Chapter Text
The next two days were a blur.
Richie went through school like usual, only everything felt distant, muffled, as if he were underwater and the rest of Derry was screaming on the surface.
He sat in the back of the morning classes, his plastic chair feeling harder with every second. He spent most of the lectures with his chin resting in his palm, his gaze fixed and unblinking on the empty desk to his right.
The wood of the desk was polished and the books inside were organized neatly, but it was missing the only things that mattered.
No red fanny pack resting on the chair. No bouncing leg thumping against the floor. No frantic scratching of a pen as Eddie tried to transcribe every single word the teacher said. No scent of overused soap and grape flavored medicine.
And most of all, there was no one to complain to. Richie found himself leaning slightly to the right, to make a joke like he always did, something stupid about how the history teacher’s toupee looked like a distraught rat.
He’d always wait for the payoff. Eddie huffing in exasperation, rolling his eyes so hard you could practically hear them click, and whispering, “Shut up, Richie, I’m trying to focus, you’re going to get us in detention.” Then, the specific twitch of a nose, and the smile he always had tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the protest.
A tiny secret thing that always made Richie forget that detention was even a risk. Now, he just sat in annoyance feeling like his skin was a size too small.
At lunch, the Losers table was silent and awkward. Richie sat at the very end of the bench, a deliberate gap between him and Bill. He didn't want to be touched. He didn't want them to look at him and see the way his hands still had a faint tremble.
His tray sat in front of him, the mystery meat congealing into a cold gray slab of salt and preservatives, completely untouched.
He stared through his cracked glasses, the clear lens of fractures over his right eye slicing the cafeteria into distorted figures. He kept his head down, tracing a scratch in the table with his fingernail.
"Still n-n-nothing?" Bill asked, looking at the empty seat between Beverly and Ben.
"My mom called his house this morning," Ben whispered, leaning in so the passing jocks wouldn't hear.
"Mrs Kaspbrak answered. She didn't even let my mom finish a sentence. Just said Eddie was 'recovering from a traumatic event' and hung up. She’s got him on total lockdown."
"Recovering?" Stan snorted, though he looked more worried than annoyed. "He had scraped knees, she’s treating a bit of gravel like a heart transplant or something.”
"It’s not the knees," Mike said, glancing toward Richie, who was pointedly ignoring them."It’s us. She thinks we’re a bad influence."
"We can't just leave him," Ben said, picking at his sandwich. "Should we go over? Maybe we could climb in through the window after dark?"
"No way," Beverly shook her head. "She wouldn’t let any of us see him, if we snuck through, she might call the police. Or worse. You saw her face at the park. She’s looking for a reason to cut us out for good."
Richie pushed his food aside, his tray screeching against the table. "Foods crappy today, I’m gonna hit up the vending machines." he muttered, not looking at any of them.
"R-R-Richie, hey-“Bill started.
"Save it, Bill. I've got a very important date with a bag of stale chips. Plus People to annoy on the way. You know how it is." Richie quipped, forcing a grin.
"Come on, Rich. J-J-Just t-talk to us," Bill said, His voice was steady and firm, but Richie could still feel the pity in it, the same pity radiating from everyone else.
"We know it’s hard. “ Beverly added, her voice dropping into a softer nurturing tone that made Richie’s skin crawl. “You don't have to pretend. We saw what happened. We know you're hurting."
We saw what happened.
The words echoed in Richie's head. Had they seen him hyperventilating? Had they seen him being held like a child by a boy his size? Had they seen the way he’d practically melted into the contact? They had seen him being called a freak and an animal sure, but, the worst part was that Richie couldn't tell if they were pitying him for the words, or for the fact that the words might be true.
“I'm not hurting," Richie said, standing up so fast his milk carton toppled over. He didn't bother to wipe up the spill.
"I’m just bored.” he snapped, his voice climbing into a defensive pitch. “You guys are boring. I’m gonna go find some actual entertainment."
He could feel their eyes on his back as he walked away. Six pairs of eyes staring with a miserable, suffocating pity. Honestly, he’d rather they yelled at him. He’d rather Bill got in his face, or Stan blamed him for Eddie getting locked down by his mother. Anything was better than them looking at him like that.
He didn't care about getting food. He just needed to get away from that table. Though he didn’t have the stomach to wander the crowed hallways while people stared at his broken glasses. Instead, he spent the rest of his afternoon ducking his remaining classes, hiding out in the back stall of the boys bathroom occasionally lighting cigarettes he had in his pocket.
Everything smelling how it always did, just bathroom bleach, damp tile, and splashed urine. He sat directly on the cold grimy floor with his knees pulled up to his chin, his back pressed against the metal partition.
For hours, he just stared at the graffiti scratched into the paint of the stall door. Just messy neon colors of high school cruelty. Badly drawn anatomy, phone numbers, and ugly casual slurs left behind by kids who got to go home to normal families.
Through his broken glasses, the words looked warped and doubled, but Richie didn't look away. He forced himself to read them over and over until the letters blurred together into a dark smudge. He figured if he stared at the ugliness long enough, he’d stop flinching at it.
He just sat there in the dim light, listening to the periodic echoing flush of the toilets and the distant muffled bells signaling classes he was supposed to be in. When the final bell finally shrieked through the building, Richie waited until the initial stampede of heavy boots and shouting voices cleared out of the hallways before he dragged himself downstairs.
The air outside was humid and sticky like usual, the blazing sun feeling like an eyesore. Richie shuffled toward the bike racks, his sneakers dragging against the concrete. The rest of the Losers were already there, standing in a loose circle around their bikes. The second Richie’s shadow fell over them, the conversation died instantly.
"Look at you guys," Richie piped up, his voice cracking slightly on the first syllable before he forced it into its usual loud pitch. He threw his leg over his bike frame, leaning over the handlebars with a theatrical grin. "Standin around like a bunch of virgins at an orgy,” Richie boomed, hyping his voice up into a horrible MC announcer impression. “Don’t you worry ladies and gents! Trashmouth Tozier has arrived to bless your pathetic afternoons!”
The joke fell completely flat. Ben just looked down at his own sneakers, kicking a loose pebble into the grass. Stan crossed his arms tight over his chest, his expression unreadable behind his dusty curls.
"Richie, man," Mike said softly, leaning against his seat. "You skipped history and chem. Our teacher said if you miss one more lab, he's writing you up to the vice principal."
"Oh, no, not the vice principal!" Richie gasped, clapping a hand over his chest in mock horror. "Whatever will I do? He might take away my library card or force me to give him a sponge bath. Honestly, with the—"
"Shut up, Richie," Stan interrupted, sounding more tired the annoyed. Richie wasn’t the only one worried about their friend. "Just—stop for a second."
