Character A is sick in bed and is using so many tissues they're not even aiming for the trash next to them. Character B comes in, sees the pile of used tissues, holds it up. "You didn't even get any in the basket!"
Richie couldn't remember how he'd got there, but he was pretty damn comfortable. He was surrounded by blankets and pillows and a distinctly familiar and clean smell that made him feel right at home. He felt cared about. He felt loved. He felt…
Sappy. He felt fucking sappy. He tried to snort derisively, but he nearly choked on the mucus clogging up his nose.
Oh. Right. He was sick. Shit, no wonder he was so fucking sappy. He was probably all drugged up on Nyquil or some shit.
Remembering more now, he reached an arm out of his warm cocoon and grabbed at a tissue. He made a show of trying to blow his nose before he got tuckered out, wadding up the tissue and tossing it in the general direction of the trash can. He was pretty sure it went in.
Maybe getting sick would be good for him. He might find a hidden talent for sports inside him just waiting to be set free. He chuckled breathlessly and smiled to himself. He could hear the interview now.
So, Richie Tozier, you've wowed thousands of fans with your unmatched skill. Your name is known in households all over America! Tell us, how did it all begin? Richie imagined a man with one of those game show voices he always liked to imitate, all overenthusiastic but perfect to be heard over the scream of fans all vying for Richie's autograph.
And Richie would give them what they wanted, too. A winning smile and a wink at the camera, and he'd have girls in the audience screaming and fainting because he'd just be so damn hot. Well, it all began when I got sick, and my Eds took care of me….
He grinned deliriously. Yeah, that was how it would go. And Eds would do that cute thing where he would blush and glare and get all annoyed because Richie was talking about him on TV.
That was his Eds, though. Always cute.
Richie coughed, reaching for another tissue and hacking into it. Eds would appreciate that. Putting his nasty sick germs in a tissue and not releasing them into the air. Maybe he'd even get a smile from his Eddie Spaghetti.
Sometimes Richie thought he would do anything to put a smile on Eddie's face. That was probably the medicine talking. Except he knew it wasn't. Richie had been sporting a crush for the young hypochondriac for quite some time now, before the pact, before Niebolt house. Probably since the day they met. It just took a kid-eating clown with giant teeth to make him realize it.
Thinking of Pennywise gave Richie a headache, so he stopped. He tossed his tissue at the can again. Ten more points to Richie! Eds was gonna be so proud. His chest swelled at the thought of making Eddie proud.
Yeah, whatever shit he'd been forced to drink had made him sooo fucking sappy.
The door opened, and Eddie walked back into his room. Richie giggled at the sight of him wearing a doctor's mask and gloves, his brow furrowed in apprehension. He thought Eddie still looked like a dream, an honest to goodness dream. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe Dream Eddie would come over and give him a nice smooch.
"Doctah, doctah, gimme the news, I've got a bad case of lovin' you!" Richie rasped, snickering to himself.
"Cut it out, you'll make your throat worse, dipshit," Eddie replied with a roll of his eyes. Then he groaned and walked over to the trashcan, his face scrunched up in disgust. "Dammit, Richie! You didn't even get any in the basket!"
"Well, there goes my dream of a sports career. Way to hit me while I'm down, Doctah K." He watched Eddie pick up the fallen wads of tissue and toss them moodily into the trash. "Least I still have my jokes, right Eds?"
"If that's what you call them." Eddie shrugged, but Richie could tell from his cheeks that he was smiling. "And I told you, don't call me that! I hate it when you call me that."
"Eddie. Eddie Spaghetti. My dearest, darling Eds. I'm dying. Don't lie to a man on his deathbed." He suppressed a cough, which was a bad idea. A new tissue appeared in his line of sight, and he accepted the offering to hack into. He wasn't sure what just came out of his throat, but he was pretty sure it wasn't natural. With a groan, he tossed the tissue, grinning for a moment when Eddie moved the trashcan to catch it.
"You're not on your deathbed, you idiot. You're just sick. The sooner you shut the hell up, the sooner you'll get better." Finished cleaning, Eddie walked over to the bed and put his hand on Richie's face. "Shit," he muttered, hesitating before he pulled the glove off his hand. His hand returned to Richie's forehead to check for a fever. "Your face is all hot."
"You're all hot!" Richie snapped back instantly, then grinned as if he'd made his most digging insult.
