There were cars parked all the way up Betty Ripsom's street that night. Richie had offered to be designated driver, seeing as he was the only one with a car. He had driven Eddie, Bill, Stan, and Beverly there, Mike and Ben having gotten a lift with someone else.
When they arrived, Beverly had immediately gone off to find them, while Bill and Stan made a beeline for the kitchen and poured themselves what would surely be the first of many, many, drinks.
There were maybe fifty people inside and another twenty or so in the backyard. To Eddie it felt more like hundreds. Why the hell would you ever let this many people in your house? Who even knows this many people?
Music was blasting through a speaker system in the living room. Eddie made a point of avoiding that part of the house and went the long way around to the kitchen. Richie followed close behind.
Eddie grabbed himself a solo cup, and rinsed it under the faucet before using it. Richie watched him gently laughing to himself, leaned up against the counter.
"Do you want me to get you something?" Eddie asked as he poured a shot's worth of vanilla-flavoured vodka into his cup.
Richie shook his head. "No thanks, I don't drink."
Eddie tilted his head. "Really?"
"Yeah, my old man was an alcoholic, kinda turned me off the stuff."
Eddie's face dropped, and he looked guiltily down to the cup in his hand. "Oh sh- sorry."
"Hey it's fine! I don't care if other people do it, I actually kind of want to see what you're like when you're drunk."
Eddie smirked at him. "Oh yeah, you're gonna love me in about half an hour." Then he downed his shot, throwing his head back.
"That was the hottest thing I have ever seen."
Bill and Stan always made sure they drank the same amount when they went to parties. It ensured they didn't go too overboard, but it also meant they became slightly competitive about it. An hour in and they had had five shots and three beers each, which meant they were both feeling pretty fucking amazing, to say the least.
They had made their way into the middle of the sea of people in the living room, and were slow-dancing to a very upbeat and bass-heavy song.
Bill had his arms wrapped around Stan's neck, and Stan's arms around Bill's waist, pressed up against each other as much as possible, their chins resting on each other's shoulders, rocking slowly back and forth, completely out of rhythm to the song.
Bill was blissfully zoned out, feeling so incredibly warm and fuzzy inside, and so goddamn comfortable with Stan holding him the way he was, not even noticing the people around him. He pressed his face into Stan's neck and smiled, not realising what he was doing to the poor boy.
Stan was more flustered than he had ever been in his entire life. His face was bright red, and his stomach was doing fucking backflips. Every time he felt Bill's eyelashes brush against his skin he felt like he might collapse. This was torture. All he wanted to do was just grab Bill's face and kiss him, but he forced himself to stay steady, putting his focus towards tracing circles on Bill's lower back.
"You're such a good dancer ssStanny," Bill slurred, his lips just barely touching Stan's collarbone. Stan whimpered involuntarily, feeling his heart pounding.
"I love you," Stan whispered into Bill's ear.
"I love you too."
"No I-" Stan swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, "I love you, like so fucking much."
Bill hummed a noise of what might have been agreement, or just because he was plastered, who could tell. Stan just tightened his grip around his waist.
In the corner of the backyard, leaning up against the fence, Beverly and Mike were passing a joint back and forth while Ben lied down on the grass between them.
Ben had drank quite a lot, but was on the way down, and Mike and Bev had only had a couple shots each.
"So like, how do you guys know Richie? You never really mentioned him before and then he just shows up?" Mike asked Bev, taking the joint from her and putting it to his lips.
"He lived 'round here when we were kids, like in grade school, then he kinda disappeared one day when we were about ten, and we had no idea where he had gone. Like, absolutely no fucking clue. But then Bill got this letter from him, and turns out his parents had just packed up and moved and took him with them, and hadn't actually told him."
"That's fucked," Mike said, then fell into a minor coughing fit, holding the joint back over in front of Beverly.
Bev laughed. "Right? Like who does that to their kid?"
"So fucked," Ben mumbled, looking up at the starry sky with heavy eyelids, swearing that he could feel the earth spinning beneath him.
Bev took another hit, blowing the smoke out of her nose. Ben's eyes went wide as he saw her do it, suddenly awestruck.
"Beverly, you're a dragon!" he slurred excitedly, and Mike started giggling uncontrollably.
Beverly grinned at Ben, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. Ben blushed when she did, a dreamy smile on his face. He rolled his head to look up at Mike. "I just got kissed by a fucking dragon, dude." This only caused Mike to laugh more.
