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A lot has happened in the last few months for Eddie. He had left home for Derry in a hurry, arguing with his wife before slipping out the door. And then he had to remember the entirety of his childhood, the good, the bad, and the traumatic, then he had to kill a multidimensional killer clown with his childhood friends.
The first thing he did when the job was done? Go back to the Inn and drink. The others were off re-packing, ready to put this town behind them- but never each other. It’s breaking dawn by the time they return, so drinking in the morning was odd, but not too odd if you knew his circumstances. Richie approached him at the bar that morning however, concerned.
He mockingly struts behind the bar Eddie sits at, pretending to be a bartender. “Can I fix you a fancy cocktail? Emphasis on cock.”
Eddie scoffs, holding back a grin. “No thank you. I’m good here with my whiskey.”
“Celebratory whiskey?”
“Sure,” he sighs unconvincingly.
Richie props his arms up on the bar and leans in, expression softening. “What’s up?” He asks.
Eddie almost hates it when Richie’s nice to him. Maybe not hate, just makes him feel weird, feel vulnerable, a warm twist in his chest he doesn’t understand. It’s easier when he’s his usual self, a loud-mouthed asshole, so that Eddie can be a loud-mouthed asshole right back, and not have to worry about his emotions consuming him. But Richie’s so sweet when he’s nice. Not in the smothering, demeaning way he knew so well. Just sweet. And Eddie’s deprived of it, greedy for it. So at the same time he can never deny Richie his vulnerability, cause he knows how to tend to his wounds just the way he wants. Few can do that for Eddie.
Eddie takes another pitiful sip of his drink. “I have to go back home now.”
“And?”
He twirls the glass in his hand. “I don’t think I want to.”
Richie then pulls back, walking around the bar, and plopping down at the bar stool beside him. “Why’s that?” He asks politely.
Eddie sighs, hunching in on himself and gripping his cup. “I just. I don’t know. Myra’s done so much for me. She was by my side when my mom passed away. But she… it’s just hard, living with her. But she is my wife.”
“Are you happy?” Richie then asks.
Eddie’s a bit startled by the question, and thinks about it for a good moment. “No.”
“Then why go somewhere where you aren’t happy?” Richie says. He has a point.
Eddie sips his drink once more. He’s had more than enough to drink, so forgive him if he got a bit rambling once given the chance.
“I’m gonna be forty in like, two fucking months. And I almost died like a hundred times in the last forty-eight hours. And those two things are kinda making me realize that my life is like- fucking miserable, and maybe I don’t want to be in a miserable marriage, miserably abusing Xanax and miserably sitting in a cubicle from nine to five, five days a week. I don’t even like New York. It’s so filthy. Everybody’s rude. It’s just where her family lives, and I didn’t have anybody else, yknow?”’
“Forty’s not elderly, dude,” Richie chuckles. “If you want your life to be different, make it different. You still have lots of time.”
“To do what though?” Eddie huffs.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Richie looks at him patiently.
The harder Eddie thinks the more he frowns, more intense he furrows his brow. He face plants into the bar surface. “I don’t know.”
There’s a long pause of silence, and Eddie’s worried to look up and see whatever his face shows. Then finally, he speaks.
“You could come stay at my place.”
Eddie lifts his head, looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Richie’s eyes are wide as well, though he looks more nervous than anything.
“What?” Eddie squeaks.
“Until you figure things out,” Richie explains with a shrug. “Where you want to live, where you want to work, what you wanna do. I mean, you don’t wanna go back to New York, and I assume you don’t have somewhere else, so you’re in a bit of an existential-crisis-limbo.”
“No- I can’t ask that of you,” Eddie stresses. “That isn’t fair to you. You just remembered me like, a day ago.“
“Yeah, and you also saved my life,” Richie says. “I think I owe you that much to give you a place to stay while you figure your shit out.”
Eddie recalls their recent events, mind flashing back to it. Richie was caught in the deadlights when Eddie stepped in and speared IT right for the throat. IT wasn’t killed from this, but it did a decent amount of damage, struggling and croaking and flailing, giving enough time for Eddie to wake Richie up and drag him out of harm’s way.
Eddie still frowns, looking at Richie with vulnerable, sad eyes. He chews on the inside of his cheek. “I would never take advantage of you.”
“For my wealth and A-List celebrity status?” Richie boasts. “No. Of course not!”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “You’re C-List, at best.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Eddie manages to chuckle. There’s another beat of silence before he realizes Richie’s anticipating some kind of answer. “I- okay. But I’m not staying there for free. I’ll help pay monthly expenses.”
“Eddie, no offense, but I live in L.A. And I have a way bigger net worth than you. Asking you to help with my bills is criminal.”
“I don’t care- I’m not staying for free. Got it?”
Richie raises his hands in defense. “Alright, whatever you say!”
Eddie sighs again, trying to settle with this big chance by downing the rest of his drink. It’s worth a shot, right? If you really wanna change your life, gotta start somewhere, right?
“You can be my housemaid” Richie assures. “Gotta put those clean freak tendencies to good use. I can get you a little maid dress, if preferred. I think you’re women’s size small-“
“Richie have you ever tried not talking?”
But Richie laughs in response, and it’s a genuine one, like what was said was so funny.
-
So Eddie moved in with Richie to L.A.
Unfortunately it wasn’t much better than New York, but it had it‘s qualities. He preferred the weather. He preferred the grocery stores, and the public parks, and the market nearby. He hated the beach, so there was no point in that, especially with how crowded. He hated how whenever he went outside anywhere with Richie, there was always at least some kind of celebrity-scenario encounter, whether that be a fan or an obnoxious photographer.
But Richie’s apartment was really nice. Nicer than Eddie’s expectations. A stainless steel kitchen with an island, wide open windows with remote curtains, a high-tech fireplace against the wall. The interior design was on and off, with high-class minimalistic couches but then 70s-2000s horror film posters on the wall. Best of all of this apartment was it was clean. Though Richie’s room was a different story. The apartment complex also had an amazing gym on the tenth floor. Eddie’s been visiting there weekly.
He’s been living there for about two months now. He was in the process of his divorce with Myra, who understandably, didn’t take it well, and was currently in a battle of custody of his belongings, by marriage law and by the things left behind in his house. He was lucky enough to have overpacked when he left, settling his suitcases in Richie’s guest bedroom, which eventually became his bedroom.
