#heknewwellenough | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reddielibrary · 5 years

Text

The Dream During Halloween

Written by @heknewwellenough

Gift for @reddieforlove

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Word count: 3852

Rating: Teen

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN BRI!!! i hope you enjoy this, and that it’s what you had in mind!!! mwah mwah

Richie doesn’t really believe in God, well, at least not to a certain extent. Okay, scratch that. He believes in something, he’s just not sure if it’s a God or a superior entity or some stupid shit like that.

What he does believe though, at this exact moment, is that angels are real, and he just witnessed the king of the angels. Maybe that means the god of the angels or whatever, but he doesn’t exactly care about the correct terminology because he’s pretty sure this boy is a real life angel.

REO Speedwagon’s I Can’t Fight This Feeling is thrumming lowly through the speakers by the fireplace, and Richie really needs to find Bill to congratulate him on his music taste. I'm keeping you in sight is right, Richie muses indistinctly.

“Rich.” He hears from his left, moving limply as he’s shouldered softly.

“Yeah?” He mutters, keeping his eyes tracked on the boy across the room. He’s sitting by himself on the couch, painted light blue hands gripping a red solo cup weakly, lifting every once in awhile to drink.

Bev shoves him a little harder, and Richie finally tears his eyes away from the angel on the couch. “Come on man, you’re being creepy. Stop staring at that poor kid. And you haven’t even seen his full face; his mask is covering part of it.”

“Yeah, no shit Bev. You’d be surprised with what I can make do with having only half a face,” he says, his brows doing a little dance as he grins down at her. “Also,” he continues, reaching towards her headband, “can you start warning me when you want to talk to me? I’m not used to— this—“ he gestures to the dark hair curling right above her shoulders, making a grab at it, but Bev shoots his hand away from where it’s getting dangerously close to her headband. “I always think you’re someone creeping on me.”

Beverly grabs a black curl resting right above her shoulder, almost absentmindedly, and tugs on it loosely. She’s dressed as Snow White, and had dyed her hair with Richie’s own help two days ago. He’s still not used to it though, and it struck him this morning while doing his own hair how much they look like siblings now.

“I can barely understand you,” she lifts her own solo cup to her mouth, taking a sip of what is presumably something non-alcoholic. “Take that stupid mask off and face me like a woman. Or go talk to the guy on the couch.”

Richie wriggles uncomfortably. God does he want to go talk to the boy with probably the best Halloween costume here. Better than Princess Diana and Prince Charles he’s here with, for sure. But he’s nervous. He only came to terms with this whole I-want-to-kiss-boys-like-a-lot-thing only recently, and even then he hasn’t even come to terms with it super well. The only reason Bev knows is because she’s Bev. His ride or die, his best friend, his platonic life partner, yadda yadda yadda. Same deal with Stan. He knows stuff about them that he’ll take to the grave, and vice versa.

“I like the mask. It’s gives an air of… sexy mystery.” Richie slouches against the wall, turning away from Bev. His eyes make their way to the boy across the room, trying to pretend he’s not staring. He knows he’s not doing an entirely good job, but he thinks he has the right to stare when someone’s costume looks like that on them.

“Not really— definitely not sexy. It’s kind of creepy. I can’t really tell where you’re looking at.” Stan remarks, saddling up next to them. He leans against the wall too, bumping his shoulder against Richie’s. His fancy blue prince pants look funny next to Richie’s black and white pinstripe pants.

“He’s looking over there— at zombie boy.“ Bev nods towards the couch across the room. “Where were you?” She adds, leaning to look over Richie towards Stan.

Richie turns to Beverly, staring down at her sable head, astonished. “Do not just tell me you called him a zombie—”

“Getting water,” Stan says, lifting up the water bottle in his hands to show her, promptly cutting Richie off. Probably to save himself of a stupid argument. “Why don’t you go talk to him, Rich?” He suggests, loud enough to be heard over the music but not enough for the people around them to hear. He reaches over to Richie’s face and lifts his mask to sit on top of his head.

Richie shakes his head vigorously, his mask flopping over and onto his face again. “Fuck no, Fresh Prince of Derry. I’ll just stare at Himeros for now.”

Beverly snickers, but Stan looks at him, probably judging him. Richie sees his brows draw in the middle, and it sounds like he’s smiling when he says, “wouldn’t he be Anteros—?”

The sound of a shriek makes its way to Richie’s ears, and he gets the inkling that it’s probably a little more important than some girl getting teased or tickled or whatever the fuck off in the corner. He’s right, because when he looks over, Anteros is laughing at something Bill Denbrough is saying to him. “Oh my God. Did you guys hear that?”

