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Eddie couldn't believe it.
He was sick—sick!—because of his allergies, meaning his mother was locking him in his room and feeding him pill soup until he felt like his drugged-up self again, but that's not even the worst part! The worst part was that he had homework.
But there was always a good side to things.
Eddie smiled from his place on his bed as Richie invited himself in via the window. He had his backpack on, which could mean almost anything, but it guaranteed he was spending the night, and Eddie's smile only grew.
"Hey," Richie greeted, dropping his bag beside the bed and all but launching himself on top of Eddie's work.
Eddie rolled his eyes. "Ever the attention whore, aren't you, Rich?"
The gangly boy shrugged nonchalantly and tucked his hands behind his head. "Attention whore, best best friend in the world; it's all relative!"
Eddie hummed doubtfully. He rolled the boy off his homework, but before he did he made sure to plant a kiss at the corner of Richie's mouth, so you can't call him a bad... friend.
"What's relative is whether or not Mrs. Wilson is fit to be a teacher, because what the fuck even is this English assignment?" Eddie groaned, glaring at his paper as if it would write itself. "Eight fucking pages—eight! Why eight? Why not ten, or, better yet, five! Those are normal numbers, eight is more random than my mom taking me to the doctor. Eight pages on why sexual hygiene is important."
"Want me to help?" Richie offered. "I know a lot about sexual hygiene, since your mom is-"
"Rich," Eddie interrupted.
Richie closed his mouth, hesitated, and started over. "So you don't want to write a paper on health?"
Eddie huffed with a roll of his eyes. "Richie, I'm sick, and she's giving me a random-amount-of-pages essay on sexual hygiene."
It must've clicked then, because Richie's lips formed an 'O' and he giggled a bit before full-on cackling to the point that Eddie had to shush him. "She- she thinks y-yy- she thinks you're fuckin', Eds! Oh man- that's- that's wild," he snickered. "She thinks she needs to teach you how not to be silly and how to wrap your willy! Oh gosh, oh wow, Eddie Kaspbrak-"
"Yes, Richard, I'm glad you get the picture," Eddie spat, but he was smiling. "God, I really don't want to write this."
"Well, if you need motivation, just think about how spiteful you can be! You can wail all your medical knowledge at her, give her whiplash or some shit."
Eddie's fingers moved up to rest on the bandage across his throat as he hummed in agreement. When his mother had first seen the bandages, she whisked him off to the hospital to get him a "proper" checkup. Everything came out fine, but she still got all the tests she could and more done on him. He was stuck in there for five days.
She'd given him one more pill (whatever she could get her hands on) and lectured him for four hours straight about not getting into fights because he was delicate.
She made him change the bandages every twelve hours (7 P.M. and 7 A.M.) with her supervision.
Needless to say, when he got sick a week after getting out of the hospital, she was rabid. She marched him to the doctor and demanded to know why—if he was on his medication (and he most certainly was, all eight pills for breakfast and dinner) and he'd just come from the hospital—why on Earth was he sick?
They bumped him down a pill; the pill that kept him awake during the day.
Now he was at eight; one to help him sleep at night; one for his "grass allergy" that he didn't have; one to keep his asthma down, which didn't work because it meshed awkwardly with the pill for his arm that isn't broken anymore but she kept him on because there are "long term effects, sweetie," (there are not); three vitamins—D, zinc, and antioxidants; the cursed "gay-away" pill that clearly did nothing (as proven by the way he was looking at Richie now).
So he's been mauled by a psychopath, confronted with his sexuality, sent to a hospital for five days, and now he's sick.
And he has an eight page essay about sexual health due the day he goes back to school for his first period class.
After a long pause of self-pitying contemplation, Eddie dropped his pencil, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars, and ignored the voice niggling in the back of his mind telling him he was going to go blind or get eye cancer. "God fucking damn this entire fucking world, holy shit I hate this," he cursed. Then, he was falling against the prison-esque headboard and eyeing Richie. "Can I just kiss you instead of doing this? Fuck my sexual well-being."
Richie had to do a double-take, and for a second Eddie wondered if Richie had glitched out, but then he saw how red the teenager's cheeks were, and he smiled.
And when Richie swallowed down any comment and nodded shyly, Eddie's heart fluttered jovially, and when the two met in the middle over Eddie's paper on how condoms prevent AIDs and other STDs, Eddie found himself wondering if maybe all—well, mostly all—it took was bravery to get things good in life.
The excited blood rushing in his ears and the heat of the moment burned out the sound of someone calling out for Eddie. Neither he nor Richie heard the approaching footsteps.
And then it was too late.
The bedroom door creaked open, and they yanked away fearfully, but it was too late (too late richie always too late—).
