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octoberobserver · 2 years

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But I Finally Made My Way Home

(Read on ao3)

Mr. and Mrs. Tozier hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, they had aged thirty years, obviously, but apart from that, they were exactly the same as Eddie remembered them. Warm and lively and loud. Just like another Tozier he knew.

“Really, Richard, I can carry my own—Eddie Kaspbrak as I live and breathe!”

He barely had time to smile before he was wrapped up in a giant, surprisingly-strong hug from Richie’s mom as she and Went stopped at the car, their son trailing along behind them with an amused expression on his face.

Their eyes met over Mrs Tozier’s shoulder and Richie promptly pulled a face that Eddie, before he could catch himself, childishly returned.

He heard Went chuckle, no doubt having seen it. He forced himself not to blush.

“Mrs. Tozier, hi,” he patted Richie’s mom’s back gently, “it’s so nice to see you again.”

“Oh Eddie,” she scolded, tapping him on the shoulder, “none of that Mrs. Tozier, business. Makes me sound old. It’s Maggie.”

He chuckled as she gave him another squeeze.

“Geez ma, you didn’t hug me this long,” Richie smirked as he opened the trunk and began loading the suitcases in.

“Let him breathe, Margaret,” Went piped up, eyeing them both, his amusement identical to his son's.

“Hush you two, I haven’t seen this boy since he was, well, a boy,” Maggie broke the hug, leaning back to meet Eddie’s eye, “can you blame me for being a little…”

She trailed off, seemingly just taking him in. Eddie tried not to squirm under her bespectacled gaze.

“Eddie,” Went caught his attention, holding out his hand for him to shake.

“Mr. Toz—”

Went’s eyebrow raised.

“Went,” he amended with a sheepish grin, shaking his hand.

“It is good to see you again, son,” Went squeezed his hand firmly before enveloping him in a short hug, slapping his back.

Eddie could feel both Richie and Maggie’s eyes on them. Despite him being a carbon copy of his father, Richie had his mother’s eyes. He swallowed down the inexplicable lump in his throat as he awkwardly patted the older man’s shoulder in return.

“You too.”

Went broke away, nodding down at him with something in his gaze that Eddie couldn’t identify before turning to Richie.

“You got eggs at the house, Rich? The portions on airplanes are always so tiny.”

“Yeah, dad, we’ve got eggs,” Richie chuckled, exchanging another glance with Eddie before crossing to open the passenger-side door for his mom, (her car sickness took precedence over Richie’s desire to badger Eddie about his driving), and climbing into the backseat.

“Take ‘er away, Eds. Breakfast awaits!”

~*~

Breakfast was a roaring success if the empty plates and pleased hums were anything to go by. Eddie again shoved down the irrational swell of mixed emotions in his chest, pouring more coffee into Maggie’s cup and finishing off his toast.

“That was great, Eddie, thank you,” Went rubbed his stomach as he took a sip of his orange juice, “I really liked the garlic pepper. Nice touch.”

He smiled, giving a half-shrug, “Glad you liked it. I use it instead of salt when I can.”

Before he knew it, he was launching into all his new explorations in the kitchen, no doubt talking Went’s ear off. But when he paused for breath, he realized that actually, Went seemed genuinely interested in what he was talking about, both he and his wife nodding encouragingly and jumping in with questions every so often.

Something warm settled in his chest as Richie leaned closer to him, piping up, “Eds is a natural in the kitchen. When he first moved in, he thought he couldn’t boil an egg, but now he’s making his own Pat Fruity. Which I’m told is a big deal.”

“Pâte Feuilletée,” Eddie corrected with a roll of his eyes, “and it’s not a big deal, your Twitter fans are exaggerating. I just—” his sentence caught in his throat as he noticed that both Maggie and Went were still patiently listening to him. “I uh, I had a lot of time on my hands while in between careers and watched a random YouTube video one day. It’s been a lot of trial and error but I do my best…”

Richie reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t be so modest, Eds,” he mock-scolded before turning to his parents. “Just wait for dinner. His risotto kicks ass. Tastes just like yours, ma.”

Maggie smiled, bright eyes flickering between them.

He flushed.

“Well, I should hope so,” she took a sip of her coffee, “it is my recipe.”

Eddie felt rather than saw Richie whirl around to gape at him. He kept his own eyes on his plate.

“What?! You got the recipe off Mags? You didn’t tell me that!”

He cleared his throat, drumming his fingers on his cup, refusing to meet his eye.

“She told me not to.”

He didn’t have to glance at Richie to know he and his mom were sharing some sort of look he didn’t understand. They did that a lot over FaceTime too, but in real life, it was much more potent.

“I wanted to see if you’d notice,” Maggie laughed, waving her hand dismissively before gathering up her and Went’s empty plates.

Eddie stood, “Maggie, you don’t have to—”

“You cooked Eddie, hush,” she smiled before clapping her hands and leveling them both with a pointed stare. “Now what is this I hear about The Losers’ Game Night?”

~*~

Turned out that Margaret Tozier was an absolute beast at online Pictionary.

“Alright, you two are definitely cheating.”

Eddie snorted as Maggie threw a handful of popcorn at her son, affronted.

“Richard Wentworth Tozier, I am no cheat,” she exclaimed as a tinny chorus of agreement sounded from Eddie’s laptop.

The rest of the Losers filled the screen, each couple occupying a tile in their group video chat—Ben and Bev in New York, Stan and Patty in Georgia, and Bill and Mike just twenty minutes away in downtown LA.

“How would they even cheat at Pictionary anyway, Rich?” Bev asked, leaning closer to the camera, bewildered. “I think you’re just pissed that you’re a shitty artist.”

“Right?” Eddie jumped in before Richie could defend himself. “How the fuck was I supposed to guess Shawshank Redemption with your drawing of an inflatable tube man being stabbed?”

“He was being shanked, Eduardo,” Richie sighed, “obviously.”

“Oh obviously,” he groused back, rolling his eyes before swirling the mostly-melted ice around in his empty glass. “You want another old-fashioned, Maggie?”

She grinned at him, eyes glinting.

“I would love one Eddie, sweetheart, thank you.”

Richie elbowed him, “You tryin’ to get my mom drunk, Kaspbrak?”

Eddie elbowed him back harder, standing, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Trashmouth. She’d drink us all under the table, and you know it.”

“Cheers to that,” Went piped up cheerfully, definitely more tipsy than his wife, raising his half-full glass in a toast.

“Oh Trashmouth,” Maggie chuckled, looking from him to the laptop, “I forgot where Richie had gotten that nickname. One of you gave it to him in grade school, right?”

Richie nodded. “Yep, that was an Edward Kaspbrak original.”

Eddie's cheeks were noticeably flushed before he made his way over to the counter to start refilling glasses.

“That’s right,” Maggie was murmuring almost to herself. “I still can’t believe I managed to forget that. Forget The Losers Club in general. You were all so tight-knit, always together. All the sleepovers you used to have in our basement. How I used to bake those cupcakes you’d bring to the quarry. The clubhouse you thought we didn't know about. I just…don’t understand how I could forget all that…?”

