Chapter Text
The lights are off in the house, as they always are after midnight, and a couple of hours ago Eddie finally drifted off into something vaguely resembling sleep after hours spent locked up in his room. That is why he doesn’t hear the click of his window, and a couple of moments later the frame quietly rises, letting a shadow that has climbed up the tree growing near the house into Eddie’s bedroom.
Silently climbing through the window, it freezes for a long moment, and when Eddie doesn’t stir, doesn’t show any signs of consciousness, it quietly closes the latches with practiced ease.
Having buried his face in the pillow with the covers up to his chin, Eddie lies on his side, and he must feel hot under the comforter because before he didn’t close the window at night precisely because of how stuffy it got in his room without the fresh night air. There’s something wrong even in his face, free from emotions, immersed in sleep; either the unusual paleness that makes the freckles scattered across Eddie’s nose and cheeks stand out even brighter or the noticeable bags under his slightly puffy eyes.
Stretching his shoulders, Richie exhales, throwing one last look at Eddie’s sleeping form before looking out into the hall, even if he knows perfectly well that Sonia has already passed out in her chair downstairs a couple of hours ago, not even suspecting that for the past few weeks she’s been drinking something other than the medicine she’s been prescripted to help with her blood pressure.
Eddie's sleep is still undisturbed when Richie returns to the room, and he’s about to slide the chair towards the bed, as usual, but his attention is caught by a rustle coming from behind him.
Squirming and frowning in his sleep, Eddie rolls over onto his back, and the movement makes the blanket slide off him. Hidden by the shadow from the curtains, Richie bites back the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips and is about to return his attention to the chair as his gaze catches on Eddie’s now bare thigh.
Eddie always sleeps in the same set of pajamas, a soft, light blue shirt and shorts, and Richie could watch him for hours while he tossed and turned in his sleep. Sometimes the satin fabric rode up a little higher, exposing more of the olive skin, so delicate and soft to the touch that Richie occasionally allowed himself, careful not to disturb the sweet dreams that sometimes made a soft smile tint Eddie's lips.
Just like now, he slowly steps on the fluffy carpet and stops by the bed, looking down at the slight crease between Eddie’s brows for a long moment before returning his gaze to the bare, smooth skin of his thigh, illuminated by the moonlight. And at first, Richie is sure that his eyes are deceiving him, but when he carefully hikes the blanket up with his fingers and exposes even more of Eddie’s body, making him unconsciously toss and turn again, slightly spreading his thighs, Richie freezes, his whole body locking up.
His gaze is glued to the dark purple marks on the inside of Eddie’s thighs, and Richie’s hand shakes as he clings tighter to the blanket and rips it even lower, no longer caring about waking Eddie up, because there are fucking teeth marks where they shouldn’t fucking be.
His vision darkens, and Richie can’t tear his eyes away, touching the marked up skin as if in a daze and carefully lifting the fabric of Eddie’s shorts even higher, and Eddie mutters something in his sleep and spreads his legs even wider, turning his head to the side, like he’s trying to escape from something.
Fingerprints are scattered across his thighs, so the hands that’d left them must have grabbed him from behind. It’s plainly obvious how the one that’s burned his touch into Eddie’s body did it, and Richie’s mind is going a hundred miles per hour, trying to piece it together, and a moment later his attention is caught by a quiet whimper.
“S-Stop,” Eddie begs quietly, shaking his head, and buries his cheek in the pillow, not even knowing he isn’t alone. “I don’t- Please, enough.”
A tear runs down over the already dried-up ones on his cheek, and Richie catches it with the pad of his thumb, and the rumble coming from his chest quietens for a moment when Eddie unconsciously leans into his palm.
The sudden sob that falls from Eddie’s bitten lips awakens something dangerous in him, and Richie tears his hand away at once when Eddie digs his fingers into the sheets and abruptly closes his legs. Perhaps it’s just a nightmare that he knows Eddie has sometimes, but the bruises on his skin...
Clenching his shaking hands into fists, Richie exhales slowly and closes his eyes as Eddie's broken pleas echo through his head, and his knuckles turn white as his nails dig into his palms, but the pain is secondary, lost in the deafening roar somewhere in his chest.
On the bed, Eddie finally pushes the covers off completely and rolls onto his side, and fuck, one of the darkest bruises flashes right in front of his eyes like it’s fucking mocking him.
Fingertips ghost over Eddie's forehead, removing soft brown locks out of his face, and gently caress his cheek wet with tears for the last time before melting away as if they were just a figment of imagination, like a ray of desperately needed sunshine tearing through the suffocating nightmare.
A quiet, barely perceptible click of the window followed by a chill gust of night breeze, and the last long look, reading and determined, with only an echo of nothingness that has settled there years ago, before the latches on the window finally close from the inside.