Now he’s celebrating his fortieth birthday while still living with him. It’s been good, living with Richie. He was worried he’d maybe drive him crazy, or Richie would drive him crazy, or both.
This is still true. They do drive each other crazy. Richie slurps when he drinks and after the fifth time Eddie can’t take it anymore; Eddie’s an early bird and Richie likes sleeping in, that is until Eddie starts up the vacuum or the blender with the excuse “it’s the middle of the day already.”
But they make a good team. They respect one another. And after all these years apart they’re still best friends. Some nights they’re laughing so hard from another it becomes hysterical, their ribs aching and their eyes wet. Eddie can’t remember the last time he did that.
Eddie hadn’t celebrated his birthday in years, always too focused on his mortality to ever enjoy them. He’d turn thirty-five and Myra would start going on tangents about how he needs to have more protein in his diet, cut out the dairy, now that he’s getting older. He’d turn thirty-seven and remark on all the aged lines he saw in the mirror, the tiredness under his eyes, and wonder why he spent the entirety of his youth not going out to parties or bars. So turning forty wasn’t something he thought worth celebrating.
Richie thought differently. He made him birthday pancakes, pancakes with rainbow sprinkles inside of them, with whip cream to top it, homemade by: Richie. As ridiculous as it looked, it was good, and Eddie couldn’t help but gush at the cute gesture.
“What are your plans today, geezer?” Richie asks.
Eddie laughs. “Um, gotta head to the grocery store at some point.”
“To pick up a cake!” Richie declares.
“No, because we’re out of cubed pineapples, and I want cubed pineapples.“
Richie flails his arms up in the air. “What an exciting day for the birthday boy!” He says, dramatic and sarcastic.
“Hey! I’m having a nice day today, as a matter of fact!” Eddie defends with a smile.
“I’ll come with you on your errand,” Richie offers. “Hey- I’ll drive! The birthday boy can be my passenger princess.”
“I’ll let you come, but know that it’s not because any of the words you just said to me,” Eddie responds.
Richie drives them to the grocery store close by. He keeps checking his phone as they’re going down the aisles, seeming distracted by something, making Eddie feel a little bit left out. Then as they’re heading out of the grocery store purchasing more than they had planned, they’re caught by camera flashes of a paparazzi. This bothers Eddie further. Richie flips them off.
“Richie!” Eddie shouts in a whisper.
“What? They’re legalized stalkers, I can be a little rude,” he grins. “Do you think I should moon them? Nah, a photo like that would make them thousands.”
Eddie starts giggling, and his mood brightens up again. They laugh and chat the whole car ride home.
Richie tries to be the better man in carrying the groceries himself, but Eddie pretends to be offended by it and carries them through the lobby himself.
Richie unlocks the door and bows. “After you, Spaghetti Man.”
Eddie chortles. “You and that stupid fuckin’ name-“
The lights turn on by themselves. His friends all pop out from hidden spots at once.
“SURPRISE!” The Losers scream.
Eddie jumps, completely startled, then is in shock. “Huh?”
Bill and Stan have their arms wrapped around each other, obnoxiously blowing on their party blowers. Everyone’s wearing cheap party hats on the top of their heads.
“Happy birthday Eddie!” Bev stretches out her arms with a big smile, coming in to hug him. Eddie puts the groceries down and hugs her back, still trying to gather himself.
“Holy shit you guys,” Eddie says baffled. “What are you all doing here?”
“For your birthday, of course!” Mike smiles cheerfully.
“I-“ he’s stunned. “You guys planned this?”
“Yeah well we had the leader of it all,” Stan points to behind Eddie.
Eddie turns around to look up at Richie, who had this stupid, excited grin on his face. Yet Eddie felt like he was going to cry. Maybe it was the kindness of it all, maybe it was how everybody was able to make it, maybe it was that he got to spend his fortieth birthday with all his best friends, after all these years apart. But he was feeling really emotional, felt himself choking up as he tried to maintain his eye contact and posture.
Richie can see that his emotions are overtaking, and his face turns to worry. “Is this okay? Was this too much?”
“No,” Eddie says, hating that his tone sounds on the verge of emotions too. “No, it’s not to much. At all. This is- this is really nice. I just- wow.”
Richie can see the gratitude in his stuttered words, and smiles even bigger. “Happy birthday Eds.”
Eddie wants to hug him. He wants to wrap his arms around his neck and swoop him down. Have Richie laugh gently in response, arms wrapping tight in return. He has no doubt that Richie gives great hugs, and even with his scruffy appearance he smells good, always does, some kind of men’s body wash with some nature-like scent. He doesn’t know why he gets thoughts like this. But he ignores this. Just tries to smile normally, not burst into tears, and turns back to greet all his friends.
He blew out his candles on a triple chocolate cake and they all took their piece.
Four of them settle for a game of Scrabble while Beverly, Richie and Bill step out to the balcony to smoke cigarettes and catch up. They keep the door closed to prevent smell, but Richie’s laughter is so loud he can still hear it through the muffled glass.
“Whizbang isn’t a word,” Stan rolls his eyes at Eddie’s choice on the scrabble board.
“Yeah it is!” Eddie raises his voice.
“That sounds like something Richie told you is a word,” Ben giggles. They all laugh.
“It is a word. It means success,” Eddie explains. “It’s a word and I placed it on triple-points so stop arguing with me on my birthday and give me my points.”
Stan grumbles playfully, but jots it down on the notepad. Eddie cackles and pops a freeze-dry gummy worm in his mouth, the bag of it sitting on his lap. Ben tries to reach over for one.
“Uh uh,” Eddie shakes his head while still chewing. “You gotta ask Richie if you can have one.”
“Why’s that?” Ben frowns.
“Cause they’re Richie’s,” Eddie explains. “And he gets all weird with sharing his favorite snacks.”
“So why are you eating them then?” Mike asks with a growing grin.
“Because I know that I can,” Eddie pops another in his mouth. “I don’t know if you can.”
“Richie’s weird with his snacks but Eddie can gobble them up whenever he so pleases,” Stan taunts as he keeps his eyes to the board, trying to figure out his word. “Hey guys, you think I can spell ‘Favorite’ with my letters?”
