Archive of Our Own

The oppressive heat of summer has started to ease its grip on the city, the evenings growing more tolerable by the day as the ocean breezes grow cooler. It’s like New York has taken a collective deep breath; even the daylight seems softer. Eddie tries his hardest to relax into the shifting of the seasons. It’s been a long, hot stressful summer, and he’s desperate for a change. 

He makes his way up to his third floor apartment by six most nights, smiling as he unlocks the front door. He can hear the pitter patter of Ripley’s excitement, her paws dancing on the floor as she eagerly awaits his arrival. He’s not quite sure what she gets up to all day, and he spends a lot of time decidedly not thinking about it because otherwise the guilt overwhelms him. But every single night, Ripley is there waiting for him to crack open the door so she can stick her nose through the gap, all sixty-five pounds of Bernese Mountain Dog ready to greet him. 

She nudges the door open for him and looks up at Eddie like he’s the only thing that matters. Sometimes it’s overwhelming how openly she loves him. He’s never really had that before, human or animal. Ripley whines until he pets her, running his fingers over her soft ears and ruffling the black fur on her neck. Some nights he can hardly close the door behind him because she’s too eager to greet him, unwilling to move out of the door’s path as it swings shut. Even on the nights where he doesn’t much feel like laughing, he can’t help but grin and laugh at her overwhelmed excitement. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Eddie says to her, tripping over both their feet as he struggles to make his way towards the bedroom. “I know! I’m home. It’s okay, Rip.”

He takes off his suit and changes into shorts, tugging on a fresh shirt as he wanders into the kitchen and scoops out a cup of food into her bowl. He’s tired tonight. Somehow his job drains him more these days, his days even more unsatisfying than they were before the divorce. He thought maybe his unhappy marriage was influencing his dissatisfaction, but as it turns out, maybe he hates his job just as much as he hated his marriage. 

He leans against the kitchen island and drinks a glass of water while Ripley eats. She practically inhales her food. 

“You ready?” he asks once she’s done and sitting next to his chair, tail happily thumping on the floor. He puts on his shoes, clicks on her leash, and grabs his key on their way out the front door.

He and Ripley can make it longer than two miles without her overheating now. It doesn’t matter how often he brushes her; she’s got a thick coat, and that’s never going to change. But she loves to run and he’ll never deny her that, so they continue to race down the city blocks even during the summer. Sometimes they leave the apartment at ten at night just so she can last another half mile, late enough that the pavement doesn’t burn the pads of her feet. 

They run to Central Park and bask in the coolness that the trees offer. They stop for a break at the pond; Ripley whines softly in the back of her throat as the ducks and geese tempt her. She never chases them, just edges towards the pond’s edge to lap at the water. He buries a hand in her fur and catches his breath. The only thing that runs through his mind is the thought that it’s a beautiful night. He leans down to kiss the top of his dog’s head. 

They turn around and begin to run again, the pounding of his feet on the sidewalk and the rhythmic sound of her dog tag knocking against the leash’s snap steady in his ears the whole way home.

That night, after he’s showered and eaten and made it through most of a movie that turned out to be only vaguely interesting, he wanders towards the windowsill to water the plant that’s struggled to make it through the summer. He touches the wide leaves gently, pouring an entire cup into its desperately thirsty soil. Ripley likes to sit here, he knows. She rests her wide head on the sill and watches the occasional bird fly by, observes the children that play on the sidewalks and the dogs that wander the small garden courtyard across the street.

The street is quiet tonight, or as quiet as it gets around here. Ripley has already made her way toward the bedroom, her claws gently tapping on the wood floors as she retreats into the dark room. Eddie looks up from the street below and glances at the windows across from him. It’s not too late, but for the most part people have turned out their lights. 

One window catches his eye, though. There’s a lamp bathing the room’s corner in soft yellow light, and a cat sleeping in a very indulgent-looking bed. It’s a beautiful animal, Eddie thinks to himself. Its back is a dark creamy orange, half of its face the same color while the rest of its body is a stark white. The cat stirs and yawns widely before curling back up, head tucked under its paw.

