#kitd

He took a shaky breath at the soft voice ringing in his ears. He was too tired to do this. His entire body felt weak, completely drained of anything vaguely resembling strength. His mind felt the exact same. He didn't know how much longer he could do it, how much longer he could live like he had been. If that could really be called living at all...

Beep. Beep. Richie.

The softest touch brushed along his forehead and the curiosity forced his eyes open. He squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, his vision struggling to adjust. For a moment, he thought he'd gone crazy or maybe he'd died and gone to heaven. Because standing beside his hospital bed, he swore he saw--

“Sydney?”

He never expected to see her like this, outside of the messed up memories they once shared. He certainly didn't expect to hear her.

“Hey Richie.”

Her voice sounded much different than it had before; now it was lighter, almost as if there were no burdens or sorrows weighing it down any longer. Her fingers trailed along his forehead, pushing a few unruly curls back. It felt so incredibly real that it brought tears to his eyes.

“What're you doing here?” he whispered in disbelief. In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't real. Sydney wasn't truly there. He was alone. But it was nice to pretend that wasn't the case.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“No you can't because you're not real,” Richie groaned, fingers flying up to rub over his eyes. Even with them pressed shut, the gentle touch persisted. It trailed down to wipe away the tears now trickling down his cheeks.

“It's okay Richie,” her soft voice spoke, “It's okay to pretend it is.”

“I can't,” he whispered, struggling to choke back the sob rumbling in his chest. “It hurts too much.”

“The pain means you're alive.”

“Then maybe I don't wanna be,” Richie muttered. He opened his eyes and looked up, unsure whether he wished to see her there or just an empty hospital room. His vision blurred with tears but he could still see her clear as day.

“Please don't say that. You've got your whole life ahead of you.”

“So did you,” Richie whimpered.

Sydney simply shrugged, lightly caressing his cheek, “I just wasn't as strong as you.”

Richie vigorously shook his head.

“You are,” Sydney stated, as if it was a matter of fact, “And I know you're gonna make it to LA someday. Just like we always planned.”

His eyes slipped shut once again and suddenly the warmth around him vanished, leaving him cold and empty.

“This isn't real,” he kept repeating, “This has to be a fucking—”

“Hallucination,” a deep voice sounded from across the room. “It's quite common for patients to hallucinate when their brain isn't getting what it needs to function properly.” There was a pause. “Ahh, Mr. Tozier, you're awake.”

He looked over to see an older man, wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He dropped his head back against the rigid pillow and shut his eyes, letting out a groan, “Pass.”

“Richie,” Mrs. Hanscom's voice sounded from across the room. Of course. “This is Dr. Anderson. He's here to help you.”

Richie scoffed, “That's ridiculous. I don't need help,” he declared, throwing up mocking air quotes. “I'm fine. Just passed out is all.” He braced his hands against the bed, trying to pull himself into a sitting position but found himself entirely too weak to do so. His arms shook merely at the effort alone.

“You haven't been eating.”

This wasn't new information to him; he was well aware of how little he was eating. He tried to avoid it completely when he could, eating just enough to get by. Apparently, he miscalculated.

“Mr. Tozier, a male of your age and height should ideally weigh no less than 144 pounds to be considered healthy,” the doctor paused, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “Seeing as you were unconscious when you were brought in, we haven't collected an exact weight. But it's not hard to see that you are dangerously underweight.”

“And like half of it's my dick.”

“Young man, this is not a joke!” Mrs. Hanscom snapped, using a tone Richie had never heard before, “If you keep this up, you will not have a choice in the matter.”

Richie cast his gaze down, fingers picking idly at a loose thread on the sheets across his lap. His chest felt tight with shame.

“We've set up appointments for you with the hospital psychiatrist and nutritionist. We need to evaluate why you're doing this and how we can help you get better. Physically and mentally.”

Richie remained silent, finding it extremely difficult to sit and listen to everything wrong with him. He wanted to laugh, to make it all into some big joke because, at the end of the day, that was so much easier than actually dealing with it. Although, at the moment, it didn't seem like he had a say in the matter. And as the doctor went on and on, Richie couldn't concentrate on the words coming from his mouth. Eventually they all strung together, his mind refusing to distinguish any actual sentences being spoken. But he didn't care.

An odd mix of emotions hit him as he saw Eddie storming through the door. Recently the sight of him would bring a smile to his face and a flutter to his heart. But this time, it was dread and guilt. Clearly Eddie was pissed and it was all his fault. There wasn't a single part of him that could blame him; what he did was unacceptable and he knew it.

“Hey,” he murmured weakly.

Eddie stomped right over to his bedside, poking a rough finger to his chest, “Don't you ever talk to Bill like that again!”

Richie winced, both from the rough touch and the harsh tone in Eddie's voice. Not that he didn't deserve both. A meek “okay” was all he could muster.

“You had absolutely no right to do that,” Eddie continued, making no effort to keep the anger in his voice hidden.

“I know,” Richie whispered in return. He could barely bring himself to look at Eddie, consumed by the guilt he felt towards his actions and knowing they upset him.

“I swear to God--” It seemed like more words were on the tip of his tongue, but nothing came of it as he trailed off, in realization of how truly bad Richie felt about the situation. His guilt must have been written all over his face. “Hey,” he said softly, placing his hand over Richie's, where it laid on the hospital bed.

Richie's heart skipped a beat, merely from the contact, “I know I fucked up, Eddie. Trust me. I feel like shit about it.”

