Act VIII

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?  |  Tyler, The Creator

"So Rich, how you feelin' about the performance this week?" Jason smirks as he leans on the metal next to Richie's locker, waggling his eyebrows in a way that has Richie cringing harshly.

"Fine," is all Richie Tozier says in response, like he's waving it off, the word floating off his tongue and lingering in the air for a moment, like a balloon with no helium.

An afterthought is what it sounded like. And although, to be honest, Richie Tozier does not necessarily need to be worried about the show, this heinous act is extremely concerning, because this is absolutely not Richie Tozier's average behaviour days before a performance.

I mean, fuck, just look at Act VI. Let's take a look at Richie's usual schedule before a performance, hmm?

• 8 am; Pull your fucking hair out

• 10:30 am; Go over all possible worst case scenarios,

• 1:00 pm; Whine at the lunch table with Stan and Beverly,

• Spend the remainder of the day silently overthinking and reading over the script, and repeat, repeat, fucking repeat until opening night.

So, though Jason thinks nothing of it at the moment, everyone on earth should be alarmed, trash cans aflame and civilians crying out in fear all over the world when Richie Tozier waves him off about the show, almost exactly 57 hours before opening night.

And Jason, well, he's a fucking idiot, we're hopefully all aware. So of course, he just happens to look away when Richie, holding his textbooks close to his chest, as though to cover or soothe the aching that pounds there, glances to the hallway ahead where Eddie Kaspbrak walks by, shy expression, oversized collared sweater, khaki shorts and all.

Almost as though in slow motion, Eddie's soft innocent eyes stray from the floor to Richie, immediately a crushing wave of guilt creeping onto him heavily.

Truthfully, it had always been there, the guilt Eddie Kaspbrak had been feeling these past few days. Ever since that night, his stomach has been crawling with this nauseous feeling, like it's been wrung dry of any good at all, and all he can feel is knots digging into him painfully and even causing loss of appetite. Especially, especially when he catches sight of helpless little Richie Tozier in the corner of the hallway, eyes already trained on him like he was waiting for the clock to remind him that Eddie passes through this hall every day to say hello at this exact time. Taunting him.

The second his eyes are locked onto Eddies, Richie's face contorts into a frown of sorts, and he can't help but immediately look away, despite the desperate want he feels to see exactly what Eddie looks like right now, just anything to read what's written all over his dumb face. See if he's sorry at all, or still avoiding his eye like he just killed somebody.

Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, the moment is over, and Eddie disappears around the corner, finally letting Richie breathe. A gust of air he didn't know he was holding in released from his lips, and Jason, fucking oblivious little shit, simply snickers and ushers him to get to class soon.

It's 4th period, the bell rings. Eddie hadn't shown up to Theatre this morning, so luckily Richie and him hadn't needed to go through their fair share of agonizing lack of eye contact till just now.

But fuck, does Eddie feel like a total idiot.

He lashed out that night, got nervous, and let all that stupid fear out on Richie. He's a coward is what he is.

That one fucking word. Slur, to be more specific. All his life he'd gotten it thrown at him like nothing, all his life he'd been perceived as the girly boy of Derry. A nice and easy target to mock for his unmistakably bright clothing and high voice, prominent disinterest in sports and anxiety levels higher than a fucking wild squirrel.

And after all that, to end up like one of those fucking bullies he would cry about at night? Eddie had never felt so ashamed in his life.

I mean, friends can be friends and still mess around. It doesn't mean you're gay or anything, it doesn't have to mean that. That's what we were doing, having fun, messing around.

Richie tells this to himself as he quietly bangs his head against his desk softly (Sitting in the back of the classroom for being a disruption has its perks). Why did he have to mess this up between them? If he had just kept his stupid mouth shut, maybe things would still be good. Maybe it wouldn't be an absolute shitshow and be ruining their lives in real time. Maybe they'd still meet after lunch to mess around, maybe they'd be happy- somewhat. Maybe he wouldn't have this aching pain in his chest every second of the day, knowing that he just lost his best friend because of a stupid confession gone wrong.