Eddie whips his head to Stan. “What?”
Ben plays along, leaning in to look at Stan’s letters. “Hmm. Well you don’t have a ‘T’. How about ‘favored’?”
Eddie frowns.
“You could always just write ‘Eddie’,” Mike grins too. “It’s a synonym.”
“Yeah but that’s a name,” Stan says faux-serious.
“What about ‘favoritism’?” Ben teases with a smile.
“Ha ha ha,” Eddie mocks. “You’re all very funny. Richie just lets me use his things because I’ve been living with him. He knows I know what I can and can’t have. Unlike you menaces.”
“And what can’t you have, exactly?” Stan teases. The others chuckle.
Eddie deadpans. “Richie doesn’t have a favorite.”
“Okay- who got you a 120$ memory foam pillow after you told him you have back pain?” Ben asks.
“He got one for himself too,” Eddie retorts.
“Who forgets to open the group chat for days at a time, but the second you send a message he instantly responds?” Mike says.
“I- that’s not true. He doesn’t just answer to me,” Eddie huffs.
“Who was stressing for weeks in a separate group chat making sure that your birthday surprise went flawlessly?” Ben says, speaking more to the other guys than Eddie, to which the other guys giggled in recall.
“He would’ve done that for any of you guys!” Eddie strains. “You guys are acting like he doesn’t care about you and that’s not true-“
“Woah woah woah, that’s not what we’re saying,” Stan assures with a fonder smile this time. “Richie’s my best friend. He’s the best friend of every single one of us. And he’s been there for all of us in more ways than my gratitude could describe in the human language. I don’t feel lesser in any way, promise.”
Ben and Mike make noises of agreements.
“But, you gotta admit,” he playfully taps Eddie’s foot with his own. “You’re his favorite.”
Eddie feels his cheeks grow a bit warm. He feels increasingly embarrassed. If this were to be true, what’s so bad about that? His friends had no hurt towards it, so he’s not sure why he’s still feeling so defensive.
“I’m not his favorite,” Eddie frowns.
“You’re totally Richie’s favorite,” Stan smiles.
Eddie makes a baffled noise, turning to Ben and Mike for help.
Ben just nods.
“I have to agree with Stanley,” Mike chuckles. “You’re definitely his favorite.”
Eddie’s brows furrow and he sighs frustratingly. “Oh you guys suck so much.” He mumbles under his breath.
Ben, Stan, and Mike all laugh at that.
The glass door opens, and Richie, Bev and Bill all stumble inside giggling.
“Hey Rich,” Stan calls out. Eddie wants to hide in between his shoulders, nervous of what’s going to be said.
Richie turns with a smile. “Yeah Stannie?”
“Can we eat your freeze-dried gummy worms?” He asks, trying not to smile.
“No,” Richie says instantly.
“Why not!” Ben turns with a whine.
“Cause they’re mine!” Richie whines back in the exact same tone. The others laugh in the background.
“Eddie’s eating them!” Ben points to Eddie, who suddenly feels like an ashamed culprit.
“Eddie’s the birthday boy,” Richie answers. He walks right up behind the couch. Eddie can easily smell the faint cigarette on him. With a single large hand he places it at the top of Eddie’s hair and ruffles it roughly. “He can have whatever he wants. Isn’t that right Eds?”
Eddie can feel his face burning up. He nods silently, unable to even complain about his hair being messed up, worried his voice might give something away. He side eyes Stan, who side eyes him back with a blatant smirk.
Shit.
“Wh-who’s winning?” Bill then asks as he comes to take a seat.
“Kaspbrak over here with words like ‘whizbang’,” Mike says.
“That sounds like something Richie taught him,” Bev remarks.
“That’s what I said!” Ben rejoices. Bev sits right up beside him with a grin, kissing him on the cheek and slipping an arm around his waist. He leans into her with a dopey, adoring smile.
“My impact is astonishing,” Richie faux-prides himself as he slumps in the seat across from Eddie.
Eddie’s staring at him for too long, has been watching him walk from behind the couch to his own very seat, and watches as he settles into the cushion, adjusting the fabric of the jeans between his thighs and beaming his crooked teeth as Stan says something that makes him smile. Richie finally catches his eye. It only last a second before Eddie looks down, back at the scrabble board in front of him.
Shit.
-
It had been a few weeks since his birthday passed. He had managed to get a remote job the first month of being in L.A, and was still presently working through his divorce. He was almost on his third month now of living with Richie. But Richie didn’t seem to mind one bit. His welcome never lessened, and Richie still got excited to spend time with him, whether it be watching a movie with him or running an errand with him. If he liked being around Richie, and Richie liked being around him, then no need to do anything, right?
He hasn’t stopped thinking about his friends’ teasing. How he’s Richie’s favorite.
He’s never really imagined himself as anyone’s favorite, never seemed to be a possibility, even with his closest loved ones. He’s not exactly favorite material, in his opinion. He’s hyper, and high strung, and short-tempered. He’s short and fussy and always frowning over something. He can’t go a day without having to use his stress-relief-breathing-exercises at least once. He still keeps a Fanny pack full of medicines around, just in case. It’s hard to imagine someone looking at him and going “wow, that’s definitely my favorite person”. But the comments have changed his entire perspective on things.
They have movie nights together, and Richie always either asks Eddie what he wants to watch, or if he’s truly in the mood for something he begs him for it.
(“What do you want to watch tonight?”
“Okay, I know you don’t like gore, but I really really want to show you this movie-“)
He keeps buying Eddie groceries he notices he likes. All it takes is a glance of whatever Eddie’s eating, and suddenly there’s five more in the fridge.
(“I managed to get the bacon on sale,” Richie says as they’re putting away the groceries he picked up by himself. “They didn’t have any of the blueberry yoplait when I looked though, sorry.”
Eddie raises a brow. “They weren’t on the list.”
“I know but it’s the only yoghurt you’ll eat,” Richie reminds him. “I guess you’re not the only one who likes it cause I couldn’t find it this time.”
He was right. It was the only yoghurt he eats. And not just blueberry yoghurt- specifically the blueberry yoghurt form the brand yoplait. And Richie supposedly paid enough attention to Eddie’s yoghurt habits to know that.)
