Brave
Chapter 4 – Kiss with Destiny

When the doctors finally forced Richie out of Eddie's room so that he could rest, Richie meandered back out into the waiting room. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his pants, his head bowed low.

Richie almost felt like everything he had just confessed to an unconscious Eddie was now plain for the world to see. That everyone that looked at him would know and that they were all silently judging him for it. It was stupid, but it was still enough to make Richie feel even worse than he had before. How was that possible?

"How is he?" Beverly asked, startling Richie from his thoughts.

Richie jumped a bit, feeling her eyes and those of the rest of the Losers burning into him. They were knowing. Judging.

"I…" Richie began, but he'd had no clue what he had been about to say. Maybe he meant to start defending himself against accusations that weren't even there. Richie shook his head, trying his best to force those thoughts from his head. "About the same," he said instead. He took a deep breath and added, "He's still stable, but…who knows?"

Beverly placed a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. She leaned her head against it next, trying her best to offer Richie some form of comfort.

"Listen, man," Bill said, "we really need to get cleaned up. "We're starting to reek."

"Yeah," Mike agreed, "and the people that are coming through here keep staring and scrunching their noses up at us. It's rather off-putting."

So many of Richie's thoughts and emotions had been entirely consumed by Eddie that it hadn't even occurred to him just how rank he really was. Now that he took a moment to look down at himself, it was almost enough to make him sick. Richie's tan pants were now almost black with sewer water and filth as was his t-shirt. His once vibrant yellow button-up was now a murky brown with deep red splotches of Eddie's blood on it.

Dear god, Richie hadn't even realized that he was wearing Eddie's blood.

"Imagine what Eddie would say if he knew you were sitting on his nice clean hospital bed looking like that," Bill said, waving a hand towards Richie clothes.

"I only wish Eddie was awake to tell me those things!" Richie snapped, feeling the stress and lack of sleep over the last few days beginning to take its toll on him. That and Richie was getting sick of people telling him what to do. Especially when they said he needed to leave Eddie's room. Or the hospital at all.

Bill flinched slightly, making Richie feel horrible. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, stepping away from the group for a moment. Richie took a few slow steps back towards the window, bowing his head and running his hands through his hair.

"Don't worry about it," Bill said. He took a few steps towards Richie, but stopped short. "But we really do need to get cleaned up."

Richie didn't say anything, nor did he feel the need to. He had already made it abundantly clear that he wasn't leaving this damn hospital until he knew that Eddie was going to be okay. Richie certainly didn't think it necessary to repeat himself.

An awkward silence had filled the room before Ben said, "No one's going to make you leave, Rich, but at least let us bring you a change of clothes. Maybe the staff will even take pity on you and let you have a shower somewhere."

Richie slowly turned to face the rest of the group and agreed, "Yeah." He stuck a hand deep in his pants pocket, his fingers closing around the key to his room at the inn. At least that much hadn't been lost during their trek through the sewers. Thank god for small favors. When he pulled the key out, he held it out for Ben. "Just grab whatever," Richie said, placing the key into Ben's hand.

"Let us bring you some food too," Beverly offered.

Richie made a face, feeling absolutely revulsed by the idea of eating anything right now. He knew that it was going on towards dinnertime; it had been well over twenty-four hours since any of them had eaten anything, but Richie couldn't stand the idea of putting anything near his mouth. His stomach was tied up in entirely too many knots to even feel hungry.

"Just some soup?" Beverly suggested. "It's easy to eat and it might even make you feel better."

Richie just nodded simply. "All right," he said, but then something occurred to him. "Anything but tomato soup, okay? I don't think I can stand that color right now." Richie's stomach clenched at the thought.

"All right," Beverly agreed. "What's your favorite?"

"Uh," Richie stammered for a moment. He let out a soft laugh before he said, "It's actually wedding soup. And why the fuck do they call it wedding soup?"

It was strange how certain life or death situations could make people think about the most off-the-wall shit.

"Because the soup is a marriage between meat and vegetables," Ben offered, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Really?" Richie asked, immediately glancing up at him. "Well, that's stupid. Aren't a lot of other soups a marriage between meat and vegetables? What about chicken noodle? And bean and bacon? What about New England Clam Chowder? And goddamned beef and vegetable soup?"

