Back at his house, Bill and Stan were rummaging through the kitchen, trying to find something decent to eat. Bill's parents had been gone for a week, and the food had disappeared faster than expected due to the fact that his friends had been there almost every day.
Stan found a bag of microwave popcorn and they decided that would be fine, they weren't that hungry anyway.
Bill nuked the popcorn while Stan went into the living room to find a movie for them to watch.
"Ghostbusters?" he called out.
"W-watched it a couple days ago, remember?"
"How about Indiana Jones?"
Bill walked into the room holding a bowl of popcorn, and slumped down on the couch.
"Nah."
Stan scanned through the shelf of VCRs. He pulled one out and turned to Bill.
"Weird Science?" he asked, smirking.
"R-really?" Bill scoffed. Stan stood holding the movie in front of his chest, rocking back and forth on his feet.
"Oh come on Bill, you love this one," he looked eagerly at Bill, who rolled his eyes and groaned.
"Fine, but next we're w-watching Raiders." Stan grinned and knelt down in front of the tv to put the VCR in the slot.
He joined Bill on the couch with the popcorn bowl between them. The tv hummed to life and they had to rewind the tape to the beginning, Bill muttering about how he has to rewind them every time people borrow them.
Stan took the bowl back to the kitchen when it was empty. They were about halfway through the film. Bill had been completely invested in it, watching intensively despite having watched it plenty of times before. Which was good, because it meant he didn't notice Stan had spent most of that time watching him, thinking back to what he had told Eddie earlier that day.
He stood over the sink, head down, jaw clenched tight. "Fuck," he whispered to himself.
His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he thought he might throw up or pass out or something. His face was uncomfortably hot, and he felt sweat building up on the back of his neck.
He looked up at his own reflection in the window.
"Forget it, he's straight."
Stan knew that Bill had it bad for Beverly. He had had a crush on her since they met her, back during the first day of eighth grade, where they had been grouped together for a history project along with himself, Ben, Mike, and Eddie.
Stan had always felt weird about the way Bill talked to Beverly. Whenever he used to see them together he would get weirdly and irrationally upset, but he didn't feel like that with any of his other friends. He had ignored and repressed those thoughts until a couple of weeks ago, when Bill had slept over at his house. They shared a bed, as they had always done, as they did with all their other friends, and Stan hadn't been able to sleep. Instead he had just watched Bill, feeling guilty and lightheaded, his whole body shivering whenever Bill would brush up against him.
They had met up with the others the next day, and Stan had walked just a bit closer to him, listened just a bit more when he was talking, smiling like a dork the whole time, completely confused by his own actions yet mildly terrified that he knew what was going on.
"What's wrong S-stan?"
Stan jumped and swung around. Bill was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, the tv light surrounding him in this flickering halo.
"Nothing, I was just, uh, putting the bowl back."
"Does that usually t-t-take ten minutes?" he laughed softly.
Ten minutes? It had felt like 30 seconds.
"You gonna c-come back in or n-not? Because if you're not th-then I'm putting on a d-different mov-"
"Bill I'm gay."
He covered his mouth with both hands as soon as he said it, looking at the ground with horror written on his face. Bill stared at him with his eyebrows raised.
"Oh, well, that's cool," he said cautiously, not really sure how to react. Of course he didn't mind, why would he? But still, it was very sudden confession.
"Oh, god, I didn't mean to-" he shook his head rapidly, "I'm sorry, shit, why did I-"
"C-calm down, it's fine!" Bill walked over to him and wrapped him in a hug. "I'm glad you told me, okay? E-even if it was a bit abrupt," he pulled back and put his hands on Stan's shoulders. Stan just nodded, taking a deep breath in. He was still avoiding eye contact.
Bill led him back into the living room with a hand on his back. They sat on the couch, Bill resting his head on Stan's shoulder, his feet tucked up under him. Stan had his feet on the floor and his hands in his lap, and eventually he leaned his head against Bill's.
When the movie ended, Stan realised that Bill had fallen asleep. He turned the tv off with the remote.
"Bill," he whispered, nudging him softly with his shoulder. Bill let out a small whine and curled himself up tighter, almost on top of Stan.