There was a beat of silence.

He watched Eddie hold his breath, shoulders tense as he kept his back to the table.

“Do you still bake those cupcakes? I guarantee they’d still be a hit.”

Patty Uris was the best.

Once Maggie was successfully distracted, bouncing from the topic of her own culinary prowess to (to Eddie’s embarrassment) her gushing about his risotto they’d eaten for dinner earlier, he turned back around, gently depositing another drink on the table next to her and crossing back over to sit beside Richie.

Richie could feel how tense he was beside him, as he always was whenever someone outside of the group brought up the Derry-related-amnesia. It had been an adjustment, for all of them. But at least they knew why they forgot. Richie’s parents, Ben’s mom, Stan’s mom, and Bev’s aunt weren’t as lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it,) however, and as the Losers reconnected with each other’s families, were often astonished that they had seemingly forgotten all about their little town in Maine.

And the Losers who went along with it.

“Stanley, your mother and I were just reminiscing the other day about your and Richie’s first day of school,” Maggie chuckled, beaming at the laptop where Stan was shaking his head good-naturedly. “About how you’d both bonded over peanut butter sandwiches and decided that made you best friends for life.”

Margaret Tozier and Andrea Uris were Facebook friends, apparently. Arlene Hanscom too. Because of course they were.

“I still stand by that,” Richie winked at Stan, “that’s how we got Bill too. The lure of your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, ma. Not Eds, though. That took some outta the box thinking.”

“I wasn’t allowed peanut butter,” Eddie predictably grumbled, evoking laughter, “the cherry Nerds worked, though.”

Now that he could, Richie remembered as clear as day, how a tiny kid with dark hair and the biggest, brownest eyes he had ever seen, shyly stared over at him and Stan as they shared out their lunch on the second week of first grade. He remembered how six-year-old him had looked up and met those eyes, a box of Nerds in his hand, and before he could think it through, he raised them up and shook them.

Eddie had stormed over at that, going from zero to sixty as he ranted how he wasn’t a dog, and you shouldn’t shake candy at people, but yes please, he would like some, and no sorry, he didn’t have any candy but he did have a yoyo that Richie could play with as long as he washed his hands first because they were dirty.

He was pretty sure he fell in love with him right then and there.

“I don’t think you were allowed those either, Spagheds,” he bumped his shoulder, sipping his drink before clapping his hands together. “Alright, Losers, who’s next?”

All in all, Maggie and Went won with Stan and Patty coming in a close second. Richie and Eddie came in last to Eddie’s chagrin as usually they either won or came at least second during most of their game nights. But unlike Last Loser Standing, Charades, Celebrity, The Voting Game, Trivia, and Cards Against Humanity, Pictionary wasn’t their strength, apparently. Or really, it wasn’t Richie’s.

“How was that last one a T-Rex?! It had six legs!”

So he wasn’t the next Banksy. Sue him. He had other talents.

“I gave it the tiny arms, Eddie! And I drew Jeff Goldblum with his shirt open! What else do you need?”

“What else do I…?” Eddie gaped at him as the Losers all laughed, calling out their goodbyes and goodnights.

“Later guys! Eddie, try not to strangle him!”

“Bye Mr. and Mrs. Tozier, good luck with those two.”

“Good game, everybody. Deep breaths, Ed!”

“See you all for brunch tomorrow if Eddie hasn’t killed Richie by then!”

Went and Maggie waved and called their goodbyes back before Richie closed down the laptop, grinning wide and a little dopily as Eddie continued to tipsily rant at him.

“Clearly you didn’t get either of your parents’ drawing abilities. Your lamb looked like a cloud on sticks.”

“Well, how else would I draw sheep, Michelangelo? Huh? Tell me.”

“You two haven’t changed a bit.”

He and Eddie froze as Went drained the last of his drink, chuckling at them loudly.

“Right?” his wife agreed, standing up far too fast for someone who had drunk quicker than any of them, “it’s like the Hungry Hungry Hippos debacle all over again.”

She held up her hands as they both began to argue their respective points from back in the ‘80s.

“Buh, buh, buh,” she shook her head at them, “I had my fill of that argument back in Derry, thank you. It’s our bedtime, boys. Come on Went, up and at ‘em.”

She reached down and hauled her husband (who had at least fifty pounds and six inches on her) out of his chair with ease. Eddie leaped out of his seat too, leading the way down the corridor, talking hand towels and spare blankets and eucalyptus soap all the way. Richie took up the rear, watching his parents and Eddie interact quietly, something warm and fond and very, very inconvenient settling in his chest.

“Thank you, Eddie. You’re such a good host,” Maggie murmured as they halted at the guest room (which was mostly used as Eddie’s home office these days), her eyes a little bleary with booze and fatigue and affection.

Richie caught his gaze over the top of his mother’s head as she took a step forward, hands raised to clasp both sides of his face.

“Oh, how did I ever forget about little Eddie Kaspbrak?” she asked herself, patting his cheek gently. “Richie never stopped waxing poetic about you when you were kids. It was so cute how much he—”

“Lies, slander, hearsay,” Richie cut across her, his entire body flushing hot as he unceremoniously shoved Eddie back down the hallway, a hasty, “Goodnight, parentals!” thrown over his shoulder.

He could hear Eddie’s soft laughter waft into the kitchen as he quickly followed him, almost crashing into his back when he halted suddenly, whirling around to face him.

“You actually did have a crush on me.”

The words themselves were not surprising. The fact that they could still cause a crescendo in his pulse, even after all this time, was.

He had told him, one night a couple of months ago after a few beers, in the quiet of their living room, the words bursting from him like a flooded dam. He hadn’t planned on it, but Eddie had been feeling particularly shitty about his recent coming out—"I'm a neurotic hypochondriac with trust issues and trauma out the wazoo, Rich! Who the fuck would find that attractive?" and Richie, as always, was eager to reassure him—”You know, I had a crush on you once upon a time. Neuroses and all…” Thankfully, he had managed to put a lid on it before he word-vomited the whole truth of his feelings out, but still.

Eddie finally knew (part of) his oldest secret.

They had left it at that.

Eddie, for once, really hadn’t said much.

And Richie, same as always, turned his heartfelt feelings into a joke.

All in all, he had had worse rejections. Shock and silence were better than anger and disgust.

He rubbed the back of his neck, stepping over to the kitchen island.

"Uh, yeah, Eds. Pretty sure I told you that already, even without my motormouth mom’s input.”

A gorgeous tinge of red painted his cheeks as he shrugged, shuffling over to the stovetop kettle to pour the gross sleepy time tea he drank most nights.

“I know yeah, but—it just...still surprises me. Like, out of all of the Losers, all the kids in Derry, little Richie Tozier chose the hyperactive hypochondriac to crush on? Seriously?"

He forced himself to shrug, staring at some forgotten popcorn on the coffee table.

“You had an appeal, Eds. What can I say?”

That you’re ass-deep in love with him and still want to be Mr. Richie Kaspbrak and have his rescue puppies?