What exactly was he meaning to confess in that argument anyway? Jesus Christ, it seems so stupid now that Richie thinks about it. Confess what, that he loves Eddie and wants to cuddle like an old married couple? That he himself is gay? Likes dicks and is appalled by a tit or two? - Uhm..

God, and that's the worst part. He doesn't fucking know!!

He'd never really payed attention to girls, and the attention he payed to boys was sort of nothing to think about. It never mattered in the moment, when he'd pass by a random guy in the halls and simply appreciate to himself the present attractiveness. Or when he'd go to the football games with Beverly to make fun of their own home team and, all the while, have his eyes roaming a player or two.

You don't see Richie Tozier sneaking into volleyball games to watch the girls prance around like other guys do. You don't see Richie Tozier feeling up a lady at high school parties like other guys do. And, now that it's coming around, maybe it was for a reason after all.

Hopefully you're able to understand how fucking terrifying this is for Richie to process, mind whirring with thoughts as his head rests on the cold wood of the desk in 4th period. Because, just as he thinks this couldn't get any worse, he knows, in the back of his mind, this feeling has been glued to him all along. Like an irksome, thundering cloud hovering over his head. Not just high school, or when he first met Eddie. No, this weight he's been carrying his whole fucking pathetic life.

He shamefully remembers how he'd tried not to outright swoon when Stan had first caught him tripping on the playground in 4th grade. Stringy light brown hair, cheerful brown eyes and a grip on Richie's shirt that he frankly could never forget. Richie's fall was... anything but graceful to say the least, and Stan still ended up falling down with him, both groaning face down in the mulch. Introduced to one another in the nurses office shortly after, where Richie simply couldn't get over the boy's sweet grin.

He knows, in the back of the mind, that he's always been this way.

Richie seems to handle this revelation like a champ. He doesn't sob into the hardwood of his desk like he desperately wants to, he doesn't curl up into fetal position on the floor of his next period like he desperately wants to. He tries to block out the hyperventilating worry that vibrates and bounces around in his body, and patiently gets to his friends' lunch table, playing off his horrible mood as simply another day with no sleep, which Stan and Beverly luckily are always prepared for in any time. These are the times when he's grateful to be an actor.

"-Exactly, and how many more times am I going to have to tell him? Probably a million, for fuck's sake -" Stan huffs. Richie flips him off, face stuffed into his arms on the lunch table and hoodie half covering his wild curls.

"Oh here they come!" Stan cuts himself off, eyes happily trained on something behind Richie. And the raven haired boy barely has a split second of reaction time before he sees Ben, Mike, Bill, laughing with one another and settling into their usual seats around the table. Usual? More like the usual weeks ago.

Oh god. And inevitably, Richie, more feels than sees Eddie reluctantly slide into the seat next to him, shifting uncomfortably beside him like he has a tag on his shorts.

"What's up with, R-Richie" Bill queries, beginning to dig into his lunch tray.

Beverly scoffs, "Nothing, he's just on his period today" she mocks, and Richie finally gets the guts to choke out an offended huff of breath.

"Am not! Speak for yourself" he mumbles, sticking his tongue out at Beverly and stabbing at his food with a spork.

Mike rolls his eyes, "Anyways, Bill and I were talking about maybe having a sleepover at his house after Richie, Eddie and Beverly's performance on Wednesday" he says with a hopeful grin.

Eddie huffs, and Beverly snickers, "You know I'm not actually in it" "I'm not actually in it, you know" they both say in unison, and give each other a quick bewildered expression before turning back to the others.

"Hah, well, either way, I think it'd be a good idea" Bill says with a shrug.

Stan nods, "I agree, especially to help get that stick out of Richie's ass before he ends up screwing up a performance or something" he says unabashedly.

"Hey, fuck you! The only stick up my ass is the one Eddie's mom put up there. We had a lovely time last night." God, someone just shove a foot in his mouth at this point, shut him up while he still has his pinch of dignity.

