#it rubs me the wrong way the same way people putting eyeliner on eddie. like this boy is clearly a thrasher

[writeyourownlifestory]

Lights Up

Chapters: 5/20 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: No warnings at this time Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: PunkRocker!Eddie, Writer!Richie, Beveddie!Friendship, No Clown Written by: myself & @ahardlife​ Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @ghostnebula, @madidraw @madi-main, @gazebobullshit, @thoughtfullyyoungduck​, @airbenderking

Puff piece writer Richie Tozier is given the chance of a lifetime to interview his celebrity crush: Dr. K, the lead singer of punk rock band, Trashmouth. Dr. K is about to release his first solo album and Richie wants to get all the dirty details. But all is not what it appears to be and the two realize they know each other from a different time, in a different place, when they were both very different people.

Chapters one, two, three, four

Still Into You - Paramore 

I should be over all the butterflies but I'm into you, I'm into you And even baby our worst nights I'm into you, I'm into you Let 'em wonder how we got this far, 'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all Yeah, after all this time I'm still into you

Richie went back home with more than half of his questions unasked but full of hope. Hope that Eddie wanted to see him again. Hope that Eddie wanted to answer his questions. It felt weird, but good, to have him back.

Fuck, his therapist would surely have a stroke right now if he knew that the progress they had made went right down the drain. Oh fuck it, he paid him big time so he could do with what he learned whatever he liked.

And what did he do to distract himself from Eddie? Well, edit Dr. K’s interview all night. It was still weird, not separating Dr. K from Eddie. They were so different but at the same time, he couldn’t deny it. Under the eyeliner and dark clothes, there was still that guy with a soft smile he thought he would never see again. The boy that haunted his dreams night after night.

Fuck.

He was spiraling down again, wasn’t he? Maybe he needed to call his therapist and book an appointment after all these years. First thing in the morning.

He fell asleep around four on top of his computer, without even realizing it, so when he heard the doorbell rang, he was surprised he wasn’t in his bed. Confused and still half asleep, he went to answer. Whoever it was, he was going to have to bear with his bad breath, messy hair and pajamas, which consisted of a pair pickle rick pajama bottoms -yes, he was a thirty-year-old man, thank you-  and an old Trashmouth shirt, his first one (and he was proud that it still fits.) Thank god Eddie wasn’t there to see that.

But Richie’s life was a mess and he left his luck forgotten in his mother’s womb, so when he opened the door, there he was, dressed as simply as the day before, but with a cap and glasses on, Eddie, a.k.a. Dr. K, in all his glory.

“I was in the neighborhood.” The man said with a smirk, lowering his glasses down to squint at the wrinkled shirt Richie was wearing. “Is that mine?”

“What? No, it’s mine.” Richie told him outright.

“I meant my band, dumbass.” Eddie chuckled.

Richie had halfway forgotten he was even wearing the thing, mostly because he had so many graphic tees and band shirts that they all got mixed up whenever he’d pull something on to sleep in. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What’s up, dude?” He asked, his voice heavy as he tried to come off as casual as possible.

“Told you. I was in the neighborhood.” Eddie mentioned with a shrug. “Mind if I come in?”

Richie always imagined this sort of thing. Well, kind of. He didn’t expect a rockstar to just show up on his doorstep. If anything, they’d meet at a stage door or a bar and he’d go back to the millionaires home, but instead, he was here. Wanting to come into his shitty apartment. It felt like something that came right out of a fanfic site.

Except this wasn’t just some rockstar. This was fucking Eddie.

Eddie who used to babble on and on about how dirty Richie’s carpet was, and how he never made his bed, and always left his clothes on the food. And honestly, it was the same shit except Richie had hardwood floors that could honestly use a polishing.

Regardless though, it wasn’t like Richie could tell him no.

So he stepped aside and allowed him to enter his apartment, wishing he had been given a heads up so he could have gotten dressed and clean up. However, Richie didn’t always get what he wanted in life. If he did, he wouldn’t be the miserable bastard he was today.

Eddie entered the home, looking around casually before turning back to Richie, finally removing the cap and sunglasses.

“If you wanted to blend in, you should have worn the polo and track shorts. Could have looked like every other dad in Whole Foods.” Richie mentioned to him, going to lean against the island, once again hoping to pull off the casual look.

“You shop at Whole Foods?” Eddie asked with a raised brow.

Richie didn’t reply. He shopped. Sometimes. Mostly ate out, because he could afford it, and anything he had at home was microwavable. And there was nothing wrong with that, at least to him.

“So um, what’s with the haircut?” He asked instead.

Eddie laughed shortly, caught off guard. “What?”

“You cut your hair. You used to have like, all the flowy locks and shit,” Richie gestured to his hair, which wasn’t that long or flowy but was a lot longer Eddie’s newest hair cut. It was similar to what he used to wear when they were kids, back when Eddie’s mom was in charge of how he wore his style.