“Well you should,” Eddie said bluntly, a gentle squeeze of his hand contradicting his words.

“I do,” Richie insisted, “And I wanna make it right.”

“As you should.”

Richie's gaze shifted up, bright blue eyes locking with soft brown eyes. There was an intense vulnerability behind his stare as he uttered four words he rarely strung together, “I need your help.”

“Okay,” Eddie agreed easily, wearing a fond smile. A brief moment of silence passed between them, only drowned out by the many sounds of hospital life bustling around them. After some time, Eddie took his head back from where it rested on his. For a moment, disappointment crept up on him until Eddie pushed against his arm, offering a quiet, “Scoot over.”

It took some effort, as his muscles strained with every small move he made. But eventually, he was able to shift over, just enough to allow Eddie to climb into bed with him. His heart soared when he settled against his side. Richie shifted uncomfortably, Eddie's shoulder pressed against his ribs. This movement prompted Eddie to do the same.

“You're bony,” he said with a small pout.

Richie let out a bark of laughter, the type that was completely involuntary from deep in his chest. After the hell he endured that morning, being emotionally poked and prodded, it was just funny to have another person comment on his shortcomings. He was sick of hearing about it, but something in the way Eddie rested his head in the crook between his neck and shoulder made Richie forget all about it.

“So I've heard,” he said, every last breath leaving him when he felt Eddie's warm breath against his neck, “I'm uh..I'm working on it.”

“How long do you have to stay?”

“Overnight,” Richie answered, turning his head to bury his nose in Eddie's soft hair. He gently inhaled and let the subtle scent of coconut rush over him, immediately dissolving his worry away. “They wanna keep me for 'observation', which sounds like a riot of a time.”

Eddie chuckled, “Throw some vodka in there and you got yourself a party.”

“I know you came to yell at me. But I'm really glad you came,” Richie confessed after a quiet moment.

Eddie peered up at him, lips curling up in a soft smile, “Whoever it was that Bill drew....”

Richie froze. Sydney. The last thing he wanted to do was pour salt into fresh wounds. But as time flew by, he wondered if they would ever close.

If Eddie noticed, he had the decency to ignore it as he continued, “He didn't mean to upset you. He has a habit of looking through people's phones for things to draw.” Eddie accompanied these words with a nonchalant shrug, “I guess we're all just used to it.”

“I know,” Richie said quietly, voice threatening to crack with emotion held back so tightly it was bound to snap sooner rather than later. “I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. Things have just been....a little rough lately.”

“And no one can blame you for that; it's not your fault. You can't control what happened to you. But you can control how you choose to deal with it,” Eddie held his gaze once again, adding an overwhelming intimacy to the heartfelt words coming from his lips, “Someday Richie, you're gonna have to let someone in. Whether it's now, or later in life, you're gonna learn that it gets pretty damn lonely trying to handle everything yourself. Especially when you don't have to.”

Eddie leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead before sliding out bed, making Richie instantly miss the warmth of his body and his presence. “Get some rest,” Eddie told him, “If you ever wanna talk, you know where to find me.”

“Things are going to be different around here, Richie.”

After the longest silence, nearly half the trip form the hospital to the house, Mrs. Hanscom broke it with her stern, but caring voice. “Something needs to change. You can't keep doing this to yourself.”

“Okay,” he mumbled in response from where his head rested against the glass of the passenger window. Numb. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. He wasn't anything.

No more was said until they walked through the front door, Mrs. Hanscom once again being the first to speak. “Okay, so tonight with dinner, we can start you on the supplements the doctor recommended...”

Richie didn't stop to listen to the rest of what she had to say. He spared a glance towards the living room, where everyone stared back with a mix of pity and confusion. Except Bill, who completely avoided his gaze all together.

He trudged up the stairs, ignoring the calls trying to beckon him back. When he got to his room, he didn't even bother kicking off his shoes before collapsing onto his bed, his back facing the closed door. His eyes stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Even the sound of the door cracking open wasn't enough to break his concentration, or lack there of as his eyes remained still.

He felt the mattress dip with weight and a gentle hand on his arm. His eyes squeezed shut as a warmth washed over him, not completely unlike the one he felt when he first woke up in the hospital.

“Richie.” Her voice echoed in his head. Not again. “Richie.” This time, the voice faded to another familiar voice. Richie didn't respond. He couldn't. What would he even say? But, as she had proved before, the best thing about Bev was simply her presence. It wasn't desperate search for a solution to problems he did not even want to admit. It was comfort, when he needed it most, without having to ask.  And whether or not he wanted to admit it, that was exactly what he needed.

Her weight shifted and, for a moment, Richie was devastated by her departure. But instead, he felt her settle behind him, her body pressed against his back. Her arm draped over his side, her legs entangled between his.

Something in him snapped. The dam that once held everything back just broke and he couldn't control what came rushing out.

Before he could stop it, a deep sob ripped through his chest and tears sprung to his eyes. Bev's arm tightened around him, holding him close as the only sound between them was the involuntary sob after sob that Richie could no longer hold back. Heavy footsteps sounded from behind them and over to the other side of the room. Richie's eyes fluttered open as the footsteps stopped in front of him. He looked up with tear filled eyes to see Mike standing beside the bed, blanket in hand. He draped it over the two of them, crouching down to pull it up to his chin. He offered a small smile as he stood, moving towards the door and pulling it shut as he left. It was a small action, but a huge gesture.

