Chapter Text
If Richie doesn’t get a clue soon, Eddie’s going to fucking scream.
“I'm just saying, Eds. Why would I want to know? I'm a lone wolf, baby, gotta keep my options open.”
“Don’t call me that. We've been over this,” Eddie frowns with a roll of his eyes, “it's your soulmate. Like, this is scientifically the person perfect for you. Why would you want to keep your options open when you could have that, dumbass?”
“Because, Eddie, consider this: you could have Street Fighter and only Street Fighter for the rest of your life. Or, you could have Pacman and Centipede and fuckin’… DDR, and all the others.”
“Fuck off. You'd be lost without Street Fighter. It's the only thing you can beat me at.”
“You know what I wouldn't be lost without?” Richie asks, and before Eddie can point out that he's conveniently ignoring the second half of the accusation, he continues, “My fucking soulmate. Unless, of course…”
“If you say what you're about to say, I'm tipping this hammock upside down. Fucking watch me.”
“Hey, I'm just saying, it's not like people don't sometimes have more than one soulmate! And if Sonia needs some comforting after Frank left, then who's to say I can't fill that hole? You know, the one in her v– Hey!”
Even with only one working arm, Eddie is satisfyingly stronger than Richie.
“Ooh, terre au terre today, is it?” Richie asks pleasantly, even with his breath driven from his lungs by the force of his topple from the overturned hammock. Eddie looms over him, his foot pressing between Richie's shoulder blades, keeping him pinned to the dusty ground. He watches as Richie grins up at him, then shrieks when he says, “Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Eduardo!” and licks a dirt-covered rock sticking up from the ground, holy shit.
“Are you fucking kidding me?! Why would you do that, you absolute fucking idiot?!”
“Eez a leetle dray,” Richie drawls in a bad maybe-French Voice. There's a smudge of dust across his cheek that Eddie notices as he hauls Richie to his feet. “Per'aps with som delicioos muddy rain water next tayme, mm?”
“You know, maybe your soulmate should be glad you don't wanna find them. You ever think about that?”
“My soulmate might not exist,” Richie says, back in his own voice, brushing dirt off his knees. “Do you ever think about that?”
“You have memories,” Eddie sniffs. “You remember your soulmate.”
“Yeah, from other universes, man. Didn't you hear about that girl who could, like, remember her soulmate’s name, and tracked him down to find him six feet under?” Eddie frowns. He does remember that story, and the idea of it makes him really sad, actually. “Just ‘cause she remembered him doesn't mean they’re guaranteed to actually meet in every universe, you know? And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not spend my life searching for some poor fucker when it might not ever actually happen.”
It’s on the tip of Eddie’s tongue, half a second away from blaring out of his mouth with all the subtlety of a marching band and potentially ruining everything. It would be so easy to say it; two seconds of his time. And it could solve everything.
His lips part and even start forming the shape of the words almost before he’s able to clamp them shut and swallow down the exclamation:
It’s ME, you fucking idiot!
Sourness curls in his gut. Eddie, looking at the boy across from him, looking at that dumbass streak of dirt, can’t help but wonder if he’s maybe just… misreading the whole thing?
But he’s not. He can’t really remember his other-universes soulmate in any clarity - it’s more like blurry snapshots with moments of sharpness. From what he’s heard through the grapevine, it’s kinda like trying to remember the events of a night out the morning after. What he has heard, though, what he does remember with any clearness… It could only be one person.
if you don’t shake off each time, you can get cancer, one voice began faux-solemnly echoing when Eddie was eleven.
if i were you guys, i wouldn’t pay to see monster movies - i’d just stay home and look in the mirror! another joined not long after, two weeks before Eddie turned twelve.
something disgusting, so disgusting, scaring his soulmate - but eddie didn’t back away with a snarl, no. he snarled, but he stepped forward and he… something about mashed potatoes and a broken arm? and then a hug. a warm hug and… actually pretty chuckalicious, tell you what.
stepping forward again and something small but powerful in his hand, because his soulmate was behind him and he couldn’t let it get him. whatever it was. no, no he couldn’t, so he stepped FORWARD and he… something about battery acid and slime? and then crowding close in a warm hug and… yeah, i swear.
no fake, jake. handing his aspirator off to his soulmate, watching quietly as he passed it on - not straight back to eddie, but to someone else who registers as only a blur of color in eddie’s memories.
give me that. letting his soulmate use his aspirator, expecting it back, only to have to wait as it was passed on to someone else who registers as only a blur of colour in eddie’s memories.
eddie my love…
eddie spaghetti!
eds.
eds.
“Eds?”