Eddie flies up on the bed, taking a sharp, convulsing breath, and grabs onto the blanket in a desperate attempt to hold onto something to make sure that it was all just a dream, another nightmare, only with a new lead character. And he can swear that this time he felt hands on his body much more clearly than the previous nights, when Eddie woke up in the early hours of the morning, gasping and clutching at his chest to get his lungs to do their fucking job.
Frowning and burying his face in the pillow, Eddie comes to his senses for a couple of long moments, convincing his still buzzing, anxious mind that it was just a nightmare and he’s alone and safe, that no one can get to him, and when Eddie opens his eyes still wet with tears, he sleepily looks around his room.
Nobody is here, I'm completely safe, Eddie tells himself, shaking the repulsing ghost of the hands that came back for more off his skin. We're not done yet.
Shaking his head, Eddie buries his wet face in his quivering palms and sniffs shakily before crawling back under the blanket he seems to have pushed off in his sleep.
It's been three days since Eddie last showed up at school. Just the thought of going back there, walking past the library, seeing James face to face made a horrible shudder crawl under his skin. Even more tears stung his eyes every time these memories and thoughts involuntarily seeped into Eddie’s mind, and he tried so hard to lock them away, completely wipe out of his head, pretending that nothing had happened, only the bruises on his body said otherwise, slowly turning from red to dark purple and yellowish, spreading over his skin like blots of carelessly spilled ink.
Nausea clogged up Eddie’s throat even from one look at them, and he didn’t get out from under his blanket when Sonia came to his room, convinced that her son was simply not feeling well, and stuffed him with medicine, which Eddie immediately spat out as soon as the door closed behind her because he had no idea how to explain to her where the bruises on his hips and thighs came from.
And he feels dirty, stained by them, and every time Eddie closes his eyes, he remembers what it felt like to have someone else's hands cling onto his body, pressing him into the table like a ragdoll, while all Eddie could do was swallow his tears and beg for it to stop.
His window has remained locked all this time, paranoia forcing him to flinch at every movement and noise from the street, feeling unsafe and vulnerable even in his own room.
There’s a hollow gap left right in Eddie’s chest after all the tears that have soaked his pillow, and he had never really thought about sex, maybe only vaguely, had never imagined being so intimate with another person, never even kissed, and that is why even thinking about what James could have done to him makes him so sick that Eddie has to gasp for breath, his head spinning from nausea.
He never would’ve thought that something like this could happen to him; something that haunted only the distraught, sobbing women from newspapers and the TV that had no other choice but to shamefully learn how to move on from what had forever broken their lives. And deep down, Eddie realizes that he should’ve seen it coming, should’ve done something, anything to avoid being alone with a guy like James, and if the fucking body listened to him, then Eddie could’ve escaped much earlier, could’ve fought back.
The realization of his powerlessness has only made it worse, and Eddie hasn’t been able to calm down even after the last tears dried up, leaving behind only a deafening emptiness that was immediately filled with vile voices whispering that it was all his fault. That James was right when he said that someone had to put Eddie in his place.
His skin crawls at the mere thought of going to the police and filing a report, doing at least something to make James pay for what he did. But then Eddie will have to tell not only the police about what happened, but also his mother, and he’s definitely not ready for this. He just wants to leave it behind, because no one will believe him anyway. The blame is almost always put on the victim, and James's uncle works at the police station, so it will be easier for everyone if he just stifles those memories and shoves them as deep down as possible until he finally feels okay again.
Eddie has hardly eaten for the past three days, time dragging on like a grey, hollow haze. Sonia called the school on Tuesday morning to say that her son wasn’t feeling well and therefore wouldn’t attend classes for an indefinite period of time, and before it would have upset and even disappointed Eddie, but this time the only thing being locked away at home has brought was relief.
And Eddie doesn’t feel like himself; as if something was taken from him, a piece of his soul that he treasured so dearly, and now he feels broken without it, shuddering at the mere thought of looking at his own body. Eddie could barely get any sleep for the past two days, waking up in the middle of the night with a soundless cry stuck in his throat, and only managed to fall asleep tonight because of sole exhaustion with quiet tears in his eyes.
Sleepiness finally starts to sneak back into his head, filling his drained, broken-down body with the ghost of calm that Eddie so desperately needs right now, and he glances at the window that is still locked since yesterday one last time before he falls asleep again.
***
It takes a week for Eddie to vaguely get himself together and find it in himself to leave the safety of his room and return to school.
He almost has a panic attack just before leaving the house, and the only thing that actually helps stop it is knowing that Sonia will lock him up until the end of his days if she sees him in such a state. That’s why Eddie barely makes it in time for class, and he almost forgets about any anxiety besides being worried about getting scolded and further spoiling his relationship with the headmistress.