"It was a five-minute thing somewhere in between psycho clowns and starting High School," he instead retold the lie he had been trying to convince Eddie (and himself) was true as airily as he could. "Something that broke up my hero-worship of Bill. And was soon surpassed by my giant heart boner for Bobby Wilkins until we moved."

Eddie stilled at his words, something etched on his face that Richie couldn't read.

"Right," he nodded, no longer looking at him, his mouth twisted in that same expression Richie didn’t recognize but wasn’t particularly psyched about.

Shit.

“See ya in the morning, Rich,” he continued, still not looking at him, taking his steaming mug in hand and shuffling past him. “Don’t be late getting up. Brunch with Bill and Mike is at 11:30.”

With that, he left the kitchen, the sound of his grandpa slippers on the hardwood floor echoing down the hallway.

Richie stood, rooted to the spot, staring after him for a long, long time, feeling yet again, like his stupid Trashmouth had said the wrong thing.

~*~

In a very unlike him move, sleep-deprived and all, Richie was up by 9:30. Granted, he was still the last to be showered and dressed, but still. It was over their very-light breakfast that good ol’ Mags dropped another bombshell of a question that had him wondering what he had done to incur this level of probing from his usually nonchalant parents.

“So when do I get to meet this mystery man you’re seeing?” His mom asked with that gleam in her eye that always had him suspicious.

He cleared his throat, shifting a little in his seat and trying to ignore how Eddie’s elbow brushed against his on the table.

“Uh, we're not really at the ‘Meet the Parents’ stage, ma. We’re still in the ‘Mystery Men’ or ‘Reality Bites’ stage.”

Maggie looked to Eddie.

“They’re all Ben Stiller movies. He’s being evasive,” he helpfully supplied before refilling his glass of disgusting kale smoothie.

Maggie turned her attention back to Richie.

“Margaret,” Went patted her hand, “we said we wouldn’t pry.”

She leveled her husband with a deadpan stare.

“Yes, Wentworth, we did say that, but this is hardly prying,” she sighed, tipping her glass of orange juice at him, “is it so bad for a mother to want to know what the man who’s wooing my son is called? Is a first name really too much?”

“‘Wooing’?” he repeated, baffled. “Who am I, Lizzy Bennet?”

Eddie snorted into his coffee. The traitor.

Maggie rolled her eyes in a way that made Richie remember that he was more like her than he realized.

“Well, it’s just you never bring anyone home, sweetheart, and you’re out now, so I thought that maybe your mother might finally be allowed to know—”

“Jamie. His name is Jamie. And he’s not ‘wooing’ me. It’s been a few dinners,” Richie interjected, narrowing his eyes at her and pointedly ignoring his best friend's heavy presence at his side, “that the end of the interrogation, Detective Tozier?”

She blinked, confusion swimming across her face as she glanced at Eddie and back to Richie, looking as if she wanted to say more before wincing apologetically and shaking her head.

“Sorry, honey,” she leaned forward and kissed his temple. “I didn’t mean to push. I’ll drop it. Once you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Yeah, that was the problem though, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t happy.

Or well, he was happy, but that had nothing to do with the handful of very mediocre dates he had reluctantly gone on with sitcom actor Jamie O’Connor at the insistence of his manager and bane of his existence, Steve Covall, and more to do with the man sitting beside him, trying and failing to finish a crossword puzzle.

“Torch song,” he muttered, looking down at the newspaper, “four across, two words, nine letters, ‘tune about unrequited love?’ It’s ‘torch song.’”

You’d know all about those, wouldn’t you Trashmouth?

The pen paused, piercing the paper a little before Eddie looked up, blinking at him.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. That looks right.”

He hurriedly scratched it in before finally conceding, sliding it over to Went who made grabby hands at it, already holding his own pen.

“Let’s see what we got here,” he mumbled more to himself than anyone else, a determined glint in his eye.

Richie took another sip of his too-hot coffee, trying to shove down his sudden lovesick melancholy and looking ahead to the day.

At least Bill and Mike would be a good distraction.

~*~

Unsurprisingly, they were a fantastic distraction. Mike was his warm and charming self and Bill was the perfect mix of tour guide and nostalgic suck-up. Before he knew it, they had bid goodbye to them both (Bill having a dinner date with his literary agent and dragging Mike with him for support) and were back at his and Eddie’s condo helping his mom prepare dinner.

“Nope, no way, Eddie, you are banished from this kitchen,” Maggie was waving a spatula at both Eddie and Went as Richie stayed firmly out of it. “You've done enough already. You and Went go tinker with that car you were telling him about. He hasn’t stopped gushing about it since we got here.”

Eddie threw a quick glance at Richie before shrugging, a small smile spreading across his face.

“Okay, if you're sure. Thanks. Follow me, Went. She’s in the back.”

Richie snorted loudly.

“Go, leave us for your true love, Kaspbrak. I get it. I’ll always be second to a '69 Chevy Camaro.”

Weirdly, Eddie refrained from snarkily retorting over his shoulder like he usually would. He had been uncharacteristically quiet all day actually, not rising to Richie’s many, many, attempts at baiting, but he tried not to dwell on it too much, figuring Eddie was just trying to watch what he said in front of his parents. Not that he needed to, Mags and Went clearly adored him.

(Guess it ran in the family.)

“Preheat the oven please, Rich,” his mom broke him from his reverie as she took out the ingredients she had just bought at the store.

They moved around each other just like old times, Richie assisting his mom with the chopping and dicing of vegetables, while Mags tackled the tougher stuff, browning the beef and assembling the pasta in a much neater fashion than he could ever manage. It was when the lasagna was about five minutes from being done, the scent of meat and cheese wafting through the air and rumbling his stomach, that she squinted at him.

“So, Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. Do you and ‘Jamie’ have any plans?”

Richie straightened up from where he was checking on the garlic bread. Something tingled in the back of his neck. His very own version of Spidey senses. ‘Mom’s up to something’ senses. Though that didn’t have the same ring to it.

“Why did you say his name like that?”

Maggie stared at him for a beat before taking a breath and stepping closer to him, voice quiet.

“Oh Richie really, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know who ‘Jamie’ actually is. You and Eddie are hardly subtle. You never were.”

He blinked.

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at him, poking him in the shoulder.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” she gave another poke before grabbing some plates down from the kitchen cabinet. “It’s okay, I know about Eddie. There’s no need to hide it from me. I’ve known you two would end up together since you were ten years old."

He short-circuited.

Oh, shit.

“Mom...what are you talking about?”

A line formed between her eyebrows.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry about earlier. I was only teasing to let you and Eddie know it was okay to tell us.”

Dread dropped like a boulder in his stomach.

Oh, no.

“Tell you what?”

You really need her to say it, dipshit?

She stared at him as if he had grown an extra head.

“That you’re dating.”

Richie’s heart panged in his chest, his throat suddenly dry, every inch of his skin prickling as he forced a breath into his lungs.

“Me and Eddie are not dating, ma.”

The words practically echoed around the room.

Maggie blinked, eyebrows climbing up her forehead.

“Richie,” she gave a little jittery laugh, disbelieving, “I’ve seen you two together. Have heard and seen both over the last year…what do you mean you’re not dating? You’ve built a home together. You are more coupley than your father and I were when we first got together.”

