Work Text:
Richie silently began packing up his things as his teacher droned on; answering questions about the homework due tomorrow, reminding Richie's fellow classmates of their upcoming quiz, etcetera, etcetera. He was only half listening. Richie glanced up at the clock above his teacher, Mr. P's desk. About four minutes left until he could make his way home. He put his notebooks into his bag and zipped it up, then sat, bouncing his leg anxiously. C'mon, c'mon! Only three and a half more minutes to go. Maybe if he was lucky, the bell would ring a minute early and he could sprint home without running into.. him.
Mr. P was pretty strict about leaving class, only letting the kids leave once that stupid bell rang. Richie envied the students whose teachers let them out five minutes early. He knows that Ben gets to leave a few minutes before all the classes let out. Something about him always finishing assignments on time. Or maybe it was so he could avoid the asshole upper classmen that scavenge for fresh meat to pick on whenever classes were over. Lucky bastard. Richie tapped his foot anxiously and decided he couldn't take the torture anymore. He grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder, about to leave when-
RIIINNGG-!
Richie punched up in the air, "Finally! Good God!", and stood up, immediately making his way to the door, ready to get the fuck out of his class. Not before saying goodbye to his teacher, though. "See you tomorrow, Mista' P! Love ya!" He dramatically winked at his teacher who simply sighed and waved him off. Richie grinned and sprinted away, his slim frame allowing him easily to squeeze through and dart past the crowds of people that were suddenly filling the school.
He finally made it out of the building, and as he dramatically threw his arms up in success, he heard an all too familiar voice sneak up behind him.
"Richie! Where have you been, you asshole!?" The taller boy whipped around to see his beautiful boyfriend. His amazing, tiny, annoying, freak of a boyfriend who he definitely was NOT ignoring for the past few days.
Richie raised his hands up in a sort of 'don't hurt me!' manor and yelled, "No hablo Ingles!" in the shittiest accent you could possibly imagine, and turned back around, running away.
"Shit-! FUCK YOU RICHIE!", Eddie screamed as he took after him. Over the years his asthma had definitely gotten a bit better, but definitely not enough to be chasing after someone like this. He ran for a good while until he felt like his lungs were going to collapse on him. He huffed, slowing down, and bent over. Eddie wheezed and looked up, watching Richie turn to glance at him with a sheepish look, "Sorryyy~!" he yelled and waved, before running off.
Eddie groaned, loud and annoyed, then stood up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and grumbled to himself. "Dick."
★-★-★-★
Richie panted as he reached his house, thanking the lord that he was granted enough stamina to be able to run away from his very persistent lover. Not that he had to run very far from him, considering how out of shape he was. Though let's face it, they both were completely out of shape and malnourished. He rifled through his bag in search of his house key, grabbing it and using it to unlock his front door. He pushed it open and walked inside, toeing his sneakers off. Richie was greeted by an empty house, which seemed to be the norm these days. Ever since his mom passed, his dad spent more time out of the house. Whether that be at a bar or at work or.. anywhere else. Richie rarely saw him these days. He made his way over to the kitchen and rummaged through one of the cupboards, grabbing a bowl. He poured himself some cereal and sat in front of the TV, throwing on a random sitcom to watch.
★-★-★-★
"I just don't know what's up with him, you know? I want to fucking strangle him right now!" Eddie exclaimed, throwing himself onto Stan's beanbag. Stan glanced at him and then went back to his homework, "You say that as if you don't want to strangle him all the time.", he mused, jotting down a few answers.
Eddie sighed and dragged his hand across his face, "Yeah, I know, but I want to do it really bad right now!"
Stan laughed and turned to him, arms crossed, "So he ran away from you? Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier? Running? From you?"
"Yes! He's been avoiding me like the plague right now! And I would know if I had the fucking plague, you know? God! I didn't even do anything, he just started making excuses out of nowhere and standing me up and running from me.. I just.. Aghhh!" Eddie sunk deeper into the beanbag, curling in on himself, "You think he did something? You think he did something bad? What if he did something bad? Stan what did he do? You're my best friend, you have to tell me if Richie did something bad."