Eddie blinks. He’s not in those other universes; he’s in this one. In 1989. With the one person who would say these things, who would demand to use his inhaler, who Eddie would let use his inhaler without question.
It’s ME, you fucking idiot!
“Fucking… what, Rich?”
“You zoned the hell out, dude. I’m over here baring my soul and you don’t even have the decency to make those little humming noises you do when you’re pretending to listen.” He shakes his head, sighing, as he clambers back into the hammock and stretches out. “Modern men, am I right?”
Eddie mirrors the sigh as he stands at the hammock’s side, looking down at his friend. “Yeah, well, I never listen to you anyway. Try sayin’ something funny and maybe I’ll consider it.”
“You wound me, Eds.”
“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snaps, even as his mind swirls around how in another universe, he might have Got Off A Good One, as that particular voice was fond of exclaiming. “What’re you bitching about?”
“This isn’t bitching, Eddie, this is a heartbreaking tale of woe.” Eddie doesn’t say anything, just waits. Eventually Richie’s grin flickers into a frown, and he looks up at Eddie with such unguardedness that Eddie isn’t expecting it. When he takes his rightful place at the other end of the hammock, Richie brings his knees to his chest to make room, which is how he knows this is a serious conversation they’re in for.
Still, his heart seizes when Richie holds eye contact as he says, “Do you really… you know. Think It’s dead?”
“I…”
“Don’t just say something to make me feel better. Just… tell the truth, Eds. Please. I wanna know.”
“…I don’t know, Rich. I can’t. None of us can, you know?”
“But if you had to lean one way or the other–”
“I hope so,” Eddie tells him, and breaks eye contact. “I dunno what else I can do.”
What he doesn’t tell Richie is that the clown isn’t exclusive to this universe. That he can remember that that’s what it was - what It was. The thing that he guarded against with battery acid at the age of eleven, nearly twelve, in another universe. What he doesn’t tell Richie is that his bleeding palm from this afternoon has an echo from another time, a time when his soulmate said swear and presumably Eddie himself did as well, and they stood together, hand in bleeding hand. What he doesn’t tell Richie is that even though there hadn’t been blood in that third universe, they had still said yeah, i swear, and held each other close. What he doesn’t tell Richie is that with both of these memories comes an inescapable feeling of inevitability.
Besides, Richie already knows this stuff, anyway. Eddie isn’t the only one with these memories. He hopes.
“Hm,” Richie says. “That’s such a cop-out answer.”
“Look, I don’t know, Rich. What do you want me to say? That I think It’s gonna come back when we’re forty and fuckin’… eat all our old-ass faces off?”
“I think we did it,” Richie says. His hand is resting on Eddie’s bare calf, like he’s not even aware he’s done it. “Like, that thing’s head was peeling, right? We… I dunno how It can still be alive. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’re an optimist,” Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.
“Yeah, man. Either that or just… really traumatized. I’m talkin’ denial, I’m talkin’ omission, I’m talkin’–”
“Out of your ass?”
Richie slaps at his leg, then puts his hand back where it had been before. Eddie watches as his gaze fixes on the point of contact between them, only for a moment, before flitting away again. He is aware of it, then. They sit in silence, listening to the birds outside the clubhouse that Stan would take one second to name. Eddie wonders offhandedly whether Stan likes birds in other universes, too.
“I kinda wish I could remember all of you guys,” he says, and he really means it. Richie raises a bemused eyebrow in his direction. “In other universes, I mean. Because…” I can remember YOU very nearly comes falling fatally from his mouth. “…I was just thinking about the birds, and Stan. And whether the other Stans are just as nerdy as our one.”
“Eds, if you think there’s a universe out there where Stanley Uris isn’t a nerd, I’m calling up Juniper Hills right now.” With the hand that isn’t splayed over Eddie’s shin, he makes a phone and lifts it to his ear. “Yes, hello,” he trills in a nasally, aggressively Maine Voice, “ya got a vacancy? Ayuh, it’s a friend ‘a mine, gone completely nuts, I’m tellin’ ya, I’m worried for the poor fuckuh–”
Eddie hooks his glasses off with his foot, tosses them in a random direction, and kicks Richie in the side of the face.
“He’s gone rogue! He’s attackin’ me, oh Gawd, help!”
“I will attack you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“Now, now, Eds,” Richie says, back in his own voice, “that wouldn’t be fair. I’m literally blind here. You wouldn’t attack a blind guy. Not unless he–” Suddenly he’s launching himself across the hammock hands first, landing across Eddie and immediately pressing his fingers into the tried-and-tested most ticklish spots. Eddie shrieks in pained laughter, while Richie yells, “–attacked first!”
