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Eddie stands in the hallway staring at the bedroom door that’s been left open just a crack, Richie’s unspoken permission to enter.
Closed doors were a rarity these days after the first few stubborn months of them both gritting through the worst of their nightmares alone. After a particularly horrible night where Eddie spent the night in this exact spot, forehead pressed against the locked door listening to Richie scream for him they both admitted something had to change. So no more locked doors and closed doors were never opened without permission.
Right now Eddie feels like a sick kid waiting to wake up his parents to tell them they just threw up. Except it's not like that at all because he would never have gone to his mom on the rare times he was actually sick.
One occasion when he really was sick comes to mind.
It was after the clown, he thinks he must have been about 14 and terrified out of his mind. In a blind feverish panic, he ended up at Richie’s door in tears. He doesn’t remember what he said in the end - through bouts of ugly coughs that came deep from his chest and his streaming eyes obscuring Richie’s reaction. But Richie asked no questions and Eddie stayed the night. His anxiety had heightened the symptoms of what was just an ordinary cold so within a few days he was relatively back to normal with the occasional (gross) sniff. In a moment of clarity, he managed to pull off staying at the Toziers for the whole weekend. He would go home when he knew his mom would be passed out in the living room for her afternoon nap, after talking to her on the phone in the mornings (the first time he would allow himself to speak all morning after drinking several cups of Mrs. Tozier's honey tea. Richie came up with several increasingly lewd hand gestures that he insisted was a sign language.) and leaving again with a note on the kitchen table.
But other than that it wasn't really common for him to show up in Richie’s bedroom unannounced in the middle of the night - that was always Richie’s thing.
He'd sneak in through the window and climb into Eddie’s bed. Sometimes he would ramble about nothing as he gracelessly made room for himself in Eddie’s twin bed but most of the time he was quiet. He never gave an explanation as to why he was there and never spoke about it in the daylight, but his quietness was unsettling enough to Eddie that he felt too awkward to ask about it and the slight tremor in Richie’s hands made him afraid to.
Sometimes he would still be there in the mornings and sometimes he was gone before Eddie woke and there was never a sign Eddie could find the night before that would tell him which one it would be. Once Eddie woke up first to find Richie next to him and he didn't even know he’d come in the night before. Eddie did the thing he always did when he woke first and observed Richie in his sleep. He justified to himself that because it was so rare to see Richie so still and quiet that it was natural he would want to take notice. Richie always slept the same way, face hidden and tucked down into the pillow. This time he was laying just below Eddie's armpit and had his arms loosely wrapped around Eddie’s waist. When Richie woke up he was red and mumbling apologies but Eddie rolled with it the way he usually did and acted as though nothing had happened. This was partly because he had been awake for a while and made no attempt to move.
With those memories strengthening his resolve, Eddie pushes the door open and slips quietly into the room. Richie had left the blinds open the day before so there is just enough glow in the room to make out the figure curled up and still on the bed. Eddie makes an absent note that Richie sleeps on the right.
He makes his way quietly round to the other side of the bed and debates with himself for a good 30 seconds before reasoning that he's come this far and gingerly sits on the bed, carefully shuffling himself up until he's sitting with his back pressed against the headboard. He takes a silent, counted breath then chances a glance down to Richie who remains undisturbed and is breathing out little puffs of air that aren't quite snores into his pillow. He still sleeps the same way he did when he was 8 at sleepovers. With his mouth parted and face hidden.
Eddie used to always warn him the next morning at the quarry about eating spiders in the middle of the night, Stan listening in white-faced. Richie would counter this by finding bugs and threatening to eat them right there and then while Eddie shrieked at a frequency only dogs could hear. He claimed it was "to build his tolerance" because he is a nightmare of a person but now that Eddie thinks about it he’s sure Richie had pet ants as a kid that he was absurdly emotionally attached to (Eddie recalls a funeral held for Anthony Jr.). So it was likely Richie was just messing with him.
