Chapter Text
The Losers discover it while messing around in the junkyard: a combo VCR TV. It’s a total accident that they even find it in the first place: they’re practicing throwing rocks at miscellaneous objects (in case Bowers or that clown fucker decide to show their sorry faces in Derry again) when Richie stumbles across it while looking for more rocks.
It’s an early September day; the sky is blue and scattered with trailing strips of white, puffy clouds. Even though it’s not that hot, the cicadas are still humming softly, like they didn’t get the memo that summer’s coming to an end. School lingers on the horizon, but no one’s paying it any attention today. Today, the day feels infinite with possibility, buoyant with the relief that their weeks of terror have finally passed.
Eddie has his shot lined up perfectly — one eye squeezed shut, one open and trained on the beer bottle sitting atop a stack of tires — when Richie lets out an ecstatic yelp, startling all of the Losers and causing them to flinch.
Eddie’s rock goes veering to the left, clattering against a pile of rusted bicycle parts. “Hey!” He frowns, “You wrecked my shot!”
“Screw your shot!” Richie replies. He shoots up a few feet away, body hidden behind an old pickup truck. “Look what I found!”
The group exchange wary glances before dropping the rocks they’re holding and running over to join Richie. They come to a stop in a cluster around him, gazes quickly falling on the point of interest.
“Is that—“ Mike begins, smiling broadly.
“A fucking TV!” Richie beams, standing beside it. It’s sitting there like it’d sprung up from the earth itself. It’s dusty, the sides are scuffed, and the screen is streaked with mud, but it looks intact. The screen isn’t cracked, the buttons are all there, and the VHS tape slot even still has its cover.
“I wonder if it works,” Stan says as Ben kneels before it.
“If it does, we could bring it back to our clubhouse!” Richie continues, “We could watch whatever we want, whenever we wanted!” He’s still speaking with the same eager grin, but Eddie notices the way he pushes up his glasses nervously. He’d never admit it, but he needs them to approve his idea.
“Th-that’d be cool!” Bill smiles.
“Yeah!” Mike echoes.
“But there’s no way it still works,” Bev says, though her voice has a hopeful tinge to it, as if she hopes that her words will jinx it otherwise.
Ben’s brow furrows as he examines the back of the TV set. “I don’t know; I think it could.”
“Since when did you become a technician?” Richie exclaims.
“I’m not,” Ben replies, looking flustered, “I just help the library with their A.V. equipment sometimes.”
“Nerd Alert!”
“So, what does it need?” Mike asks, politely ignoring Richie.
“It looks like the RF Coaxial cable input is a bit damaged, which is probably why they threw it out,” Ben answers.
“What the fuck?” Richie scoffs, “In English please, por favor!”
“That was English, you illiterate fuck,” Eddie snaps as Stan bursts out laughing.
Richie’s cheeks flush red, but he chooses to deflect to Stan. “What the fuck are you laughing about?”
“Y-You’re so illiterate!” Stan wheezes, wiping at his eyes.
“Am not! I had no trouble reading the Playgirl I found in your dad’s nightstand!”
“Fuck off.”
“C-Can we fuh-focus please?” Bill cuts in, giving them all a stern look. Sorries are mumbled all-around before Bill turns back to Ben. “So c-can you fix it?”
“I think so,” Ben shrugs, “We could probably find a replacement part somewhere in here.”
“Even if we did get it working,” Stan says, “How would we get it back to the clubhouse?”
“We could carry it,” Bev suggests.
“But there’s no power.”
“My grandpa has some of those industrial extension cords around the farm,” Mike offers.
“I know th-that my dad has some in our g-garage,” Bill adds, “If we got enough, we c-c-could stretch them to the gas stuh-station on Kansas Street.”
“Nuh-uh,” Eddie cuts in, shaking his head quickly, “No way. Do you know how dangerous extension cords are? Too many strung together would be a huge fucking fire hazard! Not to mention, what do we do if it rains? What the fuck would we do if it rains? Instant outage, if we don’t get electrocuted first! I don’t wanna die in some hole in the ground, electrocuted by some junkyard TV, when we all have perfectly working TV’s in our own houses—"
But then he’s cut off mid-rant when Richie suddenly lunges at him. Before Eddie even has a moment to process what’s happening, he’s scooped into Richie’s arms and thrown over his shoulder.