“No? What?” Stan says, looking around, intrigued. “What is it, Richie?”

“I think I just heard an angel sing.” Richie sighs dreamily, slumping against the wall even further.

“Actually, I think you mean a god sing—“

“Oh, just go talk to the guy!” Bev gestures to the boy on the couch with her drink, some of it sloshing out of the cup and onto the floor, splashing Richie’s chucks lightly.

“And it’s not sing, dingus. It’s laugh. Maybe he shouldn’t go talk to him,” Stan continues, “he’ll embarrass himself.”

“I don’t have to listen to this abuse,” pushing himself off the wall, Richie turns to the royalty behind him. “I’m going to get another drink! Is there anything your highnesses would enjoy from the area of feeding?” He pretends to bow, and snickers when he hears Stan mutter no, thank you, asshat.

Bev does what Richie could only describe as a soft karate chop on each shoulder— the name escapes him— and she giggles also. “I’d like an orange juice.”

“Even though I just suffered some verbal abuse from you not even five minutes ago—“ he calls, walking away, “I will get you your juice of orange. With bubbly water, you freak!” He calls, finishing her sentence before she even begins to start talking.

“Fucking— bubbly water. Fucking disgusting,” he mutters, walking up to the makeshift bar in the kitchen.

“Hey, man.” He nods to Mike Hanlon in the kitchen, smiling. He always liked Mike. And Bill, too, when he had been on the lacrosse team last year. The rest of the team fucking sucked— and so did the sport in general, if he’s being honest. He can’t count how many hallelujahs he said the last day of practice.

Mike tilts his head, squinting at him. He raises his hand in a slow, confused wave.

“Oh,” Richie laughs, pulling his mask up and over his head. “Sorry, man.”

“Oh!” Mike chuckles, walking up next to him. He bades goodbye to the girl next to him, sliding up next to Richie and leaning against the counter. “I thought it was you, Rich. You know— cause of the hair—“ he gestures to the mess of curls on Richie’s head, “— but it looked shorter so I wasn’t sure. Also, your neck is super white.”

“You mean whiter than usual?” Richie cracks, mixing Bev’s monstrosity of a drink.

Mike gasps out a surprised laugh.“Yeah. Okay, whiter than usual.”

Not quite what he was expecting, a similar laugh makes its way out of his throat. “I got a sexy haircut, dude, that’s why you didn’t recognize me in my sexy costume.” He says, still chuckling. He punctuates his sentence with a pop of his hip, grinning over at Mike briefly before turning back to the mouth-sore in front of him.

“Speaking of, I like your costume. That movie’s pretty cool.”

“I know, but do you know how many oh, are you Beetlejuice’s? I’ve gotten tonight? You think the mask would be a dead giveaway. Or that Bill wouldn’t have invited such dumb fucking people to his party.” Richie rolls his eyes, smiling at Mike’s nice rumble of a laugh. “I mean— I knew half the lacrosse team had zero brain cells, but you'd think at least some of the art kids would be smart. This movie only came out a year ago.” He scoffs. He grabs a half-filled Coke bottle in front of him and the Fanta next to it, pouring them into a solo cup, stirring them together with a straw. He lifts the cup to his mouth and takes a sip, turning fully to look at Mike, from feet to the top of his head. “What’re you supposed to be, anyway? Wait— no! Let me guess, let me guess.”

Mike shrugs, gesturing at him with his own solo cup as if to say alright man, go ahead.

Mike has got on a yellow blazer, a red scarf around his neck, and a toque. Richie has literally no idea what he is.

“No-fence man, but what the fuck are you? I’m trying to come up with something funny but I’m coming up short.”

Mike laughs, like he’d been expecting that, and says, “I’m one of the boys from the Rice Krispies box. You know? It’s a group costume, with Bill and Ben.”

Richie nods. He knows Ben; he’s in his Humanities class and was in his SAT prep class last year, and he thinks Friends is funny, but never mind that little drawback, because he’s also probably the nicest fucking person Richie has ever met. He’s been meaning to ask him to hang out or something, but it’s not quite something he’s gotten around to yet, for whatever reason. In short, he’s just cool, and he makes Richie feel good. Same deal with Bill, and Mike. He smiles. “I was wondering what the fuck Bill was. I thought he was the little Nutcracker boy.”