Richie ends up catching Eddie’s knee to his crotch, and Eddie pays for it with an elbow in his stomach. The hammock never tips all the way over in the scuffle, but the issue is in grave doubt more than once.
A breathless five minutes later, they finally fall back into quiet. The birds outside have long gone, frightened by the screaming coming from under the earth. They’re stretched out alongside one another, and Richie has Eddie trapped in a headlock, but neither of their hearts are particularly in it. If the others were here, it would be a different story, of course; Eddie would be screeching and shouting, and Richie would be laughing and probably giving him a noogie. The others aren’t here. It’s just them. So when Richie relaxes his arm around Eddie’s neck, Eddie lets himself be quiet. His chest aches - not with asthma he never had, but with laughter. He doesn’t push Richie away, and Richie makes no move to get out of his personal space, either. Actually, this is maybe the most comfortable Eddie has been since this shitshow of a summer began.
He lets his head relax against Richie’s shoulder. Richie tenses for a moment, then loosens up under him. His hand rests on Eddie’s shoulder, where his thumb is now tracing an invisible line back and forth, over and over.
“What about Bill?” Eddie asks quietly. “Always a writer, you think?”
“Uh… maybe. Probably. He’s good at drawing. Maybe he’s an artist somewhere else.”
“Yeah. Bev?”
“Always a badass. That’s for sure.”
“I can imagine her… as a runway model.”
“Aw, Eds, you got a crush?”
“Beep, beep.”
“Fuck you. I can’t believe I told you guys about that.”
Eddie laughs to himself. Richie had come into class one day a couple years back, summoned Bill, Stan, and Eddie around him, and told them that the previous night he’d got a memory of his soulmate snapping beep, beep to get him to shut up. Stanley had been the first to use it, not ten minutes later, and when it worked like a charm, none of them had looked back.
“Too bad, Loser. Also, no, obviously I don’t have a crush on Bev, ew.”
“‘Ew’?!”
“Wait, no, not– not ew. She’s… Y’know. She’s Bev. She’s awesome. Doesn’t mean I, like… like her, though. Plus, she’s not my soulmate. I’m serious.”
“Doesn’t mean a thing,” Richie grins. “…Mike?”
“Shepherd. Every universe.”
“He’s not even one in this universe, moron.”
“He kinda is. And give it time. I’m telling you, Rich, stick him on a fuckin’ mountain somewhere and the guy’s literally never been happier.”
“Yeah, fine, fine, I see what you mean. Ben, uh… Wait, he’s gonna be an architect, right?”
“Shit, yeah, he said there was a, uh, uh… program, right? In Bar Harbour, maybe?”
“Yeah, that’s it. He could be one of those in every universe, I think.”
“Hell yeah he could.” Eddie pauses for a moment. “What about me?”
“You’d be… a fuckin’ cutie in every universe, Eds. That’s what I think.” Richie reaches to grab at Eddie’s face and pinches his cheek. Eddie slaps him away, rolling his eyes, all the while his head screaming with memories of cute, cute, cute! and how ya doin’, eddie spaghetti?!
“Fuck off. You’re a pain in the ass in every universe.”
“Only for you, Eduardo,” laughs Richie.
It’s ME, you fucking idiot!
“No, Eds, you’d… you’d be a train conductor, I think.” Eddie can’t see Richie’s face from where his head is still resting on his shoulder, but he can hear the little confused frown he’s wearing in his voice. “See the world. Or something.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”
“If your mom ever lets you cross the street by yourself, anyway. What about me? Seriously, I mean.”
i wanna be the first rock 'n' roll singer from derry. either that or impressionist.
“Singer, maybe. You like, uh…” little richard. buddy holly. “…Nirvana, right? You could be the next big, uh… rocky, grungy… thing. Or if you got better at the Voices you could be an impressionist.”
Richie’s thumb has stopped its gentle, repetitive movement over Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie opens his mouth with half a mind to ask Richie if he’s alright, when Richie beats him to it by saying quietly, “You think I could?”
“If you got better, I said.”
“Hey. Thanks, man.”
“Uh. You’re welcome?”
The silence that fills the clubhouse, this time, isn’t quite comfortable, but it’s not awkward, either. It feels like something is hanging over them, like this could be a pivotal moment if they play their cards right.
Eddie clears his throat.
“You know, I. I was only kidding earlier. I think your soulmate would– would be glad to find you.”
Richie doesn’t respond, at least not with his voice. He does after a second, though, drop his head down so his cheek presses into Eddie’s hair. His thumb presses slightly harder into Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie sighs. Maybe if he was a bit braver, he’d be able to say it. It’s ME, you fucking idiot!
It’s okay, though. They’re only thirteen. They have all the time in the world to figure this out; Eddie has all the time in the world to string together those five words in Richie’s direction. He lets his eyes close and promises himself that he’ll say it, one day.
