Richie stares down at the address on his hand, then up at the house his bike is stopped in front of. It must be the right place, there's a pile of bikes in the front lawn, as well as a collection of balloons tied to the porch railing.
Taking a deep sigh in, Richie prepares for everything that he's gotten himself into. Fuck You, Beverly Marsh he thinks. Fuck you for making me love you so much.
Richie discards his bike against the tree, leaving it out of the tangled mess of other bikes in fear of it accidentally getting stolen. He pulls his backpack tighter against his spine, then ascends the stairs to knock on the front door.
Ben's mother answers, happily guiding Richie into the basement, telling him that if he needs anything she would be more than happy to help. Richie smiles, shrugs her hand off his shoulder, and then cautiously descends the staircase to the basement he hears chatter bubbling from.
As soon as Richie turns the corner and interrupts the group's excited conversation, he feels the pressure of eyes piercing into him. Richie stands in the doorway, his hands tight on his bag straps, and considers turning back around to escape this mess he's gotten himself into.
"You invited trashmouth?" He hears a harsh whisper.
"Shut up, Stan. He's Beverly's best friend," Ben replies, slapping a tall kid upside the head.
"Richie T-T-Tozier has fuh-friends?" Stuttering Bill struggles to get out.
Richie dips his head down, flinching for a few brief seconds, before looking to Ben and asking "Do you have the decorations?"
Ben seems to snap out of it, nodding quickly and waving Richie over to a massive department store bag filled with streamers and packages of balloons.
"Here, why don't you and Stan set the streamers up since you're the tallest," Ben hands the rolls of decorations to Richie, then waves a reluctant Stanley over. The two share a look before Richie begins unraveling the streamers.
"Eddie, how about you blow the balloons up?" Ben holds up a bag of red balloons, his face hopeful and excited about making this party perfect for the girl he loves.
"You want to make an asthmatic kid blow up balloons? Wow, you should get an award for smartest ideas, Ben. You're practically fucking Einstein," Richie hears over his shoulder, which makes him smirk. He doesn't look, but the voice sounds flowery and sharp all at once. The definition of float like a butterfly, sting like a bee truly takes form in those quick-witted replies. Richie smiles, and continues decorating.
After finishing up the streamers, Stan immediately retreats to Stuttering Bill's side. Richie watches the two, then moves to inhabit a vacant chair in the far corner. He holds his bag close, very close, and watches as the four kids move about the basement comfortably. It's obvious he's the outsider, and he really just wants this night to be over, yet Bev hasn't even arrived yet.
Richie pulls out his Walkman, placing the headphones over his ears and pressing play on his most anxiety-reducing mixtape. He finds comfort in the song, letting Hotel California by The Eagles serenade his busy mind.
Richie lets his tape play through three times before Beverly and Mike finally arrive. She yelps in surprise when everyone jumps out, and Richie can't help but let his eyes soften upon seeing her excited expression.
Richie doesn't join their circle, instead just moves his chair closer and watches the way that Beverly fits right in. He keeps his headphones on, but slides one side off of his ear so that he can listen in on the conversation. Nothing important, just complaints about Bowers and school courses.
Then, suddenly, with no warning at all, a small figure presses into Richie's side and causes the taller boy to jump up.
"I was trying to figure out where I've seen you before," the boy says, and when Richie looks over, he sees a button nose and rose tinted cheeks facing the other kids in the room.
Richie is rendered speechless, completely in shock at the mere proximity of this tiny human beside him. The smell of vapo-rub and cough syrup fills his senses, and just as he's about to move away, the boys looks up at him with familiar rusty copper eyes.
"You gave me a nosebleed on Tuesday," he says, his voice soft and quiet. It's as if he doesn't want anybody else to hear the two of them talking, like these words are for Richie's ears only.
"Was that you?" Richie pretends as if he doesn't recognize those freckles.
"Yeah," the boy rubs the very nose that is in question. "I thought you gave me a blood clot in my brain."
"That's... ridiculous," Richie squints his eyes.
The boy smiles up at him, gentle and inviting, and says "My name is Eddie."
Eddie. A perfect name, a very perfect name.
Richie nods, leaning a bit away and says "Richie Tozier. I'm here for Bev."
"I figured," Eddie says, elbowing Richie's side. "Why else would you be hiding away in the corner with some cheap cassette player?"
Richie shoots him a glare, and then sighs in defeat. He doesn't have it in him to be tough, not tonight. "It's not cheap. It was a gift."
"Got any Elton John on that thing?" Eddie asks, nodding down at the tape deck in Richie's hands.
Richie feels his eyes widen, and then he quickly nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, hold on."
Richie leans down to unzip his backpack, shuffling through the various mixtapes he carries with him at all times. He finds one with the label LOVER in red marker, and he quickly exchanges it with the tape currently in the Walkman. Eddie watches him curiously, so Richie feels the need to preform more quickly. He holds the headphones up to his ear, fast forwarding through the tape of love songs until he finds the singer that has been requested.