"Stop what, Stanley? Providing top-tier entertainment for the masses? You guys are a tough crowd today, I swear. Did someone put starch in your underwear, or is Bill just fuckin constipated?" Richie shot a look toward Bill, his hands gripping his rubber handlebars. He could feel the sweat itching at the back of his neck. "Come on, Bill. Back me up here. Your silence is hurting my fragile ego." He exclaimed sarcastically.
Bill didn't smile. He just stared at Richie, his eyes steady with an understanding that Richie absolutely despised. "We're n-not doing this, Rich," Bill said, his voice quiet but solid.
He reached out, his hand hovering near Richie’s shoulder for a fraction of a second before he let it drop, sensing the way Richie's entire frame had gone still. "You don't h-have be like this," Richie's grin twitched, the corners of his mouth faltering for a second before he interrupted anything else Bill was gonna say.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bill. This is my natural charm. Women love it. Eddie's mom loves it—" The losers nearly collectively flinched At the mention of Eddie's name. Beverly stepped closer, her fingers lightly touching the edge of Richie’s handlebars.
"Richie... we're going to check his house again tomorrow after school. Ben thinks if we go through the back alley, we can at least leave a note or something on his porch. You should come."
Richie looked down at her hand, then looked away, his chest tightening until his ribs felt bruised. The image of Sonia Kaspbrak’s furious pale face at the park flashed behind his eyes, followed immediately by the memory of the men on the bench talking about the alleyway in Portland.
"Nah," Richie said, his voice dropping a little. He kicked his kickstand up with a sharp clank.
"I've got plans tomorrow. Big plans. Some try hard dork from up the block thinks he can touch my win streak in street fighter, and I, “ Richie said dramatically placing a flat hand over his heart. “Have no choice but to defend my throne. Duty calls Bev. “
"Richie—" Beverly started.
"Later, " Richie interrupted, his hand giving them a weak wave.
He pushed off the pavement, pedaling hard before anyone could grab his sleeve or force him to talk about anything. He swerved out of the school parking lot, the tires of his bike humming dull clicks against the road. Richie couldn't face the thought of going back to his own house yet. The Tozier house was always quiet, full of empty dinner plates, his dad's discarded newspapers, and a television left on a static channel just to create the illusion of life. He couldn't sit in that living room.
So, he pedaled up toward the quarry leaving his bike at the edge of the road. The water at the bottom of the ledge was dead still and dark, any sunlight covered by clouds and tall trees, everything smelling of dead grass and wet stone. Richie dragged a hand through his hair, his chest tightening. He didn't think about it too much. He didn't want to think at all.
He kicked off his sneakers, dropped his shirt on a flat rock, and slid down the gravel slope into the water. The shock of it was brutal. A miserable ice cold slap that knocked the oxygen right out of his lungs. His ribs instantly seized up, his skin prickling with hard goosebumps as the numbing chill took hold.
He started moving just to keep from freezing, cutting through the water with messy, aggressive strokes. He swam back and forth along the rock wall, his muscles burning, his breath coming in white plumes in the air. He kept going until his arms felt like they were too heavy for his body to carry and his lungs screamed for him to stop.
When he finally dragged himself out, his limbs were shaking so hard he could barely pull his socks back on. He didn't bother drying off properly anyways. He just threw his shirt back over his bare shoulder, the damp fabric instantly clinging to his clammy skin. He wandered deeper into the shadows of the woods until he reached the familiar spot. A mossy log, the exact one he and Eddie had claimed as their own.
Richie sat on top of the damp wood, His teeth chattering as He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, his eyes fixed blankly on a small bug crawling through the dirt near his sneakers. His wet hair dripped down his forehead and the nape of his neck, sending Violent shivers down his spine every time the wind swept through the trees.
but he stayed right there. Waiting for a kid who wasn't allowed to leave his bedroom.
In the corners of his brain, where his own voice couldn't reach, he could still hear the faint echo of a clown’s voice laughing at him. Reminding him that no matter how loud he talked, or how hard he ran, he was always going to end up in the exact same place.
Alone in the dark.
———————
The car ride home from the park was an absolute nightmare.
Eddie sat pressed as hard as he could against the passenger door, his scraped knees stinging and his head throbbing with the thump of the windshield wipers. He kept his eyes locked on them, trying to stop his chest from tightening up.
"You were running, weren't you, Edward? I could see it from the road!" Sonia’s voice was an agonizing sound to him, one that made him sometimes want to cut his own ears off.
"I told you, your heart cannot handle that kind of exertion! You are a sick boy, Eddie. And look at you now, filthy! Bleeding! like a homeless child!" Eddie swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"Mom, it was just an accident, I just tripped over a—"
"You need your pills," she interrupted, completely flattening his voice as she steered sharply around a corner. "The second we get home, you're taking your usual doses with Naproxen and a double dose of the blue capsules. I won't have you catching a fever or throwing off your rhythm because you decided to play in the dirt with that... that trashmouth boy. He’s a menace, Eddie.“
She reached over. Her fingers gripped his wrist with a bruising strength, pulling his arm across to inspect his hand. She went completely still. The car drifted slightly over the yellow line before she corrected it, her eyes narrowing as she stared down at the neat, careful wrap Richie had done in the bathroom. It wasn't perfect, but it was smooth, the fabric tucked in with the gentle precision of someone who actually cared. Someone who hadn't wanted to make him worse.
"Who did this?" she hissed. "This isn't my gauze. This isn't how I taught you to dress a wound."
"No one!" Eddie snapped, his voice cracking. He pulled his wrist back, but her grip didn't give an inch. He couldn't bear to hear her curse Richie’s name more than she already had. He couldn't let her touch that memory.
"The old bandage just... it got loose during gym. I found some tape in the nurse's office and fixed it myself."
"Edward, I know when you’re lying. I am your mother." Her voice settled into a low uncanny calm that was always more terrifying than her shouting. She kept her eyes fixed on the empty road ahead, her hand pressed tight on the steering wheel.
"You still defend them. Even after they push you, and hurt you. Look at this, they’ve brainwashed you, Eddie. They can’t keep their dirty hands to themselves even when you’re injured. They don’t understand how fragile your system is. They treat you like you're made of stone."
She glanced at him, then gave a heavy, desperate look that made Eddie feel like he was choking.
"you're made of glass, Eddie," she whispered softly, almost tenderly. Her eyes welled with tears, a sudden shift that never failed to make him feel guilty. Reaching over, she pressed a large, clammy hand against his cheek, her fingers trembling with a tremor that felt almost forced. She turned her head fully for a moment, her glossy eyes locking onto his as she firmly caressed his face.