Richie still hasn’t got a clue. Eddie is still going to fucking scream about it.
The only problem now is that all of a sudden, neither of them have all the time in the world.
I have a surprise for you, Eddie.
We’re going to stay with your aunts.
There’s nothing for us here.
There are colleges in New York.
These aren’t your friends.
We’re leaving tomorrow
at midday
on the dot
okay, sweetie?
All that night, Eddie can’t sleep. That afternoon, he’d forced Richie to promise that he wouldn’t sneak over, certain that Ma would be watching out for anything suspicious. Now, though, he thinks about years gone, twisting his legs together with Richie’s in his bed, feeling his heart pounding for no discernible reason, too young to think about what it could mean. He wishes he could do that now. He wishes he could have said those stupid five words.
The clock on his nightstand flashes 23:42.
Twelve hours and they’re gone.
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, telling himself firmly that within the next twelve hours, he will have said it.
Because the thing is, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to get the chance again. Bev left when they were thirteen. Ben when they were fourteen. Now they’re eighteen, going on nineteen, and it’s Eddie’s turn.
But the thing is, neither Bev nor Ben write anymore. There’s nothing to hint that they… that they even remember the rest of the Losers.
And if that’s the fate awaiting Eddie the moment he hits New York…
He growls to himself. Within the next twelve hours, he will have said it.
He gets up at half-six to bundle all of his worldly possessions into a series of cardboard boxes.
He has all his stuff shoved into the back of Ma’s car by ten. He can’t help but think that, actually, he doesn’t really have that much.
He helps Ma pack up her own crap until eleven. That’s when his friends show up.
“Eddie,” Bill says first, and he’s clearly trying not to let it get to him, but his eyebrows have a sad little upturn to them.
“I know,” Eddie responds. Behind him, Ma tuts pointedly. He ignores it until she turns back to packing the car.
“The Big Apple, huh?” Mike asks, smiling.
“Guess fuckin’ so, Mikey.”
“No way anyone actually calls it that,” argues Stan, his arms crossed in front of him. He’s looking at Eddie, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. Or cry.
“Hey, I’ll write and let you know, how ‘bout that?”
“Yeah, you better,” Richie says. When Eddie turns to him, he notices how he’s doing a far worse job at hiding his emotions than the others, despite his self-described ‘calling’ towards acting.
“I will, Rich. I promise.” He sighs out through his nose. It would be so easy to just… not say it. To fuck about for the next hour and just… not worry about it. Not have to live with the knowledge of what rejection looks like on Richie. Or (worse, maybe) have to live with the knowledge of what acceptance looks like on Richie. It’s almost too much to even consider - finally coming clean, finally getting a taste of what he’s been craving for most of his life, only to have it snatched away not even an hour later.
But that’s the issue. Eddie’s been craving it. The Maine sun highlights the lighter streaks in Richie’s hair, catches the lenses of his glasses, makes his cheekbones sharp enough to cut. Eddie takes stock of all these things. A resolution he last felt tossing his medicines across the lawn of 29 Neibolt fills him in a sudden ocean.
It’s ME, you fucking idiot!
“Uh. Actually, Richie, can I… talk to you real quick?” Jesus Christ, okay. It’s fine. It’s good, actually.
“I mean, go for it, buddy.”
“No, Rich, like– Like. Privately.”
Richie shoots a glance to Stan, who shrugs with one shoulder and smiles in a way that, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he would label knowing.
“Uh, sh-sure, I guess.”
“Be back in a minute, guys. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just– I’ve gotta do this. Real quick, okay?”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, man,” Mike says, raising an eyebrow.
“Um, yeah. Okay. Rich, this way.”
He slinks around to the side of his house, timing his breaths with the steady pacing of Richie’s feet behind him. In, one-two-three-four, out, one-two-three-four. In, one-two-three-four, out, one-two-three-four. In, one-two-three-four, out, one-two-thr–
“Man, last time I was here I’m pretty sure I fell outta that tree and broke another pair of glasses.”
“Only the fifth pair that week,” Eddie snarks.. He doesn’t even realize his shoulders are creeping up to his ears, tense, until Richie puts a hand on one and Eddie melts under the contact.
“Eds–” eddie spaghetti eddie my love eds eds “–what are we doing here? What do you wanna talk about that’s so freakin’ private even the others aren’t allowed to hear, man?”
“No, they’re– They’re allowed to hear, but I. I need to tell you first, Rich.” When he turns and looks at Richie, he doesn’t try to fight back against the instinct to have his eyes wide and searching. Richie looks straight back at him, blinking nervously.