He wrinkles his nose at this Richie now sleeping, lamenting the fact he is so attached to someone who was willing to eat bugs if it meant annoying Eddie. As if he could feel the judgemental stare currently being directed toward him Richie’s breathing hitches slightly and his face twitches, mouth closing as he appears to wake.
‘Hey, sorry. Just me.’ Eddie whispers.
Richie makes an inscrutable noise then a hand reaches out blindly towards Eddie, following his voice before eventually finding a face. Richie feels up the bridge of Eddie’s nose and forehead and cups his cheek briefly.
‘Can I help you?' Eddie asks dryly.
‘Just checking.’ Richie mumbles. Whatever that means.
‘Okay well. That is my face.’
Richie makes another noise- agreement Eddie thinks. Then he gives Eddie's face a parting tap before the hand retreats to curl back under Richie's chest and joins the other gripping pillow close to Richie’s face.
‘I’m asleep.’ Richie informs him, politely.
‘No, you're not.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Nuh-uh.’ Eddie mimics. ‘People who are asleep don’t normally talk.’
‘Ben does.’ Now that is true.
At sleepovers, as kids, they had to get used to being crammed up with each other since there were 8 of them and a usually limited amount of space. Being that they were all now only children, this meant getting used to sleeping through snores and others’ nightly rituals they were not used to. Ben used to sleep talk. It was entertaining at first as most things do it quickly lost its marvel and became annoying since most of Ben's dreams were absurdly dull. Once they listened to Ben trying to check out a book from the library for 20 minutes only to discover that it had already been checked out. Richie, never knowing when to let a bit die, still got a kick out of it and would play along answering Ben's sleep mumbles no matter how dull they were.
‘If this is you sleep talking I'm frankly disappointed.’ Eddie informs him. ‘Ben I can forgive, I expect more creativity from you.’
Richie, predictably, puts on a voice.
‘The spaghetti has gone cold.’ He warbles like… a ghost? Maybe? It’s hard to tell.
‘What does that even mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ Richie says in his normal voice. ‘See! I’m sleep talking. It’s not supposed to make sense. ‘
‘Alright.’ Eddie allows.
Eddie keeps looking at Richie, eyes mapping his face. Relaxed and unguarded like this he can see the outlines of 8-year-old and 15-year-old Richie, superimposed over his face. Eddie notes the new lines around his eyes and mouth and wishes not for the first time he was there to see them form. He continues his creepy vampire act until Richie lets out a frustrated sigh and begins to sit up. Eddie blinks, a little startled.
‘Ugh.’ Richie grunts eloquently, ‘I’m not getting back to sleep now.’
Feeling guilty but typically unable to help himself Eddie has to point out.
‘I thought you were never awake?’
‘Shut up.’ Richie mumbles. ‘I’m going to the bathroom and when I'm back you'll tell me what's bothering you so much you came to pick a fight with me at ass o'clock at night.’
‘I wasn't trying to pick a fight.’ Eddie says somewhat mulishly.
‘Uh-huh,’ Richie says disbelievingly. Dick. He closes the bathroom door behind him. (He doesn't lock it.)
While he's away Eddie finds himself without something to study and looks around the room for inspiration to keep his mind busy.
He settles on Richie’s glasses lying on the table beside him next to a copy of one of Bill’s books, the one about the haunted doll that Eddie hadn’t managed past 20 pages. Richie seems to be making better progress judging by the placement of CVS receipt being used in lieu of a bookmark.
Eddie reaches for the glasses and tosses them around in his hands a few times, running his thumb around the black rim and puts them on. The room is dark enough that it doesn't immediately make him feel nauseous but he knows it won't take long. Richie’s eyesight is startlingly bad.
He hears the toilet flush and soon enough Richie is making his way back to the bed, from pure muscle memory Eddie realizes. When Richie climbs back under the sheets and looks at Eddie, his face does something funny so Eddie takes the glasses off, offering, and puts them where he found them when Richie shakes his head.
In the silence Richie, head firmly back on the pillow, clears his throat pointedly.