The other Losers started to roll their eyes and turn away from him, and Richie didn't know why he was doing this. It was a stupid thing to harp on, but it felt sort of good to once again fall into the role of being a thorn in their sides.

He only wished that Eddie was awake to be a part of it. That thought hurt his heart, and he hung his head, closing his eyes against the emotions that it stirred up.

"We'll be back," Mike said, turning back to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Call us if there are any changes."

Richie nodded his head and opened his eyes. He'd been about to say something, but then something caught his eye, making his lose his train of thought. There was a newspaper – that morning's copy of the Daily Derry – sitting on the chair next to his leg.

What caught Richie's attention was the headline – SUSPECTS SOUGHT IN HATE CRIME. Richie's stomach clenched even more tightly at these words, but then his eye was drawn to something peculiar. There was a picture of Adrian Mellon tucked next to the byline.

"Mike?" Richie asked, reaching down to pick up the paper. When Mike turned back to him once again, Richie pointed at the paper, "You said Adrian Mellon was the last of It's victims before you called us."

Mike nodded, stepping next to Richie to look down at the paper. "He was," Mike said. "This happened just before. Adrian and his partner Don were jumped by four men at the Derry carnival. They beat Adrian up pretty badly and dumped him in the river, but Don said he was still alive. Don ran down the riverbank after him, but he was already reaching the far shore. Don said he saw someone over there, and he thought he was going to help Adrian, but…"

"It was Pennywise," Richie finished for him.

"Yeah," Mike said, nodding and then closing his eyes against his next words. "He...ate Adrian's heart out."

"Christ," Richie said, not just because of the gruesomeness of Mike's words, but because it suddenly all made sense.

This was why Richie had seen Adrian in the town square just before Pennywise had started singing that godawful song to him. It was because Adrian was gay just like Richie. At the time, Richie had been certain that the reincarnation of Adrian was just Pennywise taunting him about the fact that they had been called back at all. Adrian had been the lynchpin that had plunged them all back into this nightmare.

But that wasn't it and Pennywise fucking knew it. Adrian had been there for the simple fact that he was gay. Just another of It's ways to call him out on sexuality.

Richie stared down at Adrian's picture smiling up at him, a stark contrast to the fate that had befallen him. That had befallen all of them. Richie ran his thumb over the picture, frowning deeply and feeling his eyes burn again.

This was exactly why Richie had to hide who he was. Why Richie had to live a fucking lie inside a closet. Because of shit like this. Because there were people who would hate him just because of who he loved. Those big, black bold letters, those awful words – hate crime – burned into his vision and remained there, flashing across his eyes even when he looked up at the rest of the room.

Everyone else's eyes were on him, burning into him. Seeing. Knowing. Richie felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment and he diverted his glance to that stupid, awful, ugly carpet beneath his soiled sneakers.

Beverly was at his other side again, wrapping an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. Although Richie found it ironic that she really had no idea what in hell she was comforting him for. If only she and the rest of the Losers knew.

"We won't be gone long," Beverly said next, giving his shoulders one last squeeze.

Richie nodded, watching what was left of his group of friends file from the waiting room. Then Richie was left with his thoughts. And the newspaper in his hands.

Richie stared down at Adrian Mellon's picture again, trying his best to keep from looking at the words that accompanied the article. Richie really didn't need to know the details. All he did know was that this town – and the rest of the world – would never be accepting of people like him, and Adrian, and Don.

His knees suddenly didn't feel like they could support his weight. Richie felt them buckling underneath him, and he was grateful for the uncomfortable chair nearby. He almost collapsed into it and curled in on himself. He hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing his head into his hands. Into the newspaper that he still held. It crinkled underneath his fingers and Richie didn't know why, but that sound alone was enough to make him start crying again.

This time, Richie didn't try and stop it. There was no one else there to see him, to hear him, so he let the tears falls, let the sobs thunder through his body. It was everything that had happened over the last few days, from returning to this horrid town and remembering everything to nearly losing Eddie in the final battle with It. Hell, it was everything that had happened in Richie's life. All the stupid run-ins with Henry Bowers and his gang to trying to fight It when they were stupid, unprepared children. But most of all, it was nearly thirty years of simply being ashamed of who he was.

Richie was tired of it all and he no longer had the strength to deny it. No longer had the strength to push back the cries that wracked his body. No longer had the strength to pretend that he was okay, because he wasn't. And so the tears came.