“What’s going on, Eddie?”
“Okay, so there are basically two ways I can imagine this conversation ending. Either you’re gonna hate me and never wanna speak to me again ‘cause I’m stupid and I took too long–”
“Woah, fucking what? Eddie, you’ve gotta know that’s never–”
“Or, it’s gonna go the way I– I really hope it does.”
“…What’s going on, Eddie?”
“My memories,” Eddie says. “Of other universes. Of my soulmate. There are two universes I can see most clearly. And it’s– I remember that my soulmate, they’re…” He groans in frustration. “It’s fuckin’ prescriptive, right? You know, you hear about the people who have no fucking idea who their soulmate is ‘cause they’re so different in all the other universes, but not me. Not them. Not my soulmate.”
“Not them,” Richie echoes quietly. He looks a bit lost.
“Not… him.”
“Oh, Eds…”
“No, that’s not– That isn’t what I was trying to get at. Or, uh, I guess it’s maybe a part of it, but– Whatever. No. No, the– the point is. I know who my soulmate is, ‘cause he’s the same in this universe, too. And I’ve… I have known. For nearly a decade, dude.”
“Oh, holy shit.” Something seems to click into place, and then Richie’s smiling wide. If Eddie hadn’t known him since they were five years old, he might have thought it was happiness in Richie’s eyes. It’s not happiness, though. It’s agony. “Come on then, Eduardo, spill the beans, what’s the lucky chap like, huh?”
a pinch to the cheek. ah, you love it, eds.
a rough noogie. oh, you love it, eddie.
“I mean, he’s got a fuckin’ talent for getting on my nerves.”
yer a sight for sore eyes, sure an begorrah, yer a lovely man, a credit to the auld sod–
i mean, are we men, or are we mayce?
“He does these… these accents. Some of ‘em are, like, mimicking someone else, some of ‘em come from fuck knows where.”
keep coming, banana-heels!
hey, way to go, banana-heels!
“And he never knows when the hell to shut up…”
standing at the front of the group, arm wrenching back over and over to throw… rocks. to throw rocks.
standing with feet planted, staring down who could only be one person, those same rocks just waiting to fly.
“…but he’s so fucking brave. So… protective. But not like she is. He’s stupid and annoying, but he’s fuckin’– kind. And considerate.” He looks up at Richie again. Richie looks back, dumbstruck. “As far as soulmates go, I’m pretty fucking happy with mine.”
“Sh-Shit, Eddie. Have you, uh… said anything? To him?”
Yep, this is it. Eddie’s going to fucking scream.
“No,” he grits.
“I think if I knew who mine was, I’d go talk to ‘em, like, straight away.”
“Oh, would you now?”
“Uh… yeah?”
“Thought you said you didn’t want anything to do with it.”
“Still good to, um… know. I guess. But alas, I am yet to find–”
“Hey, why don’t you tell me about them? What you remember? Maybe we can… figure it out.”
“You’re being weird.”
Eddie just waits, annoyance and desperation and burning need boiling up inside him in a sickening wave.
“Alright, then, er… They’re… funny. Real fuckin’ funny. God, when I was eleven I got this weird-ass memory, right, something about… mashed potatoes. I dunno why it was so funny, but I swear, dude, I was up half the night trying not to wake up Mags and Went laughing. They’re one of those people that are so fuckin’ fun to mess with. Get all pissy and cute about it. They’re strong and brave… but I’m not sure they know it. Yeah, braver than they think, that’s for sure. I’m always so proud of ‘em, Jesus.”
“Rich…”
“Eddie–”
Richie cuts himself off, caught up in the way that Eddie’s gaze flicks to his lips for half an instant.
“Please tell me you get what I’m try’na say here, man,” Eddie says, then blinks at how quiet and low his voice has gone.
“I don’t… Eds…”
Eddie snarls and reaches out a hand to grab the collar of Richie’s stupid Hawaiian shirt that he’s somehow never grown sick of. He pulls him in, close enough that their noses are practically bumping.
“It’s me, you fucking idiot,” Eddie tells him.
“I– H– How? How could it–”
“Fucking excuse me?”
“After everything, it’s you?”
Eddie’s heart drops straight out of his body. He lets go of Richie’s collar. “Y– What?” he asks, then, angry: “What? That’s– You know what, fuck you, Richie! I’ve been worried about telling you for years and this is what you’re gonna say to me? Yes, it’s me, you fucking dumbass! And I can tell that this isn’t what you fucking wanted so– so you know what? You can just fuck o–”
Richie puts his hands frantically on Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug.