Richie’s entire body was on fire. His hands started to shake. He clenched them at his sides as his eyes darted nervously out towards the door that led to the garage.

“It’s been a while but, I have been going on dates with a guy called Jamie,” he rasped. “We’ve…it’s not…I’m not dating Eddie. I was never dating Eddie. I will never date Eddie.”

“But, when you were kids—”

“We’re not kids anymore,” he argued, beads of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, “it’s not like that. We’re best friends. Roommates. Business partners. That’s it.”

She let out a breath at that, her brow furrowed, looking oddly crestfallen.

“Oh. My mistake.”

A tense silence draped over them. A potent mix of emotions swirled in his gut, making him feel sick.

“I’ll just…” Maggie waved a hand over her shoulder, “go call the boys for dinner.”

With that, she gently patted Richie’s shoulder and walked quickly out of the kitchen, heading towards the garage.

He watched her go, taking in choaked breaths.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

~*~

“Oh, she’s a beaut, Eddie.”

Eddie tried and failed not to preen under Went’s awestruck reaction to his restoration project—the well-loved classic car he had bought on a whim (with Richie’s encouragement) in celebration of his divorce being finalized last year and had steadily worked on since.

“Thanks, Went,” he grinned, rubbing a cloth against the already shining hood, “it’s been fun getting her back in shape.”

“I remember you had an interest in cars as a kid,” Went remarked as he walked around to the trunk, “you helped me change the oil in the old Cortina a few times. And were always tinkering with Richie’s beat-up truck.”

Eddie laughed, the memories swirling around in the back of his head.

“Oh god, that truck was a lost cause. It broke down every second day.”

Went’s laughter joined his, he shaking his head.

“Yeah, he was so proud of it, though. He saved up for two years straight working at the Aladdin and sweeping up at Bernie’s, remember?”

“Oh yeah, we hardly saw him our entire sophomore year. He was the first to get his license out of all of us,” Eddie murmured, thinking fondly back on the first time he saw Richie pull up outside his house, hollering at him about a Loser road trip.

It ended up being just the two of them.

And they promptly broke down on the edges of town.

It had still been one of the best days of Eddie’s young life, though.

“He taught me how to drive stick,” he marveled under his breath, the memory washing over him.

“That’s right!�� Went exclaimed, eyes alight with mirth. “I remember how proud he was. You were fearless, kid, ‘cause Richie was a terrible teacher.”

Eddie chuckled, reminiscing on the many, many failed lessons that Richie attempted to give him in direct rebellion to his mother who refused to let him even participate in Driver’s Ed.

“You two woulda followed each other to the ends of the Earth.”

He startled at the words, though he really shouldn’t have. They were true. Had been then and still were now.

“Yeah,” he murmured in agreement, watching out of the corner of his eye as Went came to stand next to him.

"You know, Eddie,” he cleared his throat, still looking at the car. “Maggie and I are grateful that our son finally has someone who makes him happy."

His head shot up.

"Oh uh, yeah, I think he and Jamie are—"

"I meant you, Eddie," Went injected, wiping his hands in the already oil-stained rag before turning to level him with a serious look that Eddie couldn’t ever remember seeing before. “Since you've been back in his life, it's like we have the old Richie back. He's lighter. Smiles more and means it. He's just...happy again in a way I haven't seen in a long, long time. And I know a lot of that is down to you. So, thank you, son."

He was not going to cry in a garage in front of his Camaro and his best friend's dad. He wasn't.

But it was a near thing.

“‘Course,” he rasped, his throat a little hoarse, his eyes stinging. “He…he uh…”

Fuck it.

“He makes me happy too. Always has.”

There was that look on Went’s face again. The same he had seen Maggie direct at him more than once too. Something knowing and content and something that should have terrified him but somehow didn’t.

“I’m glad, Eddie,” Went raised a hand to clasp his shoulder but faltered, wincing at the oil stains.

“I’m gonna wash up over here, that okay?” he jerked his head over his shoulder at the sink that Eddie had installed a while back.

“Yeah,” he gave a slight cough before stepping back towards the stairs. “I’ll head upstairs, get washed up for dinner too.”

He climbed the short staircase, reaching out to push open the garage door that led back into the kitchen when he heard his name.

“—was only teasing to let you and Eddie know it was okay to tell us.”

“Tell you what?”

“That you’re dating.”

Eddie froze, hand suspended in the air, inches from the door.

Maggie thinks…

His heart hammered against his ribcage as he waited for Richie to reply to his mother.

It had been tough this morning, laughing along with the Toziers as they teased their son about his newfound relationship with Jamie. Sure, it had been hard for him to keep being reminded of Richie’s one-time childhood crush on him that had long since dissipated, but it was another thing entirely to be constantly aware of the fact that the man he was trying so hard not to be in love with was actively dating someone else.

And now…

“Me and Eddie are not dating, ma.”

Those words, as true as they were, still had heavy dread sinking in his gut.

“Richie, I’ve seen you two together. Have heard and seen both over the last year…what do you mean you’re not dating? You’ve built a home together. You are more coupley than your father and I were when we first got together.”

See? You’re so obvious, Kaspbrak. Maggie can see your pathetic heart eyes a mile away, you sap.

There was a short pause as Eddie held his breath.

“It’s been a while but, I have been going on dates with a guy called Jamie,” Richie replied, sounding indignant. “We’ve…it’s not…I’m not dating Eddie. I was never dating Eddie. I will never date Eddie.”

A sharp pain shot through his whole body at that.

It wasn't news, of course. He had known for a long while now that unlike him, whatever Richie may have felt when they were kids—the silly, innocent crush, did not transcend into adulthood. And he had accepted that. Painfully. But firmly. For the sake of their friendship.

Unfortunately, it didn't stop him from falling deeper in love with him all the same.

“But, when you were kids—”

“We’re not kids anymore, it’s not like that. We’re best friends. Roommates. Business partners. That’s it.”

That’s it.

Eddie’s heart pounded in his ears, drowning out whatever was said next. His brain screamed at him to move, go back downstairs, shove the interaction out of his mind to anxiously torture himself about later, in the safety of his own bedroom. But he couldn’t move an inch. At least not until his adrenaline spiked when he heard sudden footsteps near the door.

As if electrocuted, he jumped, scrambling back down the steps, almost tripping and braining himself on the railing in his haste. The door opened a crack just as he caught himself, basking him in light from the kitchen. There, Margaret Tozier stood, staring down at him, something unreadable etched on her face.

“Oh, Eddie, there you are,” she smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes, “I was just calling you both for dinner,” she paused, head tilting at him. “You okay?”

I will never date Eddie. That’s it. I will never date Eddie. That’s it. I will never—

He forced himself to nod. Once. Twice.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Went is just washing his hands. He’ll uh…he’ll be right up.”

Maggie bit her lip, nodding back.

Fuck.

She knows.

“I’ll um,” he cleared his throat, forcing his feet to unglue from the floor, stiffly ascending the steps, his entire body aching, “I’ll go set the table.”