Thankfully, one of the nurses had actually taken pity on Richie and allowed him to use a shower. Truth be told, Richie thought it was because the nurse recognized Bill and was a bit smitten with him, but Richie was grateful nonetheless.

Richie hadn't realized exactly how gross and grimy he was until he started trying to scrub some of the shit off. The filthy sewer water had penetrated his clothes and soaked into his skin, leaving stains that he had to go over and over with the washcloth. There were dark red stains on his stomach, ones that Richie was pretty sure were Eddie's blood, actually living on his skin.

Richie stopped scrubbing then, watching the red, and brown, and black water swirl down the drain. This made his face scrunch up with emotion again and a moment later, the tears had returned. He thought he had cried everything out while he had been in the waiting room, but apparently not. Richie leaned his forehead against the smooth plastic wall of the shower. He brought his hands up next, forming them into fists, and placing them against the wall on either side of his head. Clenching his teeth, Richie pounded his first against the wall and started sobbing again.

Richie didn't know how long he had been in the shower, but it had been a ridiculously long time. His fingertips were wrinkled and his skin was bright red, scrubbed almost raw. When Richie finally turned the water off, dried himself, and put clean clothes on, he was almost shocked by how much better he felt. He only spared himself a glance in the mirror, hoping that his face wasn't too red or swollen to betray the fact that he had been crying his eyes out.

True to their words, the Losers had brought him a take-out container of soup and a couple pieces of toasted, crusty garlic bread. It was still warm, and the scent itself made Richie's stomach clench in hunger.

While he was eating, the other Losers took turns visiting Eddie. Richie realized just how much of Eddie's time he had been usurping since they had gotten there and thus far, he had been the only one to see Eddie. Richie knew he should feel bad and selfish, but he didn't.


And so life at the hospital continued. Richie spent as much time as possible at Eddie's bedside, holding his hand and talking to him, although Richie never once made mention of his feelings for Eddie again. Richie had tried to push those feelings aside and concentrated on being there for Eddie, only letting him know that he wasn't alone and telling him that he would get through this.

Richie spent what were largely sleepless nights in uncomfortable positions in chairs either next to Eddie's bed or out in the waiting area. The Losers kept trying to get Richie to come back to the townhouse with them, but he refused. Richie had meant what he said when he told them that he wasn't leaving until he knew that Eddie would be okay. So what if Richie was sleep deprived and developed a back condition in the process? Eddie was worth all of that and more.

Eddie had been moved to the intensive care unit and after six days, the doctor announced that he would begin weaning Eddie off of the sedatives that were keeping him in his coma. It would take another day or two for Eddie to wake up, but this knowledge made Richie antsy as fuck.

Richie kept reminding himself that there was absolutely no reason that to believe that Eddie had heard any of his embarrassing confessions. At the same time, however, Richie kept thinking that Eddie was going to look at him differently. That Eddie was going to know somehow and judge him for all of it and more.

The day Eddie woke up, Richie was sitting on the edge of his bed like normal. Against his better judgment, Richie was still holding Eddie's hand like he was clinging on for dear life. Richie imagined that when Eddie woke up, he might be so disgusted that he would pull his hand right out of Richie's and tell him to get the hell out.

Richie was hunched over, staring down at their hands, hoping and praying that that didn't happen. Richie just wanted to have his best friend back, and he really didn't care if anything ever happened beyond that. Just as long as Eddie didn't hate him.

Although that really wasn't true.

Eddie flinched, the only movement that Richie had felt out of the man since Eddie had squeezed his hand that day that now seemed so very long ago. Richie jumped, his eyes going to Eddie's face.

"Eddie?"

Eddie groaned, a long and painful sound. He turned his head sideways against the pillow, and Richie was glad that he was leaning on his good cheek.

"It's all right," Richie said, reaching out his other hand to lay it over Eddie's hair. "I'm here."

This probably wasn't the best time to be doing and saying such things to Eddie, not if he was already terrified that Eddie would hate him. Richie, however, was only concerned with making sure Eddie woke up as calm as possible. He would deal with the rest later.

Eddie turned his head back the other way, then slightly turned his body away from Richie. Richie swallowed hard, hoping to god that it wasn't Eddie's way of trying to get away from him. Richie kept ahold of the other man's hand regardless.

