God in your head when you finally reached the steps of your door, turns out walking without a jacket was not a good idea in December. Max had offered yours back, saying she was warm again, but you could see her shaking through her lie, kindly refusing her offer. You opened the door to see Dustin and Steve wresting on the couch for the remote, Steve yelling at Dustin that it was too loud, and Dustin doing the exact opposite. Max cleared her throat, and the boys snapped their heads towards the two of you.

“Max?” they both said, mimicking your words from earlier. You ignored them, ushering Max to the couch that was not occupied by the flustered boys. You wrapped a blanket around Max and spoke softly, “I’m gonna go make some hot chocolate, okay?” She nodded, smiling at your kind gesture. You shuffled into the kitchen, ignoring Dustin’s shout of “Make me some while you’re at it!” You rubbed your hands together quickly, attempting to warm yourself.

“Shit, Y/N.” You froze at the all too familiar voice. “You’re shaking like a leaf.” Steve’s voice was laced with concern. You turned around to face him, immediately turning your attention to the ground, his stare too intimidating.

“She needed it more than I did,” you said, looking up to meet his eyes. God, those damn eyes. He shook his head, turning around to walk back to the living room. On that note, you turned around and grabbed a medium pot out of the cupboard, figuring while you’re at it you might as well make Dustin some too. You poured milk into the pot and put it on the stove. After turning the dial, and hovered your hands over the stove, appreciating it’s warmth. You jumped when you felt a blanket being placed over your shoulder. You slowly turned around, coming face-to-face with Steve. He backed up nervously, realizing how close he was to you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. When really, the distance from him was the most uncomfortable thing you had experienced in your life.

“I thought you would want a blanket.” He sheepishly explained, scratching the back of his neck. Giving him a warm smile, you tugged the blanket tight around yourself.

“Thank you, Steve.” You turned around to stir the milk, preventing it from burning to the bottom of the pan.

“You know, Dustin missed you a lot,” Steve said, leaning against the counter next to you. You shook your head and gave a sarcastic laugh.

“No way, he was practically walking on sunshine the day I left.” You pushed your hair behind your ear and continued to stir the warming milk.

“I mean it, Henderson,” he continued. “The first few weeks you were gone he hid it pretty well, but he eventually spilled his guts to me when I caught him in your room reading your books.” You looked over at Steve shocked. You were always open with your feelings, so Dustin knew how deeply you cared for him. You knew he loved you too, but once he hit middle school he had been more embarrassed about showing it. “He would kill me if I told you this, but yeah, he’s been pretty upset without you in the house. I guess that why he’s been inviting me over so much.” He shrugged his shoulders and finished his train of thought, “Not that I mind, he’s actually pretty fun to hang out with.” you stopped stirring, and turned to Steve.

“Thank you, really.” Butterflies erupted in your stomach from having a heart-to-heart with Steve, but you ignored them, continuing, “It means the world that you’ve been there for Dustin, especially when I couldn’t.” He smiled charmingly, so damn charmingly. You’d missed that smile.

“Anything for that little shit-head.” You laughed at his words and returned your attention to the now steaming milk.

“You want some?” you asked while pulling down two mugs from the shelve. He nodded his head, and you grabbed down two more.

“So, what’s up with Max?” He questioned. You pulled four hot-chocolate packets from the drawer and shook your head, sighing.

“I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling it has to do with Billy.”

You entered the living room and set a mug in front of Max, and one in front of Dustin. Steve sat down and set two more mugs on the coffee table.

“So,” you began, sitting down across from max. “Tell me what happened.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #dustin henderson #max mayfield #stranger things #stranger things fic #strange fic #steve harrington fanfic

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yallreddieforthis · 6 years

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I’ll Stop By Your Room

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language, talking about sex, mentions of past sexual situations)

Words: 7.1k

Movie canon-compliant but not book. Aged-up (16-17) Also posted on AO3

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

As he steps onto the bus to head back to Derry High, Eddie is prepared for the first time in his entire school career, to declare this field trip A Success.

He’s made it almost halfway through tenth grade without ever having gone on a field trip where no disastrous shit went down—either for the class in general, or just specifically Eddie-related shit. There was one in sixth grade where the bus driver got lost and they didn’t get home until after five, and Eddie’s mom had already gotten the police involved by the time the bus pulled into the parking lot of Derry Elementary. Or the eighth grade one to the botanical gardens where Eddie got stung by a bee. Or when they went to the zoo in second grade and some asshole monkey managed to fling his shit far enough out of his enclosure that it splattered Bill right in the chest and like, okay, maybe that was more of a tragedy for Bill than it was for Eddie but Eddie was standing right next to him when it happened. It was scarring for everyone, okay?