“No, no, do not fucking pity me right now! It was stupid of me to even think…! Fuck, you never even wanted a soulmate to begin with, fuck! You stupid fucking– bastard. Fuck. Fuck…” And suddenly Eddie’s crying. He doesn’t, he can’t put his arms around Richie’s waist in return, but he does drop his head forward so his eyes are buried in Richie’s shoulder.
“How can you think I don’t want this, you moron,” Richie says against Eddie’s temple. Eddie’s heart flies right back into its rightful place and gives a hopeful little kick.
“Hm– What?”
“Eddie, listen to me.” He pulls back from the hug as suddenly as he had instigated it, leaving Eddie with no time to wipe at his face. He’s so captivated by the frenzied expression on Richie’s face that he might not have had the wherewithal to do so, anyway. “Are you sure? Are you one-hundred fucking percent certain?”
“Who else could it be, Rich?”
Richie sighs through his nose. A gentle thumb wipes away a tear halfway down Eddie’s cheek. “Okay. Okay. Look, I do want this. I can’t even fucking tell you how much I want this. Eddie, I think I’ve loved you since, like… pre-K, man. That stuff I told you about not wanting a soulmate, I– I only said because I didn’t want a soulmate who wasn’t you. But also it was like, no way would I be that lucky, right? So my brain decides, hey, it can’t be him. No fucking chance. Didn’t even consider it for a second.”
(i’m talkin’ denial, i’m talkin’ omission…)
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, pretty gnarly. Even if I thought it was you, and I really did - brave little motherfucker, who else could it have been? I just couldn’t convince myself. I’m… really fucking sorry, Eds. This is ‘cause of me, we could’ve had this for years, and now you’re going to New fucking York–”
He freezes. Looks at Eddie. Takes Eddie’s face in his hands.
“You don’t have to. Eddie–”
“No, Rich–”
“You can stay here. Eddie, she can’t make you, you’re– I’m your fucking soulmate. She can’t take you away.”
“Richie, you know she doesn’t really believe in that shit. Ever since Dad left, you know that. She’s not gonna listen.”
“Fuck, uh… What about that you’re, like, a fucking adult? You don’t have to do what she says, Eds, you can legally live by yourself, or– or come live with me. Mom and Dad won’t mind, you know they love you, all I have to do is explain the situation and they’ll drag you through the fuckin’ door themselves–”
“Richie, baby…”
Richie cuts himself off with a helpless whimper, looking between Eddie’s eyes with tears in his own. He leans down to press their foreheads together and whispers, “Please don’t leave me, Eds. I only just found you.”
“Don’t you wanna get out of this fucking town?” Eddie asks. “Don’t you just wanna… get on a train and go literally anywhere else?”
(you’d be a train conductor i think see the world or something)
“I want you with me. I can’t–”
“Maybe we can do that. One day. Go on a national tour, huh? Trashmouth Tozier and… and Eddie fuckin’ Spaghetti. For one night and one night only.”
Richie laughs at that, only a breath. “That one from a different universe?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, I do actually like all of ‘em. And you can’t tell anyone I said this, but…” He pulls back and places his hand on Richie’s cheek. Flicks his gaze downwards once again. Presses up on anticipatory toes. “…Eds has always been my favorite.”
“Works well. Eds is my favorite, too.”
Then Richie leans in, and Eddie finally understands exactly what everyone goes crazy about when they rave about kissing their soulmate.
Even if it’s little more than just a drawn-out, chaste press of lips, it’s still enough to have a million butterflies pushing out from their cocoons in his stomach. The hand that isn’t on Richie’s face finds its new favourite home on his waist, and pulls them flush together. He feels Richie let out a trembling little breath at the feeling, and smiles into the kiss.
“I can’t believe it’s taken this long,” Eddie mumbles into the slight roughness of Richie’s jaw.
“I can’t believe you finally admitted to liking the names,” Richie says through a grin, then his mouth is back on Eddie’s and it’s different. More. His hands move down from Eddie’s face and instead hold either side of his waist, leaving Eddie to grab onto Richie’s jaw with both hands to keep him close as Richie… starts walking Eddie backwards. And Eddie is helpless to resist, letting it happen until his back hits the wall of his childhood house and he gasps in surprise. Richie takes the moment to run his tongue along Eddie’s bottom lip - not pressing any further, just. Asking.
Eddie can’t answer with anything other than a quiet noise and parted lips.
Their tongues brush. A jolt that feels like he’s been struck by lightning crashes down Eddie’s spine, leaving him with no choice but to press up as far as he can on his toes and push his hands into Richie’s hair, determined to keep him right here. That really does wring a proper groan out of Richie, Eddie is delighted to note as he presses his tongue as far into Richie’s mouth as he can.