Eddie groaned again, his face contorting into an expression of pain. The frown lines appeared between his eyebrows and his dimple formed on the cheek that Richie could see. Jesus Christ, Richie had missed those more than he had realized.

This was probably pulling at the stiches in his left cheek, and a moment later, Eddie softly said, "Ow."

"It's all right, man," Richie said, trying his best to remain calm and sound comforting. His own heart was beating about a million miles an hour, but he was too focused on Eddie to notice. "Just breathe."

Eddie stilled and quieted, and Richie thought he had fallen back asleep. Just then, however, Eddie's eyes cracked open the tiniest bit, staring off into space.

"Eds?" Richie asked. He leaned over slightly, trying to get his face into Eddie's field of vision.

"Fuck," Eddie moaned, still not looking in Richie's direction. He was staring, unblinking, but Richie knew just from that word alone that Eddie would be okay.

Richie smiled the tiniest bit, calmly trying to wait for Eddie to come to his senses. After a few moments, Eddie blinked and opened and closed his mouth several times. Richie couldn't tell if he was trying to speak or not.

All at once, Eddie looked in his direction. Eddie didn't quite seem to know what he was seeing at first, but then a small smile formed on his lips.

"Richie."

It certainly didn't sound like Eddie hated him, and for that, Richie was grateful. Eddie's voice cracked on his words, and they were full of pain and exhaustion, but his Eddie was still in there somewhere. His Eddie was still alive and Richie wasn't going to let him go ever again.

Eddie squeezed his hand around Richie's, and this exhilarated Richie. It wasn't just a reflex action, but something that Eddie did because he wanted to. Because he was glad Richie was there.

"Is…?" Eddie began, but then he stopped. He opened and closed his mouth several more times. "Water?"

"Oh," Richie said, feeling like a complete and utter moron. Even though they'd had to give Eddie a feeding tube and IV, the poor man hadn't had anything to eat or drink by mouth in a fucking week. Of course he was thirsty.

Richie looked around the room, his eyes falling upon the ugly pink plastic pitcher on the portable tray near the window. Richie immediately relinquished his hold on Eddie's hand, making his way around the bed to pour the water into a Styrofoam cup. There were a few straws in a box nearby, so Richie plunked one of those into the cup as well.

Returning to Eddie's bedside, Richie held the cup out for him, directing the straw into Eddie's mouth. Eddie took several long gulps, closing his eyes at the sensation. When he was done, Richie returned the cup to the tray, then turned to face Eddie again, feeling impossibly uncomfortable and out of place all of a sudden.

"Better?" Richie asked.

Eddie nodded.

A weird and eerie silence fell between them, so Richie cleared his throat in order to break it. The atmosphere in the room suddenly felt strangling, and Richie really wasn't sure why.

"I…I should get a nurse," Richie said, quickly turning towards the door. "They wanted to be alerted as soon as you woke up." Richie headed for the door, but then Eddie called him back.

"Richie," Eddie said quietly, but then he stopped. "Please. Don't go."

Fuck. Richie couldn't possibly deny Eddie anything when he asked him like that. His voice was so soft, so pleading, and almost cracking again, but not quite. Eddie could have asked him for the goddamn world, and Richie would have tried his best to give it to him.

Pausing at the doorway to the room, Richie reached out a hand for the doorjamb, feeling like he needed something to help steady himself. But this was insane, because Richie had absolutely no idea what Eddie wanted to tell him. It could be something stupid, like Eddie telling him he fucked Richie's mother. It could be something more important, like telling him he was glad Richie was alive or to thank him for saving his life, but still innocuous in the grand scheme of things. So why did Richie want to jump out of his skin?

"The doctor wanted to check you over," Richie said, still not turning around. He turned his head towards his right shoulder slightly, so that Eddie could hear him better. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

"It's already waited for nearly thirty years," Eddie croaked out, but his voice was firm somehow. "I think that's long enough."

This made Richie's blood run cold. He was suddenly glad that he was holding onto the doorframe, because he felt very unsteady on his feet. "Jesus, Eddie," Richie muttered, squeezing his eyes shut against that pesky burning sensation again.

Richie wanted to run far away, not stopping until he was far away from the hospital. Fuck all of Richie's promises that he wouldn't leave until he knew Eddie was going to be okay. At least Eddie was talking now, so that had to count for a lot, right?

"Richie, please?" Eddie asked again. "Can…you come here for a minute? I hate talking to you from way over there."