"God, beep beep Richie" Beverly and Stan grimace, Bill rolling his eyes beside them.

Eddies silence pulls a few raised brows, but no one says anything about it, the silence lasting a second too long.

"So Eddie, are you going to be able to make it this time? Or are you gonna bail on us again?" Bill queries with a teasing expression.

Eddie finally scoffs, "S' not my fault I have a stupid mom anyways, she wants me home sometimes" he mumbles with a timid shrug.

Richie snorts from beside him, rolling his eyes with a faint shake of his head.

"Hey you too, Trashmouth! Let's hope you don't 'Got somewhere to be' for your own after party" Bill mocks, mimicking what Richie tends to say when he actually doesn't got somewhere to be.

Richie scoffs and, embarrassed, stutters on a few words before Beverly cuts him off excitedly.

"Anyways, the costumes for the show are going to be so fucking good, they'll be my best yet! I got to go to the library during my Tech period and use a computer for research, isn't that awesome?"

"Wow! That's great, Beverly!" Ben beams, grinning with equal excitement.

"Yep, and I'm staying backstage for the first few performances too! This is so exciting!" Beverly is nearly squealing at this point. The table collectively cheer her on, and Richie and Eddie don't speak to each other at all for the rest of lunch.

"Thank god class is over, I wouldn't be lasting another second in Ms. Smith's lecture with her fucking gibberish" Richie says to Beverly as they exit their second to last class of the day. He barks out a loud laugh before mimicking the adults in Charlie Brown (womp womp womp).

Beverly cackles with him and rolls her eyes, shoving him in the shoulder. "Honestly, she hardly teaches a single thing!" Bev complains, stumbling through the hall with a hand on Richies shoulder.

"Eh, anyways, I gotta stop by my locker, see ya buttercup! And don't die in 8th, theatre department depends on it!" she shouts the last of it over the herd of students nearly trampling over her. Richie salutes boldly to that. Then, spinning on his heel and feeling generous with himself, considers for a harsh second how great a smoke would be right about now.

God, what's 8th period again? I could skip, right? No biggie. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll survive a day without Richie Tozier.

Huffing out a relieved sigh, Richie slinks through the halls and heads out the double doors at the side of the school. The dumpsters appear in view, and with a faint grimace, skips past it and to the corner of the building.

His and Beverly's smoke spot looks extra appetizing today, especially with the nagging reminders of memories that he'd beg to forget.

He settles in the large gap between the two brick walls happily, glancing over to the football field affirmatively before finally reaching out for his christmas pack of cigs and tapping one against the box.

Richie lights it generously and inhales, sinking into the feeling of his thoughts finally clouding over. For the first time in a while, a while that he's desperately been needing to get through, he lets the world continue around him and refuses to let a single thought cross his mind. It's insane, but sometimes it can be the best feeling in the world.

He hears the windy rustling of trees nearby, and shouts and laughs from the football field in the distance. He takes another hit and sighs the smoke out into the air, closing his eyes momentarily.

He doesn't open them for a long time. He doesn't open them when he takes another long hit. He doesn't when a particularly loud slam of a door is heard nearby, or when the rustling of gravel beneath someone's footsteps draws closer to his spot. Because he knows well enough who it is.

A gasp. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I- I didn't know you-"

"Yeah, you did" Richie sighs, finally opening his eyes to be met with Eddie.

"I took you down here once, you know I hate 8th period, and you have a hall pass in you hand" Richie glanced his way with a raised eyebrow. He knew maybe he shouldn't mention why exactly he'd taken Eddie down here before. But I'm sure you all know by now.

Eddie stayed blunderingly silent. His silhouette stood still in the glow of the sun behind him, and boy did Richie just want to get the fuck out of here while he still could. Make a run for it and not speak to him for the rest of forever, as hard as that might be.

But he can't, because he needs to make this clear to Eddie once and for all.