"So anyway, we hadn't heard from Richie in ages, like in two years or something, and then out of nowhere he calls Bill and tells him he's coming back to visit. And Bill thought it would be the perfect opportunity to set Eddie up, and, well, that obviously worked out."
"I'll fucking say," Mike said.
On the other side of the backyard, closer to the house, Richie was sitting on a bench, and Eddie, who was the biggest lightweight in the world, as Richie had discovered, was sitting in his lap with his legs wrapped around his waist, currently running his fingers over and over again through Richie's hair.
"It's soooo soft," he muttered to himself, a look of intense concentration on his face, "how the fuck is it this soft?" Richie had tried multiple times to stop Eddie from climbing on top of him, telling himself that in this state, he probably wasn't making the decisions that he should have been, but after Eddie refused to give up, wholly dedicated to his self-appointed mission, which was apparently to be as physically close to Richie as he could, he stopped wrestling with the boy and just let him do what he wanted. He hadn't let him kiss him though, Eddie had tried a few times but Richie knew that he would hate himself if the morning if he did. Not that Richie didn't want to kiss him, god, it was nearly impossible not to, but he forced himself to do that right thing.
To Eddie, the only thing that mattered right now was Richie's hair. He was fixated on it, almost hypnotised, it was the greatest goddamn enigma of the century! Why was no one else paying attention to this! It was the softest goddamn thing he had ever felt. Every time he ran his fingers through he swore it just became softer. He felt like he was holding pure melted gold in his hands. It was insane, he couldn't believe how lucky he must have been to be able to experience this.
Richie, of course, was having the time of his life, but it did start to worry him a little after ten minutes had passed and Eddie's concentration had not budged an inch.
"Eddie," he whispered. Eddie looked down at his face, startled, blinking rapidly as if he had forgotten there was an actual human being attached to this magical mess of hair. (He had).
"What?" Eddie asked, suddenly feeling quite dizzy as his awareness of the rest of the world returned.
"Let's go for a walk, yeah?"
Inside, Bill and Stan had found themselves locked in the upstairs bathroom. Neither of them remember actually walking up the stairs, or making the decision to go there, or much at all from the last ten minutes, for that matter. Their minds had become rather preoccupied with the fact that Bill had his tongue shoved into Stan's mouth.
Stan had Bill pressed up against the door, digging his fingers into his waist, while Bill's hands were tangled in his hair.
It was messy, sure, neither of them had ever made out with anyone before, and they didn't really know what they were doing, and they would have probably both felt awkward about it if they weren't so drunk. But they were, and they continued to drool and moan into each other's mouths, not caring about anything other than the fact that it felt good. Not thinking about what would happen in the morning. Not thinking about how much they would soon regret what they were doing.
Stan switched his attention to Bill's neck, suddenly motivated to leave as many hickeys as he could. Bill just rolled his head to the side and closed his eyes, letting out little whimpers and sounds of pleasure as Stan worked.
"I love you," Stan whispered into Bill's neck, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I-" he bit down, not too hard, but enough that it would leave a considerable bruise the next day. Bill felt his knees weaken, sure that if Stan hadn't had a death-grip on his waist that he would have just dropped to the ground.
They were interrupted by a knock a door, and they separated, breathing heavily.
Stan looked at Bill, now with big red marks all the way up the side of his neck to his jaw, still wet with his spit. His hair was stick up at the back, his lips slightly swollen and his eyes heavy and tired.
To Stan, he had never looked so beautiful.
Another knock of the door, louder and more angry this time.
"Whoever's sucking face in there, go do it somewhere else. People gotta use the bathroom."
Bill grabbed Stan's arm and opened the door, pulling him out into the hallway.
Richie had escorted Eddie away from the house, and they were now walking up the middle of the road. It was late enough that they didn't have to worry too much about getting run over, but Richie still made sure to keep a close eye out.
Eddie was doing his best to walk in a straight line, using the markings on the road to help him, trying to convince Richie that he wasn't that drunk, despite not actually being challenged at all to do so. In Eddie's head he was doing really well. In reality, he looked like he had just got on a tightrope for the first time, wobbling all over the place, holding his arms out to keep balance.
"See, I'm totally doing it!"
"Sure you are, love." Richie walked behind him, prepared to catch him in case he suddenly fell over, which Richie was pretty sure was bound to happen.
They could still hear the music from the party when they were halfway up the street, Eddie couldn't make out what song it was, until Richie started singing along to it under his breath.