“Put me down, asshole!” Eddie yells, using his non-casted arm to pound his fist against Richie’s back. He can’t see Richie’s face — only the ground and the back of Richie’s obnoxiously blue Hawaiian shirt — but he can tell Richie’s sporting a shit-eating grin; his chest is shaking with laughter as he holds Eddie over his shoulder.
“You worry way-too fucking much, Eds!” Richie laughs, ignoring Eddie’s flailing arm and swinging legs, and suddenly they’re off, Richie running Eddie around the junkyard as Eddie screams in protest (“Put me down, idiot! I’m going to have a fucking asthma attack! You’re going to break my arm again! I’ll kick your fucking vagina off!”).
“Alright then,” Stan says, nonplussed.
“So, are we gonna do this?” Mike asks, turning to look at the rest of the group (sans Richie and Eddie), who all turn to look at Bill.
Bill nods. “L-let's get started.”
As it turns out, repairing the TV and dragging it back to their clubhouse takes a lot more work than expected. They spend a good half hour just digging through all the TV’s in the junkyard, looking for one with a working cable input, then Ben has to carefully remove it, install it in their new TV using whatever tools he can find from the junkyard (which requires even more searching), then Ben, Bev, Stan, and Richie have to haul the TV all the way to the clubhouse while Bill and Mike hunt down as many extension cords as they can find.
By the time the TV’s near their clubhouse, Eddie’s surprised his friend’s limbs haven’t snapped off yet. For the first time since it happened, he’s actually grateful for his broken arm, as it saves him from bickering alongside the rest of his friends as they slowly lug the TV over fallen logs and broken branches.
“Alright!” Eddie calls out. He’s waiting for them by the hatch of the clubhouse, waving them closer. He’s still not crazy about this whole plan, but the least he can do is try to help. At this point, they’re in so deep that there’s no going back now. “You guys are almost there!”
“Fuck off!” Richie pants.
Eddie scowls. “I’m being supportive, asshole!”
“As supportive as your mom’s bra!”
“Beep, beep, Richie!” Beverly huffs. She’s got the front of the TV in her grasp, which means she’s walking entirely backward. “How much further, Eddie?”
“Just a few more feet!”
Ben and Richie keep the sides balanced as Stan brings up the rear. By the time they get it to the hatch, coordinate a way to lower it inside, and finally set it on a stack of old milk crates, everyone looks exhausted. They practically crumple onto the nearest surfaces available, completely wiped. There’s not long of a resting period though, since moments later, Bill and Mike arrive, pulling along the end of an extension cord.
“We used so many extension cords!” Mike says as he and Bill enter the clubhouse. He sounds almost bashful about his declaration, but then again, Mike kind of sounds like that about everything.
“Y-yeah!” Bill beams, “Like eight hu-hundred feet!”
Eddie lets out a worried moan in response.
“Well, it's the moment of truth, gentlemen,” Richie says seriously. He walks over to Bill and Mike and claps them on the back before resting an arm around both of their shoulders, “Plug her in!”
Even though Eddie can’t stop mentally listing as many statistics as he can remember about electrocution, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit excited about the possibility of this working. Having their own TV would be awesome — he’d never have to worry about his mom yelling at him for turning off the TV because a character swore or something.
Bill approaches the TV, extension plug in-hand. This is it. The Losers are so silent, they can hear the faint sound of passing cars driving over Kansas street.
Bill kneels 3 down, grabs the TV cord, pushes it in, and—
A familiar buzz immediately fills the room, followed by the rushing hum of tv static.
“Holy shit!” Stan gasps.
“It’s aliiiiiiiive!” Richie exclaims.
“You fixed it!” Bev smiles, giving Ben an affectionate nudge. Ben blushes so hard, Eddie’s surprised he doesn’t immediately melt into the floor.
Eddie has no other response than to shake his head and smile in disbelief. He can feel his anxieties from earlier slipping away. Instead, the pure excitement in the air feels contagious and he finds himself thinking more and more about all the cool things they can do know. They can watch whatever they want! They could even get an Atari!
“G-Great job everyone!” Bill says proudly, looking happier than Eddie’s seen in a long while.
“You know what this calls for?” Richie announces in a clipped British accent.
“What?” Bev indulges, quirking an eyebrow.
“A rager!”
“A rager?” Stan echoes.
“An all-nighter movie night! We can stay up late, rent some movies, and all that girly shit. Plus, we can bring all the best booze, babes, and junk food this shit town’s ever seen!”