"My sweet, fragile boy. You're made of glass, and they are going to shatter you. You know I will always protect you.”
The feeling of her cold hand against his skin and the desperate look in her eyes drew him back. Just like that, the guilt swallowed him whole. Why? She had just screeched at him in front of his friends, insulted them, and completely disregarded everything he tried to say. Yet, he felt horrible for simply being upset with her. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was just ungrateful. After all, she was only trying to protect him, even if she was... mean sometimes.
She swerved the car into their driveway, the tires crunching loudly over the street before the engine died with a loud shudder. The sudden silence in the vehicle was deafening.
"You aren't going to school for the next few days," she announced, pulling the key from the ignition.
"You need to heal. You need to recover under proper supervision. And more importantly, those children need to learn their lesson. They need to lay off of you before they kill you."
Eddie didn't move. He just stared down at the white gauze on his hand, the cotton still holding the faint, fading scent of Richie. A scent he felt terrible for loving. He squeezed his fingers into a tight fist, hiding Richie’s work from her sight.
The memory faded, dissolving back into the rubbing alcohol scent of his bedroom. Eddie laid flat on his back, his hands resting on his stomach, staring up at the dusty, glow in the dark plastic stars stuck to his ceiling, things he’d outgrown years ago but never had the energy to scrape off.
It had been forty eight hours. Forty eight hours of "healing." Forty eight hours of watching the shadows shift across his wallpaper while the rest of the world went to school. His knees were scabbed over now, the dark crusts tight and itching terribly every time he tried to move his legs beneath the sheets. He didn't scratch them. He knew if he picked at them and they bled, it would just start the cycle of ointment and lectures all over again.
A soft knock came at the door, and Sonia entered without waiting for an answer. The door didn't lock anyway, she’d taken the lock off the knob when he was thirteen. She walked in carrying a small cup of water and a familiar multi colored handful of pills.
"Time for your evening supplements, Eddie bear," she said. Her voice dropping into her usual sweet tone that always made his stomach churn, the voice she used when she wanted him to remember exactly how small and helpless he was.
She sat on the edge of his mattress, her weight dipping the springs so deeply that his body naturally, inevitably rolled an inch or two toward her side of the bed. She set the cup of water on his nightstand and reached out her thick fingers starting to stroke through his hair. Her hand lingered a little too long, her palm pressing down against the crown of his head a little too tight, holding him in place.
"You look much better today," she hummed, completely ignoring the way Eddie subtly tried to pull his head back from her touch.
"The color is finally coming back to your cheeks. See? This is what happens when you stay where it's safe, Edward.” She continued, mindlessly tugging at his hair. “Away from the noise, away from the dirt.” She murmured.
Eddie kept his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead at his closet door. He didn't say anything. He’d learned a long time ago that talking back just prolonged her visits. She reached down, her thumb catching the edge of the new bandage on his hand. This one wasn't Richie's work. This one was wrapped so tightly around his palm that it throbbed in sync with his pulse, practically cutting off his circulation if he balled his hand into a fist for too long.
"I went ahead and threw that old red fanny pack in the wash with some heavy duty bleach, Eddie," she mentioned casually, her fingers smoothing over the stiff medical tape.
"It was absolutely crawling with bacteria from that awful park. I think it’s best if we just leave it on the high shelf in the hall closet for a while. You don't need to be carrying all those heavy things around when I'm right here to take care of you."
A jolt went through Eddie’s chest. The fanny pack was something that kept him grounded, his routine, his excuse to feel like he had control over his own body. Taking it away felt like she was stripping him down to nothing.
"Mom, I need that," Eddie said, his voice coming out tighter and more strained than he intended. "My aspirator is in there. What if I have an attack in the middle of the night?"
“Ah, ah, ah, mommy.” She corrected him, smiling.
"Your inhaler is right here on the dresser where it belongs," Sonia said softly, her smile never wavering as she tapped the plastic cup of water against his knuckles, urging him to take the medication.
"Right where I can reach it for you. Now, take your medicine, sweetie. Don't let it sit." Eddie looked at the pills in her palm, pink, yellow, and white. A quiet part of him, a part he usually tried to drown out, whispered they were a lie. Some sort of placeholder.
He’d seen the way the Losers ran, the way Richie could breathe fine after a sprint, and he knew his own body. He could run too. He was good at it. He couldn’t be nearly as broken as his mother claimed. Right? Or maybe he was. Maybe he really was destined to be stuck like this forever, suffocated by her care for the rest of his life.
He sighed, shaking off his own thoughts taking them from her hand, swallowing one down with a single gulp of lukewarm water, as he laid back down. His eyes narrowed toward The glowing red numbers on the digital clock reading 8:47 PM. The minutes didn't seem to click forward, they bled into one another, so, so slow.
Right now, maybe Richie would be sitting by their spot in the woods, laying on his stomach and drawing stupid pictures in the dirt with a stick. Or maybe he’d be throwing rocks into the black water of the quarry, waiting for the ripples to die down. Or worse, maybe he was at his own house. A sickening feeling of sympathy twisted in Eddie's stomach at the thought.
He’d been there on weekends when Richie’s mom was passed out on the armchair with a glass still sweating in her hand, and his dad was nowhere to be found, leaving the house completely frozen and dead. Richie joked about everything to everyone else, but Eddie had seen him sitting in that empty kitchen. Completely silent, just staring at a blank wall because noise didn't work when there was nobody around to hear it.
"Mommy," Eddie said. His throat felt dry, his voice raspy and thin.
"I'm fine now. Really. I want to go to school tomorrow." Sonia’s hand froze mid air. Her expression remained perfectly placid, a mask of maternal devotion, but her eyes went completely cold.
"We’ll see, Edward," she said, her voice leveling into a soft unyielding register.
"You’ve had a very big shock. Your nervous system is incredibly delicate right now. You don't know what's good for you,” she smiled at him, “but Mommy does. Now, take the rest of your medicine."
She didn't look away. She stood over the bed, a massive, looming woman, watching him swallow every single tablet. When the glass of water was empty, she waited, her silence demanding compliance, until he opened his mouth to prove they were gone. Only then did she lean down and kiss his forehead, a wet press of the skin Eddie grew to hate.
"Sleep now," she whispered, flicking the light switch. "I'll be right across the hall when you need me."
The door clicked shut, plunging the room into darkness, but Eddie didn't move a muscle. He knew better. The house was old, and every sound carried. He could hear the faint creaking of her weight lingering right on the other side of the wood. The sliver of yellow light spilling under the door was completely blocked by the motionless shadow of her slippers. She was just standing there. Waiting. Listening to him breathe.