“Mmh… Fuck you and the– fuckin’ long legs you– walked in on,” he mumbles through kisses, his back bowed in an attempt to get as close to Richie’s mouth as possible. Richie grins, ducking down to dot tickling kisses around Eddie’s face. Nose, cheeks, eyebrow, forehead, chin, until Eddie’s laughing helplessly and redirecting him back to his lips.
“Jesus, Eds…”
“Love you.”
“Love you too. Eddie, baby… Don’t– Mm, don’t leave me…”
“I won’t, Rich, I– ‘M gonna tell her I’m– stayin’, okay?”
“Okay, okay. Okay. Fuck.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything, only falls back on his heels and wraps his arms around Richie’s neck. Richie lets out a muffled Mmph! as he’s forced to hunch over to keep his lips against Eddie’s. He settles into it quickly, though, breathing a whine against Eddie’s tongue, pushing evermore further into the pressure, hard enough that Eddie has to put a hand out against the side of his house to keep from tumbling over, and then Richie has his fingers wrapped around Eddie’s wrist and he’s tugging so that he can push his hand against the wall beside his head and Eddie can’t help but cry out a high-pitched Fuck–! and Richie responds with a groan in the back of his throat and he’s kissing Eddie like he’s trying to consume him and actually Eddie thinks he’d be okay with that and–
“Oh!”
Eddie freezes where he’s trying to reach Richie’s tonsils, then swiftly pulls back and looks over in the direction of the exclamation to see Stan. And Mike. And Bill. Stanley looks smug, Mike looks like he’s trying not to burst out laughing, Bill looks like he’s working on a particularly hard math problem. Richie lets go of his wrist, rubbing his thumb over his jumping pulsepoint just for a second.
“Uh… So, is this how you want us all to say goodbye, Eddie?” Mike asks in a wobbling voice. “Should we form a line or something?”
“Hey, hey, get your own fuckin’ soulmate,” Richie tells them as he puts an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulls him into his side. Stan raises his eyebrows. Mike’s face splits into a tremendous grin. Bill’s mouth falls open. Eddie puts his own arm around Richie’s waist.
“Wait. You two?” Bill asks.
“After all the fucking flirting we had to endure…”
“Oh, don’t worry, Stan, it would only get worse from here on out. You should be thankful I’m a repressed little bitch and Eds thought I’d hate him if he said anything.”
“Don’t call me that, dickhead.”
“Aww, but I thought it was your favorite…”
“I swear to– Actually, yeah, Mike, if you wanna form a neat line, I don’t think you need to worry about the whole soulmate thing, I was clearly wrong–”
“Nuh-uh, no take-backsies, Eds, you’re stuck with me now.”
For a whole, what, forty more minutes? Eddie thinks bitterly, but snaps his teeth in Richie’s direction in a meaningless warning.
“Wait, Eddie, did you know?” Mike asks, eyes wide.
“Uh. Yeah. Figured it out a while ago. The memories, they… were quite particular. I can’t imagine anyone else being that…” He waves a hand up and down Richie’s body. The other three nod in understanding.
“Hey, Bill…” Stanley says suddenly, sing-song and saccharine.
“Shit,” Bill responds, his face going red.
“You remember that little deal we had, right?”
“Uh, what? Nope, n-not at all, actually.”
“Okay, let me jog your memory. Ten bucks if they got together… another twenty if they were soulmates, right?”
“Are you kidding me?!” Eddie explodes, while Richie collapses into laughter by his side. “Stan! I expected more from you!”
“Not from Bill?!” Mike cackles, swept up by Richie’s hysterics.
“Obviously not from Bill! Look at him!”
“Cough up, Buh-Buh-Buh-Billiard,” Richie chokes out, then wheezes breathlessly, “Thirty bucks!”
“Hey, huh-hey, are you guys sure? ‘Cause, like… this is twenty bu-bucks we’re talkin’ about here, if there’s any doubt that you’re soulmates you shhhhould let me know, definitely–”
“What’s this nonsense about soulmates?” a very different voice says, one that instantly dries up all traces of laughter and has Eddie straightening his spine absently. Mike, Bill, and Stan turn around to face Ma, who is watching the little gathering with squinted eyes and a fake smile that anyone with eyes could see through. When she sees how closely Eddie and Richie are standing, her expression only gets more strained.
“Nothing, Miss-Mrs. K,” Bill says immediately.
“…Okay. Sweetie, are you ready to go? Have you said goodbye yet? Have you taken your Hyoscine? You know how bad your travel sickness can get, especially on long journeys.”
“Yeah, I have. Uh, Ma?”
“What is it, Eddie?”
