Ao3:Softhargrove
Richie sighs, looking at the text from Bev again. It's an invite to a dinner party at her apartment Saturday evening. The parties are nothing new, and neither is Richie's growing irritation with her other usual guests.
All Richie had ever wanted when he was younger was to have all eyes on him. An attention whore from the day he was born. Every stupid comment or outlandish outfit was practice for future spent planted firmly in the spotlight.
And he got his wish. A stand-up career, his popularity skyrocketing two years ago with a critically acclaimed Netflix special where he'd come out, to the shock of the audience and his fans, and everything that came with suddenly being a household name.
Appearances on every talk-show known to man, podcasts and YouTube shows followed, his appearance on Hot Ones, where he'd managed to make Sean Evans laugh so hard that he snorted water out his nose, was one of the most watched episodes that season.
There's been minimal backlash to his coming out, quite the opposite, actually. He's become something of a queer icon, something he never thought he'd be able to say as a gangly, pimply teenager in oversized thrift store Hawaiian shirts or a struggling comic telling lame dick jokes and griping about his made-up long-term girlfriend Julie, on stage in his 20s.
He got invited to the hottest parties and clubs, and won an Emmy for his special, which led to a gig hosting SNL, a lifelong dream of his. The audience clapping as he ran around playing character after character pumped him up and should have given him a high like nothing else, but the truth is, all the awards, tv appearances, free drinks and dinners all felt a little empty without anyone to share it all with.
Sure, he has people to hang out with. Lots of them. Now more than ever, he always has someone to call if he wants to go out and get drunk or eat a good meal. Whether he's in LA or Chicago or New York, all he has to do was pick up the phone and he'll no longer be alone.
But these people make themselves immediately available because he's Richie Tozier, famous stand-up comedian, the funny guy who's always ready with a joke or a story about what Jimmy Fallon's really like (spoiler alert, he's a jackass with a laugh as fake as the day is long). They hang out with him because he entertains them.
They don't care about Richie himself. They don't care about the guys that ghost him after some great text flirting and what seems to be an awesome first date, leaving him wondering what went wrong.
They don't want to hear about back pain or heartburn or the troubling number of grey hairs he's finding on his head, and they certainly didn't want to help him decide if he should dye it.
No one wants to think about the fact that he's struggling with writing a follow up to that massively popular stand up special, to the point where it's keeping him up at night, long hours filled with fears of never living up to his new reputation. It's left him in the longest depressive slump he's been in in a long time, and he's starting to get worried he'll never climb his way out of it.
Seeing as Bev's one of the hottest fashion designers in the world, these are the kind of people that tend to fill the seats at Bev's legendary dinner parties. Superstars from the worlds of fashion, movies and tv, politics and sports congregate to talk and eat delicious catered food and pat each other on the back for being so wonderful and talented.
***
Eddie watches, brow furrowed, as the stylish red head, who's name he recently learnt was Bev, walks out of the elevator to her apartment door. He stares for so long that the elevator doors start to close on him, and he almost drops the bag of produce in his arms trying to press the button that will open them back up.
He only moved into the building a month ago, following his from his ex-wife, Myra. They'd split their assets evenly, per their pre-nuptial agreement, and Myra had gotten their main home while Eddie had gotten the summer house in Florida and cabin in Vermont. He'd sold both and put a down payment on his new apartment.
It was an odd situation he's ended up in. Technically, this floor of the building should have been split into six units, but Bev had purchased four of them, knocking down the walls between three on one side of the hall to act as a workspace and design studio, and the fourth, on the other side of the hall, served as a home for her and her husband Ben, a famous architect. Eddie's apartment is sandwiched between Bev and Ben's and a unit that serves as a home for a famous author, Bill Denbrough, and his movie star wife, Audra Phillips, for when they're in New York.
Eddie's never met them, as they haven't been here since Eddie moved in, but they're apparently very nice and good friends of Bev's.
At first, Eddie hadn't known what to make of Bev. Ben, he could read a little bit better. Quiet, but kind, always ready with a smile and a wave, he had a soft calmness about him that Eddie could get behind.
Bev on the other hand is always go, go, go, shouting at Eddie to hold the elevator as she runs towards it with her arms full of bolts of fabric and thick, glossy binders, talking a hundred miles an hour about work and Ben and far too comfortable teasing Eddie about the Fanny pack he wears for running or asking him about his personal life, her energy at odds with her sleek style.
Today's no different. As he enters the building lobby after grocery shopping, he finds her waiting for the elevator, a large black tote bag with a bolt of fabric and a baguette slung over one shoulder, one cellphone pressed between a shoulder and her ear, while she texts on another phone with her other hand.
She motions to Eddie in what he was pretty sure is supposed to be a wave, before continuing her conversations.
By the time they hit the third floor, Bev's hung up the call, but is still texting on the other phone. She raises her head to look at Eddie, somehow still texting without looking at her phone.
