Prompt: The Five Times the Losers Noticed Richie and Eddie’s Feelings and the One Time They Decided to Do Something About It
Suggested by: @lukemybieber
Pairings: Reddie, Implied Menverly, Implied Stenbrough
Trigger Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Swearing, Referenced 1933 Movie, Boys Kissing, Referenced Pasta Hair, This is pretty innocent tbh basically no smut
Aged Up Characters!
All Eddie Kaspbrak had ever wanted was some peace and quiet. Unfortunately for him, he had an eternal headache and his name was Richie Tozier.
The wise-cracking, ‘your mom,’ joke-spewing, ADHD-ridden ball of child neglect, nicotine cigarettes and alcohol. He loved him more than words could describe.
He always, always kept his window unlocked should his parents get so drunk they couldn’t stand straight and ended up passing out on the kitchen table amidst a puddle of hard liquor. His father was a hostile drunk, but he was mostly away fucking some woman named Jeannie in Nova Scotia. Because of that, his mother was usually sleeping off a hangover, only to cure that hangover with either more booze or screaming profanities at the boy himself.
He’d met Richie’s dad once, didn’t look a lot like him other than the eyes and blindingly pale skin. He was internally very grateful for that fact.
What he was not grateful for was his motor-mouthed best friend obliviously telling Eddie every fact about airplanes, probably more than anyone else had ever figured out, and doing a bad imitation of the blades whirring with his mouth. In the process, he’d spit all over Eddie’s math homework, who Richie himself was supposed to be helping him with. And it’d suddenly turned into a dramtic reenactment of the end of the King Kong movies.
“So then the blonde lady is all ‘help me somebody save me!’” He screeched in a pitched voice, throwing an arm over his forehead, “And King Kong is like 'nobody can save you now! Bwahahaha!’”
Eddie narrowed his eyes and stared at the problem. What is x if y is equal to the airplane shooting at– dammit Richie.
Stan would be over to help them study as soon as he got out of the synagogue for prayer with his father, at least then he figured he may get something done.
“But then the girl is like 'bitch you THOUGHT,’ and she like totally annihilates him, but there are airplanes in the background and she doesn’t– are you even listening to me, Eds?” Richie broke off his incessant chatter to scan Eddie’s face, to which the younger boy rolled his eyes.
“Oh yeah, riveting shit, really.” Eddie scoffed sarcastically, reading over the problem for the fourth time. As he was staring at the paper, it was suddenly stolen from him by Richie.
“Math? Math is stupid, math is boring! You know what’s not boring? King Kong.” Richie laid down on his stomach to inspect the worksheet.
“You got number seven wrong. Y should be fifty-nine point three, see you forgot to carry the one.” Richie showed him his own paper and pointed out his mistake. Eddie nodded and reached for his paper, but Richie pulled it away at the last second.
“Ah- ah- ah. No more math until I finish my story.” Eddie reached up, but Richie was both faster and taller. He rolled over and laid on his back, the paper underneath him.
“You jackass! Give it back!” Eddie’s brilliant solution to the problem was to throw his legs over Richie’s stomach and try to reach behind him for the worksheet. Richie’s only goal seemed to be keeping the paper beneath him, shoving Eddie father and farther back until he was straddling his crotch. They were both so caught up in tickling each other and laughing, they didn’t notice the door swing open and Stan’s shocked face holding an Algebra textbook tucked under one arm, his bird naming book under the other, and a box of pizza in both of his hands.
He cleared his throat loudly, and it was at that moment that both boys realized the position they were in. They slinked away from each other, red-faced and embarrassed, but Stanley never said a word. He simply set the pizza box on the bed, opened his math book and never said another word about it.
That was, of course, the last week of freshman year.
And they managed to stay away from another situation like that until the spring of sophomore year in high school.
Right up until mid-July, at a 50’s style diner towards the outskirts of Derry, which they’d basically all adopted as another hangout spot.