Snaking his fingers underneath his glasses, Richie swiped away the tears that had begun creeping over his eyelids. "You can tell me to fuck right off just fine from over there." Richie's voice came out choked and strangled, and he hated that Eddie could have this effect on him all things considered.

"That's not…" Eddie started, but then he stopped, apparently rethinking his words. "If I wanted to tell you to fuck off, I would have done that already." When Richie didn't reply or move from his spot, Eddie pleaded again. "Please, Richie. Please just come talk to me for two minutes. I saved you from the Deadlights, got stabbed by a giant fucking demon claw, and almost died in the process. Don't I at least deserve a few minutes of your time?"

Richie expelled a breath before finally turning around to face Eddie. "Of course you do," Richie said breathlessly. He took several slow steps into the room, resigned to the fact that there was no way he'd be able to desert Eddie now. Not after he said those words to Richie.

Richie felt exactly like he had the very first time he walked into Eddie's room, his legs wobbling like they were full of water. Only this time, his fear was for an entirely different reason. So Eddie didn't want to tell Richie to fuck off, but Richie was still sure that this conversation wouldn't lead anywhere good.

Eddie now knew his dirty little secret, the one that only Pennywise had known about him, and that was fucked up. Richie was on the verge of losing his best friend and the only person he ever loved. Eddie would probably tell him that he was disgusted by him and that he could barely stand the sight of him. And maybe throw in a few choice names for good measure.

"Rich," Eddie said, his voice sounding sincere, and Richie wasn't sure why. "Come sit down, okay?" Eddie asked, patting the mattress next to him – to the spot where Richie had spent so much time over the last week.

Huffing out an exasperated breath, Richie said, "Christ, Eds. Really? You're going to make me come and sit next to you just so you can tell me-"

"You don't know what I'm going to tell you," Eddie cut him off, his voice as firm as Richie had ever heard. "Stop acting like a stupid fucking know-it-all, sit down, and shut the fuck up."

Richie wasn't sure where this new forceful Eddie was coming from all of a sudden, but he liked it. Maybe it was Eddie's utter revulsion to him poking through his calm exterior, but Richie did as he was told.

Swallowing audibly, Richie closed the last few feet to Eddie's bed and sat down on the very edge of the mattress. Richie made it a point to not make any sort of contact with the other man at all, because he was pretty sure Eddie wouldn't appreciate it. Unable to meet his (soon to be former) friend's eyes, Richie stared up at the heart monitor, continuing to beep steadily. It was still able to provide Richie with some comfort, even though Richie was sure that he was about to lose one of the few things that mattered to him in this world.

Eddie didn't say anything, but he reached up and grabbed the front of Richie's grey sweatshirt. Richie rolled his eyes, bracing himself for the torrent of names he was about to be called, but they didn't come.

Before Richie could register what was even happening, Eddie had pulled him forward. Richie's boot slipped on the polished linoleum, and he was sure he was about to land on his ass on the floor. He swung out an arm, desperately trying to find something to steady himself, but then he was facedown, his chest hovering just inches above Eddie's. It was everything Richie could do to stop himself from completely falling on top of Eddie and popping the poor man's stitches, giving him another episode of respiratory distress, or god knew what else.

Their faces were only mere inches apart, and Richie stared at Eddie wide-eyed. Before Richie could express his confusion, Eddie had gently pulled him down the remaining distance. A moment later, Eddie gingerly lifted his head off his pillow and pressed his lips against Richie's.

If possible, Richie's eyes widened even more, staring down at Eddie silently. Eddie's eyes were closed, and Richie didn't quite think he had ever seen an expression like that on his best friend's face. It was contentment, and determination, and – was it too much to wish for? – love.

But no. Richie had spent so very long trying to convince himself that Eddie could never feel this way about him. If anything, Richie was certain that Eddie would be furious and hate his guts. But this…Richie had never imagined that Eddie would react in this fashion. Not even in his wildest dreams.

Richie was still scared to death about what Eddie's actual feelings were in all of this, but Richie brought a hand up to cup Eddie's cheek. Against his better judgment, Richie deepened the kiss, not wanting Eddie to think that this wasn't welcome. He turned his head, sucking against Eddie's lips hungrily, and this made Eddie moan softly against his mouth.