"C'mon, Richie will need the couch," he said before standing and pulling Bill up with him. They walked up the stairs, Bill basically still asleep, leaning on Stan so much that he may as well have been carrying him.
They got into Bill's bed. Bill fell fast asleep almost instantly, and Stan dozed off not too long after.
Eddie, on the other hand, was as awake as ever, lying on his back, agitated beyond relief. He kept glancing over at the window, almost expecting Richie to appear outside, crouched on a tree branch, waiting for him to slide it open and let him in. He wasn't sure if he really wanted this to happen. He told himself he didn't. But then why was he constantly looking?
He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. He wanted to scream, maybe that would get rid of the feeling in his chest, like someone was punching him from the inside. But his mother was snoring loudly only a few rooms away, and he definitely didn't want to wake her.
He could sneak out again, go to Bill's and he and Richie could make out on the hood of his truck again, but he knew that wouldn't be a good decision. He wanted to get the point across that he wasn't a sleaze, that he was only in if it was going to be serious. But the more he laid there, thinking about the day before, the more he didn't care. He really just wanted to be touched right now, and it would be so easy to do.
He fought with himself over this for a few hours, at time getting out of bed and pacing around, even going so far as to pull clothes out of his drawer and almost changing into them, but he forced himself to stop.
It was three in the morning when he finally got under the covers, purposefully with his back to the window, and closed his eyes. He reckoned if he just laid there with his eyes closed for long enough he would fall asleep.
Why do you care so much if he goes? You only just met him.
The thought entered his mind from seemingly nowhere. Why did he care?
It honestly surprised him. He tried to think of things that he knew about Richie.
He owns a pick-up truck. Obviously.
He liked loud music.
He wears his jacket even when it's hot out.
He laughs at his own jokes.
He-
Eddie realised that none of these things were really personal at all, all just things he picked up through observation. He couldn't think of a single thing that Richie had actually told him about himself.
Where does he live?
Is he in school?
How old is he anyway? He could be twenty-something for all he knew.
Eddie suddenly felt very weird about the situation. He knew nothing! They might not have anything in common at all, everything that Eddie had picked up seemed to be quite the opposite of his own lifestyle. Richie's clothes, choice of transport, music taste, demeanour, everything.
And what had he told Richie about himself?
He tried to recall something, anything, but realised that they hadn't actually had an actual conversation yet, really the only time they had talked properly was that afternoon in the car, and that wasn't exactly a positive experience.
So why does he care?
Eddie started to think that maybe he was just on a high, only thinking he likes this guy when in reality he's just being given attention from someone new, someone who touched him and treated him so differently than his friends did, who flirted and said he was beautiful, the things he had been craving for so long without realising.
His head started to hurt, and he forced everything to the back of his mind, telling himself he would with it all when the sun was up, finally feeling like he might be able to fall asleep.
Stan woke up to the sound of multiple people walking up the hallway towards the bedroom. He looked over at Bill's bedside table, and the digital radio clock read 11.30am. He shook Bill awake.
"Dude, I think your parents are home."
Bill moaned and rubbed his eyes. "Mmwhat?" he mumbled, half sitting up.
"Your parents, they were getting back today, right?"
"Shit."
Bill immediately shot up and stumbled over to the door, unlocking it just before the handle started to turn. His parents didn't like it when he locked his bedroom door, saying they should be able to check on him whenever they wanted.
"Billy!" Georgie exclaimed when he saw him, smiling as wide as he could. Bill hugged him tight, lifting him briefly off his feet.
George Denbrough was 12 years old, and looked a lot like Bill, except his face was a little rounder, and his hair much lighter, nearing blonde.
"Hey Georgie, how was the holiday?"
"So cool, you should have come Bill!" Bill laughed and ruffled his hair.
He walked over to hug his parents, and Georgie noticed Stan standing over near the bed. Stan waved and he skipped over, wrapping his arms around him.
"Hey Stan!" he stepped back, "what are you doing here?"
"H-he slept over," Bill answered from the doorway.