Everyone bone in his body felt weak, like any strength left vanished as the tears poured down his cheeks. The last thing he remembered as the graze of lips pressed against the back of his neck, before his body finally succumbed to the sleep trying to pull him under. For the first time in a while, he fell into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

Hours later, he woke; a noticeable amount of tension free from his body. He rubbed a tired hand over his face as he sat up, swinging hi legs over the side of the bed. It must've been a deep sleep as Bev was no longer laying behind him and he slept right through her getting up. He glanced over his shoulder, the slightest smile gracing his lips at the sight of Eddie peeking in.

“Hey,” he said as he walked in, fingers grasping a neatly wrapped present. He placed it on the nightstand and sat down beside Richie.

“Thanks for getting that for me,” he muttered, the sound slightly muffled behind the hands rubbing over his face. “I owe you one.”

“Don't mention it,” Eddie replied and reached over to rub a hand over his thigh, “Dinner's gonna be ready soon.”

Richie nodded slowly.

“Please come down with me. It'll be so much more pleasant than if Mrs. Hanscom comes up here.”

Richie let out a genuine laugh. Eddie was right; he much preferred the first option. He took Eddie's outstretched hand as he stood up, grabbing the present from his nightstand before they headed downstairs, hand in hand. He noticed Bill sitting on the couch, sketchbook resting on his crisscrossed legs. Stan sat on the floor in front of him, holding still as Bill sketched him.

Richie gave Eddie's hand an appreciative squeeze, moving over to sit down next to Bill. He pretended not to notice the way he flinched away from him. Suddenly the words he previously rehearsed seemed to disappear the moment he went to express them. Instead he extended the neatly wrapped present over to Bill, who's eyes stared down at it. He didn't make any move to grab it, even when Richie pressed it further towards him.

“Take it,” he pleaded gently, setting it down on the couch between them. “Please. It's a peace offering.”

Bill's fingers trailed curiously over the wrapping paper. After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled it into his lap and tore it open. Richie watched intently as Bill's face lit up. Upon his request, Eddie had picked out a beautiful, leather bound sketchbook, Bill's name engraved in the bottom right corner. It was perfect.

“I'm sorry for what I said,” Richie muttered softly, circling his thumb nervously over his left palm, “And how I reacted. I just...” he paused, his eyes darting around the room. Stan had now moved over to where Mike sat and the two were chatting idly while Stan sat on his lap. Ben was in the dining room,setting the table while Bev and Mrs. Hanscom were in the kitchen.

“Her name's Sydney,” he went on quietly. He tried his best to keep his voice even, but he couldn't help the way it shook with his words, once he never spoke aloud before. “My little sister. She, uh...she killed herself.”

Bill remained silent, but his face fell as he flipped through the pages of his sketchbook. Finally he came to a page with a beautifully drawn sketch, depicting a happy family. Mom, Dad, Bill, Georgie.

Richie chest tightened as realization crept up on him. “You lost your brother.”

Bill met his gaze with a dejected expression, wordlessly confirming his suspicion.

“I'm so sorry, Bill. No one should have to go through that,” Richie whispered, his thoughts trailing off as Eddie's words rang in his mind. It's gonna get pretty damn lonely trying to handle everything yourself. Especially when you don't have to.

After dinner, Richie spent a couple hours working on homework, noting how quiet the house was. Everyone was probably out back, enjoying the mild day it turned out to be. He didn't mind. It was kind of nice to have some time to himself, with no distractions. With his hospital stay, he missed a couple days of class and now he had a bunch of school work to catch up on.

After a while though, he shoved his books away, unable to focus any more of his time on the work. He decided a shower was in order and that nothing would feel better than hot water washing over him. Unfortunately, when he opened the closet door to grab a towel, he found the shelf where they usually resided empty. He sighed softly and headed downstairs, figuring there were probably some in the dryer.

When he rounded the corner to pass by the living room, he was met with an endearing sight. All across the couch were piles of neatly folded laundry, multiple baskets strewn about the floor. Eddie danced around the room, a pair of big headphones secured over his ears. As his head nodded along to whatever music he listened to, he folded the towel he was holding onto it. He slapped it down on a pile of towels and grabbed another piece of laundry from one of the baskets.

A fond smile etched onto Richie's face as he leaned against the doorframe. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, squinting as he examined the jacket Eddie wore. It looked suspiciously familiar; if Richie didn't know better, he would've sworn it was his jacket. Light wash denim with a gray hood, check. Small hole over the right shoulder, check. And when Eddie spun around, he saw the multiple patches sewn into the fabric. A warm feeling flooded his chest.

It took a moment for Eddie to notice his presence, pushing his headphones off to rest around his neck as his cheeks dusted a light pink. “H-hey,” he said softly, standing still in the middle of the living room.

“Hey,” Richie returned, kicking off the doorframe and moving over to where Eddie stood.

“You know, I was just doing laundry and this just looked so comfy...” Eddie trailed off, his hands already at the sleeves in an effort to take the jacket off.

But once Richie approached him, he simply gripped the front of the jacket, further adjusting it on Eddie's smaller frame. It was slightly too big for him, but somehow that made it an even more endearing sight, “Well is it?” he asked breathlessly. He stood right in front of Eddie, their chests almost pressed together from their close proximity.

Eddie nodded silently as he gaze drifted between Richie's bright blue eyes and his soft lips.