Mike bursts out laughing, slapping Richie on the arm. “I can’t wait to tell him that,” he mutters, small hiccups escaping his lips as he continues to chuckle, “he’ll love that—“

“Hi, Mike. Can I get by?” A soft voice says behind Richie. Both him and Mike turn around concurrently, and Richie chokes on the drink he unluckily lifted to his lips only a moment before, because there he is. The Himeros. Or Anteros. Whatever it is, or was, Richie can’t focus, or remember. He feels as if his brain has melted straight out of his ears and onto the floor, or into his drink, or something. He has no idea. None of it really matters right now, anyway.

Mike says something that Richie tunes out accidentally, and he slides easily out of the way. They start talking, but Richie has no idea what they’re saying. The thoughts in his own head drown out their talk, and the loud talking all around him, and the sound of the opening chords of Witchy Woman starting up, all to a dull murmur as he stares at the back of the boy’s head. He feels like he should be listening to what him and Mike are talking about— to maybe pick up on a few things or something— but he’s too far gone now, his thoughts wrapping around his mind like a telephone cord around a finger.

Richie cannot understand for the life of him why he has never seen this boy around. He’s a fucking senior this year, for Chrissake, and their school isn’t even that big like one of those schools up in Portland or Bangor. About six or seven hundo kids, give or take. And it’s not like he’s an observant person. He typically likes to think of himself as pretty observant, actually, and there’s not a chance in hell this kid would not catch his attention. He hasn’t even had the honor of having this kid’s face grace his shitty vision, but he already knows it’s going to be an appealing face.

“—Richie?”

“Huh?” Richie’s head snaps up from where he was staring at Himeros’ feet toward whoever said his name.

It was Mike, and he’s smiling crookedly, like he’s waiting for Richie to answer. “See you later, Rich?” He says, and Richie figures he’s repeating it by the way he’s smiling and the tone of his voice.

“Oh. Yeah, see ya later, Snap.” He nods, a grin splitting his face as Mike returns it, turning to leave.

And then it’s just him and the angel, he realises a few seconds after Mike’s trodden off to go talk to Ben in the corner of the kitchen. It’s quiet, and it’s funny because everyone around them is talking, and Richie has always hated quiet. He opens his mouth to say something, pretty much anything that comes to his head first, but the boy beats him to it. And it’s perfect for two reasons.

“Hey, Bone Daddy,” the boy says to him softly— like, to him, directly— and he kind of smiles, laughing to himself.

It’s perfect because Richie had absolutely no idea what he was going to say, so pretty much anything could have run out of his mouth, which doesn’t always fly so well depending on who he’s talking to. That greeting knocks the wind out of him though, promptly knocking whatever embarrassing thing Richie could have said out of his mind, too, which he’s entirely grateful for.

It’s also perfect because by the minute he’s being proven right about this boy being an angel.

“Get it? It’s from the movie.” Himeros continues, almost uncertainly. Richie wishes he could see his face— the mask is partially in the way, and he’s ducked over his own drink that he’s making.

“Yeah, I get it,” he says in a rush, voice cracking. He takes a deep breath, continuing, “I’ve seen it like a billion times, so.” He trails off. “It’s my favorite,” he adds after a moment. The word fuck bounces around his head, feeling like he’s embarrassing himself or being especially awkward.

“Mine too.” The boy responds, turning to smile at Richie briefly. “When I chose my costume, I thought it was weird not having a Jack to go with, but Bill told me it looked fine.”

“It does!” Richie blurts, and okay, yeah, he doesn’t exactly have a filter, but there are times when he thinks maybe he should work on that. Like right now. “I mean— it does. Look fine. I mean— I went as Jack without a Sally, and it’s not weird, right? So a Sally without Jack is not weird.” He’s rambling, and the boy is giggling, and most of the anxiety drains from his body because this— laughter, making people laugh— this is easy. Laughing makes him easy. The tension drains from his shoulders, from his brows, the anxiety flooding his body evaporates as he continues, a smile spreading across his face as he says, “your costume is definitely the sexiest one here. Excluding the cheeseburger playing beer pong, of course.”

Richie watches as a flush coats the boy’s blue cheeks, and it’s probably the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. “Of course. Naturally.” He agrees, nodding along with Richie. He’s finished making his drink, and he turns to lean against the counter to face Richie. “And we— well we found each other, so now there’s no lonely Jack and Sally.” The boy says, and he smiles again. He sounds kind of nervous, and it further confirms Richie’s idea that yeah, this boy is his dream boy.