“You’re ridiculous,” Bev smiles, rolling her eyes.
“B-But that would be fun!” Bill admits, then frowns, “Muh-minus the booze and b-babes.”
“Boring,” Richie grumbles.
“Let’s do it!” Mike smiles, “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a movie night.”
“Or a sleepover,” Ben adds, “Plus, we’ve never spent the night here.”
“Wait, sleep in here?” Eddie balks, “Down here? What about the spiders?”
“Who cares?” Richie frowns.
“Haven’t you ever read a fucking book? The average human being swallows eight spiders in their sleep a year! EIGHT!”
“What?” Stan yelps, looking horrified.
“EIGHT!” Eddie repeats.
“I don’t think that’s true,” Mike says hesitantly.
“Eight!” Stan moans. His body crumples against the post he’s standing next to; he looks like he might actually die on the spot.
“I bet spiders taste like chicken,” Richie muses.
Bill sighs. “I-If you guys are really that sc-scared, you can wuh-wear some of those fuh-face masks that they give you at the d-doctor.”
“Oh,” Stan brightens slightly, “Good idea.”
“…Fine, yeah,” Eddie sighs with a reluctant nod.
“Aw,” Richie groans. He crosses the room and stands next to Eddie, leaning his head on his shoulder, “Shit, Eds; if you wear a mask, how am I going to kiss ya’ goodnight?”
“By kissing my ass, Trashmouth,” Eddie grumbles, nudging Richie away.
“Gladly!” Richie giggles, promptly earning himself a kick to the shin.
And so, despite the lingering fear of spider-swallowing, a plan is set in motion: a movie night in the clubhouse. The guest of honor? Their new TV.
Since getting the TV set up took up most of the day, they all decide the best way to get the sleepover started would be to divide and conquer. Stan and Bill head to the pharmacy to stock up on surgical masks; Bev, Ben, and Mike head to the grocery store to get some snacks; and Eddie and Richie are left to get some movies to watch.
“Don’t get anything shitty,” Stan says to Richie and Eddie as they all return to the junkyard to get their bikes and part ways.
“So that’s a no to your dad’s sex tape?” Richie asks with near-genuine-sounding concern.
Stan flips him off, and Eddie can see Richie opening his mouth to reply, so he decides to cut in and save them all 5 minutes of pointless bickering.
“C’mon, slow-ass,” Eddie grumbles, grabbing Richie’s hand and pulling him toward his bike, “We don’t have all fucking day!”
“But I have all the time in the world for you, Eds!” Richie says with a sappy sigh, swinging their hands together.
“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie rolls his eyes and pulls his hand away just as his heart starts to beat a little faster than usual. “Just hurry the fuck up.”
Despite all the bickering they’ve already done today, they manage to bike to the video store without killing each other, exchanging only amiable chatter about how they’re both dreading the start of school in a few weeks.
“If I don’t have you in at least one of my classes, I’m going to jump off the fucking kissing bridge,” Richie says as they arrive at the video store.
“You wouldn’t even die from jumping off that,” Eddie says as they park their bikes in the alleyway, “It’s too short, and there’s a hill right behind it. You’d just break your ass.”
“Would you sign my butt-cast then?”
“There’s no such thing as a fucking butt cast.”
“How do you know? You’ve never broken your butt.”
Eddie hates that he actually laughs at that. It’s not that Richie’s butt-cast commentary is any funnier than the rest of his shitty jokes, it just kind of builds up sometimes. Like, Eddie spends so much time trying to not let Richie know that he actually finds him hilarious, that it comes out in unexpected bursts here and there.
Richie, of course, looks absolutely pleased with himself, just like he always does whenever he manages to sneak a laugh from Eddie. He scampers around to the front door of the video rental store, Eddie trailing after him, and holds it open. “After you!”
Eddie gives a dismissive snort as he walks past Riche and enters the store. As soon as he’s inside, he’s overwhelmed by the familiarity of the place. It’s been a bit since he’s been in here (being tormented by a killer clown all summer kinda makes it hard to find time to rent a movie), but it’s as if nothing’s changed. The carpet is still a deep emerald green, the shelves of movies still tower higher than Eddie himself. There’s still a life-sized cardboard cutout of Luke Skywalker, right next to the one of Phoebe Cates. Eddie still doesn’t know why, out of all the possible pairs of cutouts this store could have, they went with those, but whatever.