Well, maybe not for Richie, who laughed so hard he almost peed his pants and still brings it up anytime anyone mentions monkeys, even in passing. Like someone will say this is so easy, a monkey could do it, and Richie will invariably butt in with haha, hey Bill, remember the time…

In fact, Eddie thinks that a large part of what has made this art museum field trip such an unmitigated success is that he has managed to stay as far away from Richie as possible. Not the actual art part; that was boring as fuck. Bill and Ben were the only ones who got anything at all out of that shit—Ben was all, did you know that this painting was commissioned for Colonel Assface during the War of Whateverthefuck in the year Long Enough Ago That No One Cares Anymore, and Bill was quiet the whole time but his eyes were all lit up and Eddie could practically hear him thinking about color and brushstrokes and shit. Which is fair, because Bill’s art is starting to get really good. He drew Richie during chem last week and Eddie liked the sketch so much he managed to muster up the courage to ask Bill if he could keep it. He’s positive that if he’d bothered to pay any attention at all in the gallery of Frou Frou di Fifi or whoever, he’d be able to see influences from the trip in Bill’s sketchbook.

But he didn’t. He spent the whole time glued to Stan, because Stan is terrified of paintings (which is understandable, Eddie thinks), and Eddie felt bad that he was forced to come on this field trip. Usually, Bill would be the one to partner up with Stan and like, be supportive or whatever, but Eddie and Stan both knew that the lure of a real art museum was going to be too tempting for him, and Stan’s best bet for company would wind up being Eddie. Stan was miserable the whole time anyway, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. It’d be like if Eddie had to go spend the day in a lab staring at Petri dishes full of diseases and then write a two-page essay about how much he loved it. Like, fuck that shit. He suppresses a shudder at the thought.

So he stuck with Stan, inching along the far wall away from the artwork, and avoided Richie, who mostly told jokes over Ben’s A History Of Everything In the Art Museum lecture and spoke at Bill, who uh-huhed him in the middle of sentences so many times that Eddie thinks even Richie might’ve eventually caught on that he wasn’t listening. Avoiding Richie, especially for Eddie, is usually very difficult for a multitude of reasons, the chief of which being that Eddie is in what essentially amounts to a relationship with Richie. Today, it was surprisingly and suspiciously easy.

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t want to be around Richie—he does, actually always, to an alarming and almost disgusting degree—it’s just that Richie is super inappropriate and keeps Eddie in a constant state of worry about what he’s going to do next. Sometimes, for example, he acts like he’s going to start macking on Eddie in public which...they haven’t really discussed it out loud before, but Eddie thinks they have a mutual understanding about not doing shit like that because Richie has never followed through on it. He’s not exactly embarrassed about the...relationship or whatever, at least not very—Eddie figures he has no more reason to be embarrassed of Richie than Richie does to be embarrassed of him—but he knows and he prays to God that Richie understands that obvious PDA would be just as bad as painting a target on his forehead. A big rainbow target.

Eddie files into a window seat on the bus so that he won’t get carsick and hopes Stan will fill in next to him so he doesn’t end up having to sit with someone mean.

Eddie gets picked on enough already, for plenty of reasons. People had been calling him gay for years before he realized he actually is, in fact, gay. Like, the gay was totally always there, tapping him on the shoulder occasionally like hey, uh, It’s Raining Men is a pretty great song, you should listen to it on a loop for six months... and Eddie was just ignoring it until the whole Richie situation sort of forced him to turn around and look it in the eye. And once he did it was like my guy, listen. Dudes. Dicks. Richie. Rodgers and Hammerstein. Eddie sometimes wonders if other people were actually able see it before he could. Were they just calling him gay because people do that, or because they knew? Like maybe he’s been walking around leaving a trail of glitter behind him without realizing it?

There’s no way of knowing for sure without asking someone, and since Eddie hasn’t technically ever said the word gay out loud yet… Presumably, Richie is aware that he is—even if that understanding is based on nothing but the fact that their lips are touching more often than not when they’re alone together—but Eddie hasn’t managed to work up the balls to even talk to him about the implications of being gay. Let alone the implications of being gay in Derry. Jesus, Eddie doesn’t even want to have that discussion mentally with himself, much less verbally with another person.

As soon as he spots Eddie, Richie weasels his way past Stan to cram in next to him. Stan rolls his eyes and gets pulled along into another row. Well, fuck.