“It looks good on you,” Richie whispered, reaching up with both of his hands to grip Eddie's cheeks and bring their lips together in a gentle kiss. He reveled in the way Eddie's fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt as a shiver ran down his spine at the brush of his knuckles against his sides.

For as long as he could remember, his mind always felt hazy. Whether it was due to his poor health or his troubled mental state, the exact reason was hard to pin down. But in that moment, with Eddie's lips against his, he felt grounded. There was no haze, no auto pilot carrying him through. His mind was completely clear and, for the first time in so long, Richie felt completely and irrevocably alive.

Caught up in the intoxicating sensation, he hoped would never end, he slowly broke the kiss to rest their foreheads together. Their lips remained close, enough to where the shaky breath Richie exhaled ghosted over Eddie's slightly parted lips.

“Everyone's out back,” Eddie whispered, their lips brushing together at these words, causing a surge of desire that brought them together for another, more desperate kiss. When they parted, Richie wanted to add a “duh” to Eddie's previous statement. Why Eddie had mentioned it, he had no clue until Eddie took his hand and led him upstairs to his bedroom.

For a split second, he worried karma might find him in the form of Mike walking in on the two of them, seeing as Richie did just that his first day there. But such thought quickly left his mind when Eddie planted his hand on his chest and, with minimal effort, pushed him onto his bed.

“What the fuck?” he murmured in confusion, the sound of crinkled paper stilling both of their actions. He sat up enough to grab the page underneath him, turning it over to a sight which drained all the color from his face. On the page was a beautifully drawn, colored picture of Sydney. Her name was written flawless cursive along the bottom right corner. Even with only one glance, he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes from the familiar comfort the sight brought him. The drawing rendered his all time favorite picture of his sister; the day it was taken they had skipped school and rode the bus into the city, for no particular reason. Their only goal was to get away from their every day lives, even if only for a little while.

Behind her was a breathtaking sunset. Richie found himself captivated by just how effortlessly Bill managed to blend the mixture of red, yellow and the soft hint of purple. He slipped his eyes shut, hoping it would prevent the tears from falling. A deep ache rumbled through his chest, sending a tell tale tremor to the very tips of his fingers. In his mind, he could perfectly see Sydney sitting with her back against the bus window, sunset painted out behind her. Her voice rang clearly in his mind.

“C'mon, take a picture! This is so going on my Instagram!”

She stuck out her tongue and threw up a peace sign, one eye peeking open to confirm the picture being taken. “You dork,” Richie had chuckled, with the utmost affection in his tone as he snapped the picture.

As his eyes fluttered open, he noticed one discrepancy between the picture and the one in his memory. Despite it depicting his favorite memory of his sister, the picture was always troubling for him to look at due to the way her shirt bunched around her elbow, exposing a wrist covered in scars. He found it difficult to look at the picture and remember that moment in time without thinking about what followed just a few months later. But on the paper gripped between his finger, the same exposed wrist was completely free of any and all scars.

“Who is that?” Eddie asked him gently, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on his thigh, idly stroking his thumb over the fabric of Richie's jeans. “Sydney?”

“My sister,” Richie whispered in reply, though his words were barely audible, even with Eddie sitting right beside him. He couldn't help the sob to escape his lips as he continued to stare at the beautiful picture, despite the tears blurring his vision. “God Eddie, I miss her so much.”

Eddie tilted Richie's chin up and thumbed away the tears rolling down his cheeks. He stared into his deep blue eyes and was saddened by how much sorrow they held. Slowly leaning in, Eddie pressed a tender kiss to his lips. He carefully took the picture from Richie and placed in on his nightstand before encouraging Richie to lay down on the bed with him. The two of them laid out on their sides, facing each other. Richie's head was tucked under Eddie's chin, his face buried in his chest. Eddie wrapped both his arms around Richie and rubbed a slow, steady hand over his back. Every few minutes, or after a particularly violent sob, Eddie pressed a kiss to his forehead, murmuring soft words of comfort.

Richie knew it would always hurt like hell when he thought about his sister and the past he was running from. But he also knew that, with people like Eddie in his life, maybe he could learn to live again. 

“A little to the left. No, no, no. My left.”

“Would you like to come do it yourself?”

“That's perfect! Now c'mon, let’s do this!”

Richie shook his head, though he wore the fondest smile as he joined his sister on his bed. They had set up her phone on his desk and move it so it stood right in front of them. He crossed his legs under himself and pulled his guitar into his lap.

“Remind me again why we're recording this?” he asked, fingers giving the strings a few test strums.

“Ummm...so that someday we'll be famous,” she replied matter-of-factly, “Then we'll be able to get out of this hell hole.”

Richie nodded and offered a small smile, “Ready?”

“More than.”

Richie shook away the implications of those words and counted to three aloud before beginning to strum a soft melody. Shortly after, Sydney joined him, singing the words to match.

“All I have is one last chance

I won’t turn my back on you

Take my hand, drag me down

If you fall then I will too

And I can't save what's left of you.”

Richie smiled to himself as they both sang, adding some soft harmonies to accompany hers. He had to admit, they sounded pretty damn good.

“Say something new

I have nothing left

I can't face the dark without you

There's nothing left to lose

The fighting never ends

I can't face the dark without you.”

He glanced over at his sister. Her eyes were closed, head nodding along to the music while her fingers drummed against her thighs. She was in her element and it'd been a while since he'd seen her so happy. He only wished she could always be like this. She deserved to be. Happy and carefree.