The damage had been done.
"Eddie!" Sonia shrieked. She looked mortified, in all honesty, but Eddie could feel Richie's trembling fear, and it hurt more than his mother's piercing yell. "Eddie get away from that boy, that- that- that queer! He's sick, Eddie, and he's gotten you sick- oh god, your pills aren't working- oh you're sick, Eddie! Get away, boy! Out! Go!"
Richie went to get up, to jump out Eddie's window and never look back, but Eddie gently but insistently grabbed his wrist, and he stopped in his tracks.
"Eddieeee!" Sonia cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Eddie don't do this to me, don't- don't embarrass me like this! That boy is dirty and wrong, and- and- Eddiee-"
"Mom," Eddie snapped. He let Richie shuffle behind him on the bed—he almost smiled, even. Tense shoulders knocked against each other until Richie was comfortably (safely) situated, and frustration bubbled up inside of his minuscule body as he glared at his mother.
He was angry. The only sick Eddie was was sick of his mother's six-and-a-half-inch-deep bullshit (and a cold), and he fucking knew it. He couldn't believe she'd called Richie that word and treated him like that. Eddie's skin burned with the fury coursing through his body.
But faint calm dangled just outside his reach as Richie's fingers drew shapes on his back and discreetly rubbed his sides.
Richie wasn't sure how to keep Eddie Kaspbrak from boiling over, but he was sure as hell doing a good job of it.
"Ed-Eddie-" Sonia tried again. By the way she was heaving and gasping, it looked like she was the one with asthma.
"Stop." Eddie almost felt bad when she recoiled. Almost. "Ma, you've always tried to take care of me. I know that's what you want; you want me to be healthy and safe, but... you don't do it right." He paced his breathing and forced himself to relax. Richie kissed the back of his head. "You're not supposed to feed me all these pills and pretend I have all these allergies or whatever just to feel like you're taking care of me.
"And... and you're not supposed to..." he swallowed down a gasp for air; if he had an asthma attack now, she'd go right back to trying to control him. "You're not supposed to try to change me, Mom."
She narrowed her eyes then, seeming to have gathered herself in a heartbeat. "Eddie-"
But Eddie wasn't done. "No, let me fucking finish." That shut her up. "You do not keep me from my friends, or my best friends, or my boyfriends, do you hear? They're my friends, and they make me happy. Happier than your pills ever did. And you don't get to call them hurtful things and treat them like... like... like an animal! Richie is a person—a good person—and you don't have the right to say he's sick or dirty because he's not. I'm not."
He took a deep, shuddering breath and forced his tears back. "And I like boys, Mom. I like boys, and I love Richie, and you can't take that away from me with a fucking pill."
Sonia stood there for a long moment, stunned into silence. But then she moved toward Eddie slowly. Blankly.
She almost seemed... not herself (like there was a demon possessing her, or a clown maybe).
Eddie edged backwards, worry and a flood of fear drenching over him. He got goosebumps up his arms and along his spine, the feeling you get when you know you're in harm's way.
His mind started screaming MOVE EDS MOVE MOVE MOVE just before his mother drew her hand back and slapped him.
He could only gawk up at her for a long moment. Tears silently dripped down his cheeks.
You could hear a pin hit the carpet floor.
"Only dirty children talk to their mothers like that. My son will not be a dirty boy."
Eddie swallowed.
He had boiled over, and now he had to be taken off the stove.
"You bitch," Richie snarled. Eddie peered over at the boy; he looked rabid and almost as furious as he was in Eddie's hazy memories of him nearly beating the life out of Bowers. He was brave and strong-willed and good, and Eddie fell in love all over again. "You fucking bitch. You don't deserve to have him as your son. You don't deserve to have anyone as your fucking kid."
Pliantly, Eddie let Richie maneuver him around so that he was snugly hidden behind Richie.
"I don't know who you think you are, young man, but-"
"I don't know who you think you are, you old hag, but you can't fucking hit him. Stay away from him, yeah? He doesn't need you, and you don't deserve him. You treat him like your plaything, like a lab rat for all your pill mixing, and you took his childhood from him, so you don't deserve to be his mother, and quite frankly, you're not."
Sonia scoffed. "You don't know anything, you're just a vile b-"
"Boy?" Richie interrupted. "I'm less than a year away from being able to vote. I graduate high school in a year. I like boys, and unlike every ignorant old fuck like you in this town, I know that that isn't a bad thing. I want to go to college and get a house and grow old with your son. And god fucking damn it, I know exactly what the world thinks of people like me and guess what? I don't care. I just fucking kissed Eddie Kaspbrak, alright? That's enough of an ego boost to block out homophobia for a lifetime.