Eventually, the shadow finally shifted and melted away, followed by the distant groan of the floorboards across the hall. On Eddie's ceiling, the plastic glow in the dark stars were already beginning to dim, losing their cheap neon luster. He stared up at them, his head getting louder and louder until his thoughts felt like they were vibrating straight down into his teeth.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
The words he hadn't been brave enough to say at the park kept playing in his head on loop. Every breath he took felt shallow, tight, and completely useless. He closed his eyes, but he couldn't block out Richie's face.
Not the ridiculous, loud, obnoxious Richie that the rest of the world saw, but the version of Richie that Eddie carried under his eyelids. The version he saw when they were twelve, finding Richie sitting behind the garage of his house. Eddie didn’t know what happened, but Richie hadn't been wearing his glasses, they were clutched in his hand, and he had looked so small, completely defenseless as he wiped his face with a dirty sleeve, terrified that anyone would see him look human.
It was the same way he’d looked a few days ago, under the willow tree in bassey park, the same way he looked in the dirty space of the bathroom stall while kids threw cruel slurs at him. And yet, despite the noise, the dirt, the terrible jokes, and the broken glasses... Richie was beautiful. He was beautiful in a way that made Eddie's chest ache, in a way that felt dangerous and scary, a way Eddie didn't even know how to begin to understand.
He pulled the blankets tighter around his chin, completely trapped in the dark, wishing more than anything that he was sitting on a cold log in the woods instead of his own bed. Eddies eyes drifted to his hands. The scabs itched under the tightly wrapped gauze, just as he felt a dark urge crawl up his throat.
He thought about the bathroom stall. He thought about an apology he still hadn’t said. His hands had hurt, they’d hurt like hell when he first scrubbed them raw, but,
the thought… the feeling…
Sure, it was painful, but it was also relieving. It quieted the pounding in his head. And after all he’d done, maybe… maybe he deserved that pain.
Maybe,
if he just—
It won’t—
"No.”
He whispered into the dark.
“No. Not again."
He sat up, his heart hammering. He felt a wave of self loathing wash over him. He wasn't hiding his hands from her, she’d already seen the damage. He was hiding them from himself. He grabbed his gray hoodie from the chair, shoving his arms into the sleeves and pulling the cuffs down over his palms.
He needed to hide the shame. He needed to drown out the thoughts. I just need water, he told himself. Just a drink. Then I'll sleep. Then tomorrow, I’ll figure out a way to get out of this house and apologize to him.
Eddie crept toward his bedroom door, turning the knob with agonizing slowness. He stepped out into the hallway, his socks completely silent against the old hardwood floor. The corridor was dim, casting in long, distorted shadows, the only real light spilling from the half open door of his mother's bedroom at the end of the hall.
He made it three paces before he froze, his hand instantly locking against the wallpaper as a voice drifted out. Sonia was on the phone.
"I know, I know. It’s been a trial, truly," she said, her voice muffled under the door. Her tone carried a fake sugary pity that Eddie had heard her use with doctors and neighbors his entire life.
"But Edward is finally seeing reason. I had a very long talk with him tonight. He’s devastated, of course, but he’s agreed it’s for the best. He told me himself, he doesn't want that Tozier boy anywhere near him. He said Richie makes him feel... unsafe."
Eddie’s blood ran cold for a moment. The room seemed to tilt slightly on its axis. He stopped breathing entirely, his fingers digging into the drywall so hard his nails bent against the plaster. His own mother was weaponizing his vulnerability, taking the worst day of his life and turning it into a lie to destroy the only thing he cared about.
"Exactly," Sonia continued, letting out a small laugh that rattled through the empty hallway. "I’ve already spoken to the school and—"
Her voice kept going, but it blurred into a dull static in Eddie’s ears. There was no point in confronting her. There was no point in walking into that room to argue, or explain, or plead. He’d spent sixteen years explaining himself to her, and nothing had ever changed. She didn't want him to heal, she wanted him under her thumb.
The yellow light spilling from her doorway felt blinding, the usual scent of the hallway, the lavender, the rubbing alcohol, the rosemary, all suddenly felt nauseating. He didn't want to fight anymore. He just needed to breathe.
He turned away from her door, his chest squeezing into a painful knot as his heart thundered against his ribs. He didn't think. He didn't plan. He just bolted down the stairs, his bare feet hitting the steps in silent thuds. He didn't stop to grab his sneakers by the door. He didn't turn back for the aspirator sitting on his dresser. The claustrophobia of his own house was choking him, and he knew that if he stayed inside those walls for one more second, he wouldn't be able to draw another breath.
He was halfway across the living room, his fingers literal inches from the front door knob, when his heel caught the edge of a loose floorboard.
Snap.
A noisy crack that cut through the quiet house.
"Edward?” Sonia descended the stairs with a heavy momentum that made the framed pictures on the wall rattle. The plastic phone was still clutched in her hand, the long coiled cord trailing down the steps behind her like a dead weight. Her face wasn't confused, it was set in an unblinking calm certainty. Her massive shadow stretched out ahead of her, completely swallowing the front door.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice remaining a quiet tone. "It’s nearly nine o'clock, Eddie. You’re attempting to leave in socks. You're having an episode. You're confused."
Eddie stopped, his hand hovering over the cold knob. His stomach did a violent flip, a lifetime of conditioning screaming at him to drop his head, apologize, and go back upstairs. He could feel the air in his lungs thinning out, the asthma locking up his throat before he even opened his mouth.
"I'm going out," he said, the words coming out small and trembling.
"Out?? You are sick, Edward! You heard what I was telling Maggie on the phone," she continued, smoothly stepping off the final riser. She didn't even acknowledge his words, completely steamrolling over his presence.
"Those children, That— Tozier boy, he’s done something to your head. He’s made you think you’re stronger than you are. He’s putting ideas in your mind, Eddie! Now, give me your hand. We are going back upstairs, and we are going to double your doses before your chest completely seizes."
She reached out, her thick fingers closing around his wrist. Her grip was instant and brutal, her nails pinching right through the cotton of his hoodie, holding him in place. She smelled heavily of the peppermint candies she sucked on to hide her coffee breath, hot, sweet, and entirely muggy in his face.
"N-No, stop, Get your hands off me," Eddie choked out. It was a panicked ugly sound, the voice of a kid who felt like he was sinking in the middle of his own living room.
Sonia’s grip only tightened, her fingers digging deeper into his muscles as she began to physically pivot his body back toward the stairs.