A slam brought both of them to a halt. They shared a brief look and slumped off the bed. A loud obnoxious voice sounded through the apartment. They both cringed at the addition of a second voice, this one male. There was no intelligible words, merely sounds and gibberish.

“You think they're drunk or high?” Richie pondered aloud, grabbing his guitar and walking it over the closet.

“Ohhh, I'm sorry,” Sydney continued, voice resembling that of a game show host. “The answer is actually the hidden third option of both!”

Richie chuckled bitterly, stashing his guitar on the shelf in his closet.

“Why do you keep your guitar in there?”

Richie scoffed, “So it doesn't get pawned for drug money.”

“Fair enough.”

12:30am. After a fitful couple hours of trying to sleep, Richie found walking downstairs He planned to see if Bev was out back. They'd developed a habit of smoking together at least a few times a week. Before he could confirm her presence, he was distracted as he passed by the living room. The soft glow from the TV illuminated the otherwise dark room.

Eddie sat on the sat, feet tucked under his knees. He wore a pair of baggy sweats and a t-shirt, which hung just above his belly button. His heart fluttered in his chest for two reasons; first of all, Eddie looked extremely cute and secondly, though dark, Richie could see what looked like a scar on the right, lower part of his exposed stomach. He didn't have much time to process his observation since Eddie's attention was drawn over to him.

“Hey,” he said with a sleepy smile. “Wanna join me?”

“Sure,” he replied, almost making it to the couch before Eddie's hand flew up and pointed to a nearby chair.

“Before you sit down,” he called out quickly, “Can you grab that blanket?”

Richie chuckled softly, grabbing said blanket and tossing it to him. It landed on his head, most of it falling to drape over his body. “Perfect,” he retorted sarcastically.

Richie pulled the blanket down for him, letting it pool in his lap. He licked his lips as Eddie's face was revealed, a lot closer than he anticipated.

“Sit down,” Eddie requested, patting the space beside him. When Richie took the spot, he lifted the blanket and then draped it over his lap so they were both under it. Richie enjoyed the way Eddie's knee rested on his thigh. It was a simple, but intimate touch.

“So what brings you down here?” Richie asked, softer than he’d meant to.

Eddie shrugged casually, “Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd come down and watch some TV.”

“Friends? Really?” Richie asked incredulously. He wasn't necessarily judging the other's taste in television shows but he just had a hard time believing this was something Eddie was into.

“What? It's a good show!” Eddie defended, smacking his arm playfully, “It's easy to watch. You don't have to pay too much attention and it's funny. Perfect for late nights.”

“If you say so,” Richie chuckled, sticking his tongue out as Eddie shot him a glare. “Why aren't you upstairs shacking up with someone else then?”

“Okay, I haven't 'shacked up' with anyone in a long time,” Eddie retorted, emphasizing the phrase with air quotes.

“Ohhh,” Richie cringed, nodding in mock realization, “Is that why you're so cranky all the time?”

“Ha. Ha.”

They both fell silent, attention turning to the show playing on the TV. For a few minutes, they just watched before Eddie finally spoke up again, breaking the silence.

“Stan's been sleeping with Mike for the past few weeks.”

Richie nodded, “Yeah, I know. We share a room.” Ever since that night, the two of them hadn't spent a night apart. Every night after Mrs. Hanscom checked in on them, Stan would walk through the bathroom that connected their two rooms and slide into bed with the other boy. He strode quietly every time and, had Richie been asleep any of those times, he wouldn't have woken up. Some nights, Richie would mind his own business and continue to pretend he was in fact asleep. Other nights, he peeked over where the other two laid. Stan usually pressed up against Mike's side, who had his arm tightly wrapped around the other. Sometimes they would spoon. Richie tried not to make a habit of watching the two because he didn't want to be such a creep, but it was truly endearing how well the two fit together.

“Right,” Eddie murmured softly, his eyes briefly caught on the blanket in his lap. Sucking in a breath, he looked up at Richie. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You technically just did,” Richie replied, flashing him a cheesy grin.

“I'm being serious,” Eddie insisted, his voice soft, but firm. When Richie nodded, he continued, “Why did you react like that? When you walk in on it...”

Richie immediately felt his skin grow hot. The answer to this question was not only complicated, but also something he did not want to get into. Richie definitely no longer classified them all as strangers, but he still held no desire to express his deepest and darkest secrets to the others, or anyone at all. Especially not to Eddie. Despite the amount of compassion he'd witness from the other, voluntarily making himself feel weak in front him was the last thing he wanted to do. As much as he wanted to deny it, he simply couldn't; he had a crush on Eddie. Not only was he cute, but he cared about everyone close to him and took zero shit from anyone. Richie knew it was stupid and it certainly made him feel like he was in middle school all over again but he just couldn't help it.

He quickly tried to cover up with a half-hearted chuckle, “I mean, I'm not heartless Eddie.”

“That's not what I mean,” Eddie replied in all seriousness, his gaze remaining fixed on him.

Richie tried not to get distracted by Eddie's soft skin or the way his teeth subconsciously chewed at his bottom lip. He also tried to ignore the subject they were apparently discussing now. Richie didn't want to lie to him, especially with the crush he was harboring for him. But he also didn't have any interest in telling him the truth. So he did the best he could and concocted a statement which answered his question without divulging the intimate details.

“Someone I knew from school killed herself last year,” he said, barely able to choke out the words. Eddie could probably tell it was a lie, but if he could, he didn't let on.