Richie grins down at him, and the brief thought of how short this boy is crosses his mind. He finally takes in the boy’s full appearance now that he’s standing right in front of him, face and all. Everything about him just screams cute to Richie, from the sewn patches all over his pants and shirt, to the black boots he’s wearing. Richie notices that his hair is spray-dyed a vivid red, and it’s done really well. He probably went through at least two bottles, Richie muses. His drawn on stitched smile is curved up even more so than it already is due to the boy’s smile, and it makes Richie smile.

The boy is looking him up and down—checking me out, Richie thinks nervously, Gee-zus— just like Richie was a second ago. The boy can’t see his face— when did I put on my mask again?— and that is both a shame and a blessing.

“Do you— um—” the boy starts nervously, looking down into his cup and then back up again, “do you want to go up to Bill’s room, or something? To talk more? I feel cramped in here.”

Richie nods, and then realizes it might look like he’s saying no because of the mask, so he clarifies verbally with a loud, “yes! Let’s go. Do that. Lead the way, Sally.”

Himeros-Sally laughs, shaking his head, and leads the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs right outside of the kitchen. Richie follows, not seeing Stan or Bev anywhere. He mentally thanks whatever deity out there is throwing him a bone, and climbs the stairs two at a time, lifting his mask as he reaches the top step.

“So,” the boy starts, leaning against the door once it closes. He sounds nervous again, and it drives a lot of the remaining anxiety Richie is feeling out of his chest. “Can I um— can I do something?” He shakes his head, looking down at the floor and frowning at his feet. “Sorry. That came out wrong. Can I try something, I mean.”

“Like— like what? Like smelling Bill’s underwear, or looking for his porn mags? Because I bet they smell like—“

“Shut up,” the boy says, and it’s not very serious, as he makes his way slowly to Richie, who’s standing in the middle of the room, feeling silly all of a sudden. He places his hands on Richie’s shoulders, and does this thing that Richie really likes where he smooths them over the expanse of his shoulder softly. He rises up on his toes and his face suddenly becomes a lot closer to Richie’s. From behind his mask and through the peepholes, his eyes are telling Richie that he can tell him to stop. Richie does not tell him to stop.

And then suddenly there are soft lips on his. Uncertain, but not unstable. Richie’s eyes are open the whole time, and now he definitely feels like a fool.

The boy leans back slightly, and one of his hands comes up to take off his mask. He tosses it onto Bill’s bed, and then makes eye contact with Richie again, and Gee-zus, this boy is the definition of cute. He’s the end-all-be-all of cute boys. Freckles smattering his nose and cheeks. Crinkles next to his eyes from smiling at the moment. Long, pretty lashes. Thick, bushy brows.

“I don’t know your name,” is what he says after a few moments of just staring at Richie, also.

“Richie. It’s Richie.” Richie breathes out, “and yours—“

“It’s Eddie.” He says softly.

“Well, Eddie-Spaghetti. I thought you just wanted to talk?”

The boy— Eddie— frowns for the first time tonight. “That’s not my name,” Eddie argues. His frown is almost as cute as his smile.

“Not anymore. It’s Eddie-Spaghetti. Or if you don’t like that, I can call you Spaghedward. And if you’re not into pasta at all, Eds can work.” Richie rambles, and then Eddie is pressing his lips to Richie’s again.

“I guess I didn’t come up here to talk. You sure did though,” Eddie retorts when he leans back again, and Richie can feel him smiling, and that is something he’s definitely into.

Richie’s eyes are closed this time as he replies with a breathless laugh. “Where have you been all of my life?”

“Here and there,” he responds vaguely. It’s very obviously a joke, and Richie can’t help but laugh again. After he stops chuckling, Eddie answers honestly, telling him that he’s just quiet, and points out that they obviously have had very different schedules.

They end up laying down on Bill’s bed on their sides while Eddie talks, Richie’s mask thrown up by Bill’s pillow next to Eddie’s. Richie realizes Eddie’s probably as much of a talker as Richie is himself as he rambles on about the organization of classes. “I guess the people who organize classes just hate us. You know, since we seem to have never shared a class together. You’re not taking any AP classes, right?”

Richie shakes his head. “No.”

Eddie frowns, “me neither,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “I don’t get why we’re not in any of the same regular classes, then.”

What he says goes in one ear and out the other. Eddie’s bitten lips have captured his full attention, and he wants to kiss them. Bad. So he leans over quickly and does.

Eddie splutters, seemingly caught by surprise, blush coating his blue cheeks again. “I— um— oh. Okay.”