Cute. Eddie smiles softly and turns out the living room lights on his way to bed. 

~

Eddie’s not very good at sleeping in on Saturdays, up by seven except during the dead of winter when the mornings stay dark a little bit longer. He makes himself a cup of coffee and drinks it on the couch, the wood floors chilled beneath his feet as the morning newscasters drone on. Thunder rumbles outside, rain softly hitting the windows.

Ripley’s by the window, sitting proudly. Her big head swivels from side to side as she observes the people walking down below, the birds that zip quickly between the buildings. He looks over to watch her and notices movement in the apartment across the street. The cream-colored cat is in the window again, stretching against the frame, scratching its claws against the wood.

Suddenly, the cat turns around quickly, crouching playfully. A man walks up to the cat, a smirk on his scruffy face, a large hand running over the cat’s back. The animal arches into his touch, rubbing its face against the man’s shirt. Eddie smiles and then looks away quickly when the man looks up, peering right into Eddie’s apartment. Ripley’s ears perk up, her tail wagging slowly, sweeping up her own hair on the floor behind her.

Eddie stands up and pats his leg, calling her away from the window. He pours her breakfast into her empty bowl and refills her water, stroking her back as he passes by. He tries not to think about the man’s rumpled shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, his hair messy in a breathtaking kind of way. He drains the last of his coffee and disappears into the bedroom while Ripley eats, quickly changing into clothes he won’t mind being seen in.

Once he’s dressed, he shrugs his windbreaker on and grabs Ripley’s leash from the hook by the door. She’s leaning heavily against his leg, excitedly rubbing the side of her face against his hip.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters. He clicks the leash on her collar and leans down to kiss her soft head.

He grabs his umbrella and opens the door, rolling his eyes as she immediately tugs him forward. He makes her sit while he locks the door, her big brown eyes pleading up at him when he takes longer than two seconds. They take the stairs, the leash trailing behind her as he lets her race ahead. 

She’s waiting impatiently by the building’s front door by the time he reaches the final step, wagging her tail and panting as she paces a tight circle the closer he gets. He loops his wrist through the leash and pushes the door with his hip, the umbrella springing open. It’s raining lightly, a steady patter on the plastic above him.

They do a quick loop around the block, the cool storm wind sneaking beneath the edge of his collar. Ripley sniffs happily at every tree they pass, every person huddled against the weather. A little kid in a bright yellow raincoat asks if he can pet her at a stoplight, his voice shy but earnest. Eddie says of course, and watches with a small smile as Ripley gives the boy a gentle lick on the cheek. Her fur is plastered to her head, soaked by the rain, but the boy doesn’t care; he pets her over and over, until the traffic pattern shifts and they part ways.

They’ve reached the backside of their building, but Eddie lets her pause at the little courtyard across the way. She sniffs out every inch of the place, pausing by the large bird bath on the ground and lapping up the water. Eddie grimaces, but he doesn’t pull her back. It’s okay if she drinks it. It’s okay.

Once she’s done and back by his side, annoyingly rubbing her wet body against his pants, they start back home. He watches her walk, the ridiculous sway of her big, fluffy hips, her giant paws slapping on the wet cement. He sees her look up, mouth dropping open in a Ripley grin, tongue lolling out the side, and barely looks up in time to stop himself from running into the guy jogging down the steps of the building.

Oh.

It’s him. It’s him. Eddie pulls sharply on her leash and tilts the umbrella back. He hears the rain slide down the plastic, splashing in a quick rhythm on the ground behind him. The guy smiles down at Ripley and does a little side-skip to avoid running right into Eddie’s shoulder.

“Hey there,” the guy says to Ripley, laughing as she licks at his hand in greeting. He takes that as an invitation to pet her wet head.

His hands are… big. 