“Oh. Just wanted something different.” He admitted. “New album. New me, right?” Eddie paused, raising a brow to Richie. “Is it bad?”

“What? No! No, no.” Richie shook his head quickly. “It looks great! Amazing, honestly. I mean, you went from looking like a seventies twink to like, a modern twunk.”

“What the actual fuck is a twunk?”

“A twinky hunk. Or hunky twink. You’re small but strong. Like . . . a bossy bottom.”

“Did you just call me a bottom?” Eddie asked, sounding more amused than offended.

“Are you? Wait, are you...are you still into...you know.”

“Richie, I write songs about fucking men, are you seriously asking me if I’m still gay?”

Richie paused, shifting from one leg to the other. He rubbed his hands together nervously, unable to what to say. He didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth or anything else. “I mean. I don’t know. Still trying to find out the difference between Dr. K and Edward Kaspbrak.”

“I think I’m trying to find out the differences too,” Eddie admitted somberly, going to lean across from Richie. “But, for a starter, whether it’s Eddie or Dr. K. We’re both gay. You of all people should know that.”

“Kids do stupid things when they’re, well, kids.” Richie shrugged.

“Hiding inside the standpipe was stupid,” Eddie told him carefully. “Going down to the quarry or jumping off the edge into that disgusting water was stupid. What we did wasn’t stupid, Rich.”

Richie didn’t know if he wanted to talk about it. They should. They had to. How could they not? They went from strangers to friends, to best friends, to boyfriends, and then to strangers again so quickly that even after all these years Richie was still dealing with the whiplash.

They didn’t do anything more than a kiss. Fuck, they didn’t even fully makeout. They were fucking thirteen years old. The first time Richie even talked about touching his dick, Eddie called him gross and made him double wash his hands before hanging out.

They were young, but they knew what they wanted and they knew the world wouldn’t fully understand them. They were alone together in this big, dark, scary place, but that was fine. Richie was okay because he knew he wasn’t suffering in silence. He had Eddie and Eddie had him.

And then they have pulled apart and Richie didn’t know how to cope. He had to pay hundreds upon hundreds of dollars for a therapist just to be able to say ‘I’m gay’ out loud.

And now here he was, talking about the sexuality of his favorite rockstar, with his favorite rockstar, who also happens to be or at least was, his favorite person too.

What a clusterfuck. People should write a book about it. Maybe make it a soap opera.

“What about you?” Eddie asked with a raised brow. “Did you switch sides in the past few years?”

“I met a girl at one of your concerts and threw up on her when she touched my dick,” Richie admitted in a blunt ramble. “Safe to say, I’m into dudes.”

It wasn’t the worst night of his life. Close, but he’d give that to any time in High school, but overall, the night he attempted to hook up with a girl wasn’t the most shining moment in Richie’s existence. He already knew that he enjoyed guys, but he thought if he could convince himself that he also liked girls that he’d be okay. That he could get away with not having to pretend.

College-Richie wasn’t the brightest, all right?

He drank and got turned on by watching the lead singer of this new punk rock band and let some girl flirt with him. They made their way into the bathroom and made out, which wasn’t terrible despite the stickiness of her lip gloss and the sweet smell of her perfume giving him a headache.

Her breasts were soft and that was pretty off-putting, but he ignored it cause his dick was hard. And then she pushed her skinny fingers into his jeans and wrapped them around his dick and suddenly Richie turned into Linda Blair all over her.

She wasn’t horrible about it. Like, she didn’t scream or anything. She just walked away from him and that was fine. It was better that way.

Richie went back to his dorm and screamed into his pillow, falling asleep to the first Trashmouth album.

“Oh buddy,” Eddie whispered. The way that you’d say when you realize how pathetic something is, but you don’t want to make the person feel even worse about themselves.

“It’s fine,” Richie said, squinting his eyes shut. He hadn’t grabbed his glasses and the world was just a bit fuzzy. “I’m fine now. Gay as a three dollar bill and all that shit.”

“I think it’s ‘queer as a three dollar bill.’” Eddie mentioned to him.

“Regardless, it’s what I am. In and out of Maine.”

“I won’t tour there,” Eddie said suddenly. “Wasn’t exactly ideal. The label tried to make me go but I refused to go on. I guess I got a rep for being a diva or whatever, but I won’t go back to that place.”

“You never told me how you go out,” Richie mentioned.

“Right.” Eddie sighed. “I guess you’ve earned my tragic backstory.”

“I was there for it asshole. At least partly.” He straightened and stretched, scratching at his five o'clock shadows. “Lemme get dressed. Get my glasses. We can talk.”

“You should keep the shirt on. It looks good on you.”

“Glad to know you still like being on top of me, Eds.” Richie fired back, making his way into his bedroom.