“I'm sorry,” he said gently. A moment of silence passed between them again as a new episode began to play. Eddie's head fell to rest on Richie's shoulder. “This is my favorite episode. Will you stay and watch it with me?”

Richie found it impossible to say no to such a request and the weight of Eddie's head resting against him made his heart flutter. “Yeah, sure,” he whispered breathlessly. After a while of stillness, Richie worked up enough courage to press a kiss to Eddie's hair. The action resulted in a sleepy sigh, followed by slow, steady breathing. Richie peeked down at the boy sleeping on his shoulder, making sure he didn't make any sudden movement. He gently let his head fall to rest on Eddie's and let his eyes slip shut.

Richie woke hours later, jostled by the sound of footsteps shuffling along the floor. He squinted, eyes struggling to see through the darkness of the night. When they finally adjusted enough, he saw Bill standing in the middle of the living room, facing away from them. Over the TV that was still going, he could hear a soft mumbling. He groaned as he struggled to sit up, Eddie was now pressed against his side, leaning the entirety of his weight against him. He felt Eddie stir, but otherwise showed no indication of waking.

“Bill?” Richie asked inquisitively.

“Georgie?” Bill spoke gently, voice resembling a small child.

Richie frowned in confusion. Did he really just hear Bill's voice? He couldn't recall a time when he actually heard it before. “No it's Richie. What's going on?”

“Georgie, I miss you,” Bill whispered, the tears evident in his voice. “Things haven't been the same since you left.”

Richie opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of Eddie's sleepy voice, “Bill, wake up,” he called, not even opening his eyes. After a minute, Bill turned around to face them, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“C'mere,” Eddie insisted. His eyes were still shut and he was still pressed against Richie's side. He held his arm open as Bill walked over to the couch. He sat down beside Eddie, dropping his head down to rest on his thigh. Eddie rested his arm around Bill, his fingers idly trailing up and down his forearm.

Richie remained still, his gaze peeking over at the sight beside him. It wasn't long before both of them were fast asleep, Bill clearly comforted by Eddie's touch. In the short amount of time they'd known each other, he could definitely relate. Rather than dwell on it, Richie simply rested his head back on Eddie's and, shortly after, joined the other two in slumber.

In the morning, he woke before Eddie. Bill must have woken up before both of them, as he was no longer by Eddie's side. A smile graced his lips, as Eddie appeared almost angelic, bathed in the bright sunlight breaking through the windows. His fingers seemed to take on a life of their own as they gently raked through his soft, brown hair. The gesture earned him a sleepy sound of approval, which in turn only made his smile grow.

“Mmm, morning,” Eddie murmured softly, throwing his arms up over his head in a long stretch. When he did, his already short shirt rode up even further. Richie swallowed hard, eyes drawn to the newly exposed smooth skin.

“What's this?” Richie inquired, boldly brushing his thumb over the scar on Eddie's side. He'd be lying if he said he didn't notice the way Eddie shivered under his touch.

“A scar,” he answered sarcastically, only continuing when Richie stuck out his tongue in response, “Got my appendix removed a couple years ago.”

“Yikes, must've been scary,” Richie responded.

Eddie shrugged, “Not really.”

How in the world someone could be so fearless was beyond him. He'd never met anyone quite like him before, that's for sure. “We better get ready for school,” Eddie said, patting Richie's knee then using the hold to push himself up. “At least it's Friday!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in fake enthusiasm as he walked towards the stairs. Richie's gaze followed him. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh. This boy was going to be the death of him.

Even it being Friday wasn't enough to pull Richie through the day. With each hour that passed, he grew more and more anxious, completely unable to shake the feeling. His mind took him all over the place; the group therapy he'd have to endure the next day, the sound of his sister's voice ringing in his ears, the way it felt to have Eddie's warm body curled up against him. Basically his mind went everywhere except the schoolwork he should be focusing on.

He noticed, gradually, it became harder to breathe; a familiar tremble tickled the tips of his fingers. He desperately wished he could ignore the feeling creeping up on him. No. Not here.

Despite the protests of the teacher behind him, Richie flew out of the classroom and ran down the hallway. He ducked into the first unoccupied room he found. Only one thought hit him as he glanced around the room. Of fucking course.

Momentarily his train of thought was distracted by the pure irony of the situation. All he could do was laugh. He slumped over to one of the many chairs, flopping down in it. He hung his head in his hands, attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. The closer he felt to complete helplessness, the more he thought fuck it.

His shaky hands grasped the neck of the closest guitar, pulling it into his lap. The familiarity washing over him brought him a slight amount of comfort. As his fingers strummed the chords, he tried to recall the last time he played. The melody filling the room gave him his answer.

“Say something new

I have nothing left

I can't face the dark without you

There's nothing left to lose

The fighting never ends

I can't face the dark without you”

He closed his eyes and, in no time, he was back there again. Sydney sat beside him, her fingers tapping out a rhythm against her leg, one Richie could not hear. He looked over at her. Her lips were moving, but producing no sounds. His eyes were drawn down to her wrists; the contrast of red pooling against the white fabric made his stomach churn. All he could hear was his own scream, deafening even in his own mind. But it felt so incredibly real that he couldn't even hear the melodies he was creating.

The whole song played out, practically unheard to his own ears.