"Don't you dare act hysterical with me, Edward. You’re fragile, if I let you out that door—"
"No! I said let go!" He physically forced the words out of his mouth. Not thinking about the consequences or the lectures. He twisted his torso with frantic wrench, tearing his arm out of her grasp. The sudden force of it caught her off balance, her slippers sliding an inch on the polished wood as she stumbled back against the banister, the plastic phone receiver clattering loudly against the floor.
”Edward!” She screeched, distraught, and angry.
"I am your mother.” Sonia said, her voice decreasing in a loud piercing tone, settling into a heavy boom that seemed to vibrate the very air. Her face was a dark, mottled purple, her thick fingers tightening around the wooden banister until the joints creaked.
"I am the only person in this godforsaken town who keeps you alive, Edward. Without me, you’d be dead in a week. Do you hear me? Dead. You are different. You are a sick, broken little boy, and you cannot survive without my hand."
"I'm not broken!” Eddie croaked. The words couldn’t come out as a shout, or as loud as he wanted, they were a ragged scrape against his teeth, a desperate attempt to force air past the knot tightening in his throat.
For a split second, the house was entirely silent, save for the dull hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Eddie’s vision blurred, stinging with hot tears of pure, suffocating fury. Moving on nothing but instinct, his shaking hands flew down to his right palm, his fingernails clawing frantically at the edge of the freshly tight medical tape.
He didn't care if it hurt. He didn't care if he ripped the scabs right off his skin. He dug his nails under the stiff fabric and began to unravel the bandage with a manic desperate energy, tearing at it until the white gauze fell away from his hand in messy, tangled loops, leaving his raw scraped skin exposed to the cold hallway air.
"You want to see what's broken?" Eddie choked out, his breath hitching as his ribs seized up from the sheer panic. He slammed the crumpled antiseptic smelling gauze onto the floorboards right at the tips of her slippers. It sat there on the dark wood, stained and pathetic, looking like discarded dead skin.
"This! This is what's broken! You keeping me locked up in this house until I can't even tell what's real anymore! And— and you sitting here lying! Lying about my own friends!"
Sonia didn't scream back. Instead, her entire face went completely placid, her jaw setting into a lifeless mask. Her eyes narrowing into tiny dark slits that caught the yellow glare of the kitchen light, entirely devoid of anything human. When she spoke, her voice dropped an octave, settling into a deep, monotone register.
"Edward," she said, her tone smooth, and entirely empty.
"Pick. Those. Up. Right now. You are tracking outdoor bacteria all over the floorboards. You are going to get an infection, and your system cannot handle a blood pathogen."
"Let it get infected!" Eddie yelled, his voice cracking painfully on the high notes as he backed his body flat against the front door. "I’d rather have a scar! I'd rather have a thousand scars than live another second in this— this hell hole with you!"
"You are having an attack," she continued smoothly, her heavy steps advancing toward him, slow and deliberate, completely ignoring his words as if he hadn't spoken at all.
"Look at you. You're absolutely hysterical. You can't even breathe properly, Edward. You are completely dependent on me for your oxygen, and you are going to destroy yourself out there. Stand still and let me fix your hand."
"No!" Eddie choked out. He didn't want her to fix him. He honestly didn't want her to touch him ever again. His fingers fumbled blindly behind his back, catching the cold brass of the deadbolt and yanking it back until it cleared the frame with a heavy clack. He threw his entire weight against the wood, fending off her reaching hand as he flung the heavy front door wide open.
The cold Derry night air hit instantly, wet, breezy, and smelling heavily of damp earth, river water, and pine trees. It felt incredibly, beautifully real.
Behind him, the mask of Sonia’s calm completely shattered. She broke into a crazy screech, that turned into gasping sob.
"Edward! How can you do this to me? After everything I've sacrificed? You can't do this to me! You come back here! You'll die out there, Edward! You'll die!" Her voice fractured into a desperate choked wail that echoed down the street, loud and pathetic.
Eddie didn't look back to see her face. He hit the porch steps and sprinted onto the lawn in his socks, the rough wet grass slick under his feet as he bolted for the side of the house. His hands shook as he grabbed the cold metal of his handlebars, knocking his bike loose from where it leaned against the porch railing.
He didn't bother with the kickstand, just stomped it down and threw his leg over the bike, his bare socks slipping against the metal pedals before his feet found their grip. He pedaled furiously, standing up on the seat to force the bike down the bumpy driveway and onto the road.
He didn't stop to listen for the wheeze in his throat. He didn't check his wrist for a watch to see if he was late for a pill. The night air was heavy, filling his lungs until they physically burned, but it wasn't the stifling panic of his bedroom. It was a good burn. It was the feeling of actual oxygen.
Every single step away from the yellow glow of the porch light felt like he was shattering another part of the fake glass boy his mother had invented to keep him small. His heart was slamming aggressively against his ribs, not because his body was failing him, but because it was finally running on his own terms.
——————-
The woods at night usually remained completely silent, only the low cricket hums and the distant lap of the quarry water against the shore.
Richie sat on the dead mossy log, his bare shoulders pulled tight with goosebumps. His damp shirt clung uncomfortably to his lap, but he didn't move an inch. His mind was a loop, running through the events of the last few days until the thoughts felt worn down and empty.
He kept thinking about the look on the Losers faces at lunch, the pathetic pity. It was a thousand times worse than being punched in the mouth. He thought about the bathroom stall, the way his hands had felt shaking against Eddie’s skin. The way he’d let himself believe, just for a second under that willow tree, that he was allowed to have something good.
You’re exactly where you belong, he could still hear a clown’s voice faintly whispering in the back of his mind.
Then came the crashing.
It was loud, frantic, and clumsy.
The sound of branches snapping and leaves tearing under reckless momentum. Richie bolted upright, his heart leaping violently into his throat as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. He caught them with a shaky hand, squinting through the cracks in his lens, his entire body going stiff as he braced for a threat. He expected Bowers. He expected a clown. He expected anything that wanted to harm him.
Instead, a small figure burst through a thick brush. Eddie was gripping the rubber handlebars of his bike, dragging it along beside him as he stumbled into the grass. He stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving in violent, ragged gasps. Before he could even set the bike down properly, his hands lost their grip, and the heavy metal frame crashed sideways into the dirt with a loud thud, the front wheel spinning lazily in the dark.
Richie just stared. His mouth fell open slightly, his brain completely stalling out as he tried to process the sight in front of him. For a solid three seconds, he couldn't even force a sound out of his throat.
Eddie’s hair was a wild sweaty mess, his face was streaked with dirt and pale with pure exhaustion, wearing nothing but a gray hoodie with red dolphin shorts and white cotton socks.