Luckily, the museum is about a half hour drive from school, so Richie only has thirty minutes left to work his magic on upholding the streak of shitty field trips. The bus driver turns on the engine and Eddie realizes that he’s picked one of the wheel seats, which will ensure that his legs are numb from the wheel vibrations by the time they reach school. Awesome. Richie drops his backpack in between himself and Eddie, which is only notable because he uses its cover to grab Eddie’s hand where no one can see it. At the very, very least, Richie still remembers that subtlety is the name of the game here.

Not that Eddie really thinks the other Losers will care. That time in the sewers...everything they’ve been through together...Eddie doubts there’s anything he could be or do that would make them hate him. He could kill someone and they’d all just be like yeah I bet he deserved it and you need any help burying the body? He’s aware that he has the best friends on the face of the earth and that once he gets around to telling everyone about him and about them he’s probably going to feel a lot better. Hell, they might even already have guessed. He doesn’t know why he’s putting it off. He keeps telling himself next sleepover, next weekend, tomorrow at lunch and then backing out. It just feels so...daunting. Like—

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks Eddie, in a completely normal tone of voice. Which is to say loud. Richie’s normal tone of voice is very loud.

Jesus Christ.

“You wanna say that a little louder?” Eddie hisses at him.

“SO, WHAT DO YOU THI—”

Eddie clamps his hand over Richie’s mouth and gives him his most murderous glare. Richie just shakes his head and stares at Eddie with his best puppy eyes. Yeah, those eyes that Eddie used to be able to match with a dead-eyed stare and now they just make him feel all melty and gooey and shit because Richie really does have the longest, darkest, most beautiful eyelashes and his eyes are soft and—

Richie uses the momentary hesitation to lick Eddie’s palm. Eddie automatically draws his hand back in disgust.

“BLOWJOBS,” Richie shouts the second his voice is no longer muffled in Eddie’s hand. Eddie elbows him as hard as he can in the ribs and almost remembers to stop holding hands with him under the backpack. Almost.

No one even turns around. From the front of the bus, Mrs. Eisner calls back a vague “that’s enough, Richard,” but that’s the only response he gets.

“See?” Richie says, turning back to Eddie. Eddie wipes his wet hand viciously on the front of Richie’s shirt. “No one’s listening. Say whatever the fuck you want. I like you like you. You’re hot. I wanna suck your dick. See?”

He spares a single thought for Richie saying you’re hot. Did...did he mean that? Was he just saying that shit because he was trying to demonstrate that no one was listening? Like, does Richie really think Eddie is hot?

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks again, in exactly the same tone of voice he used the first time, which makes Eddie feel like if he’d just given a real answer way back five minutes ago, in a simpler time before he knew Richie thought school buses were an appropriate setting for sex conversations, then it would’ve been easier.

Also, Richie doesn’t seem likely to drop this topic anytime soon, and when he gets like this Eddie has found that the best course of action is to just grit his teeth and plow through the conversation until Richie is satisfied with his answer, after which they are typically able to move on with their lives. The last time this happened was a Power Rangers versus Ninja Turtles debate that lasted for forty five minutes. Hopefully they can breeze through this one before they get back to school, because Eddie doesn’t relish the idea of Richie passing him terribly drawn notes with diagrams of dicks and tongues during math.

So that’s what makes him decide to take a second and actually consider the question. Blowjobs and sucking dick are things Richie talks about regularly—not with any real seriousness, of course—but Eddie’s never given the idea too much thought because honestly? Gross.

He’s gotten almost all the way past the ickiness of kissing on the mouth and like, in the face-area—mostly by just refusing to think about germ transfer rates and mononucleosis—because Richie has made that worth his while. It took a couple months for him to really get the hang of it, but now they’ve got that shit down; Richie knows how to kiss Eddie’s neck to make him go jelly-legged, and Eddie can get Richie all red-faced and panting just by sucking on his ears the right way, and once they get going, kissing on the mouth is the furthest thing from icky. Eddie sometimes feels like there are moments where he will internally combust if he can’t kiss Richie.

So it’s not that Eddie doesn’t think a blowjob would feel good. The opposite, actually. Just...it feels like asking for some kind of nasty disease.

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie says, shaking his head and staring out the window as they pull onto the main road leading to the highway, “I don’t think I can like...do that. Dick in the mouth. Nuh-uh. Nope.”

“No I mean me give you one,” Richie presses. “I’m not afraid of your germs.”