Before she could protest, he slipped past her and bolted for the kitchen, hoping, wishing, and praying that Richie wasn’t in there.

He was.

He ignored him, making a beeline for the sink, and began washing his oil-stained hands, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as a quiet, strangled noise left Richie before he cleared his throat.

“Uh, so, is Went impressed with your girlfriend?”

Another stab of pain darted through him at that, but he ignored it.

“Yeah.”

I will never date Eddie. That’s it. I will never—

“You alright, Eds?”

Don’t turn around. Don’t look at him. Don’t—

“I’m fine.”

He was not fine. He was so, so far, from fine. He was the antithesis of fine.

But now was not the time.

He could fall apart later.

A hand clasped his shoulder and he practically leaped three feet in the air, tense as a bowstring.

“Whoa, hey, it’s just me,” Richie murmured in that same quiet tone, his thumb rubbing gently against the fabric of his T-shirt.

Silently, he watched as he raised that hand to his face, that thumb brushing against his cheekbone, right over his scar.

“Rich…”

His hand jerked away, eyes fluttering as if only realizing what he had just done.

“Sorry, I—you had a smudge. S’gone now.”

It was then that Eddie realized how close they were standing.

I will never date Eddie. That’s it.

“—and we have garlic bread too so—”

He practically went into cardiac arrest as the Tozier matriarch rounded the corner, her voice wafting into the room.

“I uh—I’m gonna go change for dinner,” he gestured at his oil-stained T-shirt to avoid eye contact, “I’ll be right back.”

He could feel Richie’s heavy gaze following him as he booked it towards his bedroom, but forced himself to ignore it. He was having a hard time keeping his heart in check as it was.

This was gonna be a long night…

~*~

Something was wrong with Eddie, but Richie couldn’t figure out what. Like earlier, he was quieter, more subdued, but now, there seemed to also be an edge to him, as if he were bracing himself for an attack that could strike at any moment. It reminded Richie of the first few weeks of them living together, getting to know each other again in a shared space. He had been a bit skittish then too, almost as if he were surprised by Richie’s presence and startled at the random noises he made and the space he took up.

It had worried him at first, thinking that maybe he wasn’t right for Eddie’s roommate, but when he voiced as much, Eddie shot that down quickly. Because it hadn’t been that Richie wasn’t right, it was that, for once, Eddie felt like he had his own place in the world, that he could control and make his own, and the fact that Richie shared it with him, without trying to take over, took him by surprise every day.

But this wasn’t that. Ever since he came back into the kitchen looking all unfairly sexy in his tight, white T-shirt all stained with oil and nearly giving Richie a heart attack, it was clear that this was Eddie spooked. Out of sorts. Bothered by something that completely eluded Richie.

And he hated it.

“So Eddie, how’re you liking our new job?” Maggie asked as they ate.

That perked him up a bit to Richie’s relief, he animatedly launching into a story about a project he and his team were working on. Maggie and Went jumped in with questions every now and then, enraptured by him and his enthusiasm, proving yet again, that Toziers of all shapes and sizes and generations, were suckers for Edward F. Kaspbrak.

“And how’s the love life post-divorce?”

Richie was going to commit matricide. He really was.

He kept his glare firmly on his traitor of a mother as Eddie stilled, clearing his throat and gesturing with his glass, red wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

“Uh, you know, I haven’t really uh…had a lot of time to date. So.”

Leave it alone, Mags. Don’t you dare—

“Aw, that’s a shame,” Maggie cut across his silent scolding. “A handsome, smart, successful man like yourself, deserves a good guy to share your life with.”

Richie narrowed his eyes into slits but she pointedly ignored him.

“Well,” Eddie coughed, giving a small shrug and addressing his plate, “maybe one day.”

Richie’s stomach lurched at the thought. Some handsome, smart, successful man coming into Eddie’s life that would sweep him off his feet and away from Richie and everything they built together over the last two years. He knew it was selfish, unfair, and hypocritical even, considering he himself had been ‘dating’, but he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when Eddie had insisted on staying far away from the dating scene—turning down set-ups and openly criticizing apps for months now.

I’d rather rip off my own arm than get a venereal disease from some fitness bro off Grin-der, Richie.

He had meant Grindr, or maybe Tinder, not a bastardization of the two, but the sentiment still stood. And made Richie worry that his type was men with more muscle than smart mouth and who cared more about kale smoothies than late-night cheese cubes.

Not like you have a chance anyway, dumbass, a voice that sounded far too like his snarky thirteen-year-old self rebuked in his head as Maggie took a sip of her wine and hummed in a way that told him whatever she was cooking up in that brain of hers, could only mean trouble.

“You know…my friend Sylvia’s son Ronan lives downtown. Owns his own gym. Graduated top of his class in business school and volunteers with the local outreach program. I could introduce you when we’re nearby tomorrow. He’s a sweetheart.”

Richie’s heart plummeted into his stomach, tangling and tightening to the point of nausea as he finally allowed himself to look up at Eddie, who was blinking at his mom in surprise, but not immediately jumping in with refusals as usual.

“Oh, uh…” he pushed some lasagna around with his fork, “I…I haven’t really been thinking about dating late—”

“Leave Eds alone, Ma,” Richie cut across him, trying to inject some levity into his far too sharp tone, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, “he doesn’t need Blind Date: Tozier Edition. He’s—”

“Actually,” Eddie interjected, leaning forward with an expression on his face that he couldn’t decipher, “I’ve been thinking that it might be time for me to get back out there. Maybe I’ll take you up on that, Mrs. Tozier.”

Richie stopped breathing, gripping his fork so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

“Maggie,” she corrected with a pleased grin, fishing around for her phone and unlocking it, the light basking her in a soft glow.

“I know I have Sylvia’s number in here somewhere,” she muttered to herself, scrolling, “I’m sure I can get the name of Ronan’s gym and double-check where—”

“Anyone want a beer?”

He was on his feet before his brain even registered he had spoken, practically fleeing the room before anyone could make a sound. He stumbled into the kitchen, gripping the sink tightly as he fought to control his haggard breathing, his heart thumping in his ears.

“Rich.”

He jumped, whirling around to find Went Tozier eyeing him with a cryptic expression, something like concern and confusion and something else he didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Oh, hey Dad. You want a—”

“You should tell him.”

Richie froze, arm outstretched towards the fridge.

He can’t…he doesn’t mean…

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to be nonchalant (and largely failed), opening the fridge and peering inside.

“Tell who what?”

“Richie.”

It had been a long time since he had heard his name said like that. Especially out of his dad’s mouth. His stomach churned. He stared at the butter. He felt rather than heard Went edge closer, until his hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing it gently and turning him.

“You’ve been in love with him since the fifth grade.”

Panic surged in his veins.

Guess your secret wasn’t so secret after all, Trashmouth.

“Dad—”

“I know it’s probably not my place, son, and I really don’t mean to overstep, I don’t,” Went interrupted quietly, “but…your mother and I, we just want you to be happy. I mean, you are happy, so much happier than we’ve seen in a long, long, time, and I know why. But I know you could be happier. And I think you know how, too.”