"Eds?" Richie’s voice came out incredibly small and hollow, barely carrying over the background hum of the woods. He took a hesitant half step forward, his eyes dropping to the ground, wide with absolute disbelief.
"You’re... you’re in your socks, man," Richie muttered. He forced a weak trembling grin, even though it didn't reach the rest of his face.
"What the fuck happened? Did you get kidnapped by a very specific foot-fetishist?" The joke was weak, a tiny pathetic spark in the forest, but it was the only thing Richie had ever known how to hold.
Eddie didn't laugh. He just stood a few feet away, his chest lifting and falling in loud gasps. His white socks were completely ruined, stained a dark, muddy green from the weeds and wet soil, but he didn't seem to notice the cold or the dirt at all.
"I don’t need shoes," Eddie panted, his voice rough and scraped raw.
"I don’t need any of it. I—" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes adjusting to the dark as they swept over Richie’s pale shivering frame. The irritation in Eddie's voice seemed to return instantly, an old familiar reflex that cut right through his panic.
"Why the hell are you shirtless, Richie? It’s like fifty degrees out here. You’re going to get hypothermia."
"Quarry," Richie muttered, gesturing vaguely with a thumb toward the far ledge behind him. He rubbed his bare arms, trying to stop the violent shuddering in his shoulders.
"Needed to... clear my head. Felt like I was covered in grease. Had to wash it off."
“Couldn’t just take a shower like a fucking normal person,” Eddie muttered as He took a slow step closer, then another, his ruined socks sinking into the damp grass until he was standing right in front of the log.
"I knew you’d be here," he whispered, almost relieved. He sat down right next to Richie, the old wood creaking loudly under their combined weight. Sitting side by side, Richie was freezing from the quarry water, and Eddie radiated the sweaty heat of a two mile bike.
"What happened with your mom?" Richie asked, his brow furrowing as he looked down at Eddie's dirty ankles. "It’s past nine o'clock, Eds. She really let you out this late?"
"No," Eddie said honestly. He kept his eyes locked on the dark trees across them, his jaw setting into a hard line. He wasn't ready to talk about the screaming, or the torn bandages, or how much he hated his own house. He just wanted a second of quiet.
"Don’t worry about it, Rich. She doesn’t know I’m out, just drop it." A silence settled between them, filled only by the chirping of the crickets and the rustle of the wind through the pines.
Richie had sat on this exact log for the last two nights, staring at the empty dirt path waiting for Eddie, but he’d never actually imagined Eddie would break out. Now that he was sitting right here, Richie felt entirely stripped. He had no idea what to say. In the overlapping shadows of the trees, they were mostly just dark silhouettes, but the space between them stopped feeling cold and started feeling incredibly tight, in a way that made Eddie’s pulse skip.
Eddie could hear the quick, slight chatter of Richie’s teeth in the dark. He could smell the clammy scent of the deep quarry water clinging to Richie's skin and wet hair. For Richie, the air around Eddie was thick, he could smell the faint trace of Sonia’s lemon floor wax on his clothes, but underneath it, there was the scent of peppermint and the soap Eddie always used.
It was messy, a conflicting mix of everything they were running from and everything they wanted. It felt like home. It felt like the only safe place left in Derry.
"You're freezing.” Eddie noted. A blunt realization as the heat of his sprint began to evaporate in the woods. He didn't hesitate. He reached down and grabbed the hem of his oversized gray hoodie. The hoodie he’d spent the last few days hiding in, the fabric he’d used to cover himself up from his mother's eyes. He pulled it over his head in a quick clumsy motion, his white t-shirt riding up his torso for a second before the fabric settled, leaving him in the chilly night air.
He held the hoodie out across the small space between them. With his arms extended, his hands were completely exposed. The raw irritated patches of skin where he’d violently unraveled the tight medical tape looked angry and inflamed. Luckily unable to be seen, covered by the clouds keeping away any source of moonlight. He didn't try to tuck his fingers into his palms. He didn't pull back. He just pushed the sweatshirt closer to Richie’s chest.
"Take it," Eddie insisted. His voice regaining a protective edge that only ever came out when Richie was involved, the tone he used when he was trying to bully Richie into taking care of himself.
"I’m not sitting here watching you catch pneumonia just because you decided to be a dramatic idiot and swim in a rock quarry at night."
Richie didn’t argue. The quick witted sarcastic defense he usually kept completely failed him. He was shivering so violently that his ribs ached, and the hoodie in Eddie’s hands looked less like a piece of clothing and more like a fire pit.
As Richie reached out, his knuckles brushing against the gray fabric, the blanket of clouds above them finally fractured. The moonlight cut through the thick pine trees like a silver spotlight.
Harsh, sudden, and completely unforgiving.
The light instantly caught the cracks of Richie’s broken lens, casting a fractured shadow across his pale face. It illuminated his bare shivering frame, highlighting the sharp line of his collarbones and the scattering of freckles across his shoulders.
In that exact same light, Eddie’s hands were fully revealed. The angry red welts, the skin he had spent hours hiding under long sleeves and fresh bandages, were now in perfect, stinging view. The scabs on his palms had pulled open slightly when he tore the gauze away, leaving thin dark tracks of dried blood against the irritated skin.
Neither of them moved.
The hoodie remained suspended in the air between them, fallen on Richie’s lap caught in the sudden exposure of everything they had been trying so desperately to hide from the rest of the world.
Richie’s breath hitched, the sound stuck in his throat. His eyes locked onto Eddie’s face for one strained second before dropping down to his hands. Eddie felt his heart slam wildly against his ribs, his whole body tensing up as he braced for the impact.
He was waiting for the look. The unwanted smothering pity he’d seen on the other Losers faces, or worse, the look of disgust. He waited for Richie to say something about how horrible and ruined his skin looked. He waited for the reminder that he was delicate. That he was made of glass.
Richie didn't say a word. His usual defensive mouth stayed completely shut. His movements were slow, completely stripped of his typical jerky energy. It was different this time, as if he were dealing with something incredibly precious and easily startled.
Richie slid his own large pale palms underneath Eddie’s hands, cupping them upward into the bright moonlight. Richie's skin was still freezing, slick and damp from the quarry water, the physical contact sent a sudden jolt straight through Eddie’s chest. Richie tilted Eddie's hands slightly, examining the raw patches where the medical tape had torn the skin.
There wasn't any pity in his eyes. There wasn't any disappointment, or any of the suffocating evaluation Sonia always used. He just … held them.. gently.
Gently in a way that made Eddie feel like the air could actually return to his lungs.
