#i've got 45 more pages of reddie nonsense where this came from

[victorfrankendork]

guess who’s sad and gay on this fine night? ME.

who knows if i’ll ever finish this fic or if it’ll just stay self indulgent snapshots of an idea to satisfy my need for M O R E, but i’m crying over this bit in medias res rn, and i’d like you all to cry too if you so want. pls join me under the cut:

(((context if u desire: au where eddie also got caught in the deadlights like bev the first time they faced IT––and so did stan, but this is a reddie fic i’m trash ilu stan and bev i’m sorry––and three out of seven losers have been plagued with horrifically vivid nightmares for decades involving the deaths of people who are seemingly strangers. twenty-seven years have passed since that summer, twenty-two since he left derry, and eddie starts having v different weird af dreams where he’s just sitting around talking to this asshole he doesn’t even remember knowing until it all comes back. only they’re not dreams, he’s really talking to this asshole, and IT is back, but remembering the past and falling in love all over again is just as scary as a murderous alien clown.)))

“No, we’ve kissed before.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Do you remember that last night, at the end of summer after we graduated, right before we both left?” Richie asks, and there’s something that sounds almost excited in his voice, in a tentative sort of way. The kind of thing that tells him whatever he’s remembered is something big, or at least it was something big to him. He knows that feeling, knows what it’s like to have a memory suddenly knock the wind out of him, coming back in such vivid detail it almost feels too real, just like these dreams. Hearing that in his voice, even if it hasn’t come back to him yet, makes him excited, too, eager to have that memory back, to know whatever it is he’s feeling. Part of it is a little terrifying, though, to not know what he had done, to have such large chunks of his own life just gone, only hitting him again when prompted by a word, or a sight, or a touch. And maybe it’s even more terrifying considering what it is they’re talking about now.

He didn’t remember that night, but he doesn’t say it, certain, even with no concrete evidence for it, that he’ll remember as soon as he needs to, and not a moment before. All he does is shrug slightly, frown creasing his forehead, and if his heart is beating a little faster against his ribs wanting to have that memory back, he doesn’t think too hard about it.

Richie goes on, clearly trying his best to conjure up the memory for him, as well, speaking as if it’s only just fully coming back to him as he says it all out loud again.

“It was just us, or at least it was at the end of the day. I think maybe someone else was there before… I can’t remember… a friend? Shit, I don’t know… But I know that we were alone after a while, and things kind of shifted, I guess. It was hard not to be sad, I mean, of course it was; it was the end of summer, and the end of our childhood. I think you said that, I sure as shit didn’t. Of course you would say it, the end of our fucking childhood. Sounded like a character straight out of a shitty coming-of-age movie,” he laughs, shaking his head, a fond smile crossing his lips as he looks back at him.

It feels like Richie’s looking at something Eddie can’t see, though, his younger self, a self he can’t even remember being. But maybe what matters is that Richie is remembering. “The thing is, that it was the end. We were both leaving the next day, and we were going to be on opposite sides of the country. We were all going to be on our own for the first time. We weren’t going to be together anymore…”

As Richie describes it, something in his voice changes, and Eddie can remember it clearer and clearer. There’s the creeping sensation of dread just beneath the surface, and he can’t tell if it’s from knowing that it had happened at all, that it had ended, or a phantom sensation leftover from being eighteen, the memory itself gifting that to him.

They had gone swimming, late that afternoon when the sun was high and the air was thick, had tired themselves out in the water then laid out on the rocks to dry off, lazily drifting in and out of sleep, talking absently about what they thought college was going to be like, reminiscing about days that felt long gone on the horizon of adulthood. And then they’d walked through the Barrens. The Barrens. Shit, how had he forgotten about the Barrens? Where the best moments of their childhoods had taken place, memories only just recently coming back into focus. They’d wandered absently, until they had come upon that old clubhouse of theirs. And soon enough, it was dark, and the two of them were alone, and something about the air had felt just as heavy as it had in the middle of the afternoon, even as the sun set and the coolness of a late summer night settled in.

Richie was in the hammock, and he had jokingly gotten in, too, only it wasn’t a joke. There wasn’t anyone around to watch, to laugh at their bickering, or the way their suddenly too long limbs didn’t fit so well together in the hammock anymore, impossible not to tangle legs together, skin pressed to skin, touching, touching, touching.

He was suddenly very aware of how quiet it was in the clubhouse, only the nearby sound of crickets chirping, the rustling of leaves, twigs snapping every so often. Impossible not to focus on how it felt like his throat was closing up when Richie rested a hand on his leg, but not in a way that made him need to pull out his inhaler. It had been so quiet, for once, neither of them wanting to break the fragile peace, something anticipatory about it, and he had felt a lot like his heart was going to burst from the silence. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from saying, I’m going to miss this, I’m going to miss you.