He thinks about the idea of favoritism when Richie starts refusing to keep anything on the highest shelf of the cabinets so Eddie can reach. He thinks about it when Richie responds to the group chat messages with just a photo of the back of Eddie’s head at the couch, and he can hear Richie giggling about it behind him. He thinks about it when he hears Richie on the phone laughing at Stan for being so stressed out about something, but when Eddie gets stressed out over little things, he shows support.
(“Fuck. You’re supposed to take maximum four of these pain killers in 24 hours,” Eddie strains. “I took six today. Because I thought the limit was six. I thought it was- is this bad? It’s not bad right?”
Richie puts a gentle hand to Eddie’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm,” Richie assures. “I take like, eight a day and I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t take that many. Your liver-“
“Eddie,” he puts his free hand to the smaller man’s other shoulder. “Look at me. I’m fine. You’re fine. Our livers are fine. Okay?”
Eddie sighs, but feels better. Richie’s good at making him feel better.)
He knows he’s become fixated on it all. But he doesn’t know why. It’s not like it weirds him out, or makes him uncomfortable. It does the complete opposite. And maybe that’s why he’s fixated on it. He likes the attention. He likes Richie’s attention. He likes to be cared about, likes to be wanted, likes to be comforted without being pitied. He especially likes that Richie does all that.
But he’d never admit that. Not even to himself. Not even it’s the truth. Because if he starts to really think about it, how much Richie seems to like him, and how much he really likes Richie, it would probably lead him to trouble. Trouble that he doesn’t need right now, not when he’s trying to get through this divorce and get on his feet. He stays fixated on the idea of being his favorite, but keeps it at that. Won’t let his mind take it further.
Richie’s out today, at a small interview his agent signed him on to help improve his publicity. Eddie spends hours on the phone with Beverly, keeping her on speaker phone as he cleaned the apartment, then eventually laid his back on the couch with his phone lying on his chest while they talked. For each word she spoke the phone vibrated against him.
“Can I ask you something?” He tries.
“Anything you want,” he can hear her smile in her tone. “What’s up?”
“Do you have a favorite of the seven of us?”
Bev pauses for a good second. “Well, I think we all might have our favorites. Someone in the group we’re closest too. But all friend groups do, y’know? It doesn’t make the strength of our bond any different, we love each other deeply, and we’re still Losers and we always will be.”
“I think that’s a really nice way of putting it,” Eddie smiles. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“Ben.”
Eddie laughs. “Shouldn’t be surprised.”
“But you know how much I love you. And the rest of the boys.”
“Ditto.”
“You’re supposed to say ‘I love you too, Bev. You’re the most beautiful member of our group’,” Bev taunts.
“Bev, you are- absolutely stunning and gorgeous, and I love you madly,” Eddie boasts.
“Much better,” she giggles. “Who’s your favorite?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” she chuckles. “You’re the one who brought this all up.”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
“You’re such a liar!” She shouts playfully.
“I haven’t thought about it!” Eddie shouts back. “I brought it up because Stan and Mike and your fuckin’ boyfriend said I’m ’obviously’ Richie’s favorite.”
“Well, yeah,” she says in a sure tone.
“That’s all you can say?” Eddie squeaks.
“Yeah because it’s so obvious that you’re his favorite!” She says gleefully.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eddie huffs.
“Who does he text the most even though you live with him?”
Eddie’s thrown off. He hesitates his answer. “Whatever,” he says.
Bev cackles. “You’ve always been Richie’s favorite. When we were kids, and you’d crawl on top of him in that unstable hammock just to take a peak at his comic book, he’d adjust his hold on it so that you could see it better. But then if Bill asked to see his comic he’d tell him ‘you can have it when I’m done with it.’”
Eddie can’t help but laugh at the memory.
“Is Richie your favorite?” She then asks. “I’d presume so.”
“You’d presume so?” Eddie asks, tone feeling more defensive than intended.
“You two are joined at the hip. Finish each other’s sentences.”
“Uh huh,” Eddie says with sass. “Yeah well, I don’t know who my favorite is. I haven’t thought about it. I’m just learning now that this is a thing between all of us,” he explains. But he’s lying. He knows he’s lying. Not even just to Beverly, but himself.
“Who’s the first person you’d call when something big happens?” She asks.
“Richie,” he says too quick.
“Who’s the first person you look for in a room?” She asks.
He chews on his fingernails. “Richie.”
“There you have it,” she says. “Richie’s your favorite. You’re Richie’s favorite.”
Eddie hears what she’s saying, but it’s hard to let it sink in. Believing that he is truly Richie’s favorite person, out of anybody, still feels delusional, despite the cold hard evidence. Is he really the first person Richie would call for something big? The first person he’d look for in a room? But the real question Eddie wants to be answered is much heavier. How could Richie feel as strongly for him, as he did for Richie?
“Subject change. Tell me how your new fashion line is going,” Eddie then says, because he’s genuinely interested, and because he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s too much to think about.
—
Richie’s had something on his mind for the past week. Something he won’t talk about, and keeps lying in saying that he’s alright. It’s common for him to be closed off, has difficulty being vulnerable without shoving fifteen jokes in between it. But he couldn’t even tell Eddie what was wrong. And that stung, a bit more than Eddie expected. They always come to each other. So whatever this may be, why not now? Had Richie changed his mind on just how close they really were? That thought kept twisting Eddie into a spiral. Like he was a fool for everything he thought about them.
But that was the selfish part of him that was hurting. The rest of him, that cares for Richie so deeply, was worried. Whatever was bothering Richie was enough to make him visibly off, which is hard for Richie, who’s been a professional at masking his hurt since he knew how to read. When it’s enough to make him struggle with keeping up his chipper persona, then Eddie was concerned. He wanted to know what was wrong, so he could help him. He wanted to help him, so badly. But if Richie felt safer not speaking of it, then Eddie had to leave that be.
After about a week of it, Eddie’s washing the dishes one afternoon. He can hear Richie’s footsteps enter the kitchen, and then stop. He can sense that he’s behind him, but nothing’s said, so he keeps washing the dishes.
“Can I talk to you about something?” Richie says, voice small.