The first period passes with his mind free of anything other than physics, and only after the bell rings and everyone starts to leave the classroom does the dread come back. Eddie tenses, silently pleading himself to calm down, trying to convince himself that everything is fine and there are too many people around for him to be in any danger. Still, realizing that doesn’t help with the shaking in his hands and how his anxious eyes cling to every face in alert, but even after two more periods neither James nor his company appear anywhere nearby.
No one turns to look at Eddie in the hallways, too busy whispering about something he hardly cares about, and the dreadful weight of anxiety slowly slips off his shoulders, because a week spent locked up has almost convinced him that the whole school knows about what happened. That James decided to laugh at him and humiliate Eddie in the eyes of everyone he knows, describing in detail how he was choking on his own tears and didn’t even try to fight back.
His skin grows icy cold at this thought, and Eddie shakes his head and finishes his lunch despite not having much appetite at the moment, because it’s the first time in a week that he can actually eat something normal, not counting steamed vegetables and other healthy food that his mother stuffed into for him all week.
Rising from his seat, Eddie presses his textbooks closer to his chest and heads to the exit of the cafeteria to quickly change clothes for PE when his gaze falls on the table looming with green and white bombers. James isn’t there, Eddie notices with a sigh of relief, but he still feels on edge, because he’s convinced that one of them will say something about what happened, their version embellished with vile details. However, the guys sitting there aren’t loudly discussing something, as always, but whispering among themselves, and when one of them notices Eddie, he immediately looks away with no trace of that trademark jerk smirk on his face.
The thought that something is clearly wrong is scratching from within Eddie’s chest because this has never happened before; Eddie has never gotten away with catching the attention of one of them. But now there are curious eyes on him, frozen in place in between tables, and that’s what makes Eddie finally move and practically run through the door.
Confusion, closely intertwined with worry, only grows as there’s no sign of James anywhere, and Eddie tries to forget about it and not pay attention, because it’s only for the better, but curiosity still gets the best of him. He almost never talks with any of his classmates, only exchanging a few words and restrained greetings here and there, so Eddie can’t just come up and ask, so he can only listen to students talking in the halls, trying to cling to at least something that remotely resembles the name he so longs to know about right now.
He shouldn't be so worried about James, who’s unworthy of his attention, but the answer comes on its own in the packed locker room.
“When will you go to him?” One of the football players asks, and Eddie doesn't even pay attention until he hears all the other guys around him hush.
“Keep it down, dude,” the second guy hisses, looking over his shoulder.
“Why? The whole school knows already,” the first one waves off, although much quieter, which is why Eddie has to move a bit closer along the bench. “So what, Ty? What did Mrs. McClain say?”
Sighing, Tyler laces up his sneakers and rubs his face before speaking in a muffled voice.
“No one is allowed to see him except his family. At least until he wakes up,” he replies wearily, before finally opening his eyes and glancing around the locker room, and Eddie instantly turns away, afraid of being caught. “Cut it out, now is not the time for this.”
Rising from the bench, Tyler silently walks out of the locker room onto the field, leaving his teammates mumbling among each other behind.
“How long will it take him to recover?” One of them asks, pulling on a t-shirt and stretching his arms. “If he doesn’t bounce back by December, he will definitely miss the season and lose the scholarship.”
“Why the fuck would I know how much time it takes to recover from broken ribs and internal bleeding? Do I fucking look like a doctor to you?” The other guy huffs, rolling his eyes.
The question remains unanswered, because a moment later the coach whistles from the outside, hinting to them to hurry up. Everyone quickly finishes changing and heads to the field to warm up, and only Eddie remains in the empty locker room, unable to move. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he can't breathe, trying to put two and two together, because it just can't be true: maybe, it’s just a coincidence or a misunderstanding, but James seems to be in the hospital with internal bleeding and broken ribs?
Perhaps he had an accident or was injured while Eddie wasn’t at school. Absolutely anything could have happened, only a quiet voice in his head whispers that it’s tied with what happened in the library, that James is in a fucking coma right now because of what he did, or rather almost did to him, and despite the absurdity of it, Eddie can't think of anything else.
Only no one knows about the library, since not a single person at school, including Tyler, has mentioned what happened in any way and Eddie hasn’t been made fun of for how easy he turned out to be. How, then, can James' condition be related to him?
“Kaspbrak, I understand that you are exempt from physical activity, but this doesn't mean that you can sit in the locker room the whole class,” the coach calls out to him from the door of the locker room. “Get on the field.”
Apologizing, he hurriedly rises to his feet and follows the coach outside, preparing to spend the next thirty minutes on the benches.