The guy ruffles her ear, sending water droplets flying from the soaked fur around her neck. Then he looks up at Eddie with a wide smile, his cheeks tinged pink from the chilly rain.

“Hi,” Eddie manages to say, sounding a little squeakier than he’d prefer.

The stranger walks past them, giving Ripley one last loud thumping pat on the back. She pulls on the leash, turning around like she wants to follow him, but Eddie holds her back. He looks over his shoulder for a split second, watching the guy move quickly down the street, leather jacket stretched across his back and head ducked down against the rain. His glasses are probably useless now , Eddie thinks for some reason.

Eddie tugs at Ripley's leash until she starts walking again. The rain turns into a downpour when they’re ten feet from the door, and they run up the steps. Ripley shakes her whole body before they even make it inside the door, causing her long fur to stand on end. They both drip steadily in the elevator. She shakes again and all he can do is turn his face away, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught.

He towels her off once they’ve entered the apartment, standing together on the welcome mat. It’s a useless battle. She tracks water all around the apartment, leaving little scuffed paw prints in her wake. He points to her bed by the living room window and she wanders off obediently, plopping down on the wood and licking at her limbs and the long fur on her belly.

He takes a hot shower and puts on an old ratty hoodie from college, huddling under a blanket on the couch as he drinks a second cup of coffee. He stares down at the worn emblem on the front and feels a stubborn sense of pride wash over him. An act of disobedience.

Myra hated this sweatshirt. She threatened to throw it out every time she saw him wear it, worried endlessly about appearances and what kind of husband he looked like, as if he ever wore the thing outside the house.

He puts on a movie she would have hated and listens to Ripley clean herself. She falls into a deep sleep afterward, huffing softly with every exhale, her breath fogging on the floor.

~

Eddie sleeps in a little better on Sundays. It’s like his body realizes he can relax, even just a little. The apartment is quiet. Birds chirp from their perches on the tall trees that stretch valiantly toward the sixth floor. It’s sunny today, the puddles on the sidewalks lying still in the gentle morning light.

They take off for the park, running farther after the day off, after the long night of sleep. He leans into the sprints, extending his legs as far forward as they’ll go until they’re both panting, drool dripping down the sides of Ripley’s tongue. Her ears are perked forward, eyes bright, entirely focused on the curving path in front of them.

He slows them down to an easy jog, relishing the burn in his thighs. He unzips his light jacket a little bit, letting the air rush past his drenched shirt. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, not caring that it’s fallen out of place. They turn onto one of the dirt paths and jog up the nearby hill, coming to a stop at the top.

Ripley pants heavily while he unzips the pack clipped around his waist, pulling out her portable water bowl. He unscrews the lid on his bottle and pours her some before draining the rest of the bottle himself. The water drips down his chin; he wipes at it with the back of his hand.

Once they’ve cooled down and found an open patch of field, devoid of most people other than early morning joggers and childless couples, he takes out the tennis ball from his pack. He throws it for her until his arm aches. They stay at the park until his stomach grumbles for lunch, jogging back home at an easier pace.

He doesn’t notice the sheet of paper taped to the cat owner’s window until the evening sun is about to set.

Your dog is beautiful, it reads in big capital letters.

The cat is curled up in the bed, the rest of the apartment hidden in darkness. Eddie looks down at Ripley, whose head is resting on the sill next to the plant. The little brown spots above her eyes twitch as her gaze shifts. She looks up at him curiously; he strokes her ear and gives her a little smile.

~

Eddie spends all of Monday morning thinking about the note pinned to the window. He’s distracted all day, reading emails over and over because he keeps skimming them without actually comprehending what they say. By two o’clock he’s fed up with himself, draining another cup of coffee even though he knows he shouldn’t this late in the day.

It’s not good for you, baby! Myra scolds him in the back of his mind.

He drinks the coffee angrily, slamming the mug down in the office sink with a trembling hand. He ignores the looks his coworkers give him over their shoulders and slams his office door once he’s back inside.