"I'm not a little kid," he continued, "And I know way more than you do if I know how to accept people for their differences."
Eddie smiled into the back of Richie's shirt.
Then, like the shatter of lightning across the sky, he heard a loud pop and felt Richie teeter to the side. Automatically, he shot up and grabbed for Richie's face, turning him to try and examine where he'd been hit. "Mom!" he cried out, exasperated and shocked.
"Get this foulmouthed queer out of my house!" Sonia screamed.
Eddie stumbled out of the blankets and off the bed, tugging Richie behind him, and cast one more glare at his mother before hurrying out of the room. They stumbled down the stairs, hands intertwined all the time, and stowed away in the guest bedroom.
"Are you okay, 'Chee?" Eddie asked softly. "Rich?" The bespectacled teenager sat on the bed limply, and Eddie took to examining his cheek again.
Richie nodded slowly. He seemed sad, almost.
"Richie?" Eddie mumbled, his features twisting with concern. "What is it, Rich?" He sat next to Richie and held onto his face gingerly. His thumbs brushed away the sting of his mother's hand, as if he had healing powers and whatever he touched was cured.
"I thought things would get better, since Henry's gone..." Richie explained after a moment. "I guess I forgot there's a whole world of Henries out there."
Eddie sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I thought everything was fixed, too." He muffled a cough into his elbow. "There's still hope, though, right? Only a year and we don't have to deal with Derry or anyone in it. We'll be okay."
Richie smiled fondly. "What in the world would I do without you?" he asked, his lips pressed against Eddie's forehead as a sort of thanks.
"I don't wanna know," Eddie whispered, curling up against Richie.
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Eddie slipped passed his slumbering mother and out the front door soundlessly, but as soon as he was on his bike and halfway to Richie's house, he let himself whoop and cheer and be loud because it was spring.
Spring meant sunshine and warmth and flowers. This season meant everything was coming to life, and everything was bright and beautiful. According to his mother, it meant allergies and snot and sneezing, but spring was Eddie's favorite when he had the chance to enjoy it.
He dropped his bike next to his partner-in-crime's house and grabbed a clean-enough rock off the ground. The rock hit the window first try, and moments later, Richie's bright, lively grin was shining down on him.
The warmth on his skin wasn't just from the sun, now.
"Eds!" Richie gasped. "A pleasant surprise, I do say!"
Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was beaming. "I don't think it's all that surprising that I'm here," he teased, eyeing Richie with all the loving concern he'd always had in him as the boy clambered down carelessly from his window. When he touched the ground and hurried to Eddie's side, though, Eddie added, "But thank you."
The two boys ran through Derry, collecting their friends from their homes and then running off into the woods. They chased each other on their bikes until they got to the cliff over the quarry, where they lay out in the sun. No one even blinked when Richie and Eddie ended up basking in each other more than the sun, and it didn't take long for them to see Beverly drop down into the water gleaming below.
Bill went after her, all red hair and warm skin until he splashed against the surface and disappeared underneath. Mike was next—he'd never been to the quarry, but he didn't hesitate to dive in after his friends, and Eddie cheered him on before following him.
Air rushed past him as he dropped; it was cool against his skin, and it took his breath away, but it felt like freedom, like he was flying rather than dropping. Maybe Icarus felt this way before he realized he was falling—like he could do anything despite the looming danger that was the water beneath.
Eddie folded in on himself and shattered the surface of the water. It was warm from the sun, and as it enveloped him and shoved him under, he found himself laughing.
He was free. He was alive.
Bubbles escaped past his lips, and he swam to the surface for air. He couldn't even find it in him to care about his wounds getting infected, because it was spring, and he finally had friends—
No, not friends, he thought, gasping for air. Family. He finally had people who cared about him for the right reasons.
The thought made Eddie smile a bit brighter.
He shook his head wildly, and water sprayed in all directions, only to be drenched again as someone else (Richie or Ben or Stanley) hit the water next to him. Ben's flushed cheeks burst out of the water after a moment, and Eddie found himself laughing again. Ben giggled, too, upon seeing Eddie's face.
His happiness was contagious.
"Hey, Eds!"
Eddie looked up to see Richie peering down at him from the cliff.
"Catch me!"
And then Richie was falling, and Eddie had half the mind to actually try to catch his partner (partner? Did they have a label yet?), but he moved out of the way nonetheless.
Richie crashed into the water a few feet away. Eddie sank under to swim towards him. His arm was extended to feel around as he searched blindly. A hand grabbed his, and the familiarity of the callouses and contusions sent shocks and shivers along his skin. Hesitantly, Eddie opened his eyes; it burned at first, but then he could see Richie grinning in front of him. Even though he was blurred, he still looked gorgeous, and Eddie didn't hold back from kissing him.