“She is a snake! She is a liar, a scumbag, a piece of shit, the lowest of the low-”
“All because she gave you a B- on your writing quiz, because your handwriting is illegible. Seriously! Even I can’t read it sometimes, Trashmouth!” Eddie groaned, sipping his vanilla milkshake while Richie ranted to him about their writing teacher.
“Well if she wanted a legible report on the Vietnam War she should have asked us to use a typewriter! Ah say, ah say, it’s bullshit, good sir!” Richie faked a British accent, which Eddis had to admit was getting at least a little bit better.
“Do you even own a typewriter?” Eddie questioned, though he was only slightly annoyed and wished Mike would just hurry up and get there with Richie’s latest X-men comic that he’d borrowed, because it was basically the most important thing in Richie’s life at the moment.
“Big Bill does! He doesn’t let me use it though, because last time I typed 'Henry Bowers is a shit-spitting sissy boy,’ and was gonna make copies to hang all over school. He didn’t think it was the best idea, but I think it would have been fucking hilarious. Can you picture the look on his face, Eds?” Richie was always coming up with ridiculous and random ideas that were normally completely half-thought out and he had no real intentions to follow through with them.
Eddie scoffed and his eyes flicked to the door yet again. Mike still had five minutes, they knew he wouldn’t be late. Mike Hanlon was never late.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hang out with Richie, he obviously did. But ever since the end of middle school, something seemed to have shifted between them, like the balance of the universe was… off. For starters, he realized he thought about Richie the way Ben talked about Beverly, or Beverly talked about both Mike and Ben. He could tell that ever since she and Bill had decided to stop their childish crush before it became serious, that yes, they still respected each other, but Beverly seemed to be in a constant battle between Mike and Ben. It was a little weird, but not as weird as the way only one person came to his mind when Ben recited his newest poem about love, about how when you think about the person, your heart seems to flutter, how you feel like you could spend forever with them, and it still wouldn’t feel like long enough.
But he realized that boys weren’t supposed to feel that way about other boys, and his mom would go apeshit if he told her.
He smiled and moved over to sit on Richie’s lap, which took him by surprise, but he was not unopposed to. Eddie sat on Richie’s lap all the time at the Barrens, whenever he was afraid of his allergies acting up or he just wanted to be closer to the boy.
He leaned with his back towards the wall, one arm resting across his shoulders, one in his lap. Neither of them talked. It was a comfortable position for both of them and neither wanted to break the comfortable silence radiating throughout the air.
Not many other people hung out in the diner, that was what made it so special. It was like their very own little hideout, a secret kept from the rest of the world, except the regulars, of course.
They heard the little bell on the top of the door ring and he scrambled off Richie’s lap, but not before Mike saw. He pretended like he didn’t, though, so he was looking up when they saw him.
He faked seeing them and put on a bright smile, waving to them and holding the comic to his chest, watching as Richie’s face lit up. Stan had told him about something like that at the end of freshman year, where they were just comfortably… on each other, like it was the most casual thing in the world. At first, Mike had just assumed they were affectionate friends, but during the meal, he could see the two boys flicking anxious glances between one another and he realized there could be more to the story.
And again, they never spoke of it, because talking about it would make it real, and what was there to make?
Eddie was merely sixteen when he needed to get his wisdom teeth removed. It was both an emergency surgery and an important moment in his life, so naturally, he called on his three best friends to make sure he was okay after the surgery.
Bill Denbrough, who had been his best friend since childhood, taught him how to ride a bike and never made fun of him or his illnesses, Stanley Uris, who always knew what to do with the rather frequent anxiety attacks he had, and of course, Richie Tozier, because Richie was the most loveable damned idiot in the world, and there would never be a scenario where he was not there. He wanted to bring the other losers, but the doctor said any more than three people was too much.
The surgery went well, despite his anxiety over it. It only became a problem when he was wheeled into the patient room in a wheelchair, giggling like a madman with cotton in his mouth.
“He’s high!” Richie squealed with genuine joy in his tone.
“Stanley!” Eddie suddenly screamed, eyes fixed on the tall, Jewish boy. He smiled goofily, his eyes unfocused.