Richie finally looked up from Eddie's palms, meeting his gaze directly. Feeling the heavy wave of awkwardness settling over them. They both looked terrified, scared of what the other was about to say, scared of the sheer weight of what they were letting each other see.
The silence stretched, tight and vulnerable, until the fear of being judged could slowly began to drain out, leaving them completely bare. With the clouds fully parted, the silver light cutting through the trees, forcing them to really look at what was left of each other.
Eddie didn't pull his hands back. Sitting there in his ruined socks, his dirty red shorts, and a plain thin t-shirt, he had never felt so physically unprotected. He had always used his medical routines, his clean clothes, and his bandages as a barrier against the world, but Richie was looking right at his dirt streaked face and his bleeding, torn palms, and there was no disgust. Richie saw the mess, the hurt, and the raw reality of him, and didn't think he was broken.
Unlike his mother, who looked at his flaws to keep him small, Richie looked at his scars and made him feel… safe.
Richies own armor was completely gone too. There were no bright loud Hawaiian shirts to hide behind, no obnoxious jokes, no voices to block out the silence. He was just a shivering kid with a fracture across his glasses.
In the emptiness of his own house, Richie was used to the sound of his father's door clicking shut, the sound of being ignored, of being completely invisible. Looking into Eddie’s eyes right now, it felt like the exact opposite. It felt like a door was being pushed wide open.
The same profound, terrifying feeling from the bathroom stall and underneath the willow tree, but, different now, cut deep by everything they’d endured over the last few days. The horrific stories about the boys from Portland, the slurs thrown in the school hall, the suffocating lockdown of the Kaspbrak house, all of it seemed to fade against the simple reality each other.
They were just two kids sitting on a dead log in the middle of the night, completely exposed, but somehow, entirely safe.
"Rich, your glasses..." Eddie finally whispered, his voice cracking slightly. It was easier to stare at a shattered glass frame than it was to handle the intensity of the look in Richie's eyes.
"Yeah," Richie muttered. A tiny breathless ghost of a laugh escaped him, but his gaze didn't shift away from Eddie. He slowly, gingerly ran his thumbs just along the very edge of Eddie’s uninjured wrist, a touch so careful as he glanced back down at Eddie’s palms.
"Looks like... looks like they've seen better days. “ he said honestly, his eyes following the line of Eddie's arms back up to his face.
"But hey, don't worry, Eds. Still structurally sound," Richie muttered, raising his eyebrows in a weak attempt to nod toward his own face. "You're still much tougher than the cheap ass glass on these bad boys."
He gave the glass frame a tiny crooked tap. It was a ridiculous look, shivering, shirtless, and squinting through a spiderweb of fractures. But it made a soft genuine smile catch the corners of Eddie's mouth just from how completely idiotic he looked.
Richie swallowed hard for a moment, his eyes dropping back to the raw skin of Eddie's palms.
"Does it... does it hurt bad?"
"Not anymore," Eddie said. He felt the physical sting, of course, the air hitting the raw skin where the tape had been torn away was cold and itchy, but the sickening wrongness that usually lived in his chest when he was inside his own house was gone. The feeling of his mother’s voice, the medicine bottles, the lies, it all felt miles away the longer he sat here.
Richie looked up, the harsh moonlight reflecting off his glasses making his eyes look huge and dark.
"I uhm- I waited for you," he said, his tone dropping low.
"Last night. Tonight. I just... I sat out here like a total idiot. After what happened at the park... I thought I’d finally ruined it. I thought your mom locked you down for good, and you were done with the whole..."
He tried to pull up a familiar, confident smirk, but his lip trembled.
"...the… uhm, 'Amazing Trashmouth Tozier Experience.' I thought uh- I thought I broke the circuit, Eds." It was phrased like one of his usual bits, but the slight shake in his jaw made it sound like a plea. He looked genuinely scared that Eddie was going to agree with him.
"I’m never done with you, Rich," Eddie whispered. He didn't think about how it sounded. He didn't care if it was too honest. His fingers shifted instinctively, curling around Richie’s cold palms, squeezing tight enough to let him feel the heat of his skin.
"Never. So stop saying stupid shit like that."
Richies shoulders dropped an inch, letting out a dry breath. He offered a small fragile smile. The real quiet one that he never, ever, used when the other Losers were around, then finally let his hands go so he could take the gray hoodie.
He pulled it over his head, his messy, wet curls catching on the hood before popping through. The inside was still radiating Eddie’s body heat, instantly cutting through the shivering in his chest.
As he pulled the sleeves down over his knuckles, the scent of it hit him. Eddie. Just simply the scent of Eddie, completely burying the scent of the quarry. Richie pulled his knees tighter up to his chest, sinking deep into the oversized fabric.
He looked smaller than usual, the lines of his shoulders finally softening as his breathing leveled out into a steady rhythm.
Eddie slid across the mossy wood until his shoulder bumped firmly against Richie’s.
"I’m sorry, Rich," Eddie said softly. He didn't look up. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on his bare hands resting on his knees, exposed, and slightly trembling. His fingers twitched, picking at a loose thread on the hem of his shorts just to give him something to do.
"About the Barrens," Eddie muttered, his voice cracking slightly before he swallowed it down.
"About letting you just... walk out of that bathroom stall. I was... Rich, I was so scared. I was completely frozen and I just—I wish—"
He shook his head, the thoughts tangling up in his throat. He hated how messy it sounded, how much he was starting to ramble, but the words were coming out too fast to catch.
"I should have said something. I should have grabbed your jacket or—or closed the door or told those guys to shut the fuck up, or something. Anything. And I just... I just sat there and let you leave. “ Eddie choked, his head falling in his hands as he groaned in frustration.
“But how could I say anything? “ he scoffed, “I— I said even worse than them.”
Richie’s head jerked slightly, his typical instinct to deflect, to find a punchline or a voice to kill the tension. Richie began to open his mouth as Eddie leaned his weight heavier into Richie's shoulder, physically grounding him, cutting the joke off before it could even start.
"No, don't. Just... just let me finish, please," Eddie insisted, his voice trembling but carrying a desperate sort of tone.
"If I don't say it right now, I'm gonna fucking choke on it. I’ve been a total nightmare. For months. Just totally weird and avoidant and twitchy. And every single time you got close, or every time you said something that felt... I don't know, heavy, I panicked. I shoved you away because it was easier than dealing with..." He took a harsh breath, the sound incredibly loud in the silence of the woods.
"Dealing with my own head, I guess. I was so scared. I’m still scared," he admitted, letting out a rough miserable sound that was supposed to be a laugh but came out completely empty.