At first Eddie wonders if it’s a them thing, but when he turns around, Richie looks self conscious and anxious. His posture appears uncomfortable and he’s visibly picking at the skin at his cuticles, a habit he only gets to when he’s really nervous.
“Yeah, of course, Rich,” Eddie keeps his voice soft and comforting. “What is it?”
He leans on one foot to the other, trying to think of how to say it. He looks like he’s about to open his mouth at any second, but stops himself.
“Hey,” Eddie starts walking up to him. He wants to touch, but isn’t sure if that’s okay. “Whatever it is, I won’t be upset. Okay? I’m here. I’m listening.”
He wants to say “I’ve been noticing you’ve seemed off lately”, but he leaves that out.
Richie looks at him once more, then looks somewhere else, then looks down to his hands.
“Do you um,” he sighs. “Do you remember what Bowers and his friends used to say about me? How I was uh. Y’know. A fairy. A… a fag.” His voice breaks at the last word.
“Yeah,” Eddie’s unsure of where this is headed, but is listening and sympathetic. “Yeah, I do. I remember.”
Richie squirms on his feet again, starts picking at his cuticles rougher.
“My fear,” he starts. “With Pennywise. When I was a kid, and, and when I came back to Derry again. He would… taunt me for being gay, and that everyone was going to find out.”
Eddie’s eyes saddened at this information. His heart broke at just the thought of it, that instead of a kid being haunted by ghosts, or vampires, or some kind of general childhood fear, Richie was that young and being told that there was something wrong with him, and that he should be afraid of it.
“And I am,” Richie then says.
Eddie tries looking at him in the eyes, trying to take in this information. Richie still is looking down at himself.
“I am gay,” Richie strains. “I know I am. And I’m- I was always really scared when I was a kid, that you’d all find out, or realize it, because who was I kidding that I was hiding it? And I would lose you guys. And now you’re all back in my life, and I really want to keep you all in my life, but I- I can’t hide it anymore. I’m so tired of hiding it. But I- I’ve been trying to hype myself up to- to come out to you guys for a while now. But especially this week. But every time I try to I think about disgusting you all, and then I panic and I chicken out.”
“Richie…” Eddie says, voice overwhelmed with care. He finally gives in to touching him, tenderly holding onto both his wrists, stopping him from further picking at his skin. “I’m not disgusted. At all. And I know none of the Losers will feel that way either.”
Richie’s face starts to bunch up, and he looks that he’s about to cry, and he sounds like it too when he speaks. “I understand if you aren’t comfortable living with me. Like, I understand if-“
“No,” Eddie interjects. “No, it doesn’t change anything. You’re still my best friend. Always. I don’t feel any different and I don’t feel uncomfortable.”
He wants to tell Richie how happy he is here, living with him. How happy Richie makes him. How much he needs him. But maybe now wasn’t the time.
Richie starts to cry, and instantly ducks his head down.
“Richie, come here,” Eddie says, and before Richie can object he pulls him into a hug. He holds him tight as Richie buries himself in Eddie’s shoulder, sobs in the crook of his neck. Eddie holds him, using a hand to rub his back.
“It must’ve been really hard, keeping a secret like that and believing that you’d lose everything,” Eddie whispers.
He should know, he thinks. He knows just as well what that’s like. To keep a secret, and fear that if you spill it you’d lose what you care about. He knows what that’s like.
“I’m really proud of you for telling me,” Eddie says. “And I know the others are going to feel the same way. We love you, and that’s all that matters. We aren’t going anywhere.”
There’s a lot Eddie wants to say in this moment. He feels emotional, feels a strong suffocating urge as he’s holding Richie in his arms. He wants to tell him so much all at once.
I’m not going anywhere.
I know how you feel. I felt a lot of similar feelings as a kid that I’m still trying to wrap my head around to this day.
I love you.
I think I’m gay too, but I’m not sure, but I think I am, and maybe it helps to know that you aren’t completely alone in this.
Maybe it helps to know that we’re best friends and we’re both going through the same thing.
He isn’t going to say any of that. Especially the last things. His sexuality was his own issue, his own crisis. And this wasn’t his moment. Despite so much going on in his head, this wasn’t his time. This was Richie’s moment. And he’s going to be there for his best friend.
Whatever’s ongoingly going on in his head just has to wait.
He’s glad he didn’t say something else. Because as he’s sitting beside Richie on the couch, supporting his anxiety as he comes out to the group chat, he feels nothing but pride and happiness for the man beside him. The Losers all text back their love for him and he beams at it, though shedding more tears while doing so.
“See?” Eddie smiles and gently rubs his arm. “We’re here for you.”
It’s good to know that this is the group’s reaction, because he doesn’t feel far off from coming out himself. Not anytime soon, and he has no idea how, or if he even should. But it’s good to know his friends will be there. He hopes Richie will be there.
-
A lot of things have been itching away at Eddie. By itch it was like having a wide range mosquito bites that you so badly need to scratch at despite it giving you no ease.
He’s still having a mid life crisis. He’s having a sexuality crisis. And he might just be having a crisis with his feelings for Richie.
The third one, he decides, is the worst. He can figure out a mid life crisis. He can figure out his sexuality, eventually, it’s not the 80s anymore and once he overcame his own internal fears and guilt he knows he’d be okay. His feelings for Richie? An impossible challenge. A nightmare.
Because the only step next of that is rejection. He’s going to get rejected. And he really, really doesn’t want to be rejected. Not just because rejection sucks, but because he won’t be able to live with him anymore. It would be too awkward, or Richie wouldn’t feel comfortable anymore if he knew Eddie had feelings for him.
And it wasn’t like he could just turn these feelings off either. It wasn’t a switch. He couldn’t just switch off how he feels when Richie towers over him during quiet conversations in the kitchen, or the smile he gets when he’s excited, or his shaggy hair and his stupidly funny graphic tees and his four-hundred impressions that Eddie got to hear weekly against his will. God, he loves him. He loves him so much. He shines every room he steps into, gives Eddie his full attention without being asked to, how he always chats with cashiers and employees and thanks them on his way out, how when he’s interacting with a child or a baby he tries so hard to make them laugh.
It’s driving him crazy. Richie is driving him crazy. And he lives with him, it’s not like he can avoid him- not that he wants to anyway. He’s going crazy.