Eddie puts his head down and works until his alarm sounds at a quarter till five. He works another half an hour just to punish himself.

That night, he pokes at some reheated leftovers in front of the television while Ripley looks at him with a worried tilt of her head. He crumbles up the piece of paper in front him. ‘Thank you. I like your cat,’ scrawled in Sharpie, a piece of tape already fixed to the top.

Crumbling the piece of paper up as he walks into the kitchen, he throws it angrily into the trash, breathing heavily. He ignores the panicked beating of his heart. When he finds his way back to the couch, head cradled in his hands as he tries to breathe through it, Ripley sets her head in his lap. She stays there until he’s calmed down, until the vice on his chest slowly eases.

Eddie lets Ripley kiss his chin until he’s laughing softly, his eyes burning with exhaustion and something he doesn’t want to name. She sleeps on his feet that night, a comforting weight tucked up against him.

~

On Thursday night, he gets home from work and opens his mail. He smooths out a reminder for a bill he’s already paid and grabs the Sharpie. He writes as neatly as he can, worrying at his tongue with his front teeth.

Thanks. Your cat’s pretty.

He tapes it up and jogs with Ripley, a shy little smile stuck on his face.

~

Eddie gets home late on Friday.

He walks in the door with takeout from the Thai place down the street, dragging his feet on the rug. He rubs at his eyes and feeds Ripley her dinner, going through the motions like he’s automated. His throat is raw from yelling at some poor low-level assistant who probably didn’t deserve to be on the other end of his rage, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He thinks about all the things he’s going to have to fix on Monday while eating his curry, frowning as he starts to feel a tension headache setting in.

Ripley bugs him until he plays tug-of-war with her, his end of the rope frayed and falling apart. She tugs at the toy while he watches late night talk shows, growling softly and shaking her head. She slides backwards when he lets go; there’s no chance he’ll ever win against the strong muscles in her neck. She takes off to zoom around the apartment with a low bark. He rolls his eyes and turns up the volume.

He doesn’t remember the piece of paper until it’s practically midnight, once he’s finally turned the TV off and gotten up to draw the curtains shut. He looks across the dark street and peers into the man’s apartment. The cat’s not in the window, and all the lights in the apartment are off. There’s no paper on the window.

Eddie blushes, his face burning. He’s not sure if he’s embarrassed because maybe he was wrong about who the note was for, or if it’s because he’s been thinking about the guy all week. He thinks about tearing the piece of paper off the glass, crumpling it in his hand and forgetting about the whole thing.

Ripley nudges at his thigh and his fingers slips into the thick fur on her neck. He leaves the note up and lets her lead him to the bedroom. She sleeps on the floor next to his side of the bed; he lets his hand dangle over the edge, petting her until he slips into an uneasy sleep.

~

Saturday morning comes and goes.

The park is crowded, the leaves slowly starting to turn, drawing out the crowds. A group of tourists run up to Ripley and start to pet her without asking, and he tightens his grip on her leash. He pulls her back a little more roughly than he meant to, shocking both of them. She notices his uneasiness and pushes at his hip with her nose.

One of the women seems to notice his discomfort, and pulls her friends back with an apologetic half-smile. He accepts their hurried apologies and keeps walking down the path briskly, even though they’re heading in the wrong direction. He walks until he can breathe again, until his grip on the leash goes slack, his hand cramping uncomfortably.

He finds a free bench and sits down heavily. He buries his face in Ripley’s neck, stroking her cheek until his hand stops shaking. Her head is a comforting weight on his lap.

They make it home eventually, tennis ball still proudly held between Ripley’s teeth. He hangs up her leash and immediately walks toward the window.

THANKS!
Her name is Peaches :)

There’s two pieces of paper this time. Eddie smiles and touches the glass with one hand. It’s cool beneath his touch, his skin still warm from the sun. He peels his piece of paper off the window and walks towards the kitchen island. He finds another piece of scrap paper and stands there, cap of the pen held between his teeth. The pen squeaks as he finally leans down and writes.

