#this boy says the most romantic stuff inside his head but says absolutely zero percent of it out loud my god | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

13tth · 6 years

Text

on the gold wall

Pairing: Reddie

Summary: Eddie realizes too late that teen rebellion in Derry isn’t climbing to the roof of a record shop stacked with empty apartments. It’s falling in love with boys and holding them in the dark.

idk why i wrote this or why i stayed up until 3am because i couldn’t sleep without finishing it. it’s bad, whatever, enjoy.

Read on AO3

“it’s kinda nice up here isn’t it?”

Eddie’s stomach contracts for the hundredth time that night, hands clutching desperately at the concrete ledge of the building. His lips press into a thin line before he’s blinking fast, gaze shifting to the vacant street below.

They seem higher up now that Eddie can see the asphalt. He can trace the faint glow of the neon sign displayed in the window on the first floor and notices that the rest of the three floors on top of that have no sign of lights at all. The heels of his sneakers scrape rough against the brick of the building’s surface, and the act brings his stuttering lungs to life again. He reminds himself idiotically that this is what teen rebellion looks like. “If by ‘nice’ you mean gross, seriously. For somewhere without a lot of human interference there sure is a lot of chewed gum stuck to, like, everything.”

Richie’s once startlingly serene expression turns joyful as he stifles a scoff, squeezing his eyes shut in what seems like faux frustration. “Somewhere without a lot of Human interference? Who says I don’t bring all my stunning romantic conquests up here, huh?”

Eddie’s cheeks flush at the mention of Richie’s probably made-up love life for— whatever reason. He plays along though, shifting his body to cross his legs up on the ledge. He faces Richie then, leaning back on incredulous hands. “What girl would make out with you on the roof of a million-year-old building?”

“I don’t know, what’s Sonia Kaspbrak up to these days? I’ve heard she’s searching for a shockingly handsome bad boy, young, but legal. With a heee-yuge—”

Eddie lands a solid punch on Richie’s right bicep, digging irritated knuckles into the fabric of his shirtsleeve, just to drive in the point. Eddie’s voice wavers with a smile that betrays him. “Shut the fuck up, Richie.”

“Ouch c’mon, Eds!” Richie pretends to be wounded, wailing and flailing like a fallen video game character. He calms and says: “You know I think her son is cuter. Always have. It’s the fresher genes, you know.”

Eddie rolls his eyes on the outside and prays that the hitch in his inhale wasn’t as noticeable to Richie as it was to him. His thoughts sometimes wander in moments like this, until he gets lost in this view of Richie, almost swallowed up by the pride in his dark eyes after he’s told a joke or said something he thought was particularly funny. Eddie kind of wants to see what would happen if he brushed the hair out from under the lenses of Richie’s glasses. Eddie kind of wants to see if Richie’s jaw feels as rough and jagged as it looks.

But he won’t. He settles for,

“Don’t call me that, dipshit,” Eddie’s voice is warm regardless, like that of a too-familiar friend. His voice, to Richie, portrays unwavering trust. His voice, to Richie, portrays: ‘You’re a shithead. But you’re mine. And I trust you.’ “Why’d you bring me up here, Rich?”

“The stars,” Richie says as if he’d just remembered the sky existed. He points beyond the buildings across the street to the mass of black above. “I’ve figured out that this is the second clearest stargazing spot in Derry.”

Eddie shifts back into a normal sitting position, swinging his legs back over the ledge. He scoots closer to Richie until their thighs are touching from hip to knee. Eddie’s voice drops to almost a whisper with the proximity. “Where’s the first?”

Richie drinks in the closeness, almost having to restrain his own hand from resting inappropriately against the dip of Eddie’s waist, or the sharp jut of his knee. He stares down at Eddie instead, watching his wide eyes follow the length of Richie’s own finger to try to piece together shapes and tell their fables. “Mike’s,” Richie admits, and it’s enough because they’ve seen it. They’ve laid on the lush green fields of Mike’s land— all of them— in a pile, making new constellations and giggling over the vastness of imagination. And of course, the vastness of space. Be it personal or outer.