Today’s one of those off days, one where you wake up with an unreadable pit in your stomach, your preferred breakfast doesn’t taste as good as it usually does, you’re unusually clumsy to the point where it starts to get annoying. One of those off days. And it intensifies those itches he just can’t scratch, how he should be looking for an apartment for himself by now but hasn’t, because he wants to stay, even though he’s terrified any day now Richie will ask him when he’s moving out already.
“Stay until you figure things out”, is what Richie said. Not stay as long as you want. Yet he’s done nothing to try and leave, if anything he gets more comfortable by the week, the fridge filled with his preferences, his bedroom filled with personal knick knacks and a painting on the wall he found in the market and adored instantly. He feels foolish for getting so adjusted.
And of course, today of all days he has to go into office. More than anything he’d like to work solely remote today, to wrap himself in a blanket and secure himself on his favorite spot on the couch, while Richie sits on the other cushion playing video games in the background. He’d really like that today. But going in-office was a bi-weekly matter, something he couldn’t just skip.
He feels out of place while he’s there, in his own head for the most of it. He likes his coworkers, but when the day’s done, he’s relieved. He starts driving back to the apartment and the closer he gets the giddier he feels, a warm feeling grows in his chest as he thinks about spending his evening with his roommate.
His phone rings, and it’s connected to his vehicle, so his music stops and the ringtone blares through the speakers. It’s his ex-wife, Myra, who’s calling. The pit in his stomach reappears. He ignores the call, keeping his eyes on the road and letting it go to voicemail. He really doesn’t want to talk to her right now. She calls again. He keeps driving. She calls a third time, and he sighs in frustration, and answers the phone.
“I’m driving, Myra,” Eddie grits.
“I’m at the dentist office and they won’t accept my insurance,” she says, tone already irate and tempered. Her voice booms through the speakers.
“That’s because it’s my insurance,” he explains. “It was my insurance that covered dentistry, and because we’re divorced-“
“We aren’t divorced,” she snips. “We’re in the process of it.”
“A process that’s almost complete, Myra,” he states. “There isn’t much left until this is finalized. There’s lot of things we’ve already gone over, including insurance.”
“I wasn’t made aware of this,” she declares.
“Yes, you were,” Eddie keeps his tone professional despite getting more aggravated by the minute. “We have been ongoingly discussing these terms with our lawyers through Zoom meetings.”
“Well I wasn’t made aware that everything in my life would be changing so quickly,” she huffs.
“It’s been months,” Eddie says, tone giving away annoyance. “And I know for a fact you’ve been getting clarifications of our terms through email, by mail, throughout our video calls- because I made sure of it, made sure you were aware of what was happening, so that I wouldn’t have to have encounters like this where you’re calling me and acting like this is all brand new to you-“
“So what am I supposed to do here?” Myra fumes. “I already had my appointment.”
“I don’t know, Myra- how is that my problem?” Eddie asks with attitude. “You don’t get to come in here and act like you’ve been completely blindsided when we both know that isn’t true-“
“Well maybe I’ve been too heartbroken to keep up with it all,” she sneers. “You don’t even care though, do you? You’re doing just fine. Our marriage is all just business and emails for you, Eddie-“
“Yeah, Myra. I’m just fine-“ Eddie starts sarcastically.
“I can’t believe I was married to someone so cruel,” Myra snivels. “You know what my sister says about you, Eddie? She says you’re selfish, and you’re abusive-“
“Myra, what the fuck do you want me to do here?” Eddie scoffs. “What- I’m supposed to pay for your dentist appointment because you’ve been ignoring the acknowledgements that you aren’t under my insurance anymore?”
“What I want is a husband who cares about me just as much as I care about him,” she seethes
“I’m not your husband anymore,” Eddie declares.
She starts raising her voice. “After everything I did for you. After everything I put up with. All your- pathetic panic attacks and your drug abuse tendencies-“
“You make it sound like I was doing cocaine. I abused anxiety medication. And part of that is because you fucking stressed me out so often-“
“You don’t think you stressed me out?” She laughs bitterly. “You made me miserable.”
“Yeah, well you made me miserable too,” Eddie retorts. His hearts beating out of his chest. “That’s why we’re divorced. And that’s why you’re not under my insurance any longer. Now if there isn’t anything you actually need from me, this argument is pointless and I’m going to go-“
“I hope you’re happy, Eddie,” she spits. “I hope you’re happy knowing you destroyed our marriage, you quit your job, and left behind everything- all in a hope to feel better about yourself. You and I both know that no matter what you do with your life, you’re always going to be a woeful, anxious wreck-“
“Alright. Hope you figure out your finance issue Myra. Goodbye,” he says calm, hanging up before she can keep going.
He grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. His chest feels tight, and his eyes begin to well up with frustrated tears. He’s only a few minutes away from the apartment now. He could keep driving around until he’s calmed down. But he doesn’t want to. The day sucks, and he just wants to crawl in bed.
He numbly presses the elevator button for his floor, trying to hold it together. He’s been on edge all day, and now he’s one elevator ride away from getting comfortable. He can hold it together.
He can’t hold it together. He’s starts to crack before even reaching his floor. He’s crying quietly as he walks down the hall to enter his apartment. He’s a mess.
He’s noticeably sniffling as he enters the apartment, facing the door to lock it and to hide his tear-streaked face.
“Are you okay?” Richie’s tender voice is suddenly behind him.
Eddie panics. Afraid to be vulnerable right now, he slips off his shoes and strides past Richie to his bedroom, refusing to look at him. “Yes. I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight.” He says quick.
Richie doesn’t say anything as Eddie walks away, and Eddie’s unbeknownst to his expression because he wouldn’t look at him. He carefully shuts his bedroom door behind him. The moment he sits at the edge of his bed, he starts crying harder, keeping a shaky hand over his mouth to silence himself.
It feels like everything sucks. His ex-wife treats him like shit, he’s never going to have Richie the way he wishes, he’s getting old, old and still unable to come to complete terms with his identity, and he’s supposed to be staying at Richie’s temporarily and now he’s over-welcoming his stay.
The entirety of the day is starting to come forth like brain-vomit, and maybe Myra’s right about him, maybe he’s just going to be miserable and anxious his whole life- already has been for the last forty years. And Eddie’s in love with someone who’s bright, and magnetic, and fun. Complete opposite of himself. He might be Richie’s favorite of the friend group, but it’s never going to be anything more than that. He’s not desirable.