"You're coming to my house Saturday night for a dinner party," she says, still texting away. It's an order, not a question. There's no asking if he was free, or interested in going, just a demand that he be there at 7.
After spending his whole life up until this point being told what to do by controlling women, first his mother insisting that he take pills that he didn't need and he home by 7pm well into high school, then his ex-wife controlling his diet, going so far as to convince him he had a gluten intolerance, deciding where they would vacation, what wine they would order when they went out to dinner, and what they would watch on tv at night, he's hesitant to give in to the commands of yet another domineering woman, but something's different about Bev.
She's magnetic, exciting, and electric, bringing the kind of fun and spontaneity that Eddie craves but rarely gives int.
Most Saturdays, he eats his usual healthy dinner of a protein, grain, steamed vegetable with a side salad, paired with a small, measured glass of wine, and has the dishes washed and was in bed with a bowl of unbuttered popcorn and a trashy reality show, so this is a big change for him, but he finds himself agreeing to attend Bev's party almost immediately.
It suddenly dawns on him that he never asked if he can bring anything. "Wait!" He calls as he hustles through the door, dragging his bag of food along behind him.
Bev pops her head through her still open door. "Yes?" She asks, smile on her face.
"What can I bring?"
"Oh," she laughs. "I thought you were already cancelling on us. Just bring yourself and your nicest semi-formal outfit!"
Eddie doesn't like the mischievous look in her eyes, but he shrugs and let it go, telling her he'll see her then if not before, and letting his mind wander to what the hell he should wear.
***
Richie picked up on the third ring. "Hey Bev, what's up?" he answers, finally resigning himself to having to face her and try to get out of going to her latest shindig, but trying to play coy and pretend that he has no clue why she's calling.
"Somebody's been avoiding me!" She singsongs loudly, so as to be heard over the sewing machine he can hear in the background.
"Do I need to have a little talk with Bennie about how he should treat my favourite ginger?"
"Don't play dumb, Tozier. I've texted you five times about Saturday, and it's been radio silence for days. If got have plans, there's no way they can be better than this so you can cancel right now because you're coming."
"Ugh, I don't wanna, Bevie. If I get asked to tell one more story about what it's like to work with Tom Hanks, who, remember, I barely even met, we recorded our lines separately, I'm gonna lose it. I'm done, I'm drained. This monkey can't dance anymore."
Bev's well acquainted with Richie's lagging interest in the celebrity lifestyle. He's known her since middle school, and despite being something of a celebrity herself, she's one of the only people he can be real with.
She knows bout every heartbreak and knee pain, every long night spent awake, worrying about his career, and every depression spiral. She's the one that comes to him when she can, opening the curtains and windows and airing his place out, switching out his beer for water and making him eat vegetables, sometimes for the first time in weeks. She'll let him cry on her shoulder, holding him and stroking his hair as the tears flow, assuring him that everything will be ok.
When she can't be there, because of work commitments or because he's in Chicago or LA, she'll send healthy takeout and a maid service to give him the push he needed to get out of his slump.
"It's not going to be like that this time, I swear. Did you forget that Stan and Patty, and Mike are coming this weekend? It's just gonna be a small thing."
Truthfully, horrible friend that he is, he did forget, too preoccupied with his own shit to keep track of the group chat and the conversations within.
"No, of course not. I just didn't realize that you weren't inviting anyone else."
"Well, I'm not," she replies. "Except Bill and Audra. They finally finished filming that movie in France. Aaaaand our new neighbour Eddie." She finished quickly. She's mentioned the guy in passing before, Richie remembers now. He's a newly divorced risk analyst who wears a fanny pack and favours bland polos and ill-fitting khakis if Richie recalls Bev's ramblings correctly. He doesn't exactly sound like a fun time, but Richie isn't going to pass up seeing his friends while they're in town, not that they would let him.
"Ok, he sighs, "I'll be there. What time again?"
"7," she reminds him. "And don't be late. Also, bring pastries from that shop next to your building. And get a haircut! See you Saturday! Love you! Bye!"
She hangs up before Richie can respond, so he just stares at his phone for a minute before setting a reminder to get up early on Saturday so he can get the good pastries before they're all sold out. Bev will be pissed if he shows up with raisin scones again. At least last time he'd gotten to enjoy the full box he'd been sent home with alongside his coffee the next morning. People need to stop hating on raisins. They really aren't that bad as long as you don't bite into the scone expecting them to be chocolate chips.
Now that he knows it's just going to be their small group of friends (and this Eddie guy), Richie's excited. He's known Ben and Mike, who'd gone to elementary and high school with him and Bev since he was a little kid, and Stan and Bill, his college roommates, and eventually their respective girlfriends, later wives, Patty and Audra, had rounded out the group nicely, but they didn't get to see each other as often as they'd like to once college had ended and they'd scattered across the country, starting careers and families. In fact, the last time they'd all been together was three years ago, when they'd all visited Stan and Patty in Georgia, following the birth of their youngest son. They're long overdue for a meetup.