“Home sweet home,” Richie sighs as he leads the way to their section of choice; Action and Adventure. The section isn’t that organized though, unless Pretty in Pink suddenly became an action movie without Eddie realizing, but the Losers all agree that it’s the spot in the store with all the best movies.
The boys begin to browse through the VHS tapes on display aimlessly, trying to find something worthwhile.
“Hey, what about Weird Science?” Richie suggests, holding it up.
Eddie glances over at him. “What’s that one about?”
“These two dweebs make themselves a girlfriend on a computer.”
“If I could make someone on a computer,” Eddie muses, “I’d make another one of you who knew when to shut the fuck up.”
“I’d make another one of your mom!” Richie shoots back.
“Ew! Why?”
“Endless threesomes!”
“Ugh! You’re so disgusting!” Eddie elbows Richie’s arm.
“You love me,” Richie smiles in response, turning his attention back to the rows of VHS tapes.
Eddie hates that he feels flustered over that — why the FUCK does he feel flustered over that???? — and instead forces himself to follow Richie’s lead. He focuses on scanning the movies in front of him before his eyes settle on one in particular. “Hey, what about E.T.?” He grins, pointing to it, “He kinda looks like you.”
Instead of telling Eddie to fuck off — as expected — Richie instead grins back and raises a finger. “Eeeeeelliot,” Richie croaks, moving his finger to Eddie’s chest. It’s pretty unfair that his E.T. impression is sort of good.
“Cut it out!” Eddie laughs, squirming away.
“I’ll beeee right hereeeee,” Richie continues, tapping Eddie’s heart.
Eddie can’t stop laughing, which is really fucking annoying, because doing so is clearly encouraging Richie. “Fucking stop!” He exclaims in between laughs, “And also, you’re not even doing it right! He touches his forehead, you stupid idiot!”
“I’ll beeee right hereeeee,” Richie corrects, tapping Eddie’s forehead.
Eddie, still trying — and failing — to fight off his grin, grabs Richie’s arm and attempts to wrestle it away from himself. But his angle is off, and Richie is faster, and it quickly turns into this weird, standing, arm-wrestling sort of battle.
“L-Let go!” Eddie exclaims, his laughter coming out in frustrated pants.
“Y-You grabbed me first, dumbfuck!”
Eddie doesn’t know how it happens, but sometime while they’re still tussling back and forth, their grip loosens, Eddie’s hand slips lower down Richie’s arm, and then they’re holding hands. There are a few seconds where they’re both grasping each other in a death grip, but once they realize what’s happened, they both freeze.
Richie’s palm is surprisingly soft (albeit a little clammy). His fingertips are sporting fresh callouses though, no doubt from lugging the TV back to the clubhouse today, and if Eddie’s being entirely truthful, it doesn’t feel that bad. In fact, there’s something oddly comforting and familiar about it, something that makes Eddie feel —
“Um,” Richie says.
And just as quickly as the touch started, Eddie ends it by yanking his hand away. He can feel his cheeks burning as he takes a few steps back, turning his attention back to the movies. “Um,” he echoes, followed by a cough.
An awkward silence settles over both of them, a rare occurrence that leaves Eddie feeling squeamish.
“So, uh…” Richie says after a moment, “Do we wanna get E.T., or…?”
“No,” Eddie says, still avoiding eye contact. He’s not sure why he is, it’s just that looking directly at Richie feels suddenly incredibly impossible somehow, “We’ve all seen it a million times.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Richie nods. “Uh…what about…Alien?”
“Ben hates scary movies.”
“Shit, yeah…Indiana Jones?”
“Which one?”
“The first one.”
“Fine. But let’s get a couple more, in case people wanna vote on one or something.”
In the end, they settle on Raiders of the Lost Ark, Karate Kid, and Back to the Future. They’re walking back toward the checkout counter, Richie chivalrously carrying the tapes for them, when something catches his eye.
“Hold up,” he whispers, swinging out an arm to stop Eddie.
Eddie walks into him with an offended grunt, followed by a scowl. “What?”
“Check it out!” Richie points to the saloon-style double doors that lead to the back of the store. Affixed to them is a hastily handwritten sign written with Sharpie marker on Day-Glo paper: adult only must be 18+ to enter
Eddie eyes it skeptically. He’s walked passed those doors plenty of times, but never really paid them any mind. “What’s back there? Like, more rated-R movies?”
“That’s where they keep the porn, dumbass!” Richie says, still forcing himself to whisper while also clearly trying to stop himself from laughing out loud.