"Oh, cool," Georgie giggled, and left Bill's room headed to his own.
His dad shut the door as they walked away, and Stan looked at Bill endearingly.
"Your brother is so freaking adorable."
Bill rolled his eyes. Everyone in their friendship group loved Georgie, sometimes even more than they did him, Bill thought.
Downstairs, Richie was still asleep on the couch. Bill's parents obviously hadn't noticed him when they arrived, thank god. Stan woke him up and shoved him out the back door, while Bill neatened up the couch cushions.
Richie had also spent most of the night lying awake, his thoughts were way too loud and intense, his brain screaming at him for hours, making him dizzy and pushing him into a state of dissociation.
He got in his truck and lit a cigarette, hoping it would be enough to ground him enough that he could go talk to Eddie. Properly talk to him. Try to sort this whole thing out.
He didn't have long though, because soon Eddie was tapping on the passenger side window.
Richie reached over to unlock the door, and Eddie got in.
"We need to talk," he said as sternly as he could, making eye contact that may have been a little too intense, "about ho-"
"About how we know nothing about each other, right?"
Eddie bit his lip. "Yeah."
Richie took one last drag of his cigarette.
"My name is Richie Tozier, my parents dragged me away from Derry when I was ten years old, I left home on my eighteenth birthday and drove halfway across the country in a shitty pick-up truck to see the only real friends I ever had, and apparently to make out with you," his voice was relatively upbeat and he was smiling a little, but his face was just so tired, and Eddie felt his heart drop further into his stomach with almost every word that came out of his mouth. "I talk too loud and I annoy the hell out of most people, I skipped fourth grade, no one can figure out how, not even myself. I haven't called my parents in two weeks, they have no idea where I am, I'm going to spend my life just going where ever I feel like going and doing whatever I feel like doing." He took a deep breath and turned to face Eddie. "And I've known I was gay since I was twelve, and yet I had never kissed a boy before I met you."
"I was your first kiss?" Eddie was rather shocked by this.
"No," Richie let out a weak laugh, "I've kissed girls plenty of times, but I never really liked any of them. Not how I like you, anyway."
"Oh."
"Now, is that enough, cause I could get more in depth, but I thought you might just want the basics first, you know, just incase you decide you hate me or something."
"It's fine," Eddie said in a much softer tone than when he got into the car. Richie looked at him, Eddie realised, waiting for him to talk.
"Well, I-" he didn't really know where to start. "I've been here my whole life, I met Bill and the others in eighth grade in History class, I take about three hundred different medications and if I'm completely honest I don't know what they all do, but my mother says they're important and I've been taking them for so long that I've just accepted it, my dad died when I was five and I don't remember him much at all," he looked at Richie who was listening intently, nodding at him to continue, "people say I'm a hypochondriac, and I know I probably am. I used to run track. I've gotten B's my whole life. I guess I always knew I was gay. You were my first kiss. I really hate the smell of cigarette smoke but I can't bring myself to care when you do it."
Richie was now looking at the steering wheel, and for a moment Eddie thought he was going to tell him to get out of the car.
But then he started laughing.
It started really quietly, just chuckling to himself, but soon it built up into full blown laughter, tears welling behind his eyes. Eddie was confused, but soon he started laughing too, until both of them were basically howling. They both had this feeling overwhelmingly melancholy.
"We're both just fucking screwed up then, yeah?" Richie said, wiping his eyes with his palms, his cheeks starting to ache. Eddie just nodded, feeling pretty breathless. They both calmed down, and there was silence once again.
A few minutes later Bill walked out to the truck, and Richie rolled down the window for him.
"Bev just called, s-says there's a party at Betty Ripsom's t-tonight."
"Sounds fun!" Richie replied. Bill turned to Eddie.
"Y-you in?" he asked.
Eddie didn't enjoy parties. Especially Betty Ripsom's parties, which were usually too crowded and everyone got plastered, and he always ended up holding one of his friend's hair back while they throw up in the backyard. But he would probably end up getting dragged there anyway, so he didn't see the point in saying no.
"Sure, sounds fun," he sighed, grinning at Bill.
"C-cool, see you guys later."