The last lesson passes in a daze, and even though thinking about James brings nothing but uneasiness, he can’t get rid of these thoughts It can’t be that this has anything to do with him, Eddie comes to the conclusion a few minutes before the bell rings. He hurries to change as soon as possible to leave and get home quickly, even though before he would’ve delayed coming back for as long as possible, deliberately choosing the longest way home.
There’s a crowd near the school as always; people talking with each other, deciding on how to get home or what plans to make, and some are still here just to spend a bit more time in the company of their friends before going home. Eddie notices Bill and Stan standing near the farthest bench but doesn’t go up to them, only glancing around briefly, but just as he turns to finally go home, sudden noise catches his attention.
Regaining his balance, Tyler grabs the backpack that has almost slipped off his arm and turns to Richie, whom he clearly pushed with his shoulder, or, perhaps, the other way around. But Tyler doesn’t snarl, as he would’ve done at any other person who got in his way or even simply looked at him the wrong way, but hides his gaze in the ground.
“Watch where you’re going, '' Richie says coldly, seemingly not caring about all the attention on them right now, and Tyler nods, doesn't say a single word like he would’ve done before under any circumstances, and silently, almost shamefully passes Richie with a few other just as quiet guys following him.
And Richie, despite his usual detachment, is more or less friendly with most of the school, including the football team, and even hung out with them outside of school a couple of times, if the rumors about Tyler's private parties are true. That’s why Eddie can hardly believe his eyes when he notices how carelessly Richie turned to Tyler, who, judging by his expression, was seconds from apologizing , like he had swallowed his tongue the second Richie’s eyes dimmed with disdain fell on him.
Students’ murmur creeps up again as they take in the same scene as Eddie, except he’s frozen in place because when Richie straightens his jacket, Eddie’s gaze falls on his hand. His mouth instantly goes dry, and he can't take his eyes off Richie’s knuckles bruised with crimson cuts. They don’t look fresh, but that doesn’t make them seem less painful, and Eddie can do nothing but stand there, just staring at Richie's hands, but Richie doesn’t pay him any mind, as if he can’t feel Eddie’s burning, calculating eyes on him.
Someone tells him not to block the passage, and Eddie nods, muttering something in response, and shakes his head, and only then notices how tight his skin feels, burning from within with guesses running through his mind, and he shoves them as deep down as possible and finally tears his eyes away from Richie, telling himself to calm down.
Only it doesn’t work, and his whole facade of indifference crumples as soon as Eddie steps into his room and crawls under the covers with his head, avoiding looking at the bruises that are still traceable on his almost healed skin.
The whole week goes by in a daze, because Eddie can’t concentrate on anything, zoning out in class and not paying any attention to what the teachers say, and with every passing day a frantic thought takes over his mind, despite Eddie’s logic and common sense trying to tell him how delusional it is.
According to rumors, James wakes up twelve days after he was hospitalized, only he refuses to say what happened and mutters something about a run-in with some drunk in response to questions from doctors, the police, his parents, and friends.
Eddie’s insincere pity is poisoned by shameful, silent satisfaction that he tries but can’t suppress. Because no matter what happened to James, he deserves it, Eddie justifies himself, and the thought that it’s somehow still connected to him blossoms in his mind like poison ivy.
And no matter what this idea makes him feel, forcing Eddie to hide his conflicted smile every time new details of James' state reach him, like that it can take him more than a month to fully recover, but the realization that no one, absolutely no one can get to Eddie now still gives him inexplicable chills that feel more like a fever every time he sees Richie at school.
Because there is not a single logical explanation for Richie to be the one who sent James to the ER. And even if it were so, then he must have had his own motive, because he simply couldn’t have found out about what James did to Eddie and done what? Avenged him?
Then he wouldn’t act like this after, wouldn’t have continued with this fucking facade of a lone wolf like he doesn’t even know Eddie and can’t be bothered to spare him a single glance. If Richie had found out about what happened in the library, then after he dealt with James, he probably would have come to him, right? Why would he do all that just to go back to square one and pretend that nothing had happened at all?
All of this still doesn’t go together like mixed puzzle pieces, but Eddie still tries to put them together, the incompatible parts of that puzzle, to uncover the whole picture, for some reason hoping that he will be right, that it was Richie who turned the guy who had almost broken him into mush.
No one but Eddie seems to have noticed Richie’s beaten knuckles, and this is not the first time Richie’s appeared at school with signs of a fight, but it just can’t be a coincidence. And fuck, Richie is still acting like the state of his hands is nothing out of the ordinary, and Tyler and the others are still avoiding both him and Eddie, and it’s so confusing, and Eddie doesn’t want to dig into the thoughts that it brings.