“Stan… Stanley, c'mere.” He motioned for him to come closer. Stan looked between Richie and Bill, who shrugged.
He bent down near Eddie’s wheelchair and smiled softly.
“You have pasta on your head!” He reached out to grab Stan’s hair, but a now-frowning Jewish boy bat his hand away.
“Fuck you, Eddie,” Stan grumbled, looking away. He began giggling again.
“Where’s Bill? I love Bill!” Eddie’s eyes peeled curiously around the sterile waiting room.
“I’m ruh- right here,” Bill spoke up, leaning down onto his knees and the side of the wheelchair. Eddie reached a limp hand onto his face.
“I love you, Bill. You’re my best friend! If anybody asks I’ll say… I like my best friend Bill… but-” His eyebrows furrowed in thought, “But I love my best friend Richie.”
“Aw, Eds. I always knew you loved me!” Richie came up from behind Bill and sat on the other side of Eddie’s wheelchair.
He removed his hands from Bill’s face and brought them softly to Richie’s.
“Mm- hmm…” He hummed softly, dreamily. His fingers combed through Richie’s untamed curls, thumbs finding themselves underneath his glasses.
“I like your face… I like your eyes, and your hair… and glasses. But… I also like your jokes. Sometimes they’re funny…” Eddie whispered, his fingers brushing against Richie’s lips. His eyes were transfixed on them, the pink, chapped, peeling mess they were.
“You think my jokes are funny, Eds?” Richie’s voice came out awkwardly pitched, and neither of them noticed Bill watching the exchange intently. He almost felt like he was interrupting a private moment between them.
“Yeah… sometimes. I don’t like the ones about my mom, though. That’s gross.” Richie grinned, then Stan came in the room and they helped Eddie out of his chair and to the car.
He was heavy and he wasn’t walking right, so they had to balance him between them, Bill unlocking the car while Richie and Stan walked on either side of him with his arms pulled around their shoulders.
When they got in the car, Bill was driving, Stan in the passenger’s seat, and Eddie asleep against Richie’s shoulder in the back.
Bill had never seen them act so quiet and… intimate towards each other before. It was strange, but if it made them happy, Bill was unopposed.
During the summer of Junior year, everything became too much for Beverly again. She ran as fast as she could, feet slamming against the pavement, to get to Richie’s house. She just needed to see him.
She swung her leg over the tree branch close to his window and leapt off onto the roof, knocking quickly on the glass with her fist.
The light was on, so she was sure he’d be home, and there was a soft murmering on his side. She saw a shift in light as he drew back the curtains, and the second he saw her bruised eye and busted lip, he pulled her into a hug.
“Oh, Beverly…” He sighed, with pity in his tone. When it was quiet, she could hear a soft sobbing and feel another presence in the room. She turned her head slowly to the side to see Eddie, with red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks running down his face.
“Eh- Eddie?” She choked out, peering through misty eyes at him. She heard Richie heave a rattling sigh.
“Yeah, I have two of you tonight. We can watch a movie if you want, but please clean off your lip first, I can get you some ice from the fridge.” She nodded quickly, because if Eddie wouldn’t ask questions, neither would she.
She went to the bathroom and splashed some water on her face, hoping that she’d feel better. When she went back to the room, Richie had pulled Eddie onto his chest and the shorter boy had nuzzled his head right underneath his chin. He was silently crying about something, mumbling 'It was bullshit, Rich, it was all bullshit. She lied to me, she lied.’
Richie was comforting him with soft assurances whispered into his hair and his hand rubbing soft circles in Eddie’s back. She sat on the bed next to them, a feeling settling in her stomach. They turned on a movie– Ferris Bueller’s Day Off– and Eddie fell asleep against Richie almost instantly. He’d wrapped his arm around her shoulders and then she didn’t feel so alone.
She was woken up when Eddie woke up, not because he was crying so much as just to push himself off of Trashmouth and go back to sleep pretending nothing ever happened.
They were eighteen when Ben finally saw them as well, except it wasn’t as innocent as the other times, in fact quite the opposite.
