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Richie's name and face light up Eddie's phone at half past midnight.
Eddie's heart jumps into his throat, and he scrambles for his phone, half-blinded by the bright light of it; he ends up spilling it over the edge of the bed, sending it slamming into the hardwood floors below. He curses, "Motherfucker," before just leaning down and snatching it up.
Richie's stopped calling, but Eddie's wide awake now. He just calls back. Richie, unlike him, picks up on the first ring.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have woken you up," Richie says, before Eddie can even say hello. "It's way too late to be calling."
"No, it's fine, I'm up," Eddie tells him. He rubs at one eye with the heel of his hand. "What's wrong, what happened? Did someone die?"
Richie laughs. "No, nobody died. Sorry, I should've known this would freak you out. Nothing's actually wrong."
"Oh." Eddie leans over and flicks on the lamp on his nightstand. "Did you have another nightmare?"
"No," Richie says firmly. "I haven't gone to sleep yet."
"Why not?" Eddie asks, incredulous. "I thought your sleeping schedule was—"
"No, I am, I'm sticking to it," Richie tells him. "I got asked to fill a spot late tonight on my buddy's show, we just got off. I'm still in the city."
Eddie sits up straight, feeling like his spine and shoulders go stiff as hell. "Like, New York City?"
"No, fucking Mexico City," Richie replies. "Yes, New York City. If you wanted to hang out."
The clock glows red on the nightstand beneath his lamp, telling him it's firmly 12:37 at night — or, in the morning, whichever. He doesn't hesitate for long at all before he says, "Yeah, I'd like that. Are you close?"
"Don't laugh," Richie says. Eddie hears a horn honk outside, and he can't help the laugh that rolls up and out of him. When he goes to the window and throws it open, sure enough, Richie's leaning against the driver's side door of his rental car, leaning on the horn.
"You're insane," Eddie tells him. "What if I wasn't home?"
"Where else would you be?" Richie asks. Eddie can see his mouth moving; distantly, he can hear the echoing rumble of his voice on the sidewalk along the street, far below Eddie's apartment building. Richie leans back and whistles, then, sharp and loud.
"Shush, shut up," Eddie hisses through the phone.
"I just noticed you're not wearing a shirt," Richie comments. "Looking good, Eds."
"Jesus Christ," Eddie comments. He looks over his shoulder into his apartment, then back down to Richie. "Give me a minute to throw some clothes on."
"Your chariot awaits," Richie replies. Eddie can't help but grin as he hangs up on him. He gets a wave from Richie down on the street, so he waves back, briefly unable to tear himself away from the window.
He makes himself go, if only so he can actually go downstairs and get in the car with Richie. They haven't seen each other in about a month, now, but just because timing's been so terrible. Eddie's divorce took up such huge chunks of his time that it wasn't finalized until Richie had cycled back around to making a circuit on late night talk shows. They haven't been alone in the same city in four weeks now, and finally, finally, they are.
Eddie hesitates in front of his closet. He's not sure what the appropriate outfit to wear right now is, or if putting too much effort in makes it worse. Briefly, boldly, he thinks he should just go out in this, but he knows he can't. Slow and steady.
He tries not to think too hard about what he's wearing, so he thinks far too hard about it and panic-chooses the first things his hands land on. Richie honks the horn again while he's smoothing his collar down; that just sets his heart to racing.
Eddie leans back out the window into the summer air and calls, "Be quiet!"
"Shut up!" someone else shouts. Richie seems to find whoever they are in a window a few floors below Eddie, because he points up at them.
"You shut up, pal, I'm here to see my friend!" Richie calls.
"Richie, stop!" Eddie calls, choking back a laugh. "Get in the car, I'm coming down!"
He grabs his keys, his wallet. Checks inside his wallet once, then twice before shoving his feet in his shoes and running out the door. The elevator seems like it'll take too long, so he slides to the stairs instead, taking them two or three at a time, gliding with his hand on the railing to make sure he doesn't slip and fall. At the bottom floor, he makes himself stop, catching his breath. He smooths his hair back, exhales, straightens out his shirt. Tries not to seem too eager, then decides, Fuck it, who's he pretending for, and he shoves out the front door of his building.
"There he is!" Richie exclaims. He pushes off his rental car, spreading his arms wide. "How're you doing, Eds?"
Eddie doesn't break stride. He doesn't know where the courage comes from, but it surges through him in hot pulses, not unlike a panic attack. When the feeling crests in his chest, though, it feels overwhelmingly good. He can't help but collide with Richie, falling right into his arms, cupping his face in his hands and stretching up as far as he can to kiss him.
Richie's eyes stay open for a flash of a second before he leans into him, catching Eddie's waist in his hands and tugging him close. He gets the hint and leans down a bit, crouches so Eddie doesn't have to reach quite so far; they fit together so nicely, Eddie can't help but sigh. They separate only for a beat, staying a breath apart before Richie tips his head and kisses him again, softer this time.
When they separate again, Richie says, "You're not beating around the bush, are you?"
"Why waste any more time?" Eddie asks. "You're not getting any younger."
"Hey," Richie says sharply. The wide grin on his face betrays him, as does the way he's practically vibrating in place. His hands slide up Eddie's chest, then down his arms to catch his hands, threading their fingers together. As he does, he says, "I'm not that much older than you, you square."
"Old enough," Eddie comments. Richie tugs him in for another kiss, more eager now, cupping Eddie's face in one hand, fingers threading back into his hair.
