#have this oneshot that i literally could not stop thinkin about until i wrote it

[toziers]

alright but... reddie + a kissing booth

richie tozier is running a kissing booth.

eddie knows because it’s plastered all over the walls on hundreds of crudely cut pink pieces of paper: little posters of richie’s grinning face and the words RICHIE TOZIER KISSING BOOTH, $1, 3PM-4PM printed in bold block letters. (‘for charity’ was hastily scribbled on some of them, like richie had forgotten to mention it initially and scribbled like a madman to get it on at least most of the pink slips.) some of the kids walking by in the hallway only give them a cursory glance, a few giggles, a whisper to their friend. most of them ignored it, used to richie tozier’s obnoxious public stunts and pranks.

eddie doesn’t do any of those things. instead, he rips off one of the stupid little signs, nearly crumpling richie’s beaming smile in one hand, before storming off to find beverly.

“what is THIS?” he demands, waving the sheet of paper in front of bev’s face, and she has the audacity to smirk at him.

“looks like a kissing booth. you going?”

“no! first of all, gross, and second of all, ew.”

bev snatches the paper from his grasp. “but it’s for charity, eddie!” she points to the small print — the bit eddie hadn’t seen before. “and it’s two for the price of one. what a steal.”

eddie scowls. he’d rather pay someone a dollar to shove dirt directly into his mouth than kiss richie tozier twice. sure, they were a lot more civil now than when they’d first met — bev kept dropping the word friends which made eddie’s stomach turn like the time he’d eaten too many rocket pops. eddie was not friends with richie: yes, they hung out with the same people, and yes, sometimes eddie forgot to argue when richie pulled him close during movie nights and called him eds. but that did not make them friends. no matter how sly the looks bev and stan exchanged were.

eddie and richie were not friends, and he was not showing up to that kissing booth.

richie had built a literal booth. actually, eddie had a sneaking suspicion that ben had built the booth, as the craftsmanship was impeccable and richie couldn’t even build a stable sandcastle. but it was there, wooden planks and nails standing outside the baseball field, “kissing booth” painted in even red letters across the top.

and that wasn’t even the worse part: the worst part was the line of ten, twenty, god, forty people snaking around the fence and it wasn’t even five minutes past 3pm yet. the fact that more than just a couple of greasy nobodies had shown up to swap spit with richie was possibly the worst thing that had ever happened in the history of ever.

eddie thought he might throw up.

“is that an eddie spaghetti i see? come to check out heartthrob richie tozier’s charity kissing booth?” richie’s smile is blinding and it only gets wider as eddie approaches, the poster still tucked in the palm of his hand.

tucked beneath the poster was a folded up dollar bill that mike had surreptitiously slid into his hand on the way down the hill, but eddie was trying not to think about that.

“how the fuck did you get this germ terminal approved by the principal?” eddie steps directly in front of a bouncing blond girl, ignoring the fact that it looks like he just cut the entire line. he also ignores the annoyed noise she makes, and the feeling of satisfaction that settles somewhere inside him because of it.

richie just smiles like he always does when he’s looking at eddie. “i didn’t.” which isn’t surprising at all, considering richie had a penchant for doing stupid things right under principal gray’s nose and (usually) managing to get away with it unscathed. he was a troublemaker, and obnoxious, and dramatic, but at least he was smart about it. “i’m hoping he doesn’t notice. i’ve got a lot of customers who’d be very angry if the booth had to be shut down prematurely.” richie’s eyebrow quirks. “your mom’s supposed to be dropping by later.”

eddie ignores him. it’s habitual. “doesn’t notice? you put up, like, 80 billion of these stupid posters,” he points out, slamming the pink sign onto the wooden counter. “and nice going, you know, wasting hundreds of trees like that, like our planet isn’t dying every day and we’re all on the way to total annihilation by overheating—” but richie’s not listening (which eddie isn’t used to, because normally richie’s hanging on to every word that comes out of eddie’s mouth with soft eyes, no matter how feral and vile they were). richie’s looking down at the poster; or rather, the dollar that eddie had inadvertently laid down alongside it.

“well well well —“

“that’s not—“

“a paying customer and everything. oh eddie, i’m swooning.” and eddie should be throwing out an insult, or yanking the money back, or letting the earth swallow him whole but instead he’s looking at richie. and richie is looking at him. richie is looking at him the same way he always does, like eddie hung the moon and strung the stars, like he’s not some too-loud hypochondriac loser; like he’s not just eddie kaspbrak.

“PISS OR GET OFF THE POT,” comes a shout from the line — a shout that sounds suspiciously like beverly marsh’s voice. eddie’s still frozen in place, and he knows if he had a mirror he’d be flushed from ear to ear.

“whaddya’ say, eds?” richie pushes forward the little plastic donation bin. “for charity?”

it only takes a fraction of a second to decide any diseases richie tozier carried were worth it, so fucking worth it, and eddie’s grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him with everything he had inside him. he kissed him like he’d been waiting for this for weeks, for months, for years, because he had. and richie kissed him back, because he’s been waiting, too.

eventually there was a whoop from behind them, and cheers, and laughter, and eddie pulled away wide-eyed and breathless because richie had stolen all the air from his lungs. the only consolation was that richie looked just as dazed as eddie felt.

“are you done?” came a voice from behind them — the blonde girl — and before eddie can weigh the pros and cons of giving her a nice little punch to the throat, richie interrupts.

“yes, actually,” he says brightly, and carefully sets a ‘closed’ sign on the counter before calling to the rest of the crowd. “richie tozier’s kissing booth is officially bankrupt. everybody go home!” there’s some disappointed groans and eddie would kill to see the look on that blonde’s face but he’s too busy watching richie. he always is.

“how many people did you kiss?” eddie asks. he knows the answer. richie shakes the empty bin.

“just you, spaghetti.” eddie’s heart gives a traitorous thump: he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how fucking fond richie sounded. eddie shoved him weakly, trying to keep all his smiles and heart-eyes at bay.

it’s not working.

they’re still just standing there, looking like dumb, lovesick kids, when richie gets this mischievous glint in his eye.

“you know,” he starts, and eddie hadn’t even noticed one of his big, stupid hands was curling around the side of his neck like it was made to fit there. “it was a two-for-one special. you’ve still got —“

kissing richie is just as incredible the second time, maybe even better. eddie thinks he could absolutely get used to shutting richie up like this.

—

“i can’t believe you lied about donating to charity to get me to kiss you.”

“oh no, the charity was real,” richie says seriously. eddie raises an eyebrow. “it’s the ‘get richie tozier laid fund.’ 100% of proceeds go to ravishing you like the dreamboat you are, eds.”

“give me my fucking dollar back.”