With a renewed pep in his step, he sits down and is actually productive for once, miraculously writing a joke that might actually work, about forced meetings with strangers. Maybe there's hope in sight yet.
The high of a successful writing session carries him through the next couple days. He wakes up early on Thursday and does the dishes and a load of laundry, went for a walk, and enjoyed the crisp October air, and wrote a couple more jokes, pieces of which he thinks he can use somewhere.
On Friday, he hits up the farmer's market with a smile on his face, selecting tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, and red pepper to turn into a ratatouille for dinner that night. He whistles as he chops up the veggies and arranges them in the pan and calls his mom for the first time in months as he eats. It's nice, even if she does pester him about when he's going to settle down with a nice man. Wouldn't they both like to know?
***
After Eddie unlocks his apartment, taking off his shoes and lining them up neatly on his new shoe rack, and loosening his tie, as he starts to put the veggies he bought away, the panic starts to set in. When Eddie had been young, he'd been fairly outgoing, greeting the mailman and milkman, the cashier at the grocery store like they were old friends, and he wasn't afraid to introduce himself to his new kindergarten classmates. He remembers regaling his parents with stories of newfound friends.
But then when Eddie was six, his father had died suddenly of a heart attack while raking the leaves on a Saturday afternoon, and Eddie's mother, suddenly afraid that anything and everything could suddenly rip her precious Eddie bear from her arms, had decided to homeschool him. With his world narrowed to just his mother, the doctor, and the pharmacist, Eddie's outgoing nature had collapsed in on itself and he'd become painfully shy.
Nervous as he was, it had taken Myra asking him out three times for him to agree. It's not even that he hadn't wanted to take her out. He just couldn't fathom making conversation with anyone for more than a few minutes. He shouldn't have worried though, since she'd talked more than enough for both of them, telling him about her secretarial classes and book club, all about her family, the various pets she'd had growing up, her hopes and dreams for the future, and everything in between. She'd made it easy for him to fade into the background of his own life.
For a long time, he'd thought she would be the end of having to meet new people, outside of the obvious ones, like new coworkers, but unless he plans to spend the rest of his life alone, it will now mean stepping out of his comfort zone.
So, he talks himself in and out of it five times over the next two days. He's almost talked himself out of it a sixth time by Saturday morning, but then he runs into Bev and Ben in the elevator when he heads out for his morning run and they go for a walk and a coffee, and they seem so genuinely excited to have him over that he knows he has to go.
He spends the rest of the day fussing over his outfit, fighting the urge to go over to Bev's like a little nerd and ask her if he looks ok. Once he's finally picked out something he thinks will be appropriate, a pair of deep blue dress slacks and a crimson dress shirt with his nicest tie, a dark blue silk tie that he'd seen in a boutique window, a gift to himself after years spent being dressed by Myra, who always said she preferred him in solids, no prints. It makes him smile just looking at it, a reminder of the freedom that he's won himself by being brave for once.
As he fluffs up his hair and straightens his tie one last time, he thinks about who he might meet at the dinner. Since leaving Myra, he's realized, through hours of studying porn and self-reflecting, that he's bisexual, but he still isn't sure if he's ready to do anything with a man. Knowing he's attracted to them is one thing. Participating in sexual activities with one is a whole different (way more terrifying!) thing.
And even if he meets a woman and hits it off with her, who's to say he's not bad at sex? What if he's a terrible kisser, or he's bad at oral sex, and Myra had just been too polite to tell him? What if she'd been faking orgasms all those years? His palms start to sweat, and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He's getting way ahead of himself. The chances of there being anyone he meshes with at the party are slim, and the chances of there being mutual attraction are even slimmer. Taking one last deep breath, he locks his door and walks over to Bev and Ben's.
The number of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach increase tenfold as the elevator dings at the exact same time he's going to knock on Bev's door, sliding open to reveal a tall, gangly man in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and less hideous jeans and a leather jacket, holding a white pastry box.
***
Richie rises bright and early on Saturday morning, proud of himself for not rolling over and going back to sleep when his alarm goes off at 6:30am. Stumbling out of bed, he throws on some sweatpants and a sweater, covers his matted, unwashed hair with a baseball cap, and heads out in search of pastries.
Even as early as he is, he still has to stand at the back of a small line that's formed outside the bakery, waiting for it to open at 7. As soon as it does, the line moves forward, and Richie silently pats himself on the back for getting there quick enough to be the last person in before they shut the door to let the first group of customers make their selections.
He asks for an assortment of pastries, a few cannollies, some apple and raspberry Danishes, fruit tarts, and as a last-minute choice, two raisin scones. Best case scenario, they'll be enjoyed, worst case scenario, they'll go home with him for the next day's breakfast. He also grabs a cream cheese and lemon Danish and a cup of coffee to eat that morning.