“Oh,” Eddie mumbles.
“Let’s go check it out!” Richie says, looking at Eddie with a conspiratorial grin.
“No way! We’ll get kicked out!” Eddie hisses, eyes wide.
“No, we won’t! The manager’s a dumbass!”
To prove his point, Richie jabs his thumb toward the checkout counter, where the manager is currently snacking on cheese puffs and entirely engrossed in the portable TV he’s got beside the cash register. His beard, scraggly and unkempt, is sporting some distinct bright orange crumbs.
“Ugh,” Eddie whispers, shuddering with disgust.
“So let’s go!” Richie pleads, “Before he sees us!”
“But I don’t want to go in there!” Eddie grimaces.
“Aw c’mon, don’t be such a pussy, Eds!” Richie whines.
“I’m not being a pussy! You’re the pussy!”
“Then c’mon!” Richie says, and then he’s tucking the VHS tapes under his arm and slipping his hand into Eddie’s, and Eddie suddenly feels like jelly, and then Richie’s pulling them back past the double doors.
Eddie half expects the store to completely transform into an entirely different place, some sort of weird, entirely different, adult place, but the back of the video store looks the same as the front — same peeling beige walls, same green carpeting. The only difference, the main difference, is that instead of a bunch of cool movies on display, it’s like all naked people.
Eddie averts his eyes quickly; his entire body feels like it’s on fire. He doesn’t know where to look: the shelves are obviously a no-go, he can still see the movies covers out of his peripheral vision when he looks up at the ceiling, and the carpet has all these gross looking stains — and even though he knows it’s most likely beer or something, because of the color and smell, his mind can’t help but go toward like, bodily fluids.
If it wasn’t for the fact that he was still holding Richie’s hand, he would have been clutching his inhaler right now — he can already feel his throat start to tighten up. “If my mom knew we were back here, she’d probably have an aneurysm,” Eddie says tightly.
“Spare me, Eds; she’s probably the number one customer!”
Since there’s nowhere to look, Eddie settles for staring at the side of Richie’s face. God, he should be fucking furious with Richie right now. After all, Richie’s the one who dragged him to this crackhead section of the video store that’s filled with naked people. He’s the one who never stops teasing him all the time, the one with an obnoxious E.T. impression, the one who has the stupidest face Eddie’s ever seen, a face that’s dotted with freckles and has a long sloping nose and a stupid smile and —
“Jesus, check out the rack on this chick!”
“What the fuck are we doing here, Richie?” Eddie hisses, refusing to look.
“Hey!” Richie says, holding up his hands as if in self-defense, “I’m just taking a peek! Aren’t you curious?”
“No!”
“You’re so boring,” Richie huffs. But because there’s nowhere for Eddie to look other than Richie, Eddie has no choice than to follow Richie as he wanders further down the aisle.
After a few more moments of Richie making mixed comments of shock, disgust, and admiration, Eddie can’t help but glance up tentatively. Thankfully, it’s not as bad as he expected. Most of the VHS covers aren’t super graphic, and just feature people kissing in all kinds of compromising positions.
“I can’t believe people are actually into this shit,” Eddie grumbles, “It’s so gross. I can’t believe I’m fucking friends with you, either—“
“Shit, check this one out,” Richie cuts in. He’s set their movies down at his feet, and his tone has changed subtly. It’s like…less mocking, if only slightly.
“What?” Eddie asks, and then he notices that Richie’s holding up a tape with two guys hugging on the cover. They’re looking into each other’s eyes all dramatically and intensely as they stand in front of what is an obviously fake background of farmland.
“This more your speed, Eds?” Richie teases, but that weird note is still in his voice. He’s smiling at Eddie like he always does, but there’s this look in his eyes, almost as if…
…as if he’s testing Eddie, or something. Like there’s something Eddie’s supposed to say, and Richie’s just waiting to see if he will.
But Eddie doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get why Richie dragged them back here, he doesn’t get why Richie would wanna look at this shit, and he definitely doesn’t get what Richie wants him to say right now.
So, instead, he avoids the question entirely.
“I didn’t know they had stuff like this in Derry,” he mumbles, and wow, his shoes are suddenly the most interesting thing he’s seen all day, and he should really devote his entire attention to staring at them…
There’s a beat of silence, but Eddie can’t tell what Richie’s reaction is since he’s still staring at his feet. Richie’s never been slow to the uptake though.