Eddie bristles a little at that because it implies that Eddie is afraid of Richie’s germs which...okay, maybe he kind of is, but Richie didn’t have to say it. He knows that’s not really what Richie meant though—it’s not a jab at Eddie—he’s actually trying to be reassuring. Trust Richie to accidentally backhanded compliment his way into sex. What a fucking catch. And now he’s looking at Eddie with this earnest smugness, like he knows he’s going to convince him to let him do it and he’s stoked. But why does he even want to? Like, what’s in it for him?

Does he really think Eddie is that hot?

“Did you mean it?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself.

“Totally,” Richie says, giving Eddie’s hand a squeeze under the backpack. “I’d take a faceful of your jizz over splashing around in graywater any day.”

Ew, what the fuck?!

“No,” says Eddie. “What is wrong with you? I don’t mean—I meant when you said I was…” Eddie drops his voice to a whisper, “... hot. Do you really think I’m hot?”

“Of course I do, dumbass,” Richie says. “Don’t you think I am?”

Eddie’s first instinct is to say no, dipshit, because “hot” is a word reserved for like...like Ethan Hawke or River Phoenix. Not people like Richie, who has been at peak teenage awkwardness for what feels like a decade at this point and looks to be in real danger of staying that way forever. He has terrible taste in clothes and the glasses and the crazy hair and as a package he’s just...so overwhelming, and that’s not hot. Not even a little. It’s—

“I’m just messing with you,” Richie says cheerfully, knocking his knifepoint-sharp elbow into Eddie’s arm. “Everyone knows you’re the beauty and I’m the brains.”

“God, I hope not. We’re really fucked if you’re the brains,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

Richie snorts and squeezes Eddie’s hand in such a way that it makes a fart noise and Eddie yanks it out from under the backpack. He folds his arms across his chest and Richie spends the rest of the journey home trying to coax him back into holding hands. By the time they get back to school, Eddie is red with both embarrassment and suppressed laughter, and he thinks about how this kind of thing happens so often that he’ll probably never blush again without thinking of Richie.

As is customary on school nights, Eddie goes straight home after his last class. He’s not allowed to have friends over or go to the arcade unless it’s a weekend, which he used to think was because his mom wanted him to have plenty of time for his homework but now feels more like one of her arbitrary, controlling restrictions because she doesn’t seem to actually care all that much about his grades. It feels like it’s more about just...having him home while she watches The Young and The Restless by herself in the living room. Why exactly Eddie’s presence in the house improves this activity, he doesn’t entirely understand.

Richie took to sneaking in during the night years ago, which always makes being alone for the afternoon slightly more bearable. He’ll get on his bike after last period and turn to Eddie and say I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom, which is actually a polite offer for company in disguise. Eddie will either say if you really have to or I’ll make sure to put the lock on the door then and Richie has never not respected the answer.

Today he said it and Eddie told him to get lost because they’ve got an essay due tomorrow on the impact of our trip to the art museum and Eddie had had a feeling that writing it was going to require some premium-grade bullshitting. He’d been right, too; he didn’t get done with it until ten. But it’s not like that’s really what ate up his entire evening, because then he’d debated internally with himself for half an hour before caving and rewatching Footloose. By the time he’d brushed his teeth, put on pajamas (his warmest ones—reindeer-printed and made of fleece—because it’s chilly and it’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway), and gotten into bed, it was after midnight. So now he’s still wide awake and feeling kind of like he wishes he’d invited Richie over after all, despite the fact that he really should already be asleep.

It used to be that whenever Eddie said yes, Richie would come straight over after the sun went down. Eddie could always tell if they’d all gone swimming without him because Richie’s hair would be damp and he’d smell like quarry water and the grass at the top of the cliff, and he’d flop onto Eddie’s bed and get those smells all over his sheets. Those nights, Eddie would always go to sleep wondering if Richie was just wearing wet briefs under his shorts or going commando. He was never sure which idea he liked less.

Since this summer though, I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom has taken on a connotation that sets off a shivery, churning feeling in Eddie’s gut. Sometimes Richie will lean over and whisper it in his ear—sometimes he leaves off the last part too. I’ll stop by your room, he breathes out, warm air hitting Eddie’s neck, and Eddie bites his lips and goes all hot because it means that that night, sometime around eleven or midnight or so, he’ll hear a dun dun dun dadadundun tapping at his window. Eddie is still not sure if that’s a reference to Under Pressure or Ice Ice Baby and he honestly thinks he doesn’t want to know.