“Wow,” Richie heard from the doorway. He peeked up and saw Eddie walking over to him, taking the chair next to him. “That was beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Richie whispered, the imaginary ringing beginning to fade and allow him to hear again. He set the guitar back on its stand and laced his fingers together, rubbing his thumb along the palm of the opposite hand. Richie wished he didn't know exactly where he picked up this habit. But an image flashed in his mind, hands moving in the same motion, frantically trying to wash the blood from his hands. The way the water ran red below his hands reminded him. He quickly dropped his hands, letting them run anxiously along the fabric of his jeans.

“I didn't know you played,” Eddie commented, “You don't have a guitar, do you?”

“Uhhh, no,” Richie murmured, reluctant to divulge the real reasoning for his lack of guitar. “It, uh, got smashed in the move.”

“That's too bad,” Eddie said, placing his hand on Richie's knee, “Are you okay?”

The words posed an innocent question. He knew the truth. He knew the answer he wanted to give. His whole time there he'd only fed them the answers he wanted, his words spinning a half truth, which kept them all at arms length. Just the way he wanted. So he surprised himself when his eyes met Eddie's and, with no hesitation, told him the truth.

“No.”

“And that's okay,” Eddie spoke gently, taking Richie's quivering hands in his own, “You know that right?”

“I'm just tired of being the same broken kid,” Richie whispered, staring down at their hands. The warm touch stilled some of the trembling in his hands. It was the most truth he'd told in a long time and it truly terrified him.

“We're all broken, Richie.”

In Eddie's eyes, he saw pain and understanding. He also saw patience and compassion. A silent moment passed between them. “But things get better. Give it time.” Eddie ducked his head down to press the softest, chastest kiss to his lips. “If you ever want to talk or anything, I'm here.”

Richie didn't even have time to process his confusion as Eddie stood and made his way towards the door. Right before he hit the door, Eddie spun around.

“Mrs. Hanscom wanted me to tell you,” he began, unknowingly making Richie cringe with those words. “She's taking us all to the carnival tomorrow.”

“The carnival?” Richie asked incredulously.

Eddie chuckled, sarcastically adding, “Yeah, because apparently we're all eight years old.”

Richie laughed along with him, still hung up on the tingle Eddie's lips left on his. It felt nothing like any kiss he experienced before. There was a different motive behind it. It didn't elicit a wild uncontrollable race of his heart. All he felt was calm, at ease. “It'll be fun,” Eddie said genuinely, flashing a toothy grin. An unfamiliar feeling washed over him. Home. But not the home he knew; the home he always wanted.

Richie couldn't say he was entirely thrilled to be in the middle of the annual Derry carnival. The lights were blinding, all the sounds deafening. The token carnival music that seemed to be playing every step of the way, sounded just slightly the wrong tone. Richie couldn't put his finger on it but it didn't sound right. Plus in the short amount of time they'd been walking around, at least four clowns crossed their path and Richie did not care to see any more.

But his attention was captivated by something else. Eddie walked alongside him, clad in a white t-shirt underneath a pair of denim overalls. They were cuffed at the bottom and joined by a pair of red converse. Richie found it hard not to stare. Eddie was indescribably cute right now; the way he rocked the overalls he wore, his carefree smile and the little bounce in his step as they walked along. Beverly had ran off with Ben and Bill, saying something about checking out the fun house. Stan and Mike were a few paces ahead of them, fingers tightly laced together. Eventually Stan pulled them off to the side to a booth with prizes to be won.

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed, throwing his arm in front of Richie's face to excitedly point towards the long queue to their left. “Lets ride that!”

Richie looked over at the roller coaster the line belonged to and let out a chuckle, “Are you sure you're even tall enough?”

Eddie scoffed in offense and shoved his hands against Richie's upper arm. There wasn't a whole lot of strength behind it and, had Richie not felt weak in the knees already, he wouldn't have stumbled the way he did. “Jerk!” he shouted, though it quickly faded into an infectious laugh. Eddie's hand slipped into his own and tugged him in the direction of the line.

Much to Richie's surprise and contentment, their fingers stayed locked together the whole time they waited. He could feel a pulse of Eddie's hand squeezing his and, when he looked over, he noticed the other boy tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

Richie smiled fondly, “Nervous?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admitted breathlessly, looking up at Richie in a way that made his heart flutter. His soft brown eyes bore into him, yet left him vulnerable at the same time.

“Yeah, me too,” Richie mumbled, though his words seemed to hold a completely different connotation.

As the roller coaster took them towards the sky, Richie couldn't decide which made him more nervous; the way Eddie gripped his hand like his life depended on it or the inevitable fall they would soon face. The drop brought about a sense of weightlessness, as did Eddie's thrilled shout which faded to the most melodic laugh when the ride pulled into the gate. Richie hadn't a clue how good it would feel, the brief moment where all his burden washed away. Much like the top of the coaster, he felt on top of the world. It was a feeling he'd never experienced before, but he wished it could last forever. But also like the ride, after such a great height came a devastating fall.

But the second Eddie looked over at him and said, “Let’s go again,” Richie immediately found the courage to agree. He wanted to fall again.

So they rode again and then moved on to a multitude of other rides. All the while, Eddie's hand still held in his own. Even on the tamest rides and the trips in between them, he didn't let go. And Richie wasn't about to. He would never dream of it.

“I'm gonna throw up,” Eddie whined, his other arm clutching his stomach.

Richie snorted in laughter, having spent the last fifteen minutes watching Eddie shovel a variety of carnival food into his mouth. The whole time, Richie was torn between two thoughts: how in the world could Eddie fit that much food inside his body and how could he look so damn cute doing it?