“It’s… It’s not actually nothing. We were talking about soulmates because, uh.” This cannot go well, but he has to try. He can’t leave without knowing that he’s at least tried. “Me and Richie. We’re soulmates. We… We just figured it out.”
Mom looks between Eddie and Richie, over and over. Mike, Stan, and Bill take a few steps back to stand with their friends. “I don’t think so, Eddie-bear,” she simpers after a moment, tittering lightly. “I think you might just be confused. There’s no such thing as soulmates, darling, you know this. Your father and I–”
“This is different,” Eddie cuts her off. “Richie isn’t going to leave. I’m sorry that happened to you, Ma, of course I am, but something happening one time doesn’t make it the rule. I– I don’t want to go to New York. I don’t– I want to stay here with Richie.”
He can feel Richie’s gaze boring into the side of his face, so turns to meet it with a small smile.
“You’re being ridiculous, Eddie,” Ma tells him. “Why would you think that this boy is your soulmate?” The way she says it, she might as well be telling Richie to go jump into an active volcano. “He’s not going to keep you safe, Eddie, not the way I will. Not the way your aunts and New York will. You’re going to go to a lovely college and meet a lovely girl - maybe even your actual soulmate! Isn’t that exciting?”
“Ma, Richie is my actual soulmate, what are you talking about?”
“He is not,” she hisses, suddenly venomous. She marches forward until they’re nose-to-nose. They’re the same height. “He’s just an– an infatuation, Eddie, and the sooner you realize this, the better. Now, come on. Say your last goodbyes. We’re leaving.”
“W– You said midday on the dot!”
“We’re all packed, why wait another minute?”
“Be– I– Because– I don’t want to!”
“Say goodbye, Eddie,” Mom growls, holding his gaze. She’s swept the rug out from under his feet, and they both know it.
“I don’t want to,” he whispers. Tears well up in his eyes. “I… Ma, please, please let me stay, I don’t want to.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, and wraps him in a cloying embrace. He will not put his arms around her. He will not bury his eyes in her shoulder. “It’s okay. Come and get into the car, okay, and then we can get you out of here and you can start a whole new chapter, alright? Both of us can. It’s so exciting, isn’t it?”
“Please…”
“Say your goodbyes, Eddie.”
Then she’s pulling away and marching back towards the car. All five Losers stare after her. Eddie might be sick. He wants, more than anything, his stupid inhaler.
No, that’s not right. He wants, more than anything, Richie.
He swivels in place, sees the pure hatred on Richie’s face following his mom’s retreating form, and lurches forward to throw his arms around his neck.
“Hey, woah, it’s okay, Eds–”
“No, n-no, it’s not fucking okay, I don’t want to.”
“I know. But you’re going to. And you’re gonna have a great time, okay?” Eddie pulls out of his arms enough to see the smile valiantly fighting the miserable drawbridge of his eyebrows. “We all love you, alright? Seriously.”
“I love you all, too,” he whispers. Four pairs of arms entwine around him, keeping him grounded, keeping him safe. “I’m so f–fucking sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Stan tells him resolutely. Eddie knows it’s a lie, and it only makes him sob harder.
They stay like that until they hear a car horn outside the house, and Eddie forces himself to pull away.
“I’ll write,” he nods. “I fucking promise.”
“Maybe it’ll be different with your soulmate?” Bill suggests. “Maybe you won’t f-f-f…”
He trails off. They all know what he’s saying anyway.
“I hope so,” Richie says. A gentle thumb wipes away a tear halfway down Eddie’s cheek.
The car horn blares again.
“Time to go,” Eddie frowns, blinking back the fresh tears that arise at those three simple words.
They come with him out to the front lawn, where they each hug him once more.
“See ya, Eddie.” Stan.
“Bye, Ed-Eddie.” Bill.
“See you ‘round, man.” Mike.
“Later, Kaspbrak.” Richie. Eddie holds on just a bit tighter to him. When they reluctantly pull back, Richie takes his chin between thumb and finger and leans down to kiss him. It’s soft, and chaste, and it breaks Eddie’s heart. “I love you.”
“Love you too. I’ll write.”
“Yeah. You better.”
As the car takes him away from the only people he’s ever actually felt safe with, Eddie watches in the wing-mirror as they get smaller and smaller. Bill has a hand raised in farewell. Stan has a hand on Richie’s shoulder. Even from this distance, Eddie can see how the same shoulder is heaving.
“I can’t believe you let him touch you like that, Eddie-bear,” Ma is muttering, almost to herself. “Of all the dirty mouths in Derry–”
“Ma, if you don’t want me to jump out of this moving car right fucking now, you’ll stop talking about Richie like that.”
She stops talking about Richie like that.
A few weeks pass.
Soon enough, Eddie stops talking about Richie, too.