(Eddie's POV)
Empty. Broken. Shadowed. All words that define Richie's house. It's rare for us to be accompanied by his family. His sister is always with her friends. I can't blame her, this house sucks the life and happiness out of you if you're alone. His mom is always working. His dad is always off on "work trips" fucking around. I know this from midnight breakdowns full of tears in his room just upstairs. The stairs are a little brighter, catching light from the window above the door. But the upstairs hallways is nearly pitch black. It's narrow, usually cluttered with stuff. I see a beer bottle at the crook of his sister's door. A few pieces of trash littered around the rest of it's length. I follow Richie into his room, he immediately flicks on the light, providing some relief. He always closes the door, even though no one is ever home. It makes me sad thinking about the times he's had to close his door to avoid the storm outside. His family wasn't always like this. They used to tolerate each other. Have family dinners, go to the movies together, shit like that. But once his dad started drinking more, his mom started working later to avoid him. She wouldn't even sleep in the same bed with him. So he started going out of town to get his fix. She started working later and later, he quit his job. Richie's come to school with bruises before. It's always when his dad's in town. Every time I help him make up a story for the Losers and he stays over at my house. I clean his wounds, let him rest. We fall asleep facing each other. Those nights he needs to be in the same bed as someone he trusts. It's been happening less, luckily, since his dad barely lives here anymore. It's basically just Richie's house. Which is why he's usually at mine. As much as he hates my mom, he hates being alone even more.
"So," Richie sits down on his bed and puffs out air. "What do you want to do?" I shrug. There isn't much to do anymore at his house. He's got a few beaten up comics and a tv. I walk over to it's stand and pick up The Breakfast Club, holding it up towards his view. He nods and I pop it into the player. I toss him the remote and join him on the bed. We prop ourselves up against the headboard, facing the tv laying down. My eyes slowly start to close, and I keep having to burst them open to avoid falling asleep. It's only eight o'clock, way to early for the sleep I so desperately need. Richie lays on his side and curls his limbs in towards his chest, eyes facing the screen but body facing me. I can feel myself tense up, but I stay in the same position. "The first time I watched this, I knew Andrew was gay the second I saw him." he says, voice shakier than usual.
"How'd you know so soon, they don't say it until practically the end."
"Gaydar" I laugh, confused.
"What in the name of fuck is a gaydar?" I'm still laughing slightly.
"It's like when you can sense people's sexuality on sight."
"Oh, and only you have this magnificent power?" I ask, chuckling again.
"No, basically anyone who's gay has it. Don't worry, many others are blessed too." There it is. Did Richie Tozier just tell me that he's gay? I mean, he could've meant it one of two ways. He could have just been saying that he is the only non-gay person with the power and that everyone who's gay also has this gaydar thing. Or he could be included in those people. I have to say something, he probably thinks I hate him right now.
"Richie I just want you to know that I support you, no matter what. You know that, right?" God I hope that was the right thing to say.
"Thanks, Eds, I really appreciate it." I nod softly, Richie's eyes are still glues to the screen but he's flushed red. "You know you can go to sleep if you want, I know how tired you are." If he hadn't just come out, that would've been the most perfect sentence I've ever heard.
"Thanks, sorry I'm such a downer." I say, worried he wanted to do something else before we went to sleep.
"Hey," he says, softer than I've ever heard him speak. I turn to face him, matching his position on the bed. He moves his hand to my cheek and rubs his thumb gently along it. "You're not a downer. I'm tired too. We can just let the movie run. I'll grab a blanket." He gets up, sending the chills from my face down my body. He pulls out a blanket from the closet, lays back down the same way, and throws it over the both of us. I guess we're sharing a blanket, who am I to complain? "Night, Eds. Thanks for being so cool about everything." So he definitely is gay. Is it bad that I'm happy about that?
"Of course. Night Richie." As I drift off to sleep, all that's running through my mind is one thing. How now I might actually have a probable chance with the boy I love.