serendipity {sequel to pop} || reddie

trois

Eight o' clock rolled around eventually. Eddie had been stuck in his office all day, diving deep into his clients' psyches, discussing depression and trauma and parents. He was happy with the progress he'd made, but he couldn't deny that as the time for his last client ticked down at 7:14pm, Eddie was ready to leave.

The timer rang at 7:15pm, the client left, and Eddie felt mild panic wash over him at the thought of seeing Richie again. At the thought of fucking Richie, because that's what they'd both been intending on doing. And Eddie knew Richie wouldn't be mad if he changed his mind, but he was still nervous. He did want to have sex with Richie, but there was so much that went into it, all the memories and bonds and the betrayal of their mutual abandonment. He didn't know if he'd want to do it in the moment. Everything needed to be talked about, and Eddie wasn't looking forward to that part.

Plus, Eddie wasn't just going there to have sex; of course not, he wanted to talk and catch up and hang out. And maybe Richie hadn't even caught Eddie's drift, maybe he wasn't intending on it, and Eddie would be fine with that. Honestly, he just wanted to be around Richie, reconnect with him.

Still, reconnecting physically definitely wouldn't be a bad thing.

Eddie hurried out of the building and into his dorm, trying not to look too rushed as he walked past one of his roommates.

"What's up with you, Eddie? Why so rushed?" The roommate, Dean, asked him, and Eddie didn't stop his motions as he unlocked his bedroom door, stepping in.

"I might be getting laid in half an hour." He replied, providing no context, and Dean gave an impressed hum.

"Way to go, dude. Who is it? I haven't seen you with anyone."

Eddie paused as he took his shirt off (by now, the dorm had virtually zero boundaries). "Huh, funny story. You heard of Richie Tozier?"

Dean's eyes widened. "You're fucking with me."

"I went to high school with him. We kind of dated, for, like, a long time." Eddie explained, and Dean listened in disbelief as Eddie disappeared behind his slightly-ajar door to change the rest of his clothes. "I'll get his autograph to prove it."

"Shit, please do. Man, I used to love watching his show. I guess the appeal kind of wore off, though. Now he just seems depressed. Tired." Dean spoke. He was studying psychology as well, planning on being a social worker, and he could spot the signs of sadness just as well as Eddie could.

"I think he is." Eddie emerged, now dressed in a pair of acid-washed overalls and a large, white sweater, complete with white sneakers. "What do you think?"

"It's... casual. Cutesy." Dean squinted, and Eddie knew he hated it.

"I guess it's... kind of how I used to dress. In high school." Eddie noticed aloud. He hadn't meant for that to happen. "I don't know, I think he'll like it."

"You think he'll like being reminded of your underage self?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"I think he'll like the cutesy aspect, dumbass." Eddie rolled his eyes, picking up his keys. "I've got to get to the hotel. Look, we might not fuck, I don't know, we're just friends, but I promise I'll get his autograph."

"You better." Dean called after him as Eddie walked out the door.

The hotel was fairly close, and Eddie took a taxi there, walking nervously into the building. He flashed a quick smile at the receptionist before scurrying into the elevator. Thankfully, it was empty, and Eddie had a few moments of solitude to gather himself. He stepped onto Richie's floor and quickly found the room, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door.

Richie opened it a few seconds later, his eyes raking Eddie's body. He looked at his watch.

"Seven fifty-nine."

"I'm never late." Eddie nodded. Richie pulled him into the room, shutting the door behind him. Eddie didn't hesitate to walk over to the bed, kicking his shoes off and sitting down on it. Richie gave a nervous smile, sitting beside him. "What do you remember about Derry?" Eddie asked, running his hands over the clean, white sheets absentmindedly.

"The Losers. I remember them more now. It all... makes sense, you know?" Richie answered, thinking it over carefully. "I remember you. And... there was... fog."

As soon as he said it, the memories came back, one after another. They did for Eddie, too; the nightmares, the pink room, the leper.

"Holy shit." Eddie breathed. "The fog. How did we forget?"

"It must have made us." Richie shrugged, and Eddie knew he meant, you know, It with a capital "I." It It.

"But how? We used... The Ritual of Chüd, right? It's dead." Eddie shook his head.

"Maybe It isn't." Richie said quietly. He paused, an uncomfortable silence falling over them. "I don't know. Maybe this is just Derry. Town's still got some bad energy, even without It."

The two remembered clearer now. It had lived in the sewers... a pure evil from the Macroverse... Maturin had helped guide them... It had turned into a spider...

God, what the fuck kind of fever dream was 1989?

"Jesus." Eddie put his face in his hands. "It's all so much."

"I know." Richie replied. He really did. But he felt more relief than anxiety at the memories; they were a reassurance that he wasn't crazy, that he really had been missing something, and now he had that something. That someone.

And all Richie was scared of now- all he was terrified of- was losing Eddie again. It had been, and remained, his biggest fear. And it had happened, for four years. But he hadn't known until a day ago. So much pain for nothing... whatever, he was medicated now. He was fine (except he really wasn't).

"Okay. It's okay." Eddie took a deep breath, calming his panic. "I'm here now. We're here now, you're with me." Eddie reached out his hand, taking Richie's in it, and Richie could feel him trembling.

"Yeah, Eds, I'm here." Richie repeated. Eddie nodded, biting his lip. "I'm not leaving again."

"Hm?" Eddie hummed, looking at Richie with eyes of uncertainty and pain. So much pain hidden in there. Richie wondered what had happened after Derry.

"I'm not leaving again." Richie repeated, and he meant it. He reached out to brush Eddie's hair out of his pale face, loving how soft it was on his fingers.

Richie leaned forward and gave Eddie a gentle kiss, and Eddie had really needed that, and he wondered how Richie had known that that was what he needed. Richie always knew.

Richie had always known, all the time. Ever since he'd met Eddie. He'd been able to sense if he should be gentle or playful or rough or romantic or whatever else Eddie could've possibly wanted. Eddie gave back what he could, he gave all his love to Richie, but Richie didn't need it to keep loving him. Richie gave up his entire soul to Eddie Kaspbrak, did whatever he wanted, stayed calm through all of Eddie's pissy moods and cold, unfeeling days. Because he loved him so completely that Eddie felt like a part of him. And that was crazy.

Eddie had loved Richie, too, of course; but he had been young and immature, and he wished he'd shown his affection more than he had. Richie had always been wise beyond his years, his humor about the same as a sixth grader's when he was sixteen, but his mind the same as a thirty year old's. And he had known the weight of what they'd been doing. Had he loved Eddie more than Eddie had loved him? Probably not; but he understood it all much better than Eddie had.

Richie had known the whole time that he would never, ever stop loving Eddie.