Full on pastry and caffeine, he takes his Adderall and sets about his tasks for the day. It feels good to have energy and drive for once, so he milks it for all it's worth. He puts away the laundry that's been sitting in a basket at the foot of his bed for weeks, cleans the bathroom, even picking up the mountain of toilet paper rolls that have accumulated next to the garbage can and scrubbing the toilet, writes for a couple hours, and ventures out to the barbershop for the first time in over six months. It hurts like a bitch as his barber combs the tangles out, and he's made to swear that he won't wait that long again, or at least use some conditioner if he's going to, but the pain and shame are all made worth it when he looked in the mirror.
He went for something new this time, going short on the sides and leaving the top a little longer, his curls flopping over to one side. The barber took time to show Richie how to use product to define his curls, and a sample of a hydrating conditioner, and he left the shop with a grin on his face. Bev's going to flip when she sees him.
He's been told to wear his nicest semi-formal outfit, which Bev has to know for him meant dark jeans and his nicest Hawaiian shirt, one he'd actually bought in Hawaii, patterned with little palm trees and hula dancers, with no visible tears or stains, and all buttons intact.
At 7:30, he brushes his teeth and throws the outfit on, with a leather jacket on top, grabs the box of pastries, and heads out for his destination, a few blocks west. It's a chilly evening, but the air feels good, waking him up as he breaths it in.
When he reaches Bev's apartment, he sends her a message and she buzzes him in. He's bouncing on his toes in anticipation of seeing his friends during the whole elevator ride, but all thoughts of the long overdue reunion go out the window the second the elevator doors open, and he sees who can only be Bev's new neighbour, a compact little man in beautifully fitted dress pants, a grimace on his face as he raises his fist to knock on Bev's door.
***
The man makes it to where Eddie's standing in about four steps, given his insanely long legs. He has to be over half a foot taller than Eddie's 5'7", and he didn't know that he had a thing for tall guys until right now, but it turns out that he really does.
"Arriving empty handed, I see. Didn't your mother ever tell you that you should never go to a party without a gift for the host?" are the first words out of the man's mouth, and Eddie sputters, his cheeks turning bright red. He knew he should have brought something, even though Bev had told him not to.
"I'm kidding," the man says, laughing at the look on Eddie's face. "Bev forced me to get up early and grab these for her at the bakery next to my place. You're fine."
Eddie scowls at him, but it's all for show. He can't be mad at the impish grin on the guy's face. It's too cute, along with his shiny curls and blue eyes that're magnified by the thick, dark-rimmed glasses that he's wearing.
"Do you plan on knocking, or do you just want to stand here with me all night?" the man asks, raising his hand to knock. "Honestly, I'm good with either. I think we're vibing here."
Usually, when people act like this around him, too familiar too soon, acting all buddy buddy with Eddie, it causes him to curl in on himself, to shy away from conversation, but something about this guy is different. He makes Eddie want to be bold. He hip checks the guy out of the way and knocks forcefully, while giving him what Eddie hopes is a flirty look.
***
Richie takes a liking to Eddie immediately. He's tiny and grouchy and quick to blush, and Richie wants to scoop him up and keep him in his pocket. Richie teases him for a few minutes outside Bev's door before Eddie decides to snap back, giving Richie a look that reads a bit constipated, but Richie thinks he's going for flirty, and he eats it up. The guy couldn't be cuter if he tried.
There's no time for more chatter though, as seconds later, Eddie's knocks are answered and the door swings open, revealing Ben. "Richie, Eddie!" he greets, a big smile on his face. "You're just in time! You're the last to arrive and I'm mixing up drinks and Bev and Patty are plating up appetizers. And yes, there's pigs in a blanket, Richie." Ben adds, before Richie can ask. They know him and his snack preferences too well.
After they've taken off their shoes, Ben leads Eddie to the living room with an arm slung around his shoulder to introduce him to the other guests, and Richie takes the box of pastries to the kitchen, setting them on the counter so he can hug Bev and Patty.
As predicted, Bev freaks out when she sees his new 'do, almost dropping a whole tray of his precious pigs in a blanket on the floor, she's so in shock. She quickly rights the tray and dashes over to Richie, squealing as she runs her fingers through his hair. "Oh my god, Richie! You look so handsome! When I said to get a haircut, I thought you'd maybe get a trim, but this looks amazing!"
She wraps her arms around him, shaking him in her excitement, and when she finally lets him go, Patty's there, ready for her turn at squeezing the life out of him.
"You look great, Rich. Truly," she says, a wide smile on her face.
"You too, miss Patty," he replies, standing back to get a good look at her. She does look great, pink cheeked and glowing as always.
"I've gotta go find the others now, it's been too long since I gave Staniel and Big Bill noogies. Can I bring anything?"
"Yes," Bev replies. "Bring the pigs in a blanket. But do not stop and eat half of them in the hallways this time."