Eddie had no idea what he was getting himself into when he’d shown up to the record shop early that evening. All he knew is that he had to be there at 6 sharp, and if he wasn’t, there would be zero repercussions. Except that Richie would be hurt.

What Eddie didn’t know was the feeling of a shot in the heart and the dripping of blood.

It was so unusual to see Richie so entirely in his element, talking the ears off of customers who’d been dumb enough to ask for music recommendations, strutting around to the beat of a song Eddie is one hundred percent sure he’s heard on every tape Richie’s ever given him. It was the most disgustingly beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen.

What Eddie did know is that Richie was made and meant for this stuff. What Eddie suddenly knew is that whatever feelings he’d recently started to feel for Richie, had finally— then and there— begun to rip him open from the inside out.

“I’m trying to stop smoking,” Richie admits, and his voice is the softest Eddie has ever heard it. So soft it rips him from his reverie, chews him up, and spits him out into the reality of a messy boy with broken glasses and warm skin. “That’s what all the gum’s from.”

“Why?” Eddie’s head snaps upward almost too quickly, his confused expression catching them both a little off guard. Their legs still lay plastered together though, the overwhelming closeness becoming familiar. They find that if the other moved, the moment would be ruined, or worse, reprimanded. “I mean that’s good. I’m glad.”

“I want this to be our place,” Richie says, clear as day. His eyes fix directly on Eddie’s, seemingly searching for judgment. His eyes, to Eddie, shine with defense. Like this statement alone fueled the baring of Richie’s soul.

“Richie–”

“Just for us. Eds,” Richie insists, nodding solemnly and sharply. He nods like it’s for himself first, and whoever happened to be watching, second. His body twists to face Eddie this time, making sure to catch his widening eyes. “We have places with the others, you know, where we can all exist together. But I want this to be our place, and I want you to, like, feel comfortable.”

Eddie soon realizes that this is not a change of subject, this is an explanation. This is the answer to the ‘why’s and the ‘what’s. Richie doesn’t want him to be bothered by the smoke. Eddie very immediately wants to reach forward and hold as much of Richie as he can. He wants to rub the fatigue from his eyes with the tips of his index fingers and graze his lips with the pads of his thumbs. He wants to thank the stars for Richie’s freckles that Eddie thinks came from the press of gaseous fingertips against the bridge of his nose, their flares reaching out to thank Richie for paying attention. Eddie wants to fall and fall and fall into this boy and suffocate in him. “Okay.”

“Okay?” They’re closer than ever now and Richie feels the tiny puffs of air coming out of Eddie’s mouth. His lips are parted only slightly, but his eyes are open fully. He lets himself touch Eddie’s hip, the tension doubling in agonizing pressure with the added point of contact.

“Richie…” Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, his voice amplifying to the degree of warning. His hands clamp together too, and using the most strength Eddie can muster he keeps them on his own lap for a few more seconds. His voice drops back to normal, then even gentler when Richie places a scorching hand, too big and too hot against Eddie’s cheek. “Richie.”

Eddie realizes too late that teen rebellion in Derry isn’t climbing to the roof of a record shop stacked with empty apartments. It’s falling in love with boys and holding them in the dark.

“Kiss me, Eddie.”

The words hit Eddie like the broken surface of a frozen pond. He’s so shocked, so absolutely gobsmacked at the mention of his name– his actual name– that he leans forward and he does what he’s told.

Their mouths fit together messily at first, like the first kiss between two lovers kept apart for too long. It lasts two seconds, then melts to five, as they fall into their own rhythm. Eddie feels the crash of ocean waves and the sting of fire when Richie kisses him back, his lips tasting like watermelon gum and some hint of Richie that Eddie could drown in.

The kiss lasts a couple more seconds before they’re pulling apart breathless and almost dizzyingly drunk on the feeling that had been missing for so long.

“Looks like you’re the girl I made out with on the roof of a million-year-old building,” The real Richie returns as rapidly as he’d left, locks of hair still tangled with his eyelashes, heart beating a little harder.

This time Eddie does reach up, brushing the few strands of hair back from under Richie’s glasses, being careful to set them back down in the same position on the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, go gush to your diary about it.”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it stephen king #my stuff #writing #gas me up tbh

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