He flicks his cigarette onto the brick wall in front of him and rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

"Listen Eds, I get it. I really do," Richie says, shrugging. "It was stupid of me to make you feel uncomfortable when you didn't want to do things with me."

Eddie still stood there, fiddling with his fingers and the strap of his backpack, a melancholic, guilty expression clear on his face.

"I never should have taken you on as a challenge the day I was assigned your tutor, I mean- I should have stopped with the stupid flirting right away when you told me you were straight, and I'm sorry" Richie says solemnly, yet equally unabashed.

Eddie pursed his lips, "Richie- I didn't mean to-"

"No, I'm being serious this time," Richie presses on, a genuine expression looking back to him. "That's what you've always wanted me to be, right? You obviously don't want anything to do with me, and y'know, I don't want anything to do with you anymore, so... let's keep it that way, yeah?"

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Jesus fuck.

Eddie stepped closer, the gravel crunching beneath him. "Rich... N- I just-" his hand wavered around as though he couldn't find the right words. "I'm so fucking sorry." That'll work.

"I'm such a dumbass, and I didn't know what I was saying, and I feel horrible" Richie gave him a second of a withering look before pulling on a hopefully convincing warm smirk.

He shrugs. "It's fine, Eds, I get it a lot."

Richie hopes that stung Eddie as much as it did him the first time.

He watched as Eddie frowns deeper, and fumbled with his backpack even more frantically.

Richie was well aware that going the passive-aggressive route was probably not the best way to go, but he just couldn't help it. He's an idiot, yes, but he simply can't pass up a chance to fuck Eddie over while he still can.

With a sigh too close to a scoff to be unheard, Eddie continued. "I know that saying sorry won't do anything, and it shouldn't, because I'm an asshole and you don't deserve that, but I can't- I can't just..."

He was starting to do that thing again, where he stumbles on his words and waves him hands around. "can't ..." Richie could hear how his voice grew weak with desperation.

"I can't just let you go, Rich."

Oh, well fuck. Richie knew better than to let his emotions show right now, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and tried not to indulge in how badly he wanted to forgive Eddie for real right about now, throw away all the complications of the fucking past and just kiss him. He can't do that, because best case scenario, Eddie punches him in the face and calls him even more derogatory words.

By now, Eddie has shuffled close enough to where he's a few feet away from Richie, almost as though he's being careful, tip toeing by and painfully aware of where he stands in Richies mind. A bad guy, a douchebag, which he so rightfully deserves, he can admit. But shit, he can't speak anything but the truth at this point, he has nothing to lose.

Richie hesitated for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. "Thanks Eds, I... figured some things out while I was with you, things I don't think I'd ever admit to myself had you not been there."

Eddie was practically shaking with anticipation, the need to be on good terms at last. Their relationship has been a whirlwind, that's for sure, but one thing Eddie realizes he can't fucking stand is Richie being angry at him, like, actually mad at him.

Richie took notice of his frantic state and sighed, turning to fully face Eddie. "I don't hate you, Eddie" he shook his head with a small somber, knowing smile. "But I can't keep seeing you and not love you anymore."

Eddie pauses, the slight surprised hiccup in his throat heard clear in the silence of the alley.

Just then, the two of them hear voices, loud rowdy ones coming from around the corner on the other side of the alley, where the football field is clear in view. Richie, his brain working slow to figure out just who those noises are, hesitates before realizing it's the voices of someone he desperately cannot come face to face with right now.

But by the time his head is turning in a panic to warn Eddie, a small hand is cupping his jaw, and he's being pulled into a soft and slow kiss. He feels tears fall from Eddie's cheeks to his, and a featherlight touch of a hand ghosts over the side of his face.

It's drawn out, and it's obvious neither of them want to let go, but as the voices grow closer, and Eddie slowly pulls away, the look in the shorter boy's eyes shocks him with the pained realization. It's a goodbye kiss.

The lingering touch of Eddie's hand on his face stays with him as Eddie begins running, faster than anything Richie could ever process at a time like this. Henry and Belch are already in view, and they must have seen them separate, because just as Richie fucking realizes that Eddie is running toward them, the bullies are gaping and laughing like maniacs.