"Yes, ma'am" Richie says, saluting her with one hand and grabbing the tray with the other.
"What do you mean this time?" He hears Patty ask as he steps through the door. "This has happened before? Never mind, I don't know why I'd be at all shocked by this news."
Richie laughs quietly, restraining himself by only sneaking one this time, dipping it in fancy spicy ketchup (because god forbid they just serve regular Heinz) and tossing it in his mouth before he enters the living room.
"I've brought provisions!" He says by way of greeting, setting the tray on the coffee table that Ben made himself out of a big slab of wood from a tree at his home in Nebraska. Richie knew more than he ever wished to about it, after Ben had spent an hour one evening walking him through the whole creation process, from cutting it down to the final coat of sealant.
Bill, Mike and Stan scramble for the tray, loading their cocktail napkins high. "Not even a thank you?" Richie asks, feigning shock. "After I spent hours slaving away in the kitchen?"
"Great job Richie. Thank you so very much for all your hard work." Stan says, dryly.
"My compliments to the chef." Mike adds, before he begins to eat.
Bill just opens his mouth and shows Richie the half-chewed pig in a blanket inside. Some things never change.
He asks them how they've been, Bill talking about his latest book to film adaption, Stan about the kids and his accounting business, and Mike about the time he recently spent in France, apprenticing for a French pastry chef.
It's hard to pay attention though, when Eddie is right there, paying rapt attention as he gets his chance to hear all about the coffee table. He's sipping from what appears to be a blue Hawaiian, lips wrapped around the straw. Richie gets a little hot under the collar thinking about Eddie's lips wrapped around something else.
He's broken out of his reverie by Audra waving a beautifully manicured hand in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Richie? I asked if you want a drink. I need another if I'm going to listen to Bill talk about his books anymore."
"Sure, sure," he replies, still distracted. "I'll come with you."
They make their way over to the wet bar, where she makes herself a martini and an old fashioned for Richie.
***
Everyone Eddie's met so far is very nice, including, thankfully, his new neighbours Bill and Audra. They welcome him to the building and apologize for not having had a chance to meet him yet. He waves them off, but does accept an invitation to dinner at their house sometime in the near future.
Once Mike has finished explaining how they all know each other, he accepts the blue Hawaiian that Ben's made for him, complete with a little paper umbrella, and listens as he explains how he constructed their coffee table out of a log from their property in Nebraska.
He's genuinely interested, but it's hard to pay attention once Richie enters the room. Jokimg and laughing with his friends as he sets down a tray of appetizers. He takes a sip of his drink, wrapping his lips around the skinny cocktail straw, and can't help picturing his lips wrapped around something else. Richie's something else. He blushes at the thought.
He's never been this attracted to a guy before, thinks, but then corrects himself. He's never been this attracted to anyone before.
He'd heard of and seen Richie before, of course he had. It was hard to miss the massive news of the comedian who had formed his entire career around being an ultra straight dude bro coming out as gay, seemingly out of nowhere, but Eddie'd had way too much going on in his own life to really pay attention to him.
But now that Richie's truly on his radar, Eddie feels electrically charged just looking at the man. Fuck, he's almost willing to crawl across the living room carpet and slide between his legs. First, he'd tease him a little bit, over his jeans, stroke him over the rough denim. Then he'd mouth at the length of him, watching him shiver under his hot breath. Once he was visibly hard, Eddie would ask for permission to unbutton his pants, other guests be damned. Richie would plant a hand in Eddie's hair and moan out "Please, Eddie"...
"Hey, Eddie, you want one?" He realizes then that Richie is talking to him, standing right in front of him, holding another tray of appetizers. "They're apparently brie and cranberry, in puff pastry."
Eddie nods, on autopilot, grabbing a cocktail napkin and piling a couple on.
"You ok?" Richie asks, taking in Eddie's flushed cheeks.
"Yes, yeah, I'm good. It's just a little warm in here. And there's a lot of new people. I'm not the best with strangers."
Well," Richie says, setting the tray down. "I think you're doing great. Everyone seems to love you. But we can step out onto the balcony for a minute if you want?"
Eddie doesn't know if being along with Richie will make things better or worse, but he really could use the cool air, so he agrees.
***
Finally, Richie's going to get a minute along with Eddie. He mentally warns everyone else not to join them, and hopes they somehow hear and obey his request.
"So, tell me about yourself, Eds," he asks, as they settle on the patio chairs on the balcony. A chill runs up his spine from the cold metal. The cushions are nowhere in sight, so Bev and Ben must have put them in storage until the spring.
"Not my name," Eddie replies quickly, automatically, and Richie snorts. He's so cute. And also not a nickname guy, apparently. Richie files that away to tease him with.
"There's not much to tell. I work as a risk analyst. It's all I've ever done. I divorced my wife last year after 10 years of marriage. I run, I like to travel, and sometimes I paint. That's about it."