It wasn't a very long kiss, as they had to break apart and swim up for air, but it had its effect. The two had heart eyes that rarely left each other, even as the other Losers distracted them, and everyone seemed to come to a silent agreement in that the two boys' love for each other ran deeper than the water they danced around each other in.
Eddie shrieked when something grabbed his ankle, kicking and thrashing to get away, and he was practically fuming when Bill appeared where he was, laughing loudly.
"Bill! You fucking scared me, dickhead!" Eddie yelled, bristling, but Bill's laughter was contagious, and he found himself giggling, too.
"Yyy-yuh-yeah, I heard you sss-sc-scream from underww-water," Bill teased. "You sound like a t-tw-two-yuh-year-r-old."
Eddie crossed his arms, pouted, and cast a half-hearted glare at Bill, who floated next to him.
"I-I'm p-puh-pruh-prou- fuck. I'm proud of yuh-you two," Bill told him in a low voice after a pause.
Eddie's defensiveness melted away after that. "Of who? What?" he asked, playing dumb to protect Richie.
Not that Bill was talking about him and Richie, necessarily.
"You and Richie." So he was. It was clear he knew Eddie was playing dumb, too. "He nnn-nnuh-needs someone like you, and you need suh-someo-one like hhh-him. And you guys a-are cute."
Eddie opened and closed his mouth, like a fish, struggling to find his words. "How do you know?"
Bill rolled his eyes with a grin. "P-puh-please. I know the w-wway you l-ll-look at each other."
"It's how you look at Stan and Bev," Eddie told him.
Bill was stunned for a moment, as though he didn't realize he was smitten, but his gaze trailed to his two crushes, and he nodded.
"He looks at you that way, too, you know." Eddie smiled at the astonished look that crossed Bill's face. "You should've seen you two the night Richie and I met you guys. You were practically in love, it was disgusting," he teased. "God, Stan talked to me about you one time—it was really indirect but also really obvious it was about you. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, he's gonna kill me."
"Hhh-hhe-he ruh-really? He tah-halks ab-bout mm-me?"
Eddie snorted. "Does he. If he was Richie, he'd never stop talking about you."
Bill looked like he couldn't believe Stanley ever even thought about him with the way his cheeks were flushing and his jaw was close to scraping the bottom of the quarry.
"What're we talkin' 'bout, boys?" Richie cawed, splashing close to Eddie.
Eddie grinned and elbowed the boy. "Your mom. She's a wild one, that Mrs. Tozier."
Richie snickered. "Tell me about it. She drinks like a dehydrated elephant and yells like a wild banshee!"
Eddie winced at the dark humor, bumping his hand into Richie's under the water, but Bill laughed.
"Bill!" Eddie scolded. "That's not funny!"
"I know, I-I-I know!" he defended through his laughter. "I'm sorry!"
Eddie grinned, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, and when Stanley waded over and started talking to Bill, he had to muffle his giggles behind his hand.
"What're ye laughin' about, Love?" Richie asked in a Voice that sounded like an Australian pirate.
Eddie shook his head and regained his composure. "Nothing, just something Bill said."
Richie glanced at Bill and Stan and shrugged it off, instead focusing on Eddie. "You know, for all the shit you've been through, you're still really pretty."
And it's like a switch was flipped, because Eddie found his breath had hitched and the butterflies in his stomach started fluttering their wings and when he reached out and touched Richie's arm, the burn felt like life dancing on his fingertips and leaving goosebumps in its wake as it ballerina-danced up his arms and down his spine.
He pulled Richie underwater and, to satisfy that burning yearn for RichieRichieRichie, he kissed him.
Bubbles fluttered along his skin. It felt like flowers bloomed from their lips, the petals tickling his arms where they rested at Richie's shoulders, and as he pushed his hands through Richie's hair, he shuddered; Richie kissed him harder, less gentle and and careful and more desperate. But his hair was feathery and soft, and Eddie would love to be tangled in it for days.
Breath always ruined everything, though, and the two boys kicked up for air with their limbs knocking against each other all the way. They were exactly how middle-aged married high school sweethearts talked about the earliest chapter of their relationship when they were hormonal and naive and curious. With that thought came a flood of others, mainly of him walking down The Aisle to Richard Tozier in a tux and smiling and laughing and crying, and yeah, naive, sure. Eddie was naive, but was that really such a bad thing when he was with goofy, clumsy, gorgeous Richie Tozier, who would probably go to the ends of the earth for him?
He grinned at Richie, and Richie grinned back, and they were both so far gone yet so remarkably alive. They were part of the trees and the air and the clouds and the grass and the water they floated in, and they were part of each other, too.
In sickness and in health.
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