Richie was suddenly aware of Eddie's heart monitor kicking up a couple of notches, beeping quite a bit faster than it had just a few moments before. Holy shit. Was Richie doing that to him?

When they broke the kiss, they were both panting heavily, their eyes wide. Richie wanted to ask Eddie what in the hell was going on in his mind, but he was at a loss for words.

Eddie let out a soft breath of laughter, which Richie could feel against his lips and nose. As if reading his mind, Eddie whispered, "I've wanted to do that ever since the first time I squeezed into that too-small hammock with you."

Richie blinked, still not quite believing what he was hearing. This was absurd, because nothing in Richie's life was ever this easy. Richie did not just confess his feelings to a man that he thought couldn't hear him, only for Eddie to wake up and kiss him fervently. Things like this just didn't happen. Not in real life and not to Richie Tozier.

"Believe me, Richie," Eddie said, sounding completely out of breath like he had just run a mile. "I was never rubbing up against you in the hammock just to be a pain in the ass."

"Even though that's exactly what you were."

"I…I don't know what I was doing," Eddie said, diverting his eyes.

A faint blush creeped up in Eddie cheeks just then. It was the most color Eddie had had in his face all week, and it was nice to see. Again, it occurred to Richie that he was the one who was eliciting these responses from Eddie, and Richie's own heart started to beat a bit erratically in his chest.

"I guess it was my stupid way of flirting," Eddie admitted, glancing back to Richie hopefully. "And then when you never seemed to notice-"

"Oh, I noticed," Richie cut him off gently, licking his lips. "I did. I just didn't know what to do with it. Like I said when you were sleeping, I thought you were just being your regular annoying self. I never imagined-" Richie broke off, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is this real life?" he simply asked, trying his best to sort through what was even happening.

"I fucking hope so," Eddie said, a small smile forming on his lips. "I finally had the courage to do something that I've wanted for nearly three decades. I don't think I could stand it if it wasn't real."

Richie stared down at him, trying to figure out the emotions on Eddie's face. "You've honestly wanted to kiss me for that long?" Richie asked, then he laughed, a sound of disbelief and shock. "We both wanted the same damn thing all this time?"

"So it's okay that I kissed you?" Eddie asked, still sounding uncertain.

"God, yeah," Richie breathed. "You know, I'm not in the habit of kissing just anyone back like that. Unless I'm about to fuck your mother."

"Shut the fuck up."

"You really are brave," Richie said warmly. "I certainly didn't have the courage to do that, much less tell you. Hell, I was only talking to you, because I was pretty sure you couldn't hear me."

"It didn't seem so scary once you said those things," Eddie admitted. "Of course, there was a tiny part of me that was wondering if I had dreamed the entire thing, because it all seemed too good to be true. But I thought, 'fuck it.' If I did imagine the whole thing, there was never going to be a better time to claim that I was just out my mind with pain and drugs."

"I'm glad you did," Richie said, bringing up a hand to cup Eddie's cheek. "If you didn't, we would have been dancing around this subject forever, never knowing how the other felt."

Silence fell between them for a moment before Eddie broke it. He glanced at their hands clasped together, then back up into Richie's eyes. "And if you are wondering how I feel," Eddie said, "I love you."

Richie's eyes slid shut and he felt his bottom lip quivering the tiniest bit. At first, he tried to push the feeling down, but then it occurred to him that it was just that that had almost caused him to lose Eddie entirely. If Eddie hadn't had the courage to just come right out and kiss him, this probably never would have happened. Richie and Eddie would eventually go back to their lives in LA and New York respectively and continue on like they had for the last twenty-seven years.

So no. Richie wasn't going to push this feeling down. The fact that Eddie had told him those three little words that he'd wanted to hear for nearly three decades was making him emotional. He'd wished for this moment for as long as he could remember and it was actually happening.

"God," Richie whispered, leaning down to close the distance between he and Eddie. Richie stopped short, taking a moment to glance down at the other man, remembering the way Eddie's big brown eyes watched him hopefully. "I love you," Richie said, kissing Eddie again.

This kiss was entirely different than the first. While that one had been tentative, and surprising, and nervous, this one was completely comfortable, each of them safe in the knowledge that they both wanted it as much as the other. It was like going home in a way that Richie had never felt with the town of Derry itself.