It sounds so much like a profile on a dating site that it almost leaves Richie expecting to see photos of Eddie with a friendly looking dog or holding up a just caught fish flashing before his eyes.
"Boring!" Richie declares loudly. "You almost put me to sleep there for a minute. I want to get to know the real Eddie, not the Match.com version. Tell me two things no one else knows about you."
Eddie takes a sip of his drink while he thinks about it, and Richie's mind wanders again at the sight of it. He really needs to get his head out of the gutter. He doesn't even know if this guy is gay. Or interested in him. Plenty of gay men have made it very clear that they have no interest in Richie's big, hairy body. Even if Eddie is gay, he probably likes gym bros that are waxed within an inch of their lives.
"Ok," Eddie says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I'm addicted to the Bachelor. Like full on watching the current season and also watching past seasons anytime I get addicted. I have favourite bachelors and ones I hate, it's just so much fun. And I bawl my eyes out every time one of those ads for the abused dog charities comes on the tv."
"Who doesn't cry at those?" Richie says, chuckling. "I'd be worried you weren't human if you didn't."
"Glad it's not just me." Eddie laughs. "Now tell me two things no one else knows about you. It's only fair since I spilt my deepest secrets."
***
Eddie's on the edge of his seat as he waits for Richie to respond. He wants to soak up every little crumb of information that he can about the weird and wonderful man in front of him.
"Alright," Richie finally says. "I tell people that my favourite movie of all time is The Empire Strikes Back, but it's actually Beaches. And I love gummy worms. They're my favourite food in the world and there's never a time that I don't have some on me. Emergency snack rations."
Eddie snorts loudly, the drink he just took a sip of shooting out his nose. Once he's done with his frankly very embarrassing coughing fit, he turns to Richie.
"You do not have gummy worms with you right now!"
Richie hops out of his chair, handing Eddie his drink, and starts digging around in his jeans pocket. He pulls something out and offers it to Eddie. "Pocket worm?"
Usually, Eddie would scoff and push the proffered treat away, shuddering at just the thought of eating them. Who knows where they've been, when Richie last washed those jeans.
But there's just something about Richie. He brings something out in Eddie, some long buried bravery, from before his mother and his wife shook it out of him, turning him meek and afraid.
He grabs one, ripping its head off between his teeth, and Richie laughs loudly, his head thrown back as he howls with delight. The sound pleases Eddie, and thinking about the fact that he's the cause of the laughter pleases him even more.
"I didn't think you'd actually do it, Eduardo." Richie says, offering him another.
Eddie takes it and slurps it back like he's sucking down a real worm before replying. "Still not my name, you asshat." Though the truth is that Eddie kind of likes it. It makes him feel special, like he's part of Richie's inner circle, a place he's suddenly convinced he was born to be.
Richie hands him one side of another worm, suggesting that they eat it, in his words, "Lady and the Tramp style".
He's just about to accept when the sliding door opens, and Bev sticks her head out. "There you to are! Come in! It's freezing out here and dinners ready!"
***
Richie reluctantly drops the worm and grabs his drink, following Eddie inside.
Sadly, once he gets to the dining room, he notices that the only empty seats are across the table from each other, at opposite ends, so whatever's going on between them has to come to an end, at least for the time being.
Richie shovels roast beef, mashed potatoes, and sautéed vegetables into his mouth, hoping that if he finishes quickly, but no such luck.
Eddie seems to be on the same wavelength as Richie, but everyone else eats torturously slowly, taking their time cutting even little bites of meat and making conversation with the others.
Richie tries to keep a conversation going with Mike and Bill about a possible meet up at Bill's place in Florida next summer, and maybe getting their scuba diving certification as a group, but it's hard to focus when Eddie Eddie Eddie is the only thing running through his mind, like a song on repeat.
Finally, the last bites of food are eaten, the last sips of wine drowned from glasses, and Ben suggests that they make coffee and tea and take dessert to the living room.
Richie tries to stick close to Eddie as he makes his way there, trying to ensure that he snags a seat next to him. He succeeds, sinking into the love seat next to him.
But then he remembers the box of pastries in the kitchen. He's reluctant to get up though. What if someone's in his spot when he returns?
He takes his chances, telling Eddie he'll be right back. He dashes to the kitchen and quickly grabs them, but Bev stops him, making him grab napkins and dessert plates. By the time he gets back, Bill's sitting in his spot. The nerve.
"Hey Bill," he says, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible. "Can I get my spot back?"
Bill looks at him like he's nuts. "Your spot? Pretty sure I didn't see your name on it, so no. I was just about to tell Eddie about my next book. Give him the inside scoop."
"Nice of you," Richie says, thinking fast, "but Bev just asked for your help in the kitchen."
"Oh, ok." He stands, heading out of the room.
Richie sinks gratefully back into his seat, worried that Eddie thinks he's crazy, but he looks grateful for Richie's meddling, and a warm feeling blooms in Richie's chest at the smile on the other man's face.