When Eddie separates them again, Richie asks, "Where do you wanna go?"
"There's nothing open, it's one in the morning on a Sunday," Eddie points out. Richie considers this, still playing with Eddie's fingers with one hand. He pushes his thumb into the center of Eddie's palm, smiling.
"I think I saw a gas station open on my way here," Richie says. "Wanna go there?"
Eddie hesitates, but he doesn't have any better ideas. Richie takes that as answer enough to tug him towards his rental, escorting him over to the passenger side. He opens the convertible's door for him and bows low like he's an extra on Downton Abbey, even throwing in a, "My liege," for effect. Eddie laughs at him, but he lets Richie take his hand again as he sits, like he needs the help. When they're separated, Richie all but sprints around the car, hopping over his door into the driver's seat. He groans when he lands, though, and Eddie laughs all over again.
"Fuck, don't make fun of me," Richie says. "When the fuck did I get old, Eds? Don't answer that, just— Damn."
He starts up the car with a snarling twist of the keys, and Eddie relaxes into the passenger seat, the convertible rumbling beneath them. It's only belatedly he buckles his seatbelt, which feels like a minor victory as Richie peels out into the road.
They drive in silence, just for a moment, before Richie reaches out and turns the radio on. He flicks through stations so fast Eddie has no idea how he's even hearing the songs before landing on one playing songs they grew up on. When his hand starts to pull back, Eddie reaches out and catches it, tangling their fingers together again over the center console.
Richie doesn't say anything. When Eddie glances at him, heart racing, just to make sure this is okay, he finds Richie grinning at the road like it's done something to make him happy, personally. He's tapping on the steering wheel with his one hand, right along to the beat of the music; the streetlights catch in his glasses and make his eyes light up, and Eddie can't help but smile right back at him.
The gas station, as promised, isn't all that far away from Eddie's apartment building. Richie pulls in smoothly, New England aggression and Californian ease to his driving all at once when he parks at the very farthest edge of the lot.
"I'm gonna get us snacks," Richie announces, turning the car off. He twists it back on just enough to keep the radio going for them. "What d'you want, Eddie Spaghetti?"
"I don't need anything," Eddie tells him. Richie squeezes his hand, and Eddie sighs. "Reese's Pieces."
"Bingo," Richie says. He leans in and turns Eddie's face towards him with a hand on his cheek, smiling when he steals a quick kiss from him. When he pulls back, it's with a bright, "Be right back," and a kiss to Eddie's scarred cheek before he climbs out of the car. Eddie just watches him go until he can't see him anymore, disappearing into the fluorescent lights of the gas station. It's only then that he collapses back into his seat, clapping his hands over his face and exhaling sharply.
"Holy shit," he says to himself. He unbuckles his seatbelt, then shakes out his hands, repeating, "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," until he feels like his chest isn't collapsing. He's not entirely sure what he's feeling or why, but it's overwhelming and it's happy and he has to bury his face in his hands again to catch his breath.
The lights in the car feel too bright, so he leans over to the driver's seat and flicks them off just as Richie comes jogging back. He leans in, handing over two Icees, one red and one purple. Eddie starts sipping from the red one without hesitation.
"And what if that was mine?" Richie asks, sliding back into the driver's seat.
"Is it?" Eddie asks.
"No," Richie tells him. He swaps out Eddie's bag of Reese's Pieces for his purple Icee, licking inside the plastic rim of his cup.
"You're going to cut your tongue," Eddie warns him. Richie licks inside again before leaning over the center console to kiss him again. He tastes like the seven flavors he probably crammed into his cup, and smoke, and mint, and just— mouth. He tastes like Richie and it drives Eddie crazy.
He slips his tongue into Richie's mouth, this time, parting his lips gently and licking along his teeth. Richie shivers; Eddie hears him shove his cup into one of the cupholders before his condensation-cold hands slicks along Eddie's cheek. Eddie smiles into the kiss long enough that it makes the kiss an impractical mess, and they're forced to break apart again. Richie just runs his nose along the sharp line of Eddie's cheek, rubbing their faces together like he can't get close enough. Eddie knows exactly how he fucking feels.
"What're you doing after this?" Eddie asks. Richie shrugs under his hands, kissing Eddie's cheek again until he gets to the hinge of his jaw. Eddie can feel his smile there against his skin, and it makes him smile, too, heart pounding, hands shaking. "Wanna come stay with me?"
"Sure," Richie agrees. He pulls back and lets Eddie tug him into another kiss. Their makeout turns sloppy fast, especially when Eddie gets his own cup and candy out of the way. He doesn't think he's ever kissed someone like this, not since he was in high school doing this with Richie the first time around. Richie grins, separating them again to ask, "I can start looking for a place around here."
"Didn't you just say yes to staying with me?" Eddie asks. Richie pulls back further to look at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks until Eddie has no choice but to kiss him again.
"You can't m—"
"I do mean," Eddie says, "and stop talking, Jesus, you're making this impossible, I heard you talking six hours ago on the phone—"
"And isn't this the next best thing?" Richie asks. Eddie looks him over, then shakes his head, tugging Richie in by the lapels of his bright, stupid blazer.
"No," Eddie says. "This is the best thing, option number one."
"Plan A," Richie adds. Eddie kisses him again and holds on so tight he thinks Richie will have no choice but to never leave again.