“Of course they do,” he says breezily, “Stan has to get his rocks off somehow!”
Eddie clenches his fists, brow knit tightly as he looks back up at Richie. “Jesus, Richie, you’re so fucking—“
“Yes?” Richie queries, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly.
“Predictable!”
“Oh yeah? Predict this, fucker!” Richie laughs, and just like that, he chucks the tape right toward Eddie.
Eddie lets out an embarrassingly loud shriek as he deftly dodges the tape, letting it clatter to the floor behind him. “You idiot!” He sputters furiously.
Richie nearly doubles-over with laughter. “H-holy shit! Y-You should have seen the look on your face!”
“I can’t believe you threw porn at my face!” Eddie seethes.
“Your fucking face!” Richie howls, wiping at his eyes.
“I’m going to kill you!”
And just like that, they’re at it for the umpteenth time today, only Eddie is totally at an unfair advantage, thanks to his crippled arm. After a few moments of tussling back and forth, Richie easily overwhelms him, wrapping his damn noodle limbs around Eddie in a tight hug. Eddie’s arms are pinned against his sides and his face smashed against Richie’s neck.
“Awww,” Richie coos as he pulls Eddie in, “Wittle Eds!”
“Let me go!” Eddie snaps, stomping a foot pathetically.
“Never!” Richie replies with glee, giving Eddie an affectionate squeeze.
One of Richie’s hands then pats the back of Eddie’s head, and out-of-fucking nowhere, Eddie feels his anger fizzle out like a wet match. Because? He’s being hugged? By Richie? In the adult section of the video rental store? And it doesn’t feel terrible? Everything about this situation is so fucked up, and yet Eddie can’t bring himself to care.
“I fucking hate you,” he mumbles into Richie’s neck.
“You—“
Richie’s cut off by the sudden slam of the saloon doors swinging open, followed by the plodding footsteps of the store manager. “HEY!” He barks with a surprising amount of force for a man who was just gorging on cheese puffs moments earlier.
Richie and Eddie jolt apart so quickly, Richie nearly drops Eddie onto the floor. Eddie has to take a few steps to stop himself from toppling over.
“You kids aren’t supposed to be back here!” The manager barks.
Eddie’s ready for Richie to fire back with whatever disrespectful retort he’s seemingly always got at the ready for figures of authority, but for once, Richie is quiet.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, staring at his feet. He grabs their stack of movies and hurries past the manager and back out into the main storeroom, not bothering to pull Eddie along with him.
Eddie, needless to say, is confused. The confusion curls and settles in his gut and leaves him feeling tense. It persists even as he follows Richie toward the cash register, where Richie pays for the movies and promptly rushes out the front door.
“Stop walking so fast!” Eddie complains, trailing after him. They make it to their bikes in the alley. Richie is still dead silent as he shoves the tapes into his backpack, not even making eye contact with Eddie.
Eddie grabs the handlebars of his own bike awkwardly; he feels like he needs something to ground him in this moment. “Uh, so, you okay, Rich?” He asks, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. It’s so unusual for him to ask Richie how he’s doing; they’re always so volatile and sarcastic with each other. It kinda makes Eddie feel like a shitty friend.
“I’m fine,” Richie mumbles, swinging his legs over his bike.
Eddie can feel his anxiety growing, creeping up his throat, constricting it. This is weird. He hates that Richie’s not talking. He’s always talking and something’s wrong and Eddie needs to fix it right now. But how? His brain is running at a million miles a minute, all the possible things he could say flitting through his brain before he’s even had a chance to fully think them through. Sincere, concerned, teasing, deflecting —
“I told you we’d get caught,” is what he winds up spitting out, which makes him immediately want to kick himself, because he knows that’s not what Richie needs to hear right now.
Richie is silent for a moment, before turning to look at Eddie with an expression he can’t read. His eyes are completely flat, his mouth a straight line. “Congrats, you were right,” he says. And with that, he takes off, peddling out of the alley and towards the street.
“Wait!” Eddie frowns, “You’re still coming to the sleepover, right?”
“Obviously!” Richie calls back, and then he’s out of sight.
Eddie feels his shoulders slump. He didn’t understand Richie; one minute they’re goofing off like they always do, and the next, it’s like Richie’s embarrassed to even be seen with him. He doesn’t understand what went wrong (was it his fault?).
And most of all, he doesn’t understand why he can’t stop thinking about how it felt to be in Richie’s arms.