He’ll wedge a towel under his bedroom door to soundproof it as much as he can. Then he’ll lift the latch on the window and open it as far as it will go. Richie just barely fits now. A couple of years ago it was nothing for him to hop through, now he has to fold his long legs every which way and his skinny arms flail around and his big feet get caught on the other side of the sill and sometimes he whacks his giant head on the wall as he tumbles through. It’s never a quiet process, unfortunately; there’s always some swearing involved, and Eddie lives in fear of the day Richie looks at him from the other side of the wall, moonlight shining off his glasses, and says “well, fuckity fuck, I’m stuck.”

That’s a problem for Future Eddie to deal with though, because once Richie’s in, well. Once he’s in the room, those skinny arms are immediately wrapped around Eddie’s waist and the long legs bump into Eddie’s as Richie backs them toward the bed. And then they get there and...god.

Eddie turns over onto his side and fiddles with the sleeve of his pajama top, thinking about how if Richie were here, the shirt would be gone before the backs of his knees even hit the mattress. Richie is always the first to start taking clothes off—he does it like he’s starving for him—like touching Eddie is what he lives for and he can’t hold off another second. It’s...feeling like that, like someone wants him so bad...it’s kind of wonderful and powerful and scary.

Every time they do it ends basically the same—they take everything off and then they touch each other until they can’t anymore and their fingers are gooey and sticky and then Eddie has to shove Richie out of bed or he’ll fall asleep right there—naked and on top of Eddie for Eddie’s mom to find them the next morning. It hasn’t happened yet, thank God, but it’s a closer call every time because it’s getting harder and harder to kick Richie out after.

In fact, Eddie has taken to spending a worrying amount of time just sort of lying there and stroking Richie’s naked back or smoothing his hair over his head. After is always kind of awkward for Eddie, because he can’t think of anything to say that isn’t incredibly embarrassing, and silence feels weird too. So far he’s managed a that was good twice, which he was super proud of both times even though he also wanted to roll over and hide as soon as the words left his mouth.

Richie does not appear to suffer from the same affliction, because he always starts talking again pretty much as soon as he catches his breath, and Eddie is usually too tired to complain about whatever stupid shit he says. Richie’s pillow talk typically includes such topics as: an enthusiastic play-by-play of what they just did (during which Eddie always just mumbles please stop every few seconds), complete with commentary, which is as complimentary as it is mortifying; a detailed tactical gamplan of what they should do in the event of a zombie outbreak; who Richie would cast if they made a movie about the X-Men and for some reason wanted his opinion; and a ranking of his favorite types of candy based on the logistics of building an edible house. As long as he keeps blabbering, Eddie can privately enjoy that sick-happy feeling in his chest and put off kicking him out. If he’s being honest, Eddie just wants to hold him super tight and close and stay there until he can watch the sunrise illuminate the faded freckles on Richie’s nose.

Eddie snuggles deep down in the covers and thinks about his favorite parts—between when Richie squeezes into and out of his window—and lets himself relish in the fluttery, fidgety excitement that comes with the memory of Richie, shirtless and pale and glowing faintly red in the light from the numbers on Eddie’s alarm clock. The way his mouth looks after they’ve been kissing, soft and full and open, how his wild hair splays across Eddie’s neck when he bends down to breathe warm air onto Eddie’s nipples. His hands unzipping Eddie’s pants, rubbing him over the front of his underwear like he can’t even wait the two seconds it’ll take to pull them off. The way his back looks as he arches into Eddie’s fingers, the way his head falls forward when he gasps and the way he moans like Eddie’s mom isn’t literally two rooms over oh my god, Richie, shhh. The way he exhales sometimes, like he’s so turned on he doesn’t know how else to express it but with those shuddery breaths that almost sound like the ghost of laughter. Eddie’s whole body goes warm at the memory because it’s the hottest thing he—

And then it’s like Eddie’s brain douses him in ice water because it is. It’s hot. It’s hot as fuck and Eddie remembers that Richie asked him on the bus a few hours ago if he thought Richie was hot and he did not give him an unequivocal yes. And that’s obviously bullshit because Eddie was totally getting ready to start jerking off just now thinking about how fucking hot Richie is when he’s naked and they’re in bed together. Eddie had somehow been under the impression that hot is this kind of ethereal concept that only applies to celebrities or strangers, when hot has literally been sucking face with him for months. He is officially the biggest dumbass ever. Eddie wonders if there’s any other obvious shit staring him down that he hasn’t picked up on yet.

And suddenly Eddie cannot stand the idea that Richie might be sitting at home thinking Eddie doesn’t find him hot. It’s Thursday...well, technically it’s Friday but it still counts as Thursday night and there’s no way Richie isn’t planning on coming over for some sweet handjob action tomorrow night, but this can’t wait until tomorrow. And he can’t call, his mom will want to know why he’s using the phone at this hour and it’s possible that someone other than Richie might answer and then Eddie will have to come up with some reason besides I’m sorry to bother you at this hour Mrs. Tozier, but it’s an absolute emergency because I have to tell Richie right now that he’s hot and thinking about him naked gives me a boner.