Only they don’t leave him alone, and by the end of the week he is losing his mind, because he just needs to know that he’s mistaken, that this is complete bullshit, and if Richie isn’t going to pin him against the wall again and have a nice little chat with him, maybe say something that will leave Eddie shocked and even breathless, his body disobeying treacherously and meeting every touch of Richie’s hands that he can’t seem to keep to himself, then Eddie will come to him himself.
His palms are sweating when he finally gets up the nerve, no longer wanting to remain in the dark, torn apart by doubts, and walks down the path he’s learned a long time ago to his destination. By now, Eddie has already convinced himself that he’s right, even if there are a million questions in his head about how Richie could’ve found out about the library and why he did it at all, and Eddie will demand the answers to them as soon as he is alone with Richie. And fuck if that thought doesn't stir excitement in his chest that echoes of quiet panic.
There is a car parked outside the Toziers’ house, Wentworth’s old mustang that his son now drives around town, which means Richie is home, and Eddie’s heart rises in his throat when he raises his hand to knock on the door.
All his confidence evaporates as if it was never there at all, but it’s too late to turn around and run because there are steps heard on the other side of the door. A moment later the lock turns and Richie appears on the threshold, and he raises an eyebrow when he sees Eddie looking at him wide-eyed like he wasn’t expecting Richie to answer the door of his own house, and when their gazes meet, an inexplicable feeling runs through his body that Eddie’s been craving for days when he tried to catch these blue eyes, but in vain. Until now.
There’s something smeared all over Richie’s shirt and even face and hair, and upon a closer look, Eddie sees that it’s flour. Just as abruptly he’s hit by a mouth-watering smell of apples and cinnamon, but bewildered anxiousness still breaks through the veil of pleasant, warm nostalgia, forcing him to stay alert despite Richie’s casual expression, like he’s not even slightly surprised or taken aback by Eddie suddenly stopping by.
Just as Eddie gathers the courage to finally say something instead of silently standing there like a moron, a woman’s voice calls out from the back of the house, and Eddie’s throat hitches when he recognizes it as Maggie’s as his gaze flickers behind Richie into the warmth of the familiar walls.
“Who’s there, Rich? Tell them we’re not buying anything,” she says, and Eddie swallows before looking back at Richie.
“Just an old friend,” he says with almost unsettling gentleness in his voice, and before Eddie can finally say anything, Maggie appears in the hallway, wiping her hands covered in flour on her apron before she freezes in place as her eyes fall on Eddie. She blinks several times as if she can’t believe his eyes, and honestly, Eddie doesn’t blame her, because he himself has no idea how to act right now.
“Eddie?” Maggie asks in amazement, and fuck, he hasn't heard her voice for so long that he can hardly swallow a lump that tastes vaguely like tears down his throat.
“Hello, Mrs. Tozier,” Eddie squeaks, lowering his embarrassed gaze to the doormat under two pairs of eyes that have nothing but the color in common.
For a long moment, Maggie continues to stare at him, and when she finally realizes that she isn’t seeing things, she practically runs up to Eddie and hugs him tightly, clutching him to her flour-covered chest as Richie steps back out of his sight. Eddie feels tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, because he hasn’t prepared for this, not even daring to dream that someday he would find himself in Maggie’s caring arms again.
“Eddie, darling, what are you doing here?” She asks when she pulls away with a smile, but confusion is still laced in her eyes despite her obvious joy.
Just as he opens his mouth to answer, Richie clears his throat.
“I don’t think Eddie wants to catch up on the doorstep, Mags.”
Her expression shifts from content to taken aback before Maggie smacks herself on the forehead lightly, and Eddie would have smiled at her if he wasn’t almost shaking with nerves.
“You’re right! Sorry for my bad manners, Eddie, I just wasn’t expecting to see you,” she smiles apologetically, stepping back and hurrying him into the house. “Please come in.”
Eddie smiles at her tightly before crossing the threshold, and Richie closes the door behind him before turning around and walking back to where Eddie remembers the kitchen is.
His legs barely obey him as he follows Richie and walks down the hallway that has hardly changed over the years towards the smell of apples and cinnamon, and the nostalgia of summer evenings spent on the Toziers’ porch with lemonade and apple strudel, playing monopoly and talking about everything and nothing, leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in his dry mouth.
The kitchen is in complete disarray, flour, sugar and apple peels scattered all over the counters, and Maggie walks over to the oven where Richie’s standing to check on the strudel before turning to them again with a smile.
“Great job on not blowing up the house,” she says teasingly, and Richie rolls his eyes at her, but she doesn’t comment on it. “You didn’t say Eddie would come over.”
Looking back at Eddie and tilting his head, Richie considers him for a moment as Eddie hesitates in the doorway before a lazy smile takes over his face.