"And you're high on medication." Eddie grinned, and Richie admired how his eyes gleamed with amusement. Did Eddie's eyes always gleam like that? He was so distracted looking at Eddie's face that he didn't notice another cup filled with Nyquil being presented to him until it was right under his nose.
"What's this, Eds? I just woke up!" he sniffled, squirming away. He coughed a little from the exertion, and Eddie gave him a stern glare.
"Richie, you won't get better without medicine and rest," Eddie insisted, still trying to feed him the gross, cherry-flavored liquid nightmare. "Come on, it's not that bad. I'm sure you've put worse in that trashmouth of yours."
But this was Richie. Richie Tozier, who wouldn't go down without a fight. Without some dignity! So he raised his chin and wiped at the sweaty curls clinging to his forehead.
"Fine!" he declared, opting for an overdramatic, Spanish accent that made Eddie roll his eyes. "I'll drink your death juice, senior! But only if you kiss me first!"
Eddie deadpanned. "Beep beep, Richie. I'm not kissing you. That's repulsive."
Richie shrugged a little, trying to keep the hurt from showing on his face. Of course Eddie wouldn't like him back. He was… he was Eddie! And Richie? He was a trashmouth. It was even his nickname. Eddie deserved somebody better.
Shit, he didn't know how much more medicine he could handle. He wanted this sappiness to go away already before he royally fucked things up with his best friend.
"You need to learn how to take a joke, Eds. Of course I don't wanna kiss you. Just messin' around, that's all. Gimme that." He took the medicine cup and downed it quickly before he said something else stupid. Which was a mistake. He gagged at the nasty flavor and shook his head. "Ugh! It's worse the second time! Doctah K, are you tryin' to poison me?"
"Shut up already and listen," Eddie began, but Richie could hear it in his tone. He wasn't about to let that kissing thing go.
"Weren't you saying something about medicine and rest? I've had the medicine, now bring on the rest! You know the way out, right? Or do you need an escort?" He wagged his eyebrows at Eddie, who put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting up.
"Don't you dare, Richie. It's bad enough you're getting your sick germs all over my bed. I don't want you running all over the house and touching everything," he ordered, shuddering a bit at the thought. At least the distraction worked. Way to go, Richie! Now if only he could get that stupid smile off his face, he'd be all right.
"Come on, Eddie Spaghetti, get out of here! The sooner you leave, the sooner your mom can come up here and give me some sweet, sweet lovin'," he teased, hoping the mom joke would work. Eddie usually got fed up with him after a few of those, and if there was any way to cover his sappy ass, that would be it.
Or, that was what he thought until Eddie grabbed his chin and made him face him. Richie was surprised to find his Eds looking noticeably more frustrated than usual and wondered what that was all about. He found out a few seconds later, and he wouldn't have believed it if it hadn't happened to him.
Eddie leaned down and kissed him. Even with the surgical mask between them, Richie could feel the blissful pressure from the outline of Eddie's lips, and he was pretty sure he was hallucinating. Hell, this whole thing was probably a fever dream, but that wasn't gonna stop him from kissing his Eds back.
"The sooner you get better, the sooner we can do that without the mask," Eddie informed strictly, breathing a little heavy and completely red in the face.
"Aw, Eds," Richie murmured, unable to keep the grin from his face, "you do care! I oughta keep ya! Be a good lad and marry me, would ya?"
Eddie rolled his eyes, but Richie could tell he was smiling. "Shut the fuck up and get some sleep already. You're going to make your throat worse."
"Promise I'm not already dreaming?"
"Would I be wearing a mask in your dream?"
"Fair point. Ten points to Doctah K! You'd be excellent at basketball." Richie sniffed a bit, wishing he could breathe through his nose.
Eddie laughed and shook his head. "You're not making any sense."
"Your mom's not making any sense!" Richie grinned when Eddie, still laughing, turned away to put the trashcan closer. Maybe this time he wouldn't miss.
His eyes began to droop against his will, even though he wanted to keep watching Eds fuss over him. He liked it. Being cared about. Being….
"Love ya, Eddie Spaghetti," he mumbled tiredly, the comforting fog of sleep already beginning to engulf him.
Still, he felt it when Eddie bent over and kissed him again, and his lips were soft without the papery mask between them. "I hate when you call me that."
Richie's last thought before he fell asleep was how he'd never heard a sweeter way to say I love you too.