He’s only been in his room for a good ten minute, ten minutes that felt like forever, when a soft knock is heard at his door.
“Yeah?” Eddie says weakly, hastily wiping at his face.
Richie opens the door doubtfully, then comes inside. He’s holding a glass of water, and a plate of apple slices and multigrain crackers. Two of Eddie’s go-to snacks.
“Hi,” Richie says. “I understand if you want to be alone right now- it’s okay to want space. I just wanted to leave you this.”
He puts it down on the bedside table, Eddie’s eyes following him.
“Thank you,” Eddie says weakly.
Richie gives him a smile and turns to leave.
Desperate and emotional, Eddie speaks up. “You’re not upset that I’m still here, are you?”
Richie turns back to face him, seeming confused. “You mean living here?”
Eddie nods, trying not to hug himself.
“No, no Eddie, of course not,” he assures. “Is that what this is about?”
“No,” Eddie sighs. Richie doesn’t look like he believes it.
“I’m just having a really bad day,” Eddie exasperates. “I just got off the phone with Myra, who makes no hesitation to tell me what she thinks of me-“
“You don’t owe her any communication, Eds-“
“I know that,” Eddie strains. “I do. I hung up when it got too intense. She called to accuse me of stripping her of her fucking dentist insurance without her knowledge. Which isn’t true, it was discussed in our meetings, she has it in email, and in mail, but wants to call me enraged that it all wasn’t just some bluff.”
“What else did she say to you?” Richie asks warily. He knows how Myra gets, trying to make personal jabs at Eddie in any disagreement. He saw a lot of it when overhearing Eddie’s Zoom Meetings, her backhanded remarks and passive aggressive comments on his intelligence, his character, even sometimes his appearance. She once made a petty comment on the scar on Eddie’s cheek, and afterward Eddie spent the next three days embarrassed going out in public, worried people would look at him poorly.
Eddie frowns deeply. “Best not to repeat.”
It’s quiet for a moment. Eddie’s eyes are kept to the wall ahead of him, trying to think straight. Footsteps creak, and Richie dips the bed to sit beside him.
“I’m in no rush to get rid of you,” he says quietly. “You’re always welcome here. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”
Eddie sniffs. “I don’t want to make you change your mind.”
“You won’t,” Richie assures with a smile.
“Okay,” Eddie sniffles once more, wiping at his eyes. “But if I’m getting to be too much, or bothering you somehow, you have to tell me-“
“You don’t.” Richie assures. “Look dude. You… you’re literally my favorite person. Don’t tell Stan. But, uh, yeah. You don’t have to worry about any of that, alright? I said you could stay here to figure things out, and I meant it. There’s no deadline for that.”
Eddie’s heart is beating out of his chest. He’s forgotten how to breathe. He stares at Richie with wide, teary eyes. In an emotional impulse. He launches himself into Richie’s side, wrapping his arms around him tight. Richie makes a slight surprised noise. But he doesn’t pull away, instead wraps his arms around Eddie right back. Richie curls in on him, holding him tighter, pressing his chin against the top of his hair. They hold one another like that for well over five minutes, and neither say a thing.
“Hey,” Richie speaks up softly. “You wanna have a movie night in my room tonight? It’s Friday. TGIF, Eds.”
Eddie chuckles. “I’d like that.”
“Ol’ Trashmouth will cheer you up tonight. That is my duty,” he humors. “I’ll entertain you- tell you all of my greatest jokes.”
“That’s if you have any,” Eddie teases.
“Ouch! Kick a guy while he’s down, why don’t you?” Richie acts faux-offended. Eddie smiles against him.
He gets changed into his pajamas and waits on Richie’s bed while Richie microwaves them a big bowl of popcorn. He tries not to think about how he’s in Richie’s bedroom. He wants to be able to spend time with him without thinking about that for once. And he’s able to, once they get into movie. They shout their obnoxious commentary and raunchy jokes throughout watching, Eddie’s bullying the characters for stupid choices and Richie’s mocking them with impressions.
Eddie lays on his back while watching, head leaned up against propped up pillows. Richie sits up properly beside him, hunched in a terrible back posture. Eddie’s not only being cheered up, but he’s comfortable, and he’s content. He wishes he could tell Richie that, show him how grateful he is that he has him, but he has no idea how to without saying too much, so he doesn’t. It’s been a long day for him, and the emotional distress has physically drained him. He drifts into a slumber before the movie’s even finished.
He wakes up again around 4 in the morning, finding himself still lying in Richie’s bed. He turns his head and finds his best friend fast asleep behind him. He’s curled up in a ball, probably in the curtesy of giving Eddie his space.
Eddie feels overwhelmed just by looking at him. He wants to curl up beside him, wrap his arms around his broad frame and hold him there, press tender kisses to his forehead. Play with his hair, rub his back, even if he’s already asleep. He sighs and rolls over instead.
He wishes it could be like that.
He wishes he could live in a world where he and Richie share a bed in the first place.
He’s spent these last few months trying to discover himself, but there’s anything he’s learned about himself since then, it’s that he wants Richie. He wants his life, to be Richie. Of course that’s not all he wants his life to be, he wants a job he enjoys and to give time for his hobbies and learn to be comfortable with himself. But he wants all of that with Richie by his side. He wants to come home from work to him. He wants to tell him about the hobbies he’s passionate about, come to him about his accomplishments. He wants to learn to be okay with being the way that he is while being loved unconditionally by his supportive roommate.
And he’s finally coming to terms with this.
-
Eddie had an impulsive plan. Though maybe impulsive was necessary in order to get change. He tries to control every outlook, plan ahead every move, but that’s not the way life works- it’s wild, and unpredictable, and if you try too hard to control the narrative it’s going to instead control you.
Richie had finally admitted that he’s his favorite two days ago. In the past forty-eight hours, Eddie’s barely slept, spending the day with Richie but spending the night staring at his ceiling, filled with dead and anxiety and wondering what the hell he’s going to do. On the second night he thinks something he’s been avoiding for months now- confronting the issue.