“If only I knew myself, mother,” he says, and Eddie narrows his eyes, picking up on the strange hint of joy in Richie’s voice, and all the alarms are going off in his head at once. Because something in Richie's eyes contradicts his casual expression and how at ease he seems.
“Well, the more the merrier. It’s like I knew that someone would drop by,” Maggie says, nodding towards the oven, but suddenly frowns when she looks back at Richie. He looks down at her in question, but Maggie lifts her hand and wipes a drop of batter off his cheek, and Richie licks it off his mom's finger, causing her to snort good-naturedly before she turns back to the startled Eddie still standing in the doorway. “Strudel will be ready in half an hour, will you stay for tea?”
The hope in her voice doesn’t let him refuse, and he smiles tightly and nods.
“Yeah, but I have to talk to Richie about something first. That’s why I stopped by, actually,” he says as casually as possible before returning his gaze to Richie who is already watching him.
Eddie is just about to clear his throat and ask him to move somewhere where they can be alone, even though the thought of it makes his insides twist with fear that Eddie can’t find a reason for, when Maggie claps her hands, which makes a small cloud of flour rise into the air.
“Great! Then go upstairs if you need to talk, and I'll clean up for now. We’ll talk later,'' she offers with a gentle smile, shifting her gaze between them, and Richie’s eyes narrow slightly at him, but his expression almost immediately shifts to a serene one.
“Yes, ma'am,” he chuckles, leaving a kiss on his mom’s cheek, and Maggie rolls her eyes again and lightly hits him with a kitchen towel, and Richie fucking sticks his tongue out at her before finally turning to Eddie.
It seems like he’s fallen out of reality, too astonished by what’s going on right in front of him, because Eddie startles when a warm hand covers his lower back, pushing him towards the stairs. The path to Richie's room passes in a blurry, and Eddie allows Richie to lead him, hesitating for only a moment because he has no idea what to expect, and finally comes to his senses only after stopping in the doorway.
It takes him by surprise, the difference between the room he remembers it being and what he sees right now; it’s not tidy, that’s for sure, because there are still clothes hanging on the back of the chair, the desk is littered with all sorts of papers and books, and the laundry is sticking out from the basket in the corner of the room, but still. As a child, Richie was obsessed with comics, Eddie recalls, looking around the almost bare walls except for the clock and a couple of framed pictures that were previously covered with all kinds of posters, drawings, magazine clippings and photographs of the Losers.
The bed is made, as it seems, for the first time in his memory, and Eddie bites his tongue to stop himself from asking if Maggie cleans here, because before Richie didn’t let her into his room, claiming that this is his lair and girls other than Bev are not allowed here, mom.
It's all as confusing as Richie's behavior in the kitchen, the way he smiled warmly at Maggie, the way he kissed her on the cheek and stuck out his tongue, and Eddie hadn't seen him like this in a very, very long time. And Richie switches nearly every time he sees him, almost beyond recognition, as if he revives again and again, with a new mask, and Eddie can’t keep up with these changes.
"Do you need an invitation to enter, Damon Salvatore?" Richie asks, and Eddie startles and finally steps into the room, pushing down the strange feeling of crossing an invisible line that doesn’t promise anything good.
Forcing himself to focus, Eddie looks around the room again and decides to sit down on the edge of the bed, and Richie's eyes follow him as he sinks into the mattress and turns to him as he closes the door behind them. All the words Eddie’s prepared have seemingly vanished from his head, and when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, so Eddie clears his throat after a long moment, trying not to shrink under Richie’s gaze, who has sat down in a chair by the desk.
“I'm sure you probably heard about what happened,” Eddie begins, and immediately suppresses the urge to grimace at how weird that came out.
“What do you mean?” Richie asks as if he really doesn't understand what this is about, and in a matter of moments, Eddie's anxiety turns into irritation.
“James spending almost two weeks in a coma, that sort of thing? Rings any bells?” He forces out, clenching his shaking hands into fists to hide his annoyance.
Grinning, Richie leans back in his chair and straightens out his legs, looking around briefly before meeting Eddie’s eyes again, and Eddie holds back the urge to hide from it.
“You came over to talk about James? And here I was thinking that you wanted to spend time with me,” he sighs dramatically, shaking his head, but doesn’t take his strangely gleaming, unsettling eyes off Eddie. “Maybe even something more.”
Richie's voice drops lower, tone suggesting and silky, and Eddie's skin goes tight with shame or perhaps fury. He can’t say for sure.
Squirming on the edge of the bed, he scoffs to hide the treacherous blush that has stained his cheeks.
“Keep dreaming, asshole.”
Richie has that fucking grin on his lips, the one that always makes an appearance when he’s about to make a cruel, filthy joke, seconds away from bursting out laughing, because everything around him is fucking funny to him.