Upon stopping the tape, Richie reaches over and slides the headphones over Eddie's ears. Eddie smiles, covers the headphones with his hands, and then looks up at Richie with excited eyes.
The world slows.
In that moment, where two boys are crammed into a worn out recliner, and their friends sit on the floor only a couple feet away, Richie experiences what it feels like to have his breath taken away. The world shrinks down to this chair, this ugly chair, and Richie can hear every single song on that LOVER tape overlay and play throughout his mind. The scent of cough syrup becomes overwhelming, soon replaced by the sickeningly sweet aroma of flowers and honey. Eddie blinks slowly, his unsweetened tea eyes dripping down his freckled cheeks, and Richie watches his nose scrunch up as he lets out a quiet giggle.
Richie's heart races, heat coursing through his veins, bones aching when firecrackers ignite between his ribs. He looks over to see if anybody else is seeing what he's seeing, but he's only met with meadows of wildflowers that blow with the wind.
Eddie reaches up to remove the headphones, holding them idly for a moment before he says "Listen. This is a good song."
Richie knows it's a good song, that's why he put it on a mixtape. But still, when Eddie slides the headphones onto Richie's ears, Rich feels as if he has never heard the notes before in his life. The words are brand new, and shock his brain with the sheer amount of meaning that they now have.
"But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song, it's for people like you that keep it turned on."
Richie hears the words. He does. He hears them for the first time, with Eddie's hands clasped tightly against Richie's ears in an attempt to amplify the music, and my god does Richie hear the words.
"Eddie! Stop terrorizing trashmouth!" Stanley scoffs.
With an impact that hurts as if he's just returned to Earth, Richie's head snaps over to the group of kids all staring at the two boys.
Eddie laughs and stands to his feet, stepping over Richie's bag to settle in between Bill and Mike. Richie feels embarrassed, his cheeks flushed and chest tight and wound like a toy. He catches Beverly's eyes, and the girl smirks at him as if she knows exactly what's going on in Richie's mind.
The problem is; Richie doesn't even know what's going on. He has been swept up in a whirlwind of confusion, his brain deleting all common sense and logic that it once possessed.
"Richie, why don't you start us off with presents?" Ben interrupts Richie's confusing train of thoughts.
"Uh," Richie flushes even harder, his chest pounding. "O-O-Okay."
"Look, Bill, he sounds like you!" Eddie laughs. Richie's brain feels as if someone has poured pop rocks and cola right into his skull, fizzling and vibrating around in excitement and terror.
Richie stands up, picking up his bag as well, and joining the group the best that he can without disrupting their natural circle. He sits next to Beverly, pulling presents out of his bag and setting them on the carpet next to Bev's leg.
While everyone else gets up to retrieve their gifts, Beverly begins unwrapping what Richie nudges towards her. She opens the cigarettes first, laughs, and says "You know I only smoke Marlboro, Rich!"
Richie smirks, then says "Damn, what a shame! More for me," and attempts to take them back. Beverly holds them close to her chest.
She opens the knife next, squealing with excitement and unfolding it like she's done it for years. While watching her flip the blade around so carelessly, Bill manages to stutter out "Holy s-s-shit."
"You better treat her right, Ben, or she'll slice your balls off," Richie interjects with some of his usual humor. Mike and Eddie giggle, which catches Richie's attention.
My god, Richie has never loved a sound more than that one.
"I don't know, Tozier. Keep it up and you'll be the one with no balls," Beverly points the knife in Richie's direction, but clearly has no malicious intentions.
"You're just jealous mine are bigger than yours," Richie scoffs, nudging the final gift towards her.
As Bev unwraps it using her new knife, Bill leans over and whispers just loud enough for Richie to hear "D-Do girls really huh-have b-b-balls?"
"What? No, you idiot," Stanley replies. "Are you serious?"
Bill shrinks in on himself, looking down at his fidgeting hands, and suddenly Richie remembers what Bev said about him losing his brother.
"Haven't you heard? Bev isn't a girl. She's practically Bigfoot," Richie replies to Bill's question.
Eddie must hear this, because this time, he lets out a loud burst of laughter. The noise takes Richie by surprise, and when he stares across the circle to where the petite boy is, he becomes enamored with the way Eddie tilts his head back and covers his face.
"Nail polish..." Beverly gently says, bringing Richie's attention back to her. "It's beautiful, Rich."
"It matches your eyes," Richie says, then, to cover up his embarrassment, he says "Or whatever. I only know what color they are because you're always staring at my hot piece of ass."
She shoves the boy, and then pulls him in for a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Richie. I love you," she whispers in his ear, and then gets pulled away by Ben, who is begging her to open his gift next.
Richie fumbles around with his pockets until he finds a lighter and his cigarettes, quietly stepping away from the other kids to head out the basement door. He cups his hand around the flame, bringing the flame up to his mouth, and then takes deep puffs as if he's the asthmatic one.