"I've spent my entire life thinking there’s something fundamentally broken inside of me. Like I’m contaminated, or just... just completely wrong. And I thought if I let you actually see me— you’d realize I’m exactly what my mother says I am. Just a mess. A sick, fragile disaster."
Eddie forced his chin up, his eyes glassy and painfully bright in the moonlight. He looked utterly exhausted.
"I'm so sorry, Rich. My head is a complete wreck lately. I-i can’t sleep, and I feel like every single day I’m just... I’m just spiraling way out of control," he said, his eyes darting toward the trees for a split second as a ramble threatened to take over again, before he forced himself to look right back at Richie.
"But when you're around... the noise kind of… stops. You’re the only thing that keeps me from totally losing it. And I am so, so sorry for screwing up and making you feel like you did something wrong. Like you were the problem. Because you’re not. You’re— you’re actually the complete opposite."
He paused, taking a deep, real breath, collecting the absolute truth of it before he let it out past his teeth.
"You’re the only thing in my life that actually feels right.”
Richie sat perfectly still, almost frozen and completely stalled out. His brain simply couldn't process the weight of what Eddie had just handed him. He just stared through the cracks of his glasses, stunned, his mouth slightly open.
"Woah, woah... hold on," Richie stammered, the words tangled up in his throat before he managed to smooth them out.
"You're... you're not a disaster, Eds. Seriously, what are you talking about?" He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he hooked his pinky finger around Eddie’s exposed raw one, a small bridge over the gap between them on the log.
"You're the only person in this whole godforsaken town who isn't a total bore," Richie said, Nearly laughing in relief, his voice dropping an octave, completely pruned of any performative noise.
"If you're a mess... then I just— I guess I’m just lucky I get to be a part of it." He paused, looking down at where their fingers were locked, a feeling of self doubt creeping back into his chest as He cleared his throat, trying to shoulder some of the burden.
"Besides... I get it. I’ve been weird lately too. This whole summer, I've just... I've been pushy, and obnoxious, and saying stupid shit. It's kind of on me, honestly. I probably drove you crazy."
Eddie’s head snapped up, his jaw tightening instantly. The familiar aggressive spark came right back into his eyes.
"What? No, what the hell is wrong with you? Shut up, Richie. No, no way. it’s completely, one hundred percent my fault. Don't you dare try to take this and make it about you being annoying. I was the one who froze. I was the one who said stupid shit. I— it’s on me, I acted like an idiot."
Richie blinked, completely caught off guard by how fiercely Eddie was defending him against himself.
"Oh," he muttered, a soft, genuine smile cracking the corners of his mouth. He felt a massive knot he'd been carrying since the bathroom stall finally untied itself.
"Okay. Wow. Dictator Kaspbrak has spoken.”
Richie shifted slightly, his pinky still hooked tightly around Eddie's. "So... are we okay now? Like, actually okay?"
Eddie hesitated. The rush of his emotions had faded, leaving him feeling extremely small in his t-shirt. He looked down at their linked fingers, his thumb twitching against Richie's skin.
"Yeah," he said, his voice dropping to a quiet tentative whisper. He looked up at Richie, his eyes wide and completely serious, carrying a real lingering fear that he might have pushed things too far.
"If... I mean, assuming you aren't completely sick of me. If you can actually forgive me."
Richie let out a soft, dry breath, his chest loosening completely. He tilted his head, looking at Eddie with a gaze that was entirely clear, a fond smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Eds, please," Richie murmured, his voice shifting into a low, private tone he only ever used for Eddie. He broke their pinky lock for just a second, reaching up with a dramatic, exaggerated sigh to gently pinch Eddie’s cheek, shaking it back and forth just a tiny bit.
"How could I stay mad at a little cutie like you? practically against the law!"
Eddie blinked, a rush of heat hitting his face. Even in the dim moonlight, the flush of a blush was obvious across his cheeks. He swatted Richie's hand away with breathless huff and nudged Richie's ribs with his elbow.
"Shut up, you ass," he muttered, but he immediately slid his fingers right back to hook securely around Richie’s pinky again, refusing to let go. Richie softly smiled, a familiar feeling he couldn’t name, one he wasn’t allowed to feel, but one that definitely felt amazing.
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sounds were the ones that’d been playing all night, the distant lap of the quarry water, chirping crickets and now the steady cadence of two hearts finally finding their pace.
Neither of them eager to break the quiet, Eddie rested his forehead gently against the side of Richie’s shoulder, tilting his face just enough to breathe him in. He took in the cool drops of quarry water still dripping from Richie's hair, mixed with the cotton of his own hoodie.
There was something incredibly right about the way his scent clung to Richie’s, completely burying the cold smell of the water. It was a strange realization, but Eddie decided he quite liked the way he smelled on him.
"We should go," Richie whispered.
As the words left his mouth, Eddie pulled his head back just an inch to look up at him. In the small space between them, Eddie’s eyes dropped down to Richie’s lips for a split second. It felt like a fleeting, almost a frightened moment of wonder, a tiny, questioning hope that crossed his mind a million times before he even knew what to do with it. He knew he was wrong for feeling like that, but the thought lingered in the air anyway, just quiet and stubborn.
Richie settled deeper into the contact, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the back of Eddie’s hand.
"Seriously, Eds. You’re gonna freeze out here. Your ankles look like actual ice cubes. If you get sick, I'm not the one explaining to your mom why you're hacking up a lung."
"I told you, she doesn't know I'm out," Eddie breathed, his voice soft but firm. He looked down at their ruined socks in the grass through the silver haze of the moonlight, the reality of his house settling back into his bones.
"Yeah, well, she's gonna notice eventually," Richie muttered, his brow furrowing as he looked down at Eddie's bare legs. He shifted slightly, his tone dropping the humor.
“Eds, you’re shaking.”
“I'm not shaking," Eddie lied instantly, though a small shiver ran through his shoulders anyway. The fear of what tomorrow would bring was still lurking at the end of his mind, but right now, it felt distant, completely muffled by the heat of the boy sitting next to him. He looked back up, meeting Richie's eyes.
"But yeah. Let’s get out of here." He paused, a nervousness catching in his throat as he thought about the dark house he had just sprinted away from, and the absolute certainty that he couldn't go back there tonight. The thought of his own bedroom felt cold, like a trap he had finally snapped his way out of. He swallowed hard.
"Your house, Rich," Eddie said, his voice steadier this time, leaving no room for argument.
"Take me to your house."
Richie stared at him for a beat, searching his face in the moonlight to make sure he was certain. When Eddie didn't blink, Richie nodded slowly, his fingers tightening around Eddie's one last time before he stood up, pulling him along, guiding him through the trees toward the edge of the road, where his bike was waiting.