Yeah, not likely. This situation calls for desperate measures, like an entirely unprecedented course of action. Eddie puts on his sneakers, throws on a sweater, and walks to his window.

If Richie can still get in, it’ll be nothing for Eddie to get out. He’ll just close the window most of the way from the outside, but not so much that he won’t be able to get back in. His mom might come in (unlikely, Eddie can hear her snoring) and find him gone and completely blow a gasket, but that’s a big might and the fact that he needs to see Richie right the fuck now is a definitely, so. Down he hops, quiet as can be.

It’s early December and fucking cold. Cold as fuck. Eddie hops back and forth from one foot to the other while he untangles his bike from where the garden hose fell on it and tries not to think too hard about how the frigid wind in his face is going to feel when he gets going.

The less that can be said about the seven minute bike ride to Richie’s house, the better. The word frostbite comes to mind more than once, as well as death by exposure. Eddie thinks it’ll be unfortunate but understandable if his dick decides never to make an appearance again; he’s pretty sure it has retreated up into his body for good. He can’t feel his hands but manages to peel his fingers off the handlebars nonetheless, leaning his bike up against the side of Richie’s house without bothering to hide it because, according to Richie, Richie’s parents are heavy sleepers. Eddie wouldn’t normally just take Richie at his word on something like that, but he figures they would’ve had to have caught their own son sneaking out at least once out of the hundreds of times he’s done it if it wasn’t true. Eddie walks around the back and looks through the curtains of Richie’s room.

Richie, wearing the same pajama bottoms and old tee shirt he usually shows up at Eddie’s in, is so deeply involved in Sonic that Eddie wonders if he won’t hear him rapping on the window, but he does it anyway. Dun dun dun dadadundun.

It’s Under Pressure, Eddie whispers to no one in particular. Richie doesn’t hear that or the knocking.

Dun dun dun dadadundun. Eddie knocks again, a little louder.

This time, Richie turns around. He does one better, actually: he does a double take and his jaw drops wide open, hair flopping into his face. He looks utterly stupid by any account and yet the first thought that pops into Eddie’s head is beautiful.

Richie drops the controller onto the floor to live amongst the general covering of junk that populates his bedroom before loping over to the window and opening it.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, staring out at Eddie like he can’t believe he’s here, which is kind of annoying because like...Eddie has a bike too. Just because it’s always Richie who appears at Eddie’s house in the middle of the night doesn’t mean Eddie isn’t capable of reciprocating every once in awhile. It’s just that it’s obviously nicer to get it on in Eddie’s room than in the garbage heap Richie inhabits.

Richie reaches out a hand to help Eddie clamber inside. He must have the heat cranked up full blast because Eddie starts regaining feeling in his extremities right away when Richie shuts the window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just needed to—” Eddie starts, then clamps his mouth shut.

In that moment he realizes that he’s just shown up at Richie’s house at one in the morning on a school night without warning, wearing fleece reindeer pajamas, sneakers without socks and a sweater, and he has literally no idea what he wants to say other than I just needed to tell you you were hot. Right now, apparently.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Richie demands, in what might sound like a normal tone of voice to an outsider, but Eddie instinctively recognizes it as being seconds away from abject panic.

Eddie looks up into his eyes and god damn, how has he never managed to see how insecure Richie really is? Of all the millions of things Eddie could be here for… He could’ve had a fight with his mom. Winston from the Sweet Valley High books that Eddie definitely doesn’t read could’ve been killed off. Eddie could just be horny. He could have a homework question—well, probably not that one because going to Richie for homework help would be worse than just not turning in the assignment and taking a zero—but a breakup? Like, that’s what he jumps to? A breakup? Really?

“God, no,” Eddie says, and then the next words come out of his mouth with absolutely no leave to do so from his brain. “Why the fuck would I do that? I love you.”

Richie sits down hard on his bed and just...stares. And Eddie a little bit wants to freak out because I love you sounds like a really big deal but like...is it? Is saying it that big of a deal? Feeling it is, maybe, but if Eddie’s being honest with himself, he’s been feeling it for like forever. He might not have always been willing to admit that, but if you take a dump in a toilet and call it a flower, it’s still shit. Saying it doesn’t change that.