"T-T-Trashmouth," a voice calls over his shoulder. Richie looks over, fully expecting Bill, and not being disappointed. "S-Sorry. Richie."
Richie waves him off, cigarette balanced between his fingers. "Don't worry about it, Bill."
Bill takes a few steps forward, rubbing the sides of his arms, shaky breaths floating through the air in clouds of fog. If Richie didn't know any better, he would think Bill was smoking too.
"B-Bev talks about-t you a l-l-lot," he looks towards the sky. Richie's eyes linger on a scar etched through Bill's eyebrow, and he wonders how it got there.
"Can you blame her? I'm irresistible," Richie shrugs.
Bill laughs, then says "S-S-She thinks w-we should be fuh-friends."
"She also thinks that Batman is cooler than Superman."
"B-Batman is cooler than S-S-Superman," Bill frowns.
"You're crazy," Richie shakes his head. He looks over at Bill once more, watching the way his body trembles in the cold. Without even thinking of it, Richie shrugs one of his jackets off and drapes it over Bill's shoulders. The shorter boy seems grateful, but he doesn't comment on it.
"I'm sorry about your brother," Richie says, then feels embarrassed by his big mouth. He curses under his breath, then quickly says "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
"N-No, it's okay. T-T-Thank you," Bill exhales like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. "Everyone p-pretends like it d-d-didn't happen. It's n-nice to hear someone not afraid of h-hurting me."
"Yeah, well," Richie shrugs. "You'll get tired of it soon, I promise. I never know when to shut my mouth."
Bill watches Richie toss the cigarette, gently stubbing it with the toe of his boot, then go back inside.
For the rest of the night, Richie sits at the end of the couch, headphones on, and mixtape after mixtape playing to distract him from what's going on. Beverly doesn't bother him, she is aware of how hard it is for Richie to deal with being left out. She thinks it's unfair that they're all friends except for him, but she appreciates him coming anyway.
This behavior lasts well into the night, after Richie tucks himself deep into a cocoon of blankets next to Beverly's sleeping bag. He turns the volume down despite the headphones, and rewinds the parts of the songs he feels needs to be heard more than once.
Richie's watch reads half past one in the morning when another body stirs in the basement. Richie watches a silhouette sit up, and when he slides his headphones off, he's met with the heavy breathing of an asthmatic kid.
Richie rolls over, touching Beverly's freckled shoulder. "Bev," he shakes her, voice whispering as to not wake the others. "Bev. Wheezy is having a heart attack, wake up."
"Mhhmb," Beverly mumbles, shoving Richie's hand off of her shoulder. "He has nightmares. Leave him be."
"Shouldn't you do something?" Richie asks, confused about why she's not waking up to help her friend. As he asks, he can hear the panicked breaths turn into shallow cries.
"He... falls back asleep... he's fine..." Beverly rolls over, shoving her face into her pillow.
Richie lies back down, facing the ceiling, and listening to Eddie sob so quietly that it's obvious he's trying not to be loud. There's a kind of choking noise that comes with trying to be invisible, and it's one that Richie is far too familiar with.
Richie sits up, unable to listen to Eddie's crying any longer. After moving his blankets around, he lets out a deep breath and tries to figure out if he will regret this or not. How bad can it be? What's the worst that could possibly happen?
"Alright, come on, Shortstack," Richie whispers into the dark air of Ben's basement. Eddie's crying temporarily stops, but it resumes all too quickly, now with the hint of embarrassment. Richie tries again. "Come on, come lay down. You're having a bad dream? Come sleep over here."
The silence that follows is so long that Richie comes to the conclusion that Eddie has fallen back asleep like Beverly suggested that he would. But, before Richie can lay back down, he begins to hear the crinkle of a sleeping bag and the shrill of a zipper.
The small boy crawls across the carpet on his hands and knees, slowly making his way up to where Richie's voice was heard from. Richie holds the blanket out invitingly, making sure to move his leg after Eddie accidentally put his hand on a spare knee.
"Okay, come on, there there," Richie whispers, wrapping the warmest blanket around Eddie and letting the boy settle down beside him. Nobody else seems to wake, so they must be moving quietly enough. Eddie's no longer crying, just sniffles.
Richie reaches down for his tape deck, headphones attached, and then slowly puts them over Eddie's head like before. Eddie's breathing stops altogether, and then resumes at a much more steady rate.
In the darkness, Richie watches as the boy stops shaking, his shoulders slumping down, and then eventually fills the air with the deeper kind of breathing that only comes when someone is asleep.
Richie stares at him for a moment, the moonlight illuminating the side of Eddie's face and haunting the edges of his angelic features.
Fucks sake, he's pretty.
Richie sighs, laying flat on his back, and rewinding the tape each time that it finishes. Eddie sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night, while Richie stares at the ceiling and picks apart everything he has done wrong to end up here at this point in his life.