“Sorry,” Richie hastens to say, shaking his head again, glasses getting pushed against his face and his hands under his head feeling uncomfortable. “I didn’t know if—“

“No! It’s fine,” Eddie shakes his head too, soft smile reappearing on his face. “It’s fine,” he repeats, softer this time. “I probably should have asked first, anyway. So I’m sorry.”

Richie scoffs, dramatic. “It’s fine. You’re fine. You did kinda ask, anyway. Besides, I wanted those cute lips on me, anyways,” Richie grins, laughing at Eddie’s bashful smile and the roll of his eyes.

When Eddie doesn’t say anything for a few moments, Richie fears he made it awkward, but then Eddie looks into his eyes and cracks a smile, a laugh escaping his mouth. He starts to laugh even more, and then Richie starts to laugh, and then suddenly they’re laughing together on Bill’s bed in their Nightmare Before Christmas Halloween costumes at nothing. This is the best Richie has felt in a long time. He feels as if he’s known Eddie for years, and not just for two hours.

Eddie wipes away a few tears from his eyes, rolling onto his back and staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Bill has on his ceiling. “I’m glad I met you,” he says softly, in the Eddie-way he does that Richie is grown accustomed to in the past couple of hours.

“Same here, Eds.” Richie whispers back.

Eddie’s hand reaches over and threads through the hand Richie has resting by his face. Still on his side, and staring at Eddie’s face poised up to the ceiling with his eyes closed, Richie can’t help but think for the hundredth time that night yeah, definitely an angel.

#reddie #halloween event 2019 #heknewwellenough

161 notes · View notes

reddielibrary · 6 years

Text

Secret Santa: Rey | @heknewwellenough

Gift for: Mary | @allahlav

Special Message: Surprise I’m your secret santa hehe. I hope you enjoy this, sweetie!! I hope you have a happy holiday as well, and a great new year!!! Mwah

Word count: 3,113

“Almost seventeen and you still don’t know how to tie your fucking shoelaces.”

Richie scoffs, kicking his feet into the air as he swings his legs back and forth from where he is sitting on the countertop. “At least I didn’t wear Velcro shoes until I was thirteen.” He aims a kick at Eddie’s arm where Eddie is digging into the small first aid kit.

“Yeah, but at least I can tie my shoelaces. You— on the other hand— fall on your face every other day. It’s like you want to trip.” Eddie retorts. He manages to find a cotton ball in the jumble of items in the little first aid kit, smiling triumphantly. He grabs the hydrogen peroxide bottle from where it’s standing next to the stool that he sits on and twists open the cap, placing the cotton ball against the mouth of the bottle and pours a generous amount onto it.

“You know me so well, toots. Why wouldn’t I want to trip and fall on my ass, with the treatment you give me?”

Eddie scratches behind his ear, tucking a lock of hair behind it. He looks in front of him at Richie’s bloodied knee and starts to dab at it with the cotton ball. “And at least I don’t wear fucking shorts in December. You’re insane. You’re going to freeze to death. And toots, hm? What do I gotta do to make you stop calling me names?” He leers. He hopes Richie won’t take it entirely seriously— he probably won’t, with a track record like his, but the small feeling that he will lingers in the back of Eddie’s head and refuses to diminish.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do, Eds, to make me quit— ow, shit—” he hisses as Eddie starts to apply the cotton ball more forcefully, hands gripping the edge of the counter and matching the stark white of the marble, “can’t believe you don’t appreciate my nicknames. They’re picked thoughtfully and with care, no lie.”

“Mm, okay. What about the others then? What’re theirs?” Eddie asks, almost absentmindedly.

“The others? Well, Bill’s is Big Bill, of course. For obvious reasons—“ he wiggles his brows as Eddie chances a look up at him and frowns.

Eddie’s brows crease in the middle. He starts to prod at Richie’s knee a little more forcefully than necessary, agitation settling in every crook and corner of his mind. The thoughts floating in Eddie’s mind irk him. He knows Richie talks about anything below the belt frequently— regardless of gender— but it still makes him feel a little queasy when Richie talks about his friend’s under-the-belt-parts unaccompanied. Without them and all. “Like you’ve ever seen Bill’s dick.” He glares at Richie’s knee, avoiding his gaze that he can feel boring into the top of his head.

“I wasn’t talking about his little Jimmy, heathen. I meant it ‘cause he’s tall.”

“Not as tall as you.” Eddie says automatically. Thoughtlessly. And alright, that wasn’t what he meant to say at all. He blushes slightly, avoiding Richie’s gaze that he can almost feel piercing his skull.