A fist closed around Richie’s heart as he rasped out, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He thought about throwing out his arms, flailing like a tube dude in the wind and scoffing loudly at his father’s ridiculous question, but instead, all that escaped, in barely more than a whisper was—

“Because he…doesn’t…want me.”

You pathetic, pining—

Went’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, interrupting his spiraling thoughts as their eyes finally met.

“I won’t speak for him, Rich, but…don’t you think you should make sure? Maybe ask him? So you know once and for all?”

Richie’s head was shaking before he even finished his sentence.

“I can’t. I wouldn’t recover.”

Coward.

Went blinked at him.

“Who says you’d have to? What if it goes right?”

An ugly snort escaped him, smothering the inconvenient hope that never quite managed to perish over the span of three decades.

“And what if it doesn’t?”

His dad leveled him with a look he knew well. A look, due to his general Richieness and Went’s Wentness—he didn’t see often growing up, but always knocked him on his ass anyway. A look that said, Richard, I am your father and I think you’re being myopic. Let yourself dream bigger.

“Well,” his dad murmured with another gentle squeeze on his shoulder. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

~*~

Slow, clumsy tapping filled the air of Eddie and Richie’s living room.

“Oh, you know what, I don’t think I have Sylvia’s number saved after all,” Maggie mumbled almost to herself, as she continued to scroll through her phone.

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the kitchen door that Richie and Went had just disappeared behind.

“Oh,” he swallowed down the lump in his throat, “that’s okay. I’m probably not ready for dating anyway, so—”

“Not even if it was with the right guy?”

His head snapped up, his gaze catching on those familiar eyes, identical to his best friend’s.

“You think Ronan is the right guy for me?”

“Not Ronan, no.”

It settled between them—not heavily, not lightly—just truthfully.

The fork slipped out of his grip, clattering down onto his plate. It was the confirmation that neither one of them needed.

He cleared his throat, rougher this time, that stubborn lump refusing to budge as he pushed his food away and reached for his wine glass, Maggie’s eyes burning a hole into his forehead.

She knows. She knows. Fuck, she know—

“Eddie.”

A small, slender hand reached out and landed on his, squeezing his fingers gently.

“It’s okay.”

A hitch of breath escaped him as those words wrapped around him like a blanket.

“It is?”

His voice was quiet, and timid, sounding much closer to him at fourteen than forty-two.

Another squeeze to his hand.

“Yes. More than okay. It has been for a long, long time.”

That doesn’t mean—

“You’re right for him too, you know,” Maggie half-whispered, gaze flickering to the kitchen door and back, “I knew it then and I know it now.”

He swallowed around his Sahara-dry throat, his whole body shakier than it had been in the midst of murder-clown-hysteria.

“W-What if he doesn’t think so?”

Maggie’s left eyebrow arched.

“And what if he does?”

Eddie’s eyebrow arched back, shame and embarrassment creeping up his spine.

“I-I heard…he said…that we were just…that we'd never…" he waved a hand, unable to give a voice to his biggest fear and harshest heartbreak.

Shaking his head firmly, he cleared his throat, his words slightly steadier than before.

“I can’t risk it.”

Something flashed across Maggie’s eyes. He tried not to look too closely. Unable to see a mirror of Richie’s staring back at him.

“Something worth having is worth the risk, Eddie. Trust me. Just…think about it. Richie, he—I love him but he’s not always the most emotionally honest, especially with himself,” she sighed, squeezing his fingers, a little smile gracing her face. “I don’t give just anyone my recipes, you know.”

With that, she sat back, letting his hand drop.

“Sorry. I’ll stop meddling now. I never did know when to keep my big trap shut. Where do you think he gets it?”

~*~

This year, Valentine’s Day fell on a Wednesday. The least sexy day of the week.

“It’s literally called ‘hump day’, man. How is that not sexy?”

Eddie rolled his eyes at Richie as they dished out their Chinese food, flicking through Netflix for a dumb action movie (starring the one and only Jean Claude Van Damme) to watch.

A perfectly ‘bro’ way to spend a romantic holiday.

Nice and safe for his wounded, pining, tragically hopeful heart.

“What restaurant did you reserve for your folks again?” he piped up, poking at his noodles.

Richie skipped over Double Jeopardy, waving the remote in his face.

“Providence. Apparently, the seafood is ‘to die for,’ but let’s hope we don’t get an emergency contact call. That’d be a shitty end to the visit.”

Eddie hummed around his chopsticks, fighting a wince.

“Sorry you’re stuck with me and take out instead of, I dunno, at a fancy dinner with Jamie or something.”

He could feel Richie’s eyes burning into the side of his face before he hopped up off the couch, wiping his palms on his jeans.

“Uh, yeah well,” he cleared his throat and waved flippantly over his shoulder, “he text me last night saying something about ‘rekindling an old flame’ so Valentine’s Day wasn’t on the cards for us, I guess.”

Eddie froze, eyes darting over to him before he scrambled to put down his food and follow him into the kitchen.

“What?! That asshole!”

“It’s all right, Eds,” Richie continued to the fridge, “no need to go all attack dog. It’s fine.”

Anger shot through his veins.

“The fuck it is! That dickwad texts you the night before Valentine’s Day? Who the hell does that?!”

Richie stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, reaching out to clasp his arm gently. “Yeah, I mean, it sucks but, he wasn’t really my type anyway. I’d much rather hang out with you and Van Damme than a vain actor in some stuffy, overpriced, tiny-portioned French place. Any day.”

Eddie squinted up at him.

“Tall, blond, and handsome isn’t your type?”

Something enigmatic passed over Richie’s face at that. Once upon a time, Eddie would have been able to read it like the back of his favourite cereal box, but their time apart had given Richie some new expressions that weren’t always legible to him. But he found he was enjoying learning all over again.

“I’m uh…a fan of short, brunet nerds, actually.”

His heart catapulted into his throat.

Easy, Kaspbrak. It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t mean—

"Yeah well, he'll regret it,” he interrupted his own mental spiraling before he could go too far down the rabbit hole. “You're a catch. Smart, funny, handsome, the trifecta. That douche doesn't know what taste is!"

Jesus. Why don’t you just propose already?

He braced himself for an onslaught of jokes, a snarky comeback to his far too sincere compliment.

But it never came.

"Thanks, Eds."

Richie's voice was soft. His eyes were softer.

"You too."

His hand dropped from his arm as he turned back around to open the fridge, snatching up two beers.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked suddenly, a furrow between his eyebrows as he shut the fridge door and held out a bottle for him to take.

Eddie blinked, fighting a blush as their fingers brushed.

“Uh…yeah? You’re great. I’m sure you’ll find someone who—”

“No,” he shifted his weight from foot to foot, gaze pinned somewhere near his clavicle. “I mean about you putting yourself out there. Dating.”

A beat passed.

"I mean, maybe? Yes? No?"

"Lot of mixed messages there, Eduardo."

Heat spread across his cheeks as their gazes finally locked.

"I just…the person has to be…right. You know?"

That same something danced in Richie’s eyes.