Stan raised an eyebrow, "I have no clue if Rich did anything bad," he said, doing air quotes around the word 'bad', "Have you tried going to his house?"
"Yes, obviously, but he doesn't answer the door. And when he does, when he finally talks to me, he gives short answers and avoids eye contact. It's so frustrating," Eddie confessed.
"Well, you know Richie. You know him better than anyone. He's not good at keeping secrets. Whatever he's hiding, I'm sure you can pry it out of him," Stan shrugged and turned back towards his homework.
Eddie tapped his finger on his chin, a smile slowly stretching across his face, "Yeah, you're right... I'm going to pry it out of him! I'm going to give him an offer he can't refuse! Thank you Stan the Man!" He got up and grabbed his friend by the shoulders, shaking him.
"I have no idea what that means but good luck." Stan muttered, a smile tugging at his lips.
Eddie yelled out a "Okay, bye!" before slamming Stan's bedroom door and darting down the stairs and out the door.
★-★-★-★
Richie was dying. He was dying and nobody would be there to see it or report it or save him. The teen groaned as he crumpled up another piece of paper, tossing it into his trash can. "C'mon, how hard is it to have nice handwriting? Geez!" he mumbled to himself, pulling out another sheet of paper. He stretched his hand out and massaged it a bit before going back to writing. He got a few words out before his doorbell rang.
Richie totally didn't jump at the sudden noise and pushed himself up from his desk, heading downstairs to the front door. He opened it and his mouth went dry immediately. Outside of his front door stood Eddie Kaspbrak. His loving boyfriend. In Richie's sweater that was much too big for the smaller teen. But that wasn't just it. Eddie was in a skirt. The younger boy was blushing and avoiding eye contact, fiddling with the drawstrings on the sweater. His hood was up and his eyes were darting around to make sure nobody was around to see what the hell he was wearing. Richie noticed his bike parked to the side. His eyes raked over his boyfriend's frame, part of him wanting to tear him to pieces, part of him wanting to treat him so gently that he would ruin him for anyone else, and part of him wondering how the hell he even got here in one piece. Luckily for Eddie, he was pretty skinny and a little shorter than the average teen boy, which meant he could wear a skirt and as long as he kept his face hidden, he wouldn't get jumped by the nearest homophobe.
"You gonna let me in or what, asshole?" Eddie murmured, eventually looking up at Richie. The slightly older boy opened his mouth, closed it, then opened again. For the first time in Richie Tozier's life, he was speechless. He snapped out of his stupor and quickly nodded, stepping aside to let his boyfriend in. It was like he was in a trance. Eddie huffed and walked in, moving past Richie who definitely was not staring at his ass. Definitely not.
Richie made moves to shut the door behind him. He turned back to face Eddie when he was suddenly pinned against said door. The wind was absolutely knocked out of him at that point. He was not expecting any of this. Richie didn't know how to react. With his high schooler brain and the love of his life pinning him to the door, he felt like he was on the verge of collapse. Richie was going to die. He was going to d-
"What's wrong Trashmouth? Cat got your tongue? Can't avoid this, now can you?" Eddie asked, voice dropped low. He moved a bit closer to Richie's very red face, lips brushing against his neck, right below to his ear, "C'mon, use your words, Rich." He bit his lip at an attempt to keep from smiling at the response he received; Richie groaning and turning his head so Eddie couldn't quite look at him. Eddie gently grabbed hold of his chin and turned him so they were face to face, just a centimeter away from each other. Richie was so nervous, he felt like he was going to throw up. They had only fooled around a few times since they've been dating. A few handjobs here and there, a few attempts at a blowjob, but nothing too crazy. Richie was absolutely not expecting this. He wasn't expecting Eddie to be talking to him the way that he was. He felt faint.