“Not as tall as me, huh? Guess I should be Big Rich, then?” Eddie can practically hear the giddy smile in Richie’s voice. He doesn’t need to look up to know the joke that’s coming next. “Or Big Dick—“

Eddie groans. “That truly was the worst joke imaginable. That took the cake.” He can’t help the small laugh that bubbles up his throat as he opens a bandage and places it steadily on Richie’s knee.

Richie stretches out his leg, flexing it and staring at the large PacMan patterned bandage. “I didn’t finish the others.”

Eddie looks up from where he was staring at it too, looking at Richie. “Hm?”

Richie rolls his eyes. “The nicknames, Eds. Get with the program, toots.”

“Oh, right,” Eddie nods, but then a thought occurs to him, and he squints up at Richie, frowning, “all of our names are already nicknames, though. So technically these are nicknames of nicknames.”

Richie waves him off, making a funny pft noise. “These are classier, Eds.”

“Okay, well,” Richie situates himself on the counter, folding his hands together on his thighs, businesslike, “Stan is Stan the Man because he’s basically a mini-man. Stanley the Manley,” he counts down on his fingers, looking up and frowning, his tongue sticking out between his red wired braces, “Bev is Miss Marsh because she’s a lady,” the word lady had the unfortunate bringing of a horribly done English accent as Richie counted down three on his right hand, “and ladies are misses. My dear Benjamin is Haystack because, well—“

Eddie rolls his eyes with a slight frown. He looks down at the printed reindeer on his fleece pajamas, flexing his fingers on his knees. “That one’s kinda mean, Richie.”

Richie shrugs. “Well, you wanna live a lie your whole life, Eds? You’re short, Stanley’s uptight, I’m a sexy piece a’ meat, and Ben’s pretty large. I don’t tell anything but truths, my love.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh, but he quickly covers it up with a cough when Richie looks triumphant. “Continue, then,” he says, still coughing slightly.

“Okay, well,” he rubs his hands together quickly and continues on, “my dear beautiful Michael is Homeschool, you know, cause he was homeschooled. And you, Eddie, are Eds, Eddie Spaghetti, regular ol’ Spaghetti, my love, my dear, and a cutie.” He finishes, pretending to take a slight bow.

Eddie can feel himself getting warm as he looks up at Richie. Nicknames are Richie’s specialty, one could say, but the excessive amount of Eddie’s is alarming; Eddie doesn’t think it matters how much you specialize in nicknames. He can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Why do I have so many and the others don’t?”

“Because you’re a special work of pasta, Eds. You’re the meatball on top of a good plate of spaghetti, the sauce to my noodle—“ he wiggles his brows suggestively and lunges down to place a smack of a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. He nearly topples them to he floor with the applied force of the kiss.

“Oh my God, get off, dorkus—“ Eddie wriggles out of Richie’s surprisingly strong grip. “Can’t have you getting another injury, right?” He chuckles, nervously. A blush dots his cheeks and he looks away, spotting the peroxide and placing it into the first aid kit, shutting it and fiddling with the handle on top. He looks up and stares at Richie’s knee, snorting as a thought occurs to him. “You’re such a dumbass. Out in the snow with shorts on. I can’t believe you.”

Eddie can see Richie shrug out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not that cold out. The only trouble I had was my knee hurting like a bitch when I fell. Plus, I was planning on changing.”

“Into what?”

“PJs, stupid.” He says with a little kick to Eddie’s pajama-clad knee. “They’re not as sexy as yours but they’re getting there.”

Eddie giggles, standing up slightly abruptly. He braces his hands on Richie’s shoulders, swaying slightly. He hadn’t banked on being so close to Richie when he stood up, but now Richie was right there. Personal space pretty much gone.

“Well, hello there,” Richie says, also steadying Eddie. He’s gripping Eddie’s arms, smiling stupidly. Endearingly.

Eddie swallows, gazing at Richie’s slowly pinking cheeks. His eyes sway to the curls poking Richie’s cheeks, and then to the curls that seem to constantly be bouncing on top of his head. They need a cut, wildly curling over his forehead and eyebrows, swooping down on to his temples and tucking behind his ears slightly.

“You should probably get a haircut,” Eddie blurts.

“I don’t want a haircut.”

“I don’t want you to get a haircut, either.”

Richie grins. “Then I won’t get one.”

Eddie nods thoughtfully, extracting himself from Richie’s grip weakly.