"Holy shit, caught you red handed, fucking fags!" Belch shouts, and Eddie successfully skids past them to run away, toward the football field.

"Where'v you been, gay boy?" Belch taunts, cackling as he begins stomping over to Richie, who's still halted in a shocked state of sorrow.

Henry grips onto Belch's arm angrily, "Not now. Let's get the Kaspbrak kid first, deal with him later" he grins, and they both run off, shouting threats and insults till they're all out of Richie's sight.

Abruptly, as though it had been an act out of Richie's control entirely, a harsh sob racked through and out of him. Tears welled into his eyes. He hadn't realized it, but Eddie had left behind his backpack, standing upright, at his feet. It fell limply to the ground, and Richie could see the wet droplets that began to appear on the material from his tears.

Eddie had drawn them away. For him.

____

Richie dragged himself home -already having begged Jason to let the director know that he wasn't feeling great and would be missing tech rehearsal today- and almost immediately rushed to his home bathroom.

It was a lie at first, but now, as he hunches over the toilet, groaning into the ass bowl full of his own guts, he's relieved that he made the right call.

He hadn't even eaten lunch, and his stomach felt as empty as it could possibly be. Some gross mixture of colors swirled around the toilet as he flushed it down, wiping the spit from his own mouth in a haste.

He leaned his head on the wall beside him, exhausted, and considered what Eddie might say if he were here right now, criss-crossed on the floor of this bathroom across from him. He'd have his head in his palms, watching with amusement and scoffing about how unsanitary it is to have your forehead on a bathroom wall.

-And ooh, what do you know? He's crying again.

He's uncomfortable as shit on the tiles of the floor, but he can't bring himself to rise again as he weeps into his arm. Everything Eddie just makes him burst like a bubble, which is annoying as fuck and something he wishes would just stop already. He's suffered enough, right? God, it's going to be absolute hell getting over that adorable fucking fireball gremlin-thing that he fell so hard for.

Eventually, after half an hour or two on the bathroom floor -crying for about two thirds of that time- he lifts himself tiredly and, feet dragging through the hallway, crashes onto the sheets of his mother's bed.

It's early, but nevertheless, Richie simply kicks off his shoes and leaves his jeans on as he sinks his face into the memory foam pillow, not really caring if he runs out of air at all. Then, after a minute, he groans helplessly and resurfaces his face, instead pulling the blanket all the way over his curls and shrinking into fetal position. It doesn't take long for him to fall into a deep sleep.

And in the night, surprise! His dreams are all EddieEddieEddie. But not nearly as bad as reality. His stupid brain can subconsciously create scenarios of Eddie in his head just as well as when he's awake. Great.

Nothing specific, though, really. He dreams of Eddie in his entirety. His short brown hair, mussed up from the touch of Richies own hand. His stupidly amazing, soft skin, glowing in the beams of a rising sun. His smile, god, toothy and bright, easily makes all of Richie's stupid, short-lived jokes worthwhile.

His lips. Holy fuck, Richie could write fucking sonnets about Eddie's lips. Informational essays and thesis papers stacked on one another. Why Eddie Kaspbrak's lips are the only thing Richie Tozier can't live without, by Richie Tozier. Soft and perfect and too good for this world.

Richie's mind drifts back to their first kiss, delicate and warm, sloppy and still a slight haze of forgotten memories. But, then again, how could he possibly forget?

He remembers all of them, all of the giggling, secretive pecks, and the deep kisses, hidden in the shadows. He misses them all in their beautiful, yet brief glory.

Richie never should have agreed to a 'no strings attached' relationship. How could you not attach strings to someone like Eddie? Richie is an idiot in love, and now he just needs to not be.

helllo welcome back sorry it took so longgg hope u liked it :D oof as far as i know, the next chapter is going to be a ride, and i know i say that every time but bear with me lol.. love you all!!!!

- author