Eddie reached up to grab a fistful of Richie's hair. He didn't tug or yank it, but held it just enough to where Richie was mewling at his touch. "You like when I play with your hair, huh?" Richie tried to nod. Eddie's grip turned firm, "Then listen up. I'll play with you some more if you answer my question." The taller boy nodded eagerly, not quite paying attention to his words; only really hearing the words 'you like?', 'play', and 'more'. Eddie let go of his hair and stepped back. Richie felt like all the warmth he had ever had was suddenly stripped from him. So cold. So, so cold.
"Why the FUCK have you been avoiding me, asshole?" Eddie all but yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Richie.
"Huh-- wait, what?" Richie yelled, confused, "Hey!"
Eddie stomped through the house, feeling like it was his turn to be chased, "I've been trying to get a hold of you for THREE DAYS, dickhead! Why haven't you been talking to me? What the hell did I do that made you suddenly hate me?" Eddie's voice was loud, bouncing off the walls of Richie's empty home. He stomped his way up to Richie's bedroom, and his boyfriend followed suit, definitely not staring up his skirt as they went.
When they got to his room, Eddie plopped down on his bed. crossing his arms. Richie stood there awkwardly, eyes bouncing between Eddie, his desk, his backpack, and his trash can. Eddie snapped his fingers. "Hey. eyes over here, ass! Answer me or I'm not letting you cum! Why are you being so weird? Did you- did I do something?" He asked, voice becoming softer as thoughts of Richie losing feelings or finding someone else floated through his head. God, what if Richie was dying??
Richie sighed and hung his head. Fuck, fine. He moved over towards Eddie and gestured for him to scoot to the side so he could sit down. Richie sat with his back against the wall and he pulled his knees up to his chest. Eddie shuffled back so he was sitting directly next to him. "Richie, you have to talk to me. I'm getting worried."
Richie mumbled into his knees, "It's stupid. You're gonna call me stupid and break up with me and I'm never going to be able to tell you how pretty you look right now."
Even though he was angry, Eddie felt his heart beat a little faster than usual, his stomach flipping at his boyfriend's words. "I won't be mad. I promise. I'm just.. scared, I guess? I don't want you to be hurt, or doing something fucked up, or dying. I just want you to be okay, Richie."
Richie looked at his boyfriend and groaned. He sat up straight and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "OuranniversaryiscomingupandI'vebeenmajorlystressingoutaboutgettingyouapresentsoI'vebeenwritingyouapoembutit'ssobadandIhateitandIhatemyselfand-- agghhhh!" He flopped over onto his side, avoiding all eye contact with the smaller boy.
Eddie sat there for a moment, taking in Richie's fast paced confession. "You.. Wait-" Eddie covered his mouth to stop a giggle from making its way out, but it was too late. He couldn't control the burst of laughter than consumed him. Eddie doubled over, clutching his sides as he gasped through his laughs. Richie's head snapped up and he stared at the giggling boy next to him.
"Hey, fuck you!" Richie said, trying to be upset but could feel a smile tugging at his lips.
Eddie tried- he really did- to stop laughing. "Ohh my god- holy shit, Richie. I thought you were- hahaha- I thought you were dying! Fuck you, dude, oh my god" he laughed, "You were writing me a poem? Can I see it? Holy shit I cannot believe you were that nervous-! Your face!"
Richie grabbed a pillow and climbed on top of Eddie, "Fuck you! No, you cannot fucking read it! I'm gonna kill you!" He smacked his best friend with the pillow, pretending to suffocate him with it. He tossed the pillow to the side and grabbed ahold of Eddie's hands and pinned them above his head. Their laughter died down eventually and Eddie sighed, smiling, "You could've just told me, you know? This whole thing was so stupid."
Richie looked into his eyes and then looked away. "I know. I mean I know now. I was really scared at the time, I- I don't know why. I know avoiding you was shitty and I'm sorry."
Eddie smiled and puckered his lips, "Come here, asshole." He said, which cause Richie to grin and lean down, planting a huge, wet kiss on his face.
"Ew, Richie, that's fucking GROSS! Get off me!" He squealed as Richie held onto his wrists, stamping his face with messy smooches.
fin