"Does he always talk that much about himself?" Eddie asks, watching Bill walk away down the hall.
"Yes," Richie replies, laughing. "Always."
A minute later, Bill reenters the room. "Bev said she didn't ask to see me."
"Weird," Richie replies, feigning confusion. "I must have misheard her. Sorry."
"No problem," Bill shrugs, walking over to Stan and Patty, no doubt ready to subject them to tales of his upcoming novel.
"So," Richie says, turning to Eddie. "I'd offer you that worm now, but I don't have enough for everyone else now, and I don't want them to be jealous. Plus, I think we're gonna eat dessert soon."
As if on queue, Bev and Ben walk in with coffee and tea, and Bev opens the box of pastries. She studies the box for a minute before turning to Richie. "What did I tell you about raisin scones last time?" She gives him a death glare.
"Sorry, Marsh," he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Some of us have taste."
At the exact same time, Eddie says "I love raisins!"
***
Richie turns to Eddie, grinning at him. "A man of good taste. Pass the box over here, Bev!"
He hands Eddie two napkins and takes the box, placing a raisin scone on each one. He hands the box back and takes one of the napkins from Eddie. "Coffee or tea, Spaghetti?"
"Definitely not my name!" Eddie replies, because honestly what the fuck, that's a terrible nickname, but there's no heat behind it. In fact, he's grinning as he tells Richie he'll take a cup of tea, one milk, one sugar. He can't help it. Eddie just has that effect on him.
They sip their drinks and nibble on their scones as they talk. Richie asks Eddie about his job, and though even Eddie himself knows it's boring as fuck, Richie leans in, giving Eddie his full attention, like it's the most interesting thing he's ever heard.
After a lifetime of being ignored or treated like what he says doesn't matter, like he's not worth listening to, it feels good, and he eats the attention up with a spoon. Once he feels like he has to have bored Richie to death with his long-winded explanation of what exactly his job entails, he asks Richie to tell him more about the world of comedy.
Eddie had thought that people in the entertainment business couldn't get enough of talking about themselves, Bill being a prime example, but Richie just seems to clam up.
"What's wrong?" Eddie asks, his brow furrowed.
"Nothing," Richie sighs, waving him off. "It just gets old sometimes when people just want to hear about the industry. I know I should be used to it by now, but I'm not. No one cares about Richie, the person, they just care about Richie Tozier, the famous comedian. I'm sick of telling the same anecdotes over and over. I'm a real person who has more to offer than dick jokes and impersonations of Vincent Price! I thought you were different, but maybe I was wrong!"
He's getting worked up, his cheeks flushing, and he's running a hand through his curls, tugging aggressively on the ends.
"Hey, hey," he says, placing a hand Richie's knee. "Richie, I frankly don't give a shit about comedy. I just want to know more about you, and assumed you'd want to talk about your job. We don't have to talk about it at all if you don't want to. I like you for you, not because you're famous. I need you to know that."
Richie takes a deep breath and detaches his hand from his curls. He slumps back into the cushions and gives Eddie a small, grateful smile. "Oh good, I thought you only liked me for my pocket worms. But seriously, sorry. It can just be hard to know who's genuine when you spend most of your time around people who just want to make more industry connections, not connect with you. Bev promised me that there wouldn't be anyone like that here, and you seemed so real, then you asked me that and I snapped."
***
Richie feels like such an asshole, but Eddie swears that it's ok, and something about the look on his face, so open and honest, makes Richie trust him. Eddie presses in closer to Richie, slinging an arm around him, and asks him to tell him about his childhood.
Richie does, telling Eddie about how stifling it was to grow up as a closeted gay kid in small town Maine, to feel scared to let anyone, even Bev, his best friend of all, get too close, for fear of them seeing the real him, and guess his most closely guarded secrets.
He talks about the years spent with women that he had no interest in, on dates with cute girls in short dresses, flirting, touching, kissing, asking him up to their apartments at the end of the night, accepting but spending the whole time he was in their beds thinking about burying his cock in another man's ass. Talked about the lifetime of longing and pain and fear, and how amazing it felt to finally be his true self, out in the open, for the whole world to see.
In turn, Eddie tells him about his father dying and his life changing, the suffocating childhood spent in a world consisting of just him and his mother, then him and his wife, both beating down all the parts Eddie really loved about himself until he was a submissive shelf of his former self, too meek and shy to stand up for himself.
Richie wants to help Eddie find himself again, to help him grow and be strong and brave. Richie wants to show him fun and excitement and show him he's worth loving. He hopes Eddie will let him.
***
Eddie feels like a jerk when he checks his watch and realizes that it's after midnight and he's barely talked to anyone but Richie since dinner. But he can't feel too bad about it because he's enjoyed his time with Richie so much.
He doesn't remember the last time that he shared this much with a stranger, but Richie is so disarming, Eddie can't help but answer every question that Richie asks him plainly and honestly. He tells him about his childhood and about Myra and the journey he's been on to find his true self since leaving her.