“Wait!” Richie says loudly. His hands slide down to Eddie’s wrists, gripping them. He smiles widely, and he leans forward slightly, excitedly, and it looks— feels like he might— might —

But Eddie doesn’t let his mind venture that far— can’t let his mind venture that far. The slight speed up of his heart rate means absolute shit. Eddie wasn’t even aware that Richie had access to his heart until now.

“I— hmf, what, Richie?” Eddie says frustratedly, staring at Richie’s knobby fingers wrapped around his own wrists.

“Can you make me a hot chocolate?” He whispers, bending down to look into Eddie’s eyes with that smile that makes it feel like Eddie’s insides have turned into something like jelly. Eddie stares at his braces glittering annoyingly in the artificial light of the bathroom.

Eddie’s eyes flicker between Richie’s, alarmingly embarrassed but hoping his cheeks don’t give him away. “No.”

Richie pouts. A crease forms in between his brows and his nose wrinkles. Eddie stomach twists funnily. Richie shouldn’t be allowed access there, either.

“Please?” He whines, swinging their arms back and forth, please drawn out from his pouty lips.

Eddie cracks a smile and rolls his eyes. “Yes, fine. Just stop being annoying.”

“Great.” Richie grins and hops down from the sink, letting go of one of Eddie’s hands and swinging the other back and forth. “Do you have mini marshmallows?” He asks with a sideways glance, skipping down the hallway.

Eddie’s lips crease in a frown. “You can’t eat marshmallows.”

Richie shrugs, hopping onto the counter once they make it into the kitchen. “What’s life without a little edge, hm?” He purses his lips and raises his brows.

An abrupt laugh escapes Eddie’s lips as he opens the cabinet by Richie’s head. “Living a rebel life, huh?”

“You betcha, toots,” Richie states promptly.

Eddie rifles through the cabinet, looking for marshmallows and Nesquik powder, when he feels a slight kick to his hip. “You know I’m trying to get your hot chocolate started, right?”

“Si, si. Of course Eds. Estoy muy agradecido—“ Eddie can’t see his face, but he knows he’s smiling like a goon. That stupid smile.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but contradicts it with a triumphant smile when he finds what he’s looking for in their messy cabinet. “Can you stop flaunting your Spanish grade and tell me what you want?” There’s no bite to it, but he says it with a slight scratching tone.

“I wanted to know if you could make it foamy the way you do.” Richie says, hopping off the counter. “Also, I’m going to go change. Don’t wait up for me, sweetheart!” He presses a fleeting kiss to Eddie’s cheek and bounds out of the room, presumably to the bathroom to change into something more suitable of the weather.

Eddie smiles weakly to himself, shaking his head. “Oh, Richie,” he murmurs with a heavy sigh. He digs a small pot out of a drawer by his leg, placing it on the stove and fiddling with the knob to preheat it. He grabs the milk from the fridge and finds a broken up chocolate bar in another cabinet, pouring a good amount of milk into the pot and breaking up a few small chocolate chunks and throwing them into the pot. The Nesquik powder doesn’t make too much of a powdery mess, which he’s grateful for, when he pours some in, and before he knows it he feels a small tap on his hip.

Eddie can’t help but squeal tinily, jumping. He doesn’t look up at Richie, but he hears him laugh boisterously, hopping onto the counter again. “Finished.” Richie says with a toothy grin. He kicks his legs back and forth, peering into the pot and frowning. “That doesn’t look finished yet though…”

“That’s because it’s not even close to finished, dingus. You changed too fast,” Eddie retorts, stirring with a wooden spoon he had grabbed from the drawer next to him. He peers up at Richie finally, smiling at his change of clothes. “I like your pajamas.”

Richie looks down at his legs like he forgot what he was wearing, kicking even higher with a satisfied smile. “What? These old things? Pretty cute, hm?”

Eddie agrees absentmindedly. Richie does look cute, annoyingly so. His faded ringer tee clings to his lanky torso and arms endearingly, washed too many times and kept from middle school, and his own Christmas pajamas aren’t fleece like Eddie’s, but the gingerbread people on them do look soft and the pants themselves look worn and comfortable. Eddie can’t help but stare at him a little longer than intended, making the mistake of looking into Richie’s magnified eyes and the wide smile he’s got on his lips aimed at Eddie’s direction.

Eddie just shakes his head, turning his attention back to the task at hand. He reaches up and opens the cabinet by his head, pulling out a mug and placing it down next to him, then turning off the stove after a couple more stirs of the liquid in the pot.

There’s another kick, this time to the side of his leg. “Thought you said it wasn’t even closed to finished?”