He returned not long after; actual clothes on this time around. Jeans and a plain tee shirt. Nothing fancy or anything with Eddie’s face on it. He had his glasses on this time around, though he partially wished he didn’t.

When he walked back out, Eddie was standing in the corner, looking at the shrine that Richie had made to all the celebrities that had changed his life. Dr. K, of course, was at the forefront and now he was here, staring at it.

“Oh fuck.”

“It’s nice,” Eddie told him, his eyes remaining on the picture. “I’m honored.”

“Listen. Lemme just get this out right now. I went through some dark shit and your music, I don’t know if it’s just you or the whole band, but it helped me a lot, okay?” Richie rushed to explain; he just wanted Eddie to stay and not run out scared that he was just another crazed fan who wanted to keep a lock of his hair in a book or something.

“You don’t have to explain anything, Rich.” Eddie interrupted him carefully. “It’s . . . well, the band is good. They’re great guys, but I did the writing. I . . . I ended up becoming a star by accident, I guess.” Eddie admitted, moving deeper into the room and going to sit on the couch. “I was at school and took up music as an elective. I took up the guitar because it always seemed interesting. A buddy of mine had a band. I invited me to go and play with them for a while. After one show he got too drunk to go on and I ended up being the lead singer and guitarist. Some big wig for the music industry ended up being there. He likes my style and asked me to play with this group of guys who needed a singer and that’s that.”

“I always thought you had a nice voice,” Richie mentioned going to sit across from him, knees bent as he leaned against the arm of the couch. “Then again, singing along to Whitney in your bedroom and selling out Madison Square Garden isn't the same thing.”

“This break up. It’s not a breakup, with Trashmouth.” Eddie admitted gently. “Those guys are like brothers to me. But they have wives and families and shit. We’ve been doing this for almost ten years nonstop. They’ve missed a lot. They wanna take a break and I respect that.”

“You don’t wanna take a break?”

Eddie shrugged easily. “I’m not married. I don’t have kids. Shit, I don’t even have a dog. I think if I took a break I might lose my mind with boredom.”

“You could get a dog,” Richie suggested.

“I’d love to but seeing as I am homeless at the moment.”

“ Homeless! ?” Richie spits out. “Dude, you’re worth millions, how the fuck are you homeless?”

“My place is being worked on. Being demolished. Hated the way it looked so I’m having it remade, though the contractor I am dealing with is a real dickhead.”

“Is that why you’re at the fancy-schmancy hotel?” Richie asked with a raised brow.

“Beverly’s place is too small and I still have a penthouse in New York, but we’re recording here in LA so it’s not like I can go back and forth.”

“We have a guy that we featured in the magazine a year ago that might be able to help you out. He’s an architect and we sort of put his name on the map so he owes us one. I could give him a call for you.”

“You don’t have to do that Rich,” Eddie waved him off.

“Well call it even after that time you stole that comic book from Keenes for me,” Richie mentioned, digging into his pocket for his cell phone.

He texted Bill, requesting the number of Ben Hanscom as well as mentioning he needed an extension on the expośe on Dr. K, going to snap a pic of him on the couch to send to Bill as proof that he wasn’t lazing off.

“You sure you don’t want me to sign that for you?” Eddie asked with a playful smirk, gesturing to the picture of him on the wall.

“Of fuck off,” Richie scoffed as he finished writing the text.

“You could sell it! Make good money out of it,” Eddie suggested with a shrug.

“Okay, keep talking, Eds,” Richie smirked. “But no. It was your first magazine spread and now it has a hell of a lot more value knowing it’s you. My little Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie groaned and threw his head back in fake frustration. “Jesus, I was enjoying living without those annoying nicknames of yours, Trashmouth.”

“You know, every time I remember you named your band after me, I get reminded that you owe me royalties. How curious, huh?” Richie teased him with a slight smirk. “No, but really, I wouldn’t sell it for anything.”

“I’m glad you like it. The shoot was a nightmare. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” Eddie admitted with a shrug. “That was when I first got into the whole Dr. K persona and I was trying to work out the kinks of it all.”

“Oooh, Dr. K has kinks, huh? Sexy.”

Eddie hummed, saying no more. “I should probably get going.” He mentioned, at last, making a movement that seemed like he was forcing himself up.

Richie followed him to the door, going to lean against the frame after he opened it. “It’s so surreal, you know? Having you back here.”

He never imagined having Eddie back into his life, let alone having him in his life in the form of his idol.

“Well, I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Eddie told him, that boyish smile and the glimmer in his eyes doing wonderful things to Richie’s heart, stomach, and well, dick.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Richie mentioned, watching as Eddie pulled the baseball cap back onto his head and shoved the sunglasses back onto his face. Back to the disguise to keep him from the people on the street.

Richie didn’t live in a super busy neighborhood, though it was better to be safe than sorry. Richie offered a lame wave as Eddie walked off, leaving him alone in his apartment again.