“Yeah. I know."

Nerves prickled like static in Eddie’s whole body as he ran his free hand through his hair.

“So, what, you’re going for a short, brunet nerd next time?"

Another beat.

Two.

Thr—

“If he’ll have me.”

Eddie watched as Richie swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. He wanted to sink his teeth into it.

“It sounds like you have someone in mind.”

Richie cleared his throat, giving a half-shrug.

“Maybe. Do you? Some gym bro named Ronan who—”

“No. God. Not my type.”

Eddie suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he took a sip of his beer.

“And what’s your type?”

And promptly almost spat it out.

You’re braver than you think.

“Tall, brunet nerds.”

“Huh.”

“Hm.”

They were openly staring at one another now, barely a foot apart, hands clutching their beer bottles in the middle of their dimly-lit, near-silent kitchen.

Richie took a shaky breath, his face doing something complicated.

“Eddie—”

“I heard you and your mom talking last night,” he cut across him, blood igniting with a potent mix of nerves and exhilaration. “She…thought we were dating?”

What the actual fuck are you doing, Kaspbrak?!

Richie froze, eyebrows arched in surprise, his teeth mid-chew on his bottom lip.

“Uh—”

“But you set her straight. Told her we weren't dating, that we'd never date. That we’re best friends. Roommates. Business partners. That’s it.”

"Eds—"

“‘Cause you got over your crush on me in middle school,” Eddie waved a hand, his brain firing on all cylinders as his mouth fled from it like a robber from cops, “which is fine. I get it. Never understood what the appeal of me was in the first place, anyway. Bobby Wilkins was a dumbass, but at least he—”

“Was an asshole,” Richie finished, sounding indignant. “He was a grade A douchebag with bad hair and worse personality.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said!” he flapped a hand, his mouth running a mile a minute. “But, c’mon, man. What was I supposed to say? ‘Well, actually Eds, my massive crush on you lasted right up until we said goodbye on the kissing bridge that day I tried to show you where I—’”

His voice died in his throat, his eyes bugging.

Eddie gaped up at him, the words ringing in his ears and mixing with the ones that Maggie had said the night before, that had kept him awake.

Something worth having is worth the risk.

He took a deep breath. That same stupid hope blooming within him, bigger and brighter than ever.

Maybe this was worth the risk.

“Where you…what, Rich?”

~*~

Well, you’ve fucked it up now, Trashmouth. Deflect, deflect!

“Nothing!” he squawked, attempting to turn on his heel and book it back into the living room but was halted when Eddie’s hand clasped around his wrist tightly and held him in place.

He tried to ignore the arousal that sparked in his gut at that. He failed.

“You brought me up there the day I was moving,” Eddie continued, hesitantly, his fingers flexing against his skin. “I remember you were jumpy, even more trash-mouthy than usual, but I just chalked that up to the fact that I was leaving.”

Richie’s eyes fell shut. That had been one of the worst memories he had recovered since Derry 2: Electric Boogaloo. That day could have happily stayed gone, in his opinion.

It was the first time he experienced true heartbreak.

But wouldn’t be his last.

“We stopped on the kissing bridge. Right at the post.”

He winced, letting his eyes open a crack, feeling Eddie’s burning a hole in the side of his face.

“You stood there, talkin’ a mile in a minute about some dumb shit like fuckin’ my mom and—” he swallowed, his grip on his wrist tightening, “and I hugged you. Tighter than I ever hugged anyone in my whole life.”

He nodded.

"And you hugged me back. You…" Eddie tilted his head at him, his dark eyes even more bush baby-esque than usual. "You hugged me like you didn't want to let me go."

"I didn't. I never do, Eds."

The words were out of his mouth before his brain had even finished thinking them. He could only watch, frozen, terrified and helpless, as something that looked like understanding passed over his best friend’s face.

You’ve ruined everything you stupid—

"Maggie told me something too."

Richie felt his eyes almost pop out of their sockets as sheer terror flooded his system.

"Dammit, Mags, listen Ed—"

“She told me to tell you that I…like you.”

His heart lurched into his throat.

"...Like me?"

He sounded every bit his scared, pining, thirteen-year-old self in that moment. And Eddie looked about three seconds away from throwing up.

“I-I had a crush on you back in the day too.”

Holy fucking shit.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Somewhere, sometime, a loud, gangly teenager with insecurities out the wazoo was throwing the biggest party known to man.

Wait…

“But you said…like. As in. Present tense,” he mumbled slowly, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh my god, are we in the eighth grade?!”

“I mean, may—”

He was cut off by Eddie tugging on his wrist and pulling him down into a kiss.

“Mmph!”

Holyshitholyshitohmygodwhatthefuckholymotherfuckingfuck—

Eddie Kaspbrak’s lips were soft. Better than any dream. Just like he always knew they’d be.

But before he could fully appreciate them, just as quickly, they were gone.

“Shit, sorry! Sorry! I don’t know what—just—can we forget that I just did that and ruined our entire fucking friendship with my dumb fucking—”

“Eds! Breathe, man,” Richie held out his hands, snatching Eddie’s beer out of his tight grip and putting both bottles on the counter, struggling to catch his own haggard breath.

“Jesus, I’m such a—look, I’m sorry I read it wrong, Rich, okay?” Eddie continued to ramble, his voice raising in pitch and volume by the second. “Can we just forget—”

“You didn’t.”

He blinked those giant eyes in confusion.

“What?”

“You didn’t…read it wrong.”

“I…” Eddie swallowed, gasping, his chest heaving.

Richie’s eyes caught on the line of his throat.

“I didn’t?” he rasped, running a hand through his hair. “So you—you—”

Now or never, Trashmouth. Like dad said, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

“My dad told me to tell you that I like you. Past and present tense.”

Eddie's jaw practically hit the floor.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ And my mom thinks we’re dating 'cause…we…we’re…” he waved a hand, shrugging, hoping that he knew what he was trying to communicate despite his brain leaking out of his ears.

“Kind of are?” Eddie finished perfectly, sounding awed, a noticeable, adorable blush spreading from his neck all the way up to his hairline. “I mean, without the dates and s-sex and stuff.”

“And stuff,” Richie croaked, his heart beating so fast and hard in his chest, he felt like Roger Rabbit around Jessica.

“Would you…do you…” Eddie groaned, running a hand down his face in frustration, struggling to get his words out.

Richie closed the gap between them, his hands clasping his shoulders and knees bending to try to catch his eye.

You can be brave too, Tozier.

“Eddie. It’s just me. It’s okay.”

Their eyes finally locked. Something flashed across his best friend’s gaze that ignited a spark in him, both exhilarating and terrifying but so, so, hopeful.

“Do you want all that stuff with me, Rich?”

His voice was still quiet, but not timid anymore. A strength lined his syllables that made Richie feel brave too. Brave enough to admit his oldest, but never dirty secret, finally, after all these years.

“Eddie. I want everything with you. I always have.”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

With that, Eddie dragged him down by the collar into another startling kiss, before making his way down his jaw and scraping his teeth against the thin skin of his throat.