“Well yeah,” Richie chuckled, stating as if it was obvious, “You ate half the carnival.”

“Huh...” Eddie trailed off thoughtfully, then glanced up at Richie as he continued, “Maybe that's why my breath smells so funny.....Get it?” he lightly jabbed his elbow to Richie's side, “Half the carnival, half the clowns. Clowns are funny!”

Richie shook his head, offering the softest laugh, “You can eat them all. Clowns are creepy as fuck.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, eyes squinting suspiciously as he peered over at Richie. A teasing smile spread over his lips, “Are you afraid of clowns, Richie?”

“I don't feel the need to answer that,” Richie retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “What? You don't have any irrational fears?”

Eddie's smile faded all too quickly, “I do,” he answered somberly, “Sometimes I'm afraid I'll wake up in the hospital and this has all been some kind of crazy, drug induced dream.”

“That makes mine sound kinda stupid,” Richie mumbled quietly. Sure, he had plenty of other fears but he enjoyed pretending that wasn't the case. At least for the time being.

Things stayed quiet for a moment before Eddie let out a roaring laugh, “Gotcha! You shoulda seen your face! I was just kidding!” Richie had a sinking suspicion those words were a lie, but he had no right to press Eddie for any kind of information. He wasn't exactly forthcoming himself.

“Wanna go on the Ferris wheel?” Eddie quipped, eyes reflecting gold in the sun. For a moment, Richie was breathless, staring into Eddie’s eyes like they were the last thing he’d ever see. And somehow, in that moment, Richie wouldn't mind if that came true.

“Only if you don't barf on me,” Richie teased, embracing a moment of boldness and slinging his arm over Eddie's shoulders.

“No promises.”

A big smile broke over his face as he felt Eddie lace their fingers together. “I'll take my chances.”

Sunday was quickly coming to an end, no matter how desperately Richie wished otherwise. For the first time in a long time, he felt okay. The previous day had been the best he'd had since he didn't even know when. His mind wasn't bogged down with sadness as usual, but rather there was an unfamiliar clarity. Richie chalked it up to one thing and one thing only: Eddie. Something about him rendered his body completely at ease. He felt as calm as the twilight settling around them.

After dinner, everyone went outside to enjoy the mild evening. To no one's surprise, Mike sat in the grass, Stan's head resting in his lap. He plucked small dandelions from the ground and tucked them into his blonde curls. Bev, Ben, and Mrs. Hanscom all chatted idly on the deck. Eddie stretched out on the hammock, both hands tucked behind his head. Since it was his turn to do the dishes, Richie was the last to join everyone outside. His first instinct led him over to the hammock. But then he noticed Bill laid out on his stomach, with a sketchbook in front of him, hand scribbling across the page. Intrigued, he went over and crouched down beside him. On the paper was a beautiful sketch of two people, one resembling him, the other with similar features but much younger.

“Wow, that's amazing,” he whispered breathlessly, eyes fixed on the image that seemed perfect, yet it was a mess of eraser marks. Right around the smiles both of them wore the paper looked weak, like one more swipe of the erase would rip a hole in it.

Bill wore a small smile as he slowly flipped through the other pages. They were filled with an endless array of beautifully sketched people, some appeared to be a family; there was at least one of each person there, though Eddie had multiple pages.

But one picture stood out. He frowned as his hand darted out to prevent him from turning to the next page. When he scanned over the sketch, his heart immediately began to race as did the tremors to his fingers. His mind felt hazy and he could barely maintain his balance as he stood, fingers gripping the sketchbook as tightly as he could.

“Who the fuck is this?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Drawn out on the paper was a young, dark haired girl with sharp features that mirrored his own. The more he stared at it, the more he saw it. Her. Sydney.

“Who the fuck is this?” he repeated, his voice much louder this time, attracting the attention of those around them. Bill peered up at him with a look of pure confusion. “Where did you see this?! Where did you sketch this from?” Richie's hands shook violently as he shoved the sketchbook into Bill's view. He couldn't control the way his volume kept increasing. He could hardly control the words coming from his mouth.

“What the fuck is your problem? Why won't you answer me?” he yelled, ripping the page out and chucking the book itself behind him. By this time, Mrs. Hanscom and Eddie rushed over, while everyone else watched on, expressions somewhere between confusion and concern.

“Richie, knock it off,” Eddie said gently. He grabbed at Richie's upper arm, trying to pull him away from the scene but his grip was immediately and forcefully shrugged off.

“Not until you answer me! Where the fuck did you see her?” When he was met with no answer, he laughed and shook his head. The small part of his mind still aware of the situation wondered why he laughed in this moment but the tears rolling down his cheeks told a different story. His chest heaved drastically as he fought to breathe; his fingers desperately tore at the paper, an action which should've been easy but due to the way they tremble and his dwindling strength, it was a struggle.

“Richie, you need to stop,” Mrs. Hanscom pressed firmly, placing herself between the two of them. Bill looked absolutely terrified, but he still remained silent. “You need to sit down and take a breath.”

A wave of dizziness washed over him as his legs wobbled under the pressure to support him. He watched Eddie move over to stand beside Bill, pulling him into his arms. A part of him was grateful as his vision began to blur, unable to see the look of disappointment presumably etched across Eddie's face. There were more words on the tip of his tongue. He didn't get the chance, however, as everything went dark and his head smacked against the ground.

--

Special thanks to @reddie-to-fight for beta-ing this for me! 

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