“Oh, I will, don’t even worry about it.”
“I see that you’re as disgusting as ever. Glad to know that some things never change,” Eddie snaps, realizing irritably that he is missing the point of the conversation he originally came here for, signing up for this Hell without thinking through every possible outcome.
With Richie, it has always been impossible to guess what would happen next, and Eddie allowed his belief to get in the way of common sense and now he’s paying the full price for that mistake.
Richie, meanwhile, just smirks at him before turning in his chair, finally taking his eyes off Eddie to clean up the desk. Eddie rolls his eyes, feeling relief flooding him the moment Richie’s eyes leave him, and lets go of some of the tension in his shoulders, glancing around again to buy some time to get himself in check.
Light pink fabric catches his eye as he looks around the bedroom, sticking out of the basket of dirty laundry amongst darker shades of clothes that Richie usually wears, and Eddie frowns and moves a little closer, out of Richie’s line of sight, to peek inside against his better judgment. His mouth dries up when he reaches out and touches the cloth, instantly recognizing it, because Eddie himself felt it on his skin, on his hips numerous times, and it just can't be, where the fuck Richie could’ve gotten his underwear?
“So,” Richie begins suddenly, pulling Eddie out of his trance and making his already tense body flinch violently, “are we going to talk or will you just sit there in silence all day?”
Eddie jerkily looks up from the laundry basket, and his face is burning as his trembling hand falls on his thigh, and he finds his voice again only after Richie frowns slightly, because Eddie doesn’t want him to know that he noticed something he shouldn't have.
Richie brings his hand to his face, and Eddie's hazy eyes fall on his knuckles, still covered with traces of the bruising, and he swallows, desperately trying to get himself together and form a simple fucking sentence.
“James. He's in the hospital, ” Eddie begins again, clearing his throat. He isn’t sure why he’s even bothering talking about this, why he has to chew every word for Richie like Richie doesn’t fucking know; there’s no way that he doesn’t. Because he either heard about what happened or was the one who did it.
“So?”
Richie’s voice sounds so indifferent like he couldn’t care less about the fact that their classmate has barely come out of a coma with broken ribs and internal bleeding, and Eddie is starting to lose patience. He has no time for these mind games.
“So? So , Richie? Is that all you have to say?” He grits through clenched teeth, but it comes out not even half as spiteful as he intended it to be. Irritation slowly bleeds away from under his skin, and Eddie can't take his eyes off Richie’s fucking knuckles, the way they roll when Richie moves his hands or runs his fingers over his smirking lips.
Richie just shrugs, looking at him with the same taunting look, but Eddie doesn’t notice, too busy staring at Richie's hands, a viscous lump stuck in his constricted throat, almost burning with irritation and something else that he can’t pinpoint spreading under the skin.
“And what exactly do you want me to say?”
That it was you. That you somehow found out about what he did to me and hurt him. Only because of me. Please say it was you.
“Where did you hurt your hands?” Eddie asks instead, because he just can't take his eyes off them, pulled by his desperate belief that it was Richie, that all his assumptions are true, because he just needs to know.
He doesn't know what to do if he’s wrong.
Tilting his head, Richie glances down at his hand briefly before looking at him again, and something strange, unfamiliar shimmers in his eyes, and Eddie can hardly breathe, doesn’t want to hear his next words.
“You think it was me.”
It's not a question. A statement. And something about the way Richie is looking at him now makes Eddie want to sink his nails into his skin and tear until these eyes stop looking right into his very soul and let him breathe.
Eddie seems to have lost track of reality for a long moment because suddenly he blinks and sees that Richie’s gotten up from his chair and taken a step towards him. And Eddie doesn’t have the mind to think about retreating, crawling further away on the bed; he doesn't notice anything except how hot he feels now and how desperately he wants Richie to put an end to his doubts.
“You really think so, huh?”
Richie moves closer and closer, and Eddie can’t master a single conscious thought, shrinking into himself, feeling so small under Richie’s gaze.
“I…” he starts, but the words die on the tip of his tongue when he feels a light touch of Richie’s knuckles gently caressing his thigh.
“Do you want it to have been me?” Richie continues, and Eddie involuntarily meets his touch, mesmerized by Richie’s proximity and the way he’s touching him, how his beaten knuckles slide over his bare skin that breaks out in goosebumps, and he can’t think of anything except how Richie sent James to the ER because he hurt Eddie. "Do you want me to have been the one who beat his face in?"
A knowing smirk dances on his lips, and Richie watches as Eddie's mouth drops open on an exhale, how he spreads his thighs slightly as Richie's hand slides higher, how there’s no trace of irritation left on his face, and how glazed his brown, defocused eyes look.