Richie’s stomach clenched with arousal, as he allowed his hands to trail down the body that had been starring in every steamy dream he had for the last two years (or over thirty depending on what way you looked at it), to land on those toned, wiry, infuriatingly sexy thighs.

“Rich, what—whoa!”

Richie cupped his thighs and lifted in one smooth move that he would definitely pat himself on the back for later (if he hadn’t just thrown it out), nipping at his bottom lip as he gently placed him on the kitchen counter and pressed himself as close to him as he could get.

“Oh, holy shit,” Eddie gasped, lips separating from Richie’s neck with a heady smack as he spread his legs wider to accommodate him, only to immediately tighten them around him in a way that had his stomach swooping.

“Jesus, Eds,” he groaned, his cock twitching in his jeans as their hands flew everywhere, raking all over each other, too frantic to stay in one place.

“Y-Yeah,” he gasped back, hands framing his face and dislodging his glasses as he traced his bottom lip with his tongue, deepening the kiss.

“God you’re so hot, what the fuck?” Richie groaned into his jaw as he smattered it with kisses, sounding pained. “It should be illegal. When you were in that tight white T-shirt all covered in oil? You were gonna give me a boner with my parents in the next room.”

“Like you’re one to talk Mr. ‘Let Me Try On My New Suit With Sexy Suspenders In The Middle of The Living Room,’” Eddie hissed back, nipping on his earlobe and making him yelp, and quickly shiver.

“Oh my god,” he laughed breathlessly. “Is that why you ran out of the room like it was on fire? Because of my sexy suspenders? Seriously?”

Eddie leaned back and arched an eyebrow at him, his cheeks alarmingly red.

“No,” he grumbled. “It was because of your stupid sexy shoulders in the suspenders, dickwad.”

With that point apparently being made, he latched back onto his neck like a greedy little vampire, muttering into his skin. “We could have been doing this for months now, Rich, fuck.”

A sharp stinging welled up behind Richie’s eyes (to match the one in his neck) as he briefly let himself think about all the time they had already lost, but it was quickly drowned out by Eddie tugging on his hair, pulling him even closer, capturing his lips and licking into his—

“We’re back!”

They sprung apart as if doused with a bucket of ice water, Maggie Tozier’s voice wafting in from the living room.

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

Eyes bugging out of their sockets, Richie scrambled to help Eddie down off the counter and smooth out his clothes, while frantically fixing his glasses and patting his hair from where Eddie’s fingers had been raking through it.

“Oh. Hi.”

Maggie Tozier blinked at them from the doorway of the kitchen, Went visible from just behind her.

“You’re uh…back early,” Richie cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck and tried not to look as dishevelled as he felt. “Everything okay?”

Maggie tilted her head, looking from him to Eddie and back again.

“Yes, everything’s fine, sweetheart. Your father and I were just feeling a bit tired so we thought we’d have an early night because we’re meeting up with the rest of the Losers tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah.”

He forced his feet to move, Eddie hot on his heels as they spilled back into the living room, Eddie taking a seat down on the couch while Richie stayed standing, locked in some weird staring competition with his mother.

He thanked every deity he didn’t believe in that her sudden presence took care of the semi he had been seconds from sporting in his pants.

Don’t blink. Don’t show her any weakness. She smells blood in the—

“Well, we’ll leave you to your dinner. G’night, boys. Margaret?” Went piped up from where he was half way down the hallway, dispelling the tension.

“G-Good night, Went. Maggie,” Eddie replied, sounding hesitant and raising his hand in a half-wave before wincing.

Maggie’s gaze flickered between them before she took a step towards her husband.

“Good night you two. See you both in the morning.”

He let out a relieved breath as she started to walk out of the room. Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder to look at Eddie who raised his eyebrows at him, mouth agape, his lips a plump, shiny red that had his pulse racing when he thought about how—

“Oh and boys?” Maggie called out suddenly, her back still turned. “I’m happy for you.”

Richie's stomach flipped.

“Ma, what—”

“You might wanna cover up that neck before we meet the rest of the Losers tomorrow, Rich,” she whirled around, waving her hand in a flourish, a twinkle in her eye. “They’ll never let you live a hickey down. I know I sure as hell won’t.”

With that she let out a loud chuckle and waltzed down the hallway, out of sight.

Richie, rooted to the spot, gaped into the space she had just left behind.

Seconds ticked by.

“So.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom knows.”

“Yep.”

“Soon your dad will know.”

“Uh huh.”

“...probably won’t be long ‘til the Losers know too.”

“Probably not.”

“Okay.”

“How do you feel about—whoa!”

He stumbled as Eddie tugged him down onto the couch suddenly, so close that their thighs touched, a large grin on his face.

“Hi.”

They stared at one another, Richie knowing well he had a goofy grin the size of Texas on his face as they slowly, gently, closed the gap between them until their lips brushed again.

Eddie gave a little hum, sounding pleased as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, his hands weaving into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Shit, Eds, you really are gonna give me a boner with my parents in the next room,” he groaned, both in pleasure and frustration as Eddie clutched at him.

“Sorry.”

“‘Sorry he says,’” Richie parroted as he leaned back, catching his eye.

Eddie bit his temptingly shiny lip in a very distracting way, looking conflicted.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t be rushing things. You’ve only just stopped dating Jamie and—”

“Heh, so funny story,” Richie interrupted, his face on fire. “We uh…weren’t exactly…dating. Technically.”

Eddie blinked slowly.

“What?”

Richie reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently, staring as their fingers entwined, something warm pooling in his stomach at the sight.

“Well, I know I’ve never really done the whole dating thing before, but,” he shrugged, looking everywhere but at him, “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to like, ask them about themselves and shit, not spend the whole time rambling on about everything you find endearing about your best friend.”

He swept his thumb over his knuckles, taking a deep breath.

The truth will set you free, Trashmouth.

“And I’m extra sure you’re not supposed to confess to said date after being asked outright if you’re in love with your best friend that yes, you are, have been for the last thirty years, sorry man, you want dessert?”

A loud silence rang out.

It felt like hours.

Richie stared at their linked fingers and held his breath.

“...you’re in love with me?”

He exhaled. Squeezed his hand again.

“Yeah. Have been for kinda forever, Eds. Sorry.”

He finally let his eyes trail his entire face, marveling at every line, freckle, detail that he had first mapped out in grade school, it only more handsome with age.

“‘Sorry’ he says,” Eddie rolled his eyes before promptly pulling him back against him and crashing their lips together in a deep kiss.

“I’m in love with you. Have been for kinda forever too,” he gasped, their breaths mingling. “In case it wasn’t obvious.”

Richie buried his smile in his hair, his heart lighter than it had ever been before, something he had held inside since before he could remember, lifting from him in that moment.

Your secret is out. The world didn’t end. It’s just the beginning…

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” he pecked his cheek, pulling him against his chest and sinking back into the couch.

Their couch. In their home. That they had built together.

“Hey, Eds…wanna hear why I actually brought you to the kissing bridge, that day?”

(More Reddie fics)

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my fanfiction #decided to post a full fic here to see how it does #love to hear your thoughts

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