“I lied.” Eddie says simply, taking the pot off the stove and pouring it carefully into the mug. The bag of mini marshmallows is snatched off the counter, half a handful dropped into the steaming mug. “Okay, hear you go. It’s like, super hot so don’t go and burn off your lip like you almost did last time.” He hands Richie the mug carefully, watching as Richie’s gaze turns to something akin to a weird sort of food-induced lust.

Richie breathes heavily, seemingly taking in the steaming fumes, then breathes out. “I think I owe you my life right now.”

Eddie laughs. “You’re welcome.” He leans against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and watching Richie lust over his hot chocolate, when he notices something moving outside. A couple things moving outside, actually.

“It’s snowing,” he states, smiling slightly. He and the snow have a complicated relationship; him believing it to be quite fascinating but never being allowed to play in it like most regular kids. Regular being the keyword.

Richie perks up immediately; his posture straightens and his eyebrows rise up into his hairline. His head turns so fast towards the small window above the sink that Eddie hears a small crack, making him cringe. He hops down from the sink, careful enough that he doesn’t spill his drink, rushing over to the door that leads to the back porch and opening it, beckoning Eddie to follow with and excited glance.

Eddie follows, grabbing the blanket draped around the back of the couch on the way towards the door. He drapes it around himself and follows Richie out the door, shutting it and sitting on the bench under the awning over a small part of the porch. Richie is standing in the middle of the porch, staring up at the sky with his hot chocolate cradled in between his hands. Eddie can only smile at the sweet sight; Richie has always loved snow.

Richie turns around with an face splitting grin, bounding over and sitting next to Eddie. “I can’t believe you don’t have hypothermia.” Eddie drapes part of the blanket over Richie’s shoulders, not exactly disapproving, frowning.

“Guess I’m just lucky.” Richie says, face splitting grin not leaving his face once.

Eddie peers over at him, brushing some hair from his own face. Richie’s lips are redder than ever, and his cheeks are pinker than ever, standing out strikingly in the white background. White flecks are scattered in his jet black hair, caught in his curls and on his nose and on his eyelashes. Toothy grin in place. All seems right in this moment.

So Eddie leans over and does what he thinks fits perfectly in this moment. He kisses him.

Richie’s face would be comical if this were any other situation. But it’s not, so Eddie doesn’t feel the desire to laugh, or smile, or anything really. He feels like hiding, if he were being fully honest.

“I— um, sorry—“ He says, pulling back, awkward and tight sounding. “I didn’t mean—“

But then he feels a press of lips on his, more forceful than he was, and he stops blubbering abruptly.

Richie’s lips are slightly off-centered, and it’s more of a press of lips on lips more than anything, but Eddie couldn’t ask for better. Eddie’s hands make their way to Richie’s cheeks, framing them carefully. Eddie tilts his head to the side, and it’s slightly better; he can taste something on Richie’s mouth, along with the hot chocolate, but he’s not entirely focused on that, until he actually remembers the hot chocolate. He pulls back slightly, looking down at Richie’s empty hands. “What’d you do with the hot chocolate?”

Richie doesn’t answer immediately, looking dazed. He nods to somewhere behind him, shaking his head slightly. “It’s uh— it’s over there.” He answers lightly.

“Oh.” Eddie responds, nodding distractedly. “How’d it get there?”

“Magic,” Richie answers lazily. The look in his eyes is still a little glazed, but he’s smiling again, a lazy smile.

Eddie nods distractedly again, rubbing his thumbs into Richie’s cheeks. His thumbs stretch to Richie’s mouth, pulling it up slightly when he remembers the unidentified taste on Richie’s mouth. “Did you brush your teeth?” He inquires, confused, the fiddling with Richie’s upper lip halting for a moment.

For the first time today a light blush makes its way across Richie’s cheeks and he grins sheepishly. “I was planning on kissing you, actually. Funny coincidence, hm? Small world?”

Eddie shakes his head fondly, snickering. “Not the correct way to use that phrase.”

Richie shrugs. “Tomato tomato. Pish push. It doesn’t matter—” Eddie laughs, loudly, “there are more important things to worry about, like kissing a cute boy while it’s snowing outside and living out the fantasy…?” He trails off with a hopeful glance.

Eddie laughs again, giving him a soft nod, and leaning in again.

Richie’s hands make their way on top of Eddie’s, cold and large and right, and he smiles widely into their kiss.

Now Eddie can say that all seems right in this moment.

#reddie #secret santa event #heknewwellenough

79 notes · View notes