And they had both known, without needing anything else, that he meant something different then as opposed to when he had said it to the others as one by one they drifted apart. Eddie had realized something oddly comforting, in that moment, as he said it.

There are different kinds of longing, different kinds of missing someone.

For once in his damn life, Richie had been silent for longer than a few seconds, just looking back at him with a slight frown creasing his forehead. Weighing the risk, weighing the reward, Eddie realizes now looking back on it. It was awkward, the way he had pushed himself up to sitting in the hammock, knocking knees, the whole thing swaying dangerously, and Eddie had thought, for a terrible second, that he was just going to get up and leave, and it would all be over like that. After all, he had crossed an invisible line they’d been dancing around for years, one he hadn’t even realized might exist until that moment, certainly not one that he fully understood even then, and that was the end of that. The disappointment that washed over him felt deep, and unfamiliar, something different than just saying the wrong thing in front of a friend, a joke not landing quite right. It would be nearly funny, looking back, just how clueless he let himself be, all because of a fear of something even greater than what might happen if he let himself feel what he felt. It would be funny, if it wasn’t so damn sad.

The thing is, though, that he remembers how it went, and it wasn’t the way he had been expecting. Because Richie didn’t get up to leave. No, he had scooted forward, so that he was sitting between his legs, the sudden weight concentrated in the middle of the hammock making Eddie slide towards him, forcing him to sit up straighter, too, so that he didn’t end up fully in his lap. Before he could do much else, though, Richie had leaned forward and pressed a quick, nervous kiss to his lips. It wasn’t much, but it had been everything to him in that moment.

A kiss. His first kiss. And with a boy. With Richie.

And the world didn’t come crashing down around him as soon as their lips touched. They were fine. He was fine. Better than fine, even; happy.

(He hasn’t been happy since then, he realizes now. He wasn’t happy again until all of this started happening, until he was allowed to remember.)

It had taken another long moment of silence once he pulled back before either of them spoke, but it said more than anything else that neither of them had bolted as soon as it happened. Richie didn’t look any less terrified, and he had still felt like his heart was going to explode in his fucking chest, but all in a good way, because how could something that felt so nice be bad? He didn’t know what it meant, could hardly even comprehend that it had happened at all, but he was glad it did. And there had been something there in the pit of his stomach that begged for it to happen again.

Does that mean you’re going to miss me, too?

It had come out less teasing than Eddie planned, voice barely more than a whisper, like even the smallest thing could have disturbed the secret moment they had created. A little too genuine, like he couldn’t quite believe Richie meant it, that he might take it back if he had the chance, that he was just teasing with that, too, like he always liked to tease him. But Richie wasn’t like that, still isn’t, from what he can tell, and he had let out a fond breath of laughter, the frown finally smoothing out, relief flooding his face. He seemed more confident suddenly, when he had reached out and put a hand on Eddie’s cheek.

Of course, I’m going to miss my Eddie Spaghetti. Nearly as much as I’ll miss your mom.

For once, it had drawn an unwilling laugh from his lips, the noise a little strangled, much more focused on the first half of it to really give a fuck about the joke.

The second kiss, Eddie was the one who closed the gap between them.

When he looks back at Richie, he’s got that familiar look of fear on his face, the same sort of fear he had had all those years ago, of being truly known, of what will happen if he’s honest, like maybe this time the response isn’t going to be good, maybe twenty-two years is enough to change things completely. And Eddie gets it. He understands the fear better than most people, having lived with it so deeply ingrained in a different way, that he hadn’t even let himself consider that something like this might be true until he’d been literally forced to, both then, and now. The thing is, though, that it doesn’t matter what changed, what they lost against their wills, they have it now, in this strange dreamscape. And there’s even less reason to be afraid here, almost like they’re back in the clubhouse in the dark, with only each other, and their secrets, free to be honest.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, looking back at Richie with a newfound perspective. This isn’t the first time they’ve been here.

(He wonders, though, if it will be the last.)

“I missed you, like I said I would. Even if I got turned around for a few years in the middle there,” he says, quietly, the teasing gone from his voice now.

“You did?” he asks, sounding genuinely surprised by the information, and suddenly Eddie can see what he saw, all the fear, and eagerness, and desire of the Richie of twenty-something years ago, memories colliding with the present, changing everything, and somehow keeping it utterly the same.

“Yeah,” he nods, a soft smile slipping over his lips. He reaches out and puts a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing over stubble, the sensation bringing back another round of memories. And then he gives him a rough pat on the cheek as he goes on. “Wish you hadn’t brought up my fucking mother after kissing me, though, asshole.”

The noise that comes out of Richie’s mouth is kind of a laugh, shocked and a little too loud, definitely not attractive, but somehow it just solidifies everything he’s just remembered. It solidifies everything he’s been thinking since falling asleep one night, weeks ago, and waking up next to this too loud, too tall idiot in his fucking dreams.

He’s fucked.