Eddie looks up and Richie raises both eyebrows, questioning.
‘What?’ Eddie asks.
‘So what’s wrong?’ Richie asks, exasperated.
‘Nothing.’
Richie stares up at him again, disbelieving.
‘Am I not allowed to just want to hang out with you?’ Eddie tries.
‘Since when do you ever want to hang out with me?’
‘Don't be an idiot.’ Eddie scolds. ‘You're my best friend.’ He says, not playing along for once.
Richie stalls a little and blinks twice, but doesn’t argue.
‘Okay so since when do you just want to hang out at 3 in the morning?’
‘I don’t know, you did it all the time. You tell me.’ Eddie says in a moment of insanity.
Richie lifts eyebrows in faint surprise and Eddie can tell he remembers from the way his eyes go distant. It's the way all of theirs go when they're remembering.
He's probably surprised Eddie actually brought it up, Eddie is too, it was always an unspoken agreement that they didn't talk about Richie’s midnight visits. Richie never offered to talk about it and Eddie never pushed. But now, Eddie wonders, remembering Richie’s sad eyes and unsteady hands if maybe he should've pushed a little more. Richie pushes Eddie now because no matter what he says he's always been braver than he's given himself credit for when it comes to his friends.
‘Well, now I know for sure that something’s bothering you. Ha.’ Richie says as if to say “gotcha”.
So that's the confirmation Eddie never really needed.
‘Nightmare?’ Richie asks hesitantly when Eddie doesn't reply.
‘No, no.’ Eddie says immediately, feeling guilty for worrying him. ‘It's nothing like that.’
‘What's it like then?’ Richie persists.
‘It’s really not-’ Eddie breaks off, frustrated trying to give an explanation that he doesn't really have.
What is he supposed to say? ‘I missed you even though I see you all day every day and I sleep across the hall from you every night so I was wondering if you wanted to cuddle?’ He can’t say that.
Can he?
‘I was just thinking.’ Eddie starts.
‘Uh oh.’ Of course.
‘You wanted me to talk asshole!’ Eddie snaps defensively.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Richie relents and nods for Eddie to continue. ‘So you were thinking.’
‘I was thinking’ Eddie agrees. Now he’s got Richie silent; he's unsure what it is he wants to say. He lands on
‘I was thinking about how much of who I am is because of you.’ Eddie says and is surprised to learn that it’s the truth.
Richie looks a little gobsmacked. Eddie can’t even blame him, that was a little too honest but he blunders on avoiding Richie’s wide eyes.
‘Like - I was thinking about what would have happened, you know? If It never existed, or if It existed somewhere else and It wasn’t us who had to stop It. And at first, I thought - well. Which one of us doesn’t wish that was true. Obviously. But then I thought of the person I could’ve been. Cause for the longest time I’ve thought well if- if my mom wasn’t the way she was, and if I didn’t forget then maybe I would've been happier? I never would've gotten married. I would've picked a career I actually liked and- and I could eat at a restaurant without harassing the waitress about what's actually in the food. And like- I'm not nice. I know this, I'm rude and loud and I just think that somewhere there’s this other Eddie Kaspbrak who owns his own garage and is nice to strangers.’
Eddie takes a breath. He doesn’t look at Richie.
‘But he’s not friends with Richie Tozier. Or- or Bill or Stan. Or Bev. Because what if It is the reason we’re still all friends? What are the real chances we would all have grown up with our memories and still been friends? And-’ Eddie’s on a roll now.
‘And we only met Ben and Mike and Bev that summer! So what if It was the reason we were even friends in the first place? And then I’m stuck in this weird cycle in my head where I’m thinking “I wish that shit never happened” and then “my friends were the best part of my childhood even with the clown” and then I feel guilty cause like people died-’
‘Okay, okay I’m stopping you there motormouth.’ Richie interrupts. ‘You’re going in circles.’
Eddie stays quiet, embarrassed. There’s silence and Eddie is feeling increasing regret about opening his mouth and is about to backtrack when Richie grabs at his arm and tugs.