If you're lost, you can look, and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting
Time after time
Eddie stopped walking, feeling his heart flutter when he heard him sing. His voice was so low and smooth, indulgent, almost. Eddie turned to stare at him, jaw dropped open slightly, and he swore he could see stars in Richie's eyes (it was just the streetlights reflected in his glasses).
"What's up?" Richie asked.
"Your singing, it's so," he paused, completely lost for words, desperately searching his head for a way to describe what he was feeling and coming up with nothing.
Richie looked at him expectingly, the corner of his mouth lifting up.
Eddie stepped forward and went to kiss him. Richie turned his head so he couldn't, hating himself as he did.
Eddie looked at him, looking hurt. Richie felt the guilt drop into his stomach like a rock.
"Why won't you kiss me?"
Richie shook his head. "You'll hate me if I let you, trust me," he had to fight himself to get the words out.
"I won't, please, I promise I won't," Eddie grabbed at the collar of Richie's jacket, trying to pull him down towards him, but he held his ground.
"You will Ed, not right now, but you will."
Eddie huffed and took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked incredibly childish, which helped Richie feel a little less awful about not kissing him.
Richie pulled him back towards him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on top of his head. Eddie didn't resist him, just rested his face in Richie's chest and sighed.
"I love you," Eddie whispered. Richie just smiled to himself and didn't respond, knowing that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true, that Eddie was flat out drunk, but his heart skipped a beat just the same.
Eventually, Richie walked Eddie back to his car and helped him into the passenger seat. Eddie feel asleep pretty much instantly.
Back at the party, things had started to die down, and a lot of people were on their way out. Mike had found a lift and gone home a little earlier on, and Beverly and Ben had fallen asleep outside on the grass, Bev curled up next to him with an arm stretched out across his chest.
Bill and Stan had moved outside, sitting next to each other on the bench where Eddie and Richie had been earlier. They could feel themselves sobering up, their heads starting to throb a little. Stan was resting his head on Bill's shoulder, their hands loosely intertwined.
Bill was nervous. Thinking about what he had done earlier, what they had done, made him feel a little sick.
Up until about three hours ago he was sure, without a doubt, that he was straight. He had crushes on girls all the time! And he'd been basically in love with Beverly since eighth grade.
But straight boys don't make out with other boys.
He had honestly felt really good when he was doing it. Being kissed and touched like that was amazing. A lot of it could have just been because he was drunk, sure, but it had to have been more than that.
He did love Stan, he loved all of his friends, and none of them had ever felt weird about telling each other that before. In fact, they had always been extremely comfortable and affectionate with each other, physically as well as emotionally, and it had never, ever, been of any concern.
But he didn't kiss any of his other friends.
And he didn't touch any of his other friends they way he and Stan had touched each other.
And he didn't feel this weird when his other friends were leaning on his shoulder and holding his hand.
Did he like Stan in a different way? He never really thought so before.
Would Stan think he liked him?
Bill was pretty sure at this point that Stan must have some sort of non-platonic feelings towards him. The way he repeated "I love you," over and over and over again, that couldn't have just been the alcohol. He was suddenly overcome with guilt. He didn't want to upset Stan, but he didn't want to date him either.
Thoughts rushed around in Bill's head so fast that he felt dizzy (or maybe he was still drunk).
He side-eyed Stan, who was lost in thoughts of his own, and felt as if someone had stuck a pin in his heart.
He decided to deal with it in the morning.
Richie had had to carry Eddie, bridal-style, up the stairs of his house. He had been sure to stay quiet, knowing that he wouldn't be able to explain himself if Eddie's mother had woken up and seen them.
He dropped Eddie gently down on his bed and had to wrestle his arms from around his neck.
"Stay," Eddie whined, making grabby hands towards him.
Richie smirked and walked around to the other side of the bed, figuring it was easier to just do what Eddie said, and then go back and pick up the others when he was asleep. He laid down on the bed and wrapped his arms around Eddie, and pressed his face into his hair.
"Sing me something." Eddie yawned, curling up tighter against Richie.
Maybe I'm wrong
Won't you tell me if I'm coming on too strong
This heart of mine has been hurt before
Eddie fell asleep once again, snoring ever so softly.
This time I wanna be sure
Richie slowly detached himself from Eddie and snuck away, holding his breath as he passed his mother's room, and headed back to Betty Ripsom's house to drive the rest of his friends home.
That night, after everyone was home, Richie lied on the hood of his truck, staring up at the stars, wide awake, remembering how Eddie had said "I love you," and imagined what it would be like when he told him for real.