They’d all been planning to meet at Mike’s house for movie night before they all had to leave for college. It would have been alright, had Mike not left them to their own devices with the TV. Of course they would argue about what show they’d watch and neither would settle.
Ben was just walking into the house, not trying to be scarred by the image of one of his best friend’s heads pressed against the other’s crotch, but his wish would not be granted, as when he turned into the living room, that was basically the position they were in.
They said it’d happened on accident and both of them turned bright red when Ben noticed. He never got a clear explanation of what happened, both boys seemed to completely deny it, making up some excuse about a remote or something like that.
He had absolutely no idea how that was a viable excuse, but he’d learned from his friends it was best not to talk about the tension between them.
Richie tried to play it off with a cheap dick joke and Eddie beeped him and hit him upside the head.
“So Ben… how’s it going with… Beverly?” Eddie attempted to distract. Ben blushed and shook his head, because he didn’t want to think about the time he, Mike, and Beverly had hung out together and he’d not-so-accidentally kissed both of them.
Soon enough, Mike came into the room with Star Wars on VHS and they all settled when Bill entered the house. He always did have a calming prescence.
They’d all sprawled out across each other, Beverly in between Mike and Ben on the couch, Stan leaning his head on Bill’s shoulder, Richie with his head on Eddie’s lap. And Ben couldn’t forget how their faces were red as cherry tomatoes and they both kept flicking anxious glances over to him.
It wasn’t like they cared much, nobody really did, but it was still a compromising position.
It was finally college, the last night the Losers would be spending together, all together at least, until they left Derry and by extension, each other. It wasn’t all bad, Bill, Stan, and Mike managed to get accepted into the same college, which was only fourty miles away from Beverly’s and fifty away from Ben’s. Richie and Eddie had also managed to get into the ssme college, but it was a whole different state away from the other’s.
They’d all decided to get drunk and play seven minutes in heaven in Ben’s closet. All night, Eddie had noticed the Losers were acting sort of strange, all except Richie. He tried to tell himself it was just because they were drunk or upset because of college. He didn’t either of those excuses.
The way they played the game, it was sort of a mix between spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven.
Whoever the bottle landed on was who you had to go into the closet with. Eddie had at first landed on a drunken Bill, who spent their whole seven minutes gushing about Stan’s face.
A few other turns passed, and then it was Richie’s turn. And he landed on Eddie. Eddie held his breath as Richie guided them into the closet and slammed the door shut.
They both just stared at each other for a few soul-crushing minutes. And then Richie spoke up.
“Well come on, Eds. It’s seven minutes in heaven. I thought you’d be all over this.” Richie gestured obscenely. Eddie rolled his eyes.
“Beep beep, Trashmouth.” But it wasn’t said with the usual annoyance, because suddenly Richie was coming towards him, and he intertwined their fingers together, slowly pushing Eddie towards the wall.
Eddie’s heart was racing so fast he was sure Richie could sense it.
“This is fine,” He muttered, because he did that a lot, tried to convince himself that things were alright when he was on the verge of screaming with emotion. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, though, and Richie took it as the go-ahead to press his lips against Eddie’s.
The kiss was soft, his lips were chapped, but warm and gentle. He didn’t try to force his tongue down his throat, the way Eddie’s mother had always told him kisses were.
It was just… innocent. Everything was quiet around them, it was dark, but everything felt like it was glowing around him. Richie bit Eddie’s lips softly, their breaths becoming the only sound in the room. He picked Eddie up by his thighs and Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss, because that was what they wanted.
They just kept kissing, coming up for air every once in a while, but not talking. Not ever talking. It had obviously been way longer than seven minutes and Eddie wasn’t even sure if the Losers were out there anymore. So that had been their plan, try to get them drunk and making out. It’d worked.
They didn’t want to talk about what happened, and when Richie looked, they’d been in the closet for a whole twenty minutes. None of the Losers commented on their messy hair, or the hickey on Eddie’s collarbone.
The Losers knew how to get them together better than they did.