Not understanding, Eddie looks down at him blankly.
Richie huffs, ‘Come on.’ he tugs again. ‘If we’re doing this you might as well get comfortable.’
After digesting this Eddie begins to slide down from against the headboard until he’s lying flat, and turns onto his side facing Richie.
Richie keeps one hand on Eddie's arm, hooked loosely around his elbow which Eddie absentmindedly notes as the broken one.
‘First of all,’ Richie begins in his know-it-all voice that sounds suspiciously like Stan. ‘If you remember correctly, we didn’t actually meet the others because of the clown. We met because we were losers. If we weren’t all friends by that summer we would’ve been pulled together eventually because literally, no one else wanted to hang out with us, so jot that down.’
Eddie rolls his eyes but has to concede he has a point.
‘Second of all, I don’t know if we would’ve all stayed in touch but I can’t imagine a reason why I wouldn't want to.’ Richie continues, it's surprisingly honest.
‘But that’s what I’m saying’ Eddie blurts. ‘We’re different people than we would’ve been, right? So how do we know we would even still like each other without the shared trauma?’
Richie takes a minute to contemplate this. His eyes are crossed slightly (cute) and it's a wonder how serious he’s been taking this conversation. Finally, he seems to come to a conclusion.
‘It’s hard to imagine any version of me that wouldn't like any version of you, Eds.’
Oh.
‘Yeah?’ Eddie asks quietly.
‘Yeah.’ Richie says, simply. ‘And I like this you.’
Oh, that's-
‘Out of the whole bowl of Spagheddies, you’re my favorite noodle.’
‘Ok.’ Eddie gets up to leave. ‘Never mind-’
Richie laughs and grasps tighter onto Eddie's arm.
‘No, nope. I changed my mind.’ Eddie says fighting the hold ‘I’m going to find the alternate you who's mute.’
Richie laughs delightedly, ‘No! You can’t leave me for me!’
Richie eventually wins the tug of war but Eddie wasn’t really trying very hard anyway, and he pulls Eddie back down beside him.
‘Feel better?’ Richie asks, facing him again.
‘Never felt bad.’ Eddie lies. Richie looks at him unimpressed.
‘Yeah, I do’ Eddie relents. ‘Thanks, Rich.’
Richie harrumphs, closing his eyes. ‘You can thank me by not waking me up before noon.’
Eddie makes a displeased noise, unable to help himself.
‘That’s really going to fuck up your pattern and you-’
He’s interrupted by Richie’s finger pressing firmly against Eddie's lips.
‘Shh. Sleep time.’
Eddie waits for a beat too long before batting the hand away. He shuffles down to make himself comfortable. Richie has already begun to curl back up into his protective ball.
Right before he’s about to hide his face Eddie darts forward quickly and brushes his nose against Richie’s before pulling back.
He watches delightedly as Richie's face reddens and breaks into a smile. Richie huffs a laugh, accepting the silent thank you, and turns his face into the pillow.
Within a few minutes he’s drifted off and Eddie watches him.
His body is curled towards Eddie like a question mark and his arms are crossed in front of his chest with his right hand gripping his own left shoulder like he’s wrapping himself into a hug and Eddie rubs absentmindedly at the scar on his chest.
2 hours ago he would’ve been agonizing over not doing this 20 years ago. Lamenting over time lost. Right now though he just takes a breath and moves forward.
Gently, Eddie takes hold of Richie’s arms and, careful not to unlink them, ducks under the circle, placing Richie’s arms around his shoulders and back and. Well. He’s come this far. He nuzzles into the spot between Richie’s neck and shoulder, his arms sneaking around to hug his waist.
Richie instinctively pulls him closer and Eddie can feel him smiling into Eddie’s shoulder, a leg hooked between his.
As Eddie drifts off, he’s thinking of the brunch they’ll have tomorrow afternoon and he is content in the thought that this time when they wake they won't pretend they’re not exactly where they want to be.