Eddie looks around the living rom and realizes that he and Richie are the only ones there besides Bev and Ben. Ben appears to be asleep, his head in Bev's lap. One of her hands holds a book, and the other runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't know when everyone else left, but he can't help but laugh at the fact that he and Richie were so wrapped up in each other that neither of them noticed.
"I can't believe we've been sitting here so long. Do you think we should go? Let them get to bed?" he asks Richie, quietly. He doesn't need to ask to know they should, but he also never wants to leave Richie's side.
Sadly, Richie nods. "Yeah, yeah, just give me a second to talk to Bev. Then I'll walk you to your door?"
Eddie grins, his heart soaring. "I'd like that."
He sits, hands folded between his knees, and waits.
***
Bev puts down the book when Richie stands and walks over to her and Ben. "Looks like you had a nice night!" she says, her eyes sparkling, as she looks from Richie to Eddie and back.
Richie ducks his head bashfully, running a hand through his curls. "He's amazing, Bev. I can't believe he's been hiding on the other side of your wall this whole time."
Bev laughs softly. "Well, maybe if you actually came to visit us every once in a while, you'd have met him sooner."
Richie can't argue with that. "I'm sorry, Bev. And I'm sorry about basically ignoring everyone except Eddie the whole night."
She pretends to take a moment to think before responding. "I'll accept your apology if you host brunch tomorrow morning. I expect eggs and pancakes. Got it?"
Richie nods. "I can do that. 11?"
Sure," she agrees. "Grab orange juice, and I'll bring champagne for mimosas. Now go walk your boy home."
They both turn to look at Eddie, whose head is ducked, looking down at his hands folded between his knees.
***
Eddie notices Richie's walking back towards him and he stands. They head to the door and slip their shoes on, and Richie grabs his jacket. Eddie opens the front door, and they slip through it, closing it gently behind them.
"So," Eddie says as he pulls his keys out of his pocket, hearing the mournfulness in his own voice, "this is me. Thanks for walking me to my door."
"No problem," Richie says, chuckling. He looks like he wants to say something else but isn't sure if he should. He rocks on his heels, peering down at Eddie.
"Something you want to say, Richie?" Eddie asks, helping him along.
"Yeah," Richie says, taking a deep breath. "Can I kiss you?"
Eddie feels like he's about to throw up, in the best way. He's on fire with anticipation for the ten seconds it takes between Eddie nodding his assent and Richie pressing his lips to Eddie's.
The kiss is quick and chaste, and Richie pulls back first, smiling at Eddie, who finds him already addicted to the feeling. Before he can even think about what he's doing, he's slipping his hands into the back of Richie's hair, pulling him back in.
This kiss is longer this time, full of heat as Richie licks along the seam of Eddie's lips, seeking entrance, as his hands slide down Eddies back to settle on his hips. Eddie lets him in willingly, and they stay like that, wrapped around each other for a long time. Eddie's never been more thankful for the fact that he barely shares the hallway with anyone else, so they have the space to themselves for as long as they want.
Eventually though, Eddie needs to breathe, so he pulls back, looking up at Richie, who's flushed bright red all the way from the collar of his shirt upwards.
"Can I see you again, Richie?" he asks, hopeful.
***
Richie's about to ask Eddie to accompany him home when he remembers that he told Bev he'd host brunch in the morning. And considering the fact that he basically ignored his friends all night, it might be bad form to have Eddie there when they arrive. He knows there's no way he would be able to pay attention to them with Eddie there again.
"I have brunch plans tomorrow, but what about after? Right after. I'll kick everyone out at 2."
"Well," Eddie replies. "I usually do my groceries on Sunday afternoons." He pauses for a second before continuing. "Wait, I don't know why I said that. That was weird. I can do groceries in the -."
"No," Richie says, cutting him off. "I'll go do your groceries with you. I'll do anything with you. Shopping with cereal, unclogging your drain, clipping your toenails. You want me to clip your toenails, Eds?"
"Ewwww, what the fuck? No, I don't want you to clip my toenails for me, Richie. That's disgusting. But if you really want to help me pick out milk and cereal, I won't stop you. Could I make you dinner after to thank you?"
"Sure," Richie says immediately. "I'd love that."
Eddie grins. "Any specific requests?"
"Yeah," Richie replies, pulling Eddie in for a hug. "I have a soft spot for spaghetti."
Eddie groans. "Get the hell out of here, Richie. I'll see you tomorrow. Bring some of those raisin scones for dessert if you can."
Richie laughs the whole way to the elevator, blowing Eddie kisses as the door begins to close. Eddie pretends to catch them all, and Richie's heart swells. He thinks he's finally found his perfect match. He can't wait to see him again tomorrow. And hopefully the day after that, and every single day after if Eddie'll have him. He has a sneaking suspicion he will.