“Actually I just wanted to tell you you’re hot,” he continues, fidgeting with the zipper on his sweater and still standing awkwardly by the window. That part comes out easier, probably because he just dropped a live one with I love you and nothing else he has to say could possibly be as enormous as that. “Cause on the bus, like I didn’t. But you totally are. Hot. You’re...hot. Like super hot, like…” Eddie gestures vaguely up and down with one hand, “all of you. Your hair and your back and shit—I mean, your...yeah. So I just wanted to tell you. Bye.”

And because every single word after you’re hot has increased his discomfort exponentially, Eddie feels like this is as good a time as any to make his exit. Actually, about fifteen seconds ago might’ve been better, but it’s certainly only going to get worse if he just stands there doing nothing, so he turns toward the window and prepares to bail. This apparently snaps Richie out of it because he gets up, still staring.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Richie asks.

“‘Why the fuck am I here, where the fuck am I going,’” Eddie repeats, one leg already out the window. It is so fucking cold outside and like, this whole thing was such a bad idea, Eddie wishes he could go back in time fifteen minutes just to smack himself in the face and tell himself to stay in bed. “Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going home. It’s a school night.”

“Uh, no way,” Richie says, striding toward him. He wraps a hand around Eddie’s wrist. “You don’t get to say something like that and then just like fuck off. Nah, come back in here and let me blow you.”

Let him what now?! It takes a second for Eddie to make the connection—like why Richie is bringing that up—but then his mind presses rewind on the part from the bus when Richie said Eddie was hot and...right. The conversation was originally about blowjobs. Why do they always seem to have these important discussions about feelings in conjunction with sex stuff? At this rate, Eddie’s never going to have a cute story about their relationship that’s fit for mixed company. Like he’s gonna tell the others at a sleepover, so then I said “I love you, Richie,” and he was like, “that’s sick dude, lemme suck your dick.”

He’s about to say no because ew, but...it’s Richie. And Richie is looking at him with his big brown eyes and Eddie knows that Richie would be a hundred percent cool with it if Eddie truly didn’t want to, and if Eddie says not gonna happen, Richie will probably never bring it up again. But he can also hear the excitement in Richie’s voice, and it seems...crazy, like it’s crazy that Richie really wants to blow him that much.

“I didn’t say that shit because I wanted a blowjob,” Eddie tells him.

“I know,” Richie says.

“I don’t think I can really stay,” Eddie says, although he also pulls his leg back in the room and allows Richie to shut the window again. “It’s a school night.”

“Fuck yeah, it’s a school night,” says Richie, in what he clearly thinks is a California Surfer Dude voice, but it’s new to his repertoire and still sounds more like he’s having a mild stroke than anything else. He grins and gets straight to work pushing Eddie’s sweater off his shoulders. “Think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow. I’m gonna get hard just looking at those bags under your eyes.”

“What the fuck?” Eddie whispers back to him. He shrugs his cardigan back on. “You say the weirdest shit Richie, I swear to God. Is think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow supposed to be like, dirty talk? Because uh, that’s not sexy. I—”

“But you love me,” Richie interrupts, “so everything I do is sexy.” He yanks his own shirt over his head and smiles down at Eddie.

“Yeah, that’s not how it works,” Eddie says, placing both hands on Richie’s bony chest and trying not to focus too much on how good his skin feels because he is not going to get distracted by the lure of impending nakedness.

“Yeah it is,” says Richie immediately, sliding a hand up under Eddie’s pajama top. “We’re in love, so everything is like automatically a million times more sexy.”

“Oh really? What so...so, my...like when I had to shove Tylenol down your throat when you had a 102 fever last month? You find that sexy?”

“Hell yes,” Richie replies immediately, “you can play doctor with me anytime, baby.”

“Don’t you dare start calling me ‘baby,’” Eddie warns him.

“Try and stop me,” Richie laughs, and he pulls Eddie in closer with his hand on the small of his back. Fuuuck, no way is Richie going to let that go. Eddie hates the nicknames, but he knows it’s a losing battle because Eddie Spaghetti eventually got replaced with Eds and he can already imagine baby gaining ground on Eds. In fact, Eddie would bet his whole allowance that baby is going to eventually turn into babe. He can see babe sticking long-term. He’s just gonna have to get used to the idea.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie sighs, resting his forehead on Richie’s shoulder.

“Dude, I’m trying,” Richie says, grinning his shit-eatingest.

Eddie starts to giggle and has to put the brakes on it because he’s not getting sucked in. He’s not. He came here with a mission and he accomplished it. Just because it’s kind of making him die a little inside to leave right now doesn’t mean he can’t suck it up and do it anyway.