But then other horrible thoughts were floating back into Richie's mind. Thoughts that included Eddie's wife and the fact that it wasn't going to be this simple. He and Eddie couldn't just be together, because like it or not, Eddie was already committed to someone else. This forced Richie to break the kiss.

"But Jesus, Eddie," Richie said, unable to control himself. "You're married."

Eddie rolled his eyes, smacking his palm against the front of Richie's chest. Eddie glanced to the windows that Richie had spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at himself. "Thanks for ruining the moment, dumbass," Eddie muttered. "And thanks for reminding me. I was content with basking in the sudden realization that we've been in love with each other since forever."

"Sorry," Richie mumbled, making a face at his own fucking lack of tact. "It's something we're going to have to deal with at some point though. It isn't as simple as the two of us wanting to be together. If that's even what you want," Richie added hastily, feeling those old fears come creeping back in. They didn't stay away nearly long enough.

"Oh, Richie," Eddie sighed, his eyes going back up to the other man's. "I've wanted nothing but since we were kids and didn't think this sort of thing was even appropriate."

"Me too," Richie said around a somber smile. And then he had to know, so he asked, "Do you love her?"

Eddie stared down at Richie's fingers threaded through his, at the one hold they still hadn't relinquished on each other. Eddie took a moment to rub his thumb over Richie's fingers before he answered.

"It was never-" Eddie began, but then he stopped himself, seemingly confused by his own words. "I don't fucking know what it was, but it was never about that. I met her after my mother died, and I was feeling so fucking lost. It was so easy to let Myra take over that role in my life. It's a horrible thing to say, because I didn't miss my mother, but…I still felt like I needed her presence there, you know? And Myra filled that, almost without me wanting her to. She firmly established herself in my life, and before I knew it, we were married and…hell. She became a fucking habit just like my mother. It's not something you love, but…it's complicated." Eddie sighed, shaking his head miserably. "I really fucked up, didn't I?" Eddie brought a hand to his face, rubbing it over his eyes and taking extra caution to avoid the left side of his face entirely.

"No," Richie said reassuringly, shaking his head. He brought a hand up to Eddie's face again, rubbing his fingers across Eddie temple in an effort to comfort him. "Your mother was a big part of your life, and I know better than anyone the complicated relationship you can have with a parent. I can see why Myra was able to fill that void for you and why you might have wanted her to. It was…easy."

The right side of Eddie's lips curled up into a smile, like he was doing his very best to avoid moving the skin around the stab wound in his left cheek. "The easiest thing I've ever done by far was fall in love with you," Eddie said breathlessly.

"Jesus Christ," Richie said in disbelief. He leaned forward, placing his forehead against Eddie's and added, "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say shit like that."

"Me too," Eddie said, his smile never leaving his lips. "But Richie, I can't possibly ask you to wait around – to put your entire love life on hold – while I sort things out with my wife. It isn't fair to you." He shook his head, breaking the contact he had with Richie's.

Richie squeezed Eddie's hand tightly, bringing it up to his chest, holding it close to his heart. "You listen to me," Richie said firmly. "I've waited for this for twenty-seven long years. If you need me to wait some more…I'm not going anywhere. Not if this is something we both want."

Eddie sighed, a sound somewhere between pure contentment and a little bit exhaustion. "I do want this," Eddie replied. "God, for as long as I can remember, I've wanted this. I just didn't think it was an option and so…I settled. Very poorly."

"I want this too," Richie told him. "More than I've ever wanted anything in my life, and I for one think it's worth waiting for. You're worth waiting for. For as long as you need."

Eddie's eyes were large and round, and if Richie wasn't mistaken, he saw a faint quiver in Eddie's bottom lip as well. Before Richie could say anything more, Eddie brought his arms up, curling them around Richie's neck. He pulled Richie down, hugging him ridiculously tightly for a man who had been at death's door just a week ago.

Unable to quite get his arms around Eddie (and not wanting to risk injuring the man further while he was at it), Richie placed his hands on Eddie's shoulders. He gripped them tightly, running his thumbs over the skin. Next, Richie lowered his head even more, pressing his lips to the crook between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

These were all things Richie had wanted to do for ages, but didn't think they'd ever be welcome. The fact that he was finally able to hold Eddie in his arms and not have to pretend that they were just friends was exhilarating to him. It was almost making his head spin. Richie knew, of course, that they still had so much to sort out before they'd be free to be together. But for now, it was just them, and that was enough.

To be continued…