He has to confront the issue. Richie’s brave, was able to confront his fears of Eddie being disgusted by him for being gay, was able to conquer the wonder if he’ll lose him completely and come forth with the truth. Eddie should do the same. Richie thinks he’s brave. He should prove it.
He plays it out in his mind a thousand times before drifting the sleep, and the second he wakes up again in the morning, it’s all he wants to do. Not even caring that he’s still in his pajamas, he strides into the living room to find Richie playing video games on the couch.
“Eds! Good morning,” Richie greets him with a smile.
“Good morning,” Eddie says, then gets to the point. “I need to talk to you.”
Richie looks away from his screen and over to Eddie, eyebrows raising in both surprise and concern. “Okay, sure. What’s up buddy?” He pauses his game, puts the controller to the side, and lays his hands in his lap. He’s already nervously wringing his hands. Eddie can’t blame him, his approach was a bit instant.
“You said I’m your favorite. What makes me your favorite?” Eddie asks, trying to come off as demanding but instead it comes out strained.
Richie’s eyes widen and his cheeks turn pink. He stutters for a second. “Uh. You’re my best friend?”
“Aren’t the others your best friends?”
Richie thinks about it for a second, then swallows. “Um. Yeah.”
“Well what makes me different?” Eddie crosses his arms.
Richie looks completely speechless. “I- I uh-“ he fumbles to find an answer, then starts nervously laughing. “Dude, what is this about?”
“I just, need to know,” Eddie sighs, trying to dance around the truth until the very last second. If Richie could just, say something obvious, give him a sign of anything, then he can blurt out his feelings and all will be well. No humiliation needed.
“Why do you need to know?” Richie argues.
“Why won’t you just answer?” Eddie argues back.
“Because I’m nervous!” Richie’s voice cracks and he lets out another tense chuckle.
“Why?” Eddie’s eyebrows furrow.
“I- I don’t know,” Richie shrugs. “I don’t know- maybe because you’re like, looming over me right now and talking to me like I’m in trouble.”
Eddie uncrosses his arms, his expression and tone softening. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just… I’m nervous too. That’s all.”
Richie looks at him with an unreadable expression. He looks away, biting his lip. There’s silence for a good moment, despite Eddie’s heart thudding in his chest. He watches Richie fidget with his hands continuously and wonders if his heart is beating just as fast.
“Who’s your favorite?” Richie then mumbles quietly.
“You, of course,” Eddie answers without hesitation.
But Richie looks surprised. “Really? Not even Big Bill?”
“Yes. Even more than Bill,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Look- I’ll tell you why you’re my favorite if you tell me why I’m your favorite.”
“Is this some kind of game you’re playing?” Richie asks, still bewildered.
“Oh my god- you’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” Eddie groans. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”
“Say what?!” Richie says hysterically.
Eddie makes a frustrated noise, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s just going to have to rip off the bandaid and handle the consequences. If the rejection’s really that bad, he’ll just panic-pack up all his things and go somewhere else. Bill’s about a thirty-five minute drive from here. He’ll stay with Bill. Audra won’t mind.
“Eddie, just say it, dude, because you’re being ominous and I’m getting a lot of mixed signals right now-“
“You’re not just my favorite of the friend group,” Eddie blurts. “And you’re not just my favorite person. You’re- you’re more than that. For me.”
Richie’s instantly shut up. He’s too stunned to speak. Eddie keeps talking. He just has to say it. Say it and deal with the consequences.
“I never meant to feel this way. I’ve been denying it and repressing it long before I forcibly-forgot you. But living with you is fucking impossible. It’s impossible. And I thought maybe if you liked me as much as you do, the way you treat me, the company you bring me, being your favorite, I thought- but that’s just what friends do for each other, I know better than that. But I’ve been thinking things. Fantasizing. Even though I know I shouldn’t.”
Richie’s expression builds into an intense awe, eyes filled with stars. However Eddie’s been holding this all in for so long that he just keeps rambling, forgetting how to breathe, not realizing that Richie’s taking all of this in with an astonished look on his face. He gets up from his seat, starts walking towards Eddie, but Eddie can’t shut up.
“I imagine that we live together because we are together, and that this is my life, that this will be the rest of my life- here, living with you, being with you. And I’m not perfect and I’m not great- but I make you really happy anyway, and you want me anyway, and I- I can’t live here anymore if I can’t have that, but I don’t want to lose you either, I don’t know what the fuck to do-“
Eddie’s silenced in an instant, by Richie closing the space and grabbing his face and kissing him. Like a subconscious reaction, he pushes into it, standing on the tips of his toes. They kiss for a moment that feels like forever, and finally Eddie tries to pull away, leaning back down on the flats of his feet. But Richie won’t depart his lips, continuing to kiss him, not letting go of his face. He spends another moment presses kisses against Eddie’s mouth before finally pulling back too.
Eddie looks up at him with dumbfounded brown eyes, face still Richie’s hands. “So I’m your favorite because…?”
“Because I’m in love with you,” Richie admits. “There. Happy?”
“Super-super happy,” Eddie starts to smile big and wide. He hesitantly wraps his arms around Richie’s waist and pulls him in closer. “Like. Extremely happy.”
“I too, am super happy,” Richie smiles back. “And if I’m being honest I’m doing everything in my power not to bawl my eyes out with tears of absolute joy. Eddie Kaspbrak wanting me has been a daily dream for thirty fucking years.”
“I’m in love with you,” Eddie blurts. “And I want to spend what’s left of my life with you, if that’s okay.”
Richie wasn’t joking when he said he was about to cry. With Eddie’s next words he was getting choked up, and for a second Eddie believed he was finally going to break down.
Richie takes a shaky breath. “Can we get married?”
“Uhh, can we wait five years?” Eddie asks politely. “Let me reel back from previous marriage trauma. But yes, I would love to eventually marry you.”
Richie finally crumbles, and tries to hide his crying face by hugging Eddie and burying his face in his neck. Eddie laughs softly and takes him in.
Hours later, Eddie comes out as gay to their group chat by sending a selfie of he and Richie huddled up tightly close- cheek to cheek- and smiling so big their eyes squint. He captions it as “hey guys! me and richie have started dating :)”
Stan responds first, texting “fucking FINALLY.”
Richie thumbs up his message, making Eddie playfully kick him with his foot.