“I have to go,” Eddie says again. He stands on his toes and kisses Richie a little harder than usual, and hopes that Richie understands he’d much rather stay here. Someday, Eddie wants to tell him...someday they’ll finish high school. It feels like a million years from now, but then he knows he’s going to blink and he’ll be holding a graduation cap and a college acceptance letter. And Richie will be there too, holding...well, Eddie’s hand, at the very least. He really would get good grades if he applied himself, like all his teachers say, but Eddie doesn’t love him any less for his 2.7 GPA.

“Tomorrow,” Richie says. Eddie’s not sure if it’s a promise or a question. But either way, the answer is yes. If Richie wants to do what they usually do or… whatever else. Eddie’s down for it. One great thing about Richie—one of many, Eddie thinks—is how he doesn’t really try to force Eddie to stay. It’s kind of like when he goes to high five Stan and Stan gives him that please die now look, and Richie just immediately cuts his losses and moves on. He’s like that a lot. Eddie sometimes wishes he could just let shit go the way Richie does.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Eddie tells him. “Definitely.” He can’t quite bring himself to say how much he’s looking forward to it—so much, so so much—but he thinks Richie can tell anyway. They lock eyes and there it goes, that melty feeling, like the first sip of hot chocolate after playing out in the snow. That’s what should’ve tipped Eddie off that he’s—that they’re—in love. It’s love or fever delirium. Either way, he’s such a goner.

Eddie steps away from Richie and turns toward the window. Once they finish school they’ll leave Derry and only be forced to come back for like, Christmas or whatever. They’ll get a dorm or maybe an apartment together—some cheap place in a horrible neighborhood, probably—and Eddie will eventually have to break it to his mom that Richie’s a lot more to him than a roommate, but it’ll all be so worth it because—

Eddie steps on the uneaten crust of a forgotten PB&J on his way to the window. This is it, the future he has chosen for himself. No one goes from being the kind of person who tosses sandwiches on the floor to a liveable human being in the span of a few years. Someday, it’ll be their room and Eddie will be getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stepping in peanut butter, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself. He picked this idiot—this somehow super hot idiot—he went and fell in love with all that hair and those dark eyes. He fell in love with Richie’s knobby knuckles and his bitten cuticles too. And his strange, infuriating, perplexing mind. Richie never lets anything be boring. Eddie can look forward to an entire lifetime of being, at the very least, kept on his toes. If not literally, to avoid stepping in discarded food.

“You know,” Eddie says, swinging his leg out of the window and back into the icy wind, “I hope you plan on getting a good job, because I’m going to be stuck cleaning up after you as a career.”

Eddie only realizes when he’s halfway home that he just essentially admitted out loud to Richie that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, which in hindsight makes Richie sound like a really smooth motherfucker for saying, “Nah, I was already planning on hiring us a housekeeper,” without missing a beat.

Eddie slams on his brakes and there, in the middle of the street in the freezing pitch-black night, he comes to his third Big Realization of today. This, Richie and him, it’s the real deal. The things he’s been thinking about—an apartment, a shared bed, a shared life—are not daydreams. They’re plans. Shared plans.

Eddie’s so rarely sure of anything—like how he used to think there was no such thing as supernatural, shape-shifting killer clowns—but he's always sure of Richie. He’s sure of how he feels about Richie, and of how Richie feels about him. Even the fact that he’s out alone so late and not panicking can be attributed to Richie. Eddie used to be afraid of being by himself and the dark, but Richie gives him courage just by existing within a ten-minute biking radius.

Someday isn’t soon enough, but living with Richie is going to have to wait. He can’t believe he’s excited about the idea of Spaghetti-O’s every night and yelling at Richie for leaving the heater on and brushing crumbs off his sheets before bed but, God help him, those things can’t come soon enough. Just a couple more years, Eddie tells himself.

Tomorrow isn’t soon enough, either. His teeth are chattering, mostly because he’s actively freezing to death but also from the almost tangible ache in his chest that started when he walked around to collect his bike from the side of Richie’s house and left Richie watching him from the window. It’s what Eddie usually does when Richie leaves his house and God, Eddie’s not sure how Richie manages to do it twice a week. It almost made Eddie want to cry. He still feels like he might cry. If he goes home and gets into his bed alone right now, he will undoubtedly cry.

It’s a fucking school night, but Eddie is rapidly losing his ability to care. He sits there on his bike in the middle of the road for a second before…

“Fuck it.” He shakes his head, smiles out into the darkness, and swings his handlebars back in the direction of Richie’s house.

#it (2017)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my fics #the greater fool

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