Richie's breath ghosts over Eddie’s face and his dry lips, and he licks them subconsciously, still unable to take his eyes off Richie’s hand, and the image of Richie’s clenched fist smashing into James’ face twisted in pain again and again dances in front of his glassy eyes. His mind feels like it’s floating or rather diving headfirst into the sizzling ocean splashing in the usually stone cold blue eyes that are now taking in the slightest change in Eddie’s face, every reaction of his limp body. Everything else seems so insignificant, and he doesn’t even remember why he came here in the first place, only knowing that he doesn’t want to leave, not now, not ever.
And this thought should scare him, should finally snap him back to reality and bring him to his senses, but Eddie only sinks into that daze even deeper when he hears Richie’s low voice.
“Your ‘do not fucking touch me’ facade can fool a lot of people,” he coos gently, and Eddie feels every word on the tip of his tongue, can taste every syllable, “but I know who you really are behind closed doors, Eds.”
“Do not call me that,” he murmurs breathlessly.
His body and mind feel like they’re stuffed with feathers, and Eddie can’t get himself to move, and the words don’t carry even the semblance of the usual heat behind them.
“I’ll call you what the fuck I want, got it?” The sudden roughness in Richie's voice makes him flinch, and it causes Richie’s hand to slide even higher up his thigh, almost to the hem of his shorts, and Eddie can’t hold back his startled gasp. “God, you’re so responsive, it’s driving me mad.”
Richie's voice envelops him whole, and Eddie distantly feels Richie's breath on his lips, his whole body trembling, because it feels like Richie is everywhere, and he doesn’t want to break free. He wants to get even closer until there’s no space left between them just to put out the fire under his skin.
Eddie really doesn't know why he is letting Richie do this. He doesn't know why he’s letting Richie touch him with his battered, filthy knuckles. He should bring his legs together and dislocate Richie’s fucking arm until blood gushes out from the barely healed wounds, staining his snow-white skin scarlet. But Eddie does nothing, only welcoming every touch, unable to remember a single word.
He barely suppresses a shameful sob as Richie’s hand leaves his thigh before it can reach where he wants to feel it most, but a moment later Richie grasps his chin, pressing on his bottom lip with his thumb, forcing Eddie to open his mouth wider, and Eddie lets him, thinking of nothing but Richie's lips on his own. That thought echoes through his helpless body, and Eddie closes his eyes and wants to move closer, feels Richie's hot breath sneaking past his lips, and if only he moved just a little...
The hand gripping his chin stops him, and this time Eddie doesn’t hold back his whine and wants to throw Richie’s hand off him, but Richie's voice pulls him out of that sweet slumber, forcing Eddie to open his eyes and meet his firm gaze.
“I won't do anything unless you ask, Eddie,'' Richie says firmly, like their faces aren’t a breath apart, like a moment ago he wasn’t going to slide his hand under Eddie's shorts, could’ve done anything to him, and Eddie would have let him.
Blinking rapidly, Eddie tries to catch up with this sudden shift, but he can’t grab onto a single thought in his empty head, as if it’s filled with cotton candy.
His defocused attention is suddenly caught by a sound somewhere behind Richie, so distant that he doesn’t even realize that it’s Maggie until he sees her in the doorway with a warm smile on her lips at the sight of them practically on top of each other. She used to walk in on the two of them all over each other all the time before and is surely glad that nothing has changed and that they are so close again.
“The strudel is almost ready,” she says and gives them one last amused look before disappearing into the hallway.
Richie didn’t pull away when Maggie came in, didn’t even raise an eyebrow, only turning to her over his shoulder, and that was enough for Eddie to finally come to his senses and gulp for breath, his heart pounding in his chest like it’s seconds away from bursting out, right into Richie's hands that are still fucking touching him like they have the right to.
Eddie’s sharp gasp catches Richie's attention, and he pulls away and throws a brief, careful look at Eddie before standing up and finally leaving his personal space, leaving behind only an echo of his touch that creeps over Eddie’s skin like a fever.
And Eddie can’t breathe, the room suffocating him, and he needs to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible before he can beg Richie to come back, to touch him again and continue what he started.
His vision blurs around the edges as Eddie walks downstairs on his trembling legs and mumbles an excuse to Maggie about how he needs to be home as soon as possible so he can’t stay for tea. He goes numb in her arms as she hugs him goodbye after agreeing to let him go with a wrapped piece of strudel, all the while a pair of eyes watches Eddie’s every movement, and he wants to hide and crawl into the darkest corner just to feel same from himself again.
The cool October air engulfs his flaming face and body as the door closes behind Eddie, and he can't think about anything but rushing home to lock himself in the bathroom and scrub, scrub, scrub until that unfamiliar, confusing feeling stops weakening his legs, soaking his trembling fingers, and he can breathe again.