Cute name
This is Ripley.

~

By Sunday afternoon there’s a new note. Peaches is sitting in the window, tail twitching as she scans the street below.

Ripley!!!

It’s the only word on the paper this time. Eddie laughs.

On Tuesday, he sneaks a little pile of blank printer paper into his briefcase at work. His assistant gives him a funny look but doesn’t ask. He feels himself blush and goes back to his desk.

~

Eddie spends most of the week trying to think of what to say next. He catches a glimpse of the guy on Friday night, walking around his apartment shirtless as he reads something out of a little notebook. His wide shoulders flex as he gestures with one hand. His beard’s grown longer. Eddie watches him scratch at his face, and he imagines what it would feel like under his palm, his thumb rubbing over the man’s cheek. Over his lips–

He clicks Ripley’s leash on and runs for three miles. It’s one of his fastest times all month.

~

He and Ripley go for their long Saturday walk later than usual. He’s had a headache all morning, brought on by an early morning text from Myra.

Stop texting me, he wants to reply. I told you I’d get a restraining order if you don’t stop.

He imagines what she’d say.

“I worry about you!”

“You made a mistake, Eddie bear. You can still come home. Please? Come home?”

“Did you take your medicine? You know you need your medicine. I can put in your refills–”

He crawls back in bed until his stomach grumbles harshly when he misses lunch, biting at him, reminding him that what he needs is food and not her empty concerns. He eats with hands that tremble like he hasn’t eaten in days. He swallows a vitamin and ignores all the little orange bottles in the cabinet.

Once he’s finally recovered enough, he pulls on his shoes and leads Ripley to the elevator. He leans against the side, for once not caring about who’s touched it and when the last time it was cleaned. He turns the tennis ball over and over in his hand. Ripley watches it diligently the entire ride down to the lobby.

They walk to DeWitt Clinton Park, tucked between 52nd and 54th. They walk along the tree-lined path until they reach the “big dog” park. It’s pretty busy, which makes sense for a Saturday afternoon. He unhooks her leash and wanders over to a bench while she runs loops around the yard with the other dogs. The breeze off the Hudson moves the branches above him, scattering a few leaves onto the ground.

Eddie tosses the ball and laughs as the gaggle of four dogs tears after it, paws skittering on the ground as they play-fight and jump on each other's backs. He chats with a couple of other owners, twisting the leash nervously around his wrist until he slowly eases into being comfortable. Well. Comfortable enough. Ripley collapses on his feet after an hour, her frothy tongue leaving a wet mark on the concrete as she pants. He grins and strokes her side, scratching at her belly.

“You ready to go home?” Eddie asks once she’s stopped breathing so heavily.

Ripley springs up and licks at his face until he manages to push her away, laughing the whole time. They take the long way home, stopping by his favorite sandwich shop and picking up something for dinner. His heart feels a little lighter by the time they reach their block.

“Hey, Ripley!” Someone says as they approach their building.

Eddie looks up quickly. He feels his breath catch in his lungs, cheeks burning as his eyes go wide.

His… neighbor is walking towards them, hair brushed and light beard trimmed. He’s wearing a deep green button-up with little… kiwis? in an unfortunately pleasant-looking pattern. His hands are tucked in his front pockets until he nears them, and then he takes out his right hand to let Ripley sniff at it.

“Can I?” The guy asks.

“Oh,” Eddie stutters out, distracted by the sound of his voice and his smile and– “Yeah. Yes, of course.”

The guy kneels down and pets Ripley’s cheeks, laughing softly as she leans forward to sniff at his face. He buries his big hands in the thick fur on her neck and scratches her until she’s leaning into it, stretching happily.

“Bye, pretty girl,” the guy says, standing back up.

He starts to walk off, but then he turns towards Eddie again.

“I’ll tell Peaches you say hi,” he adds with a wink.

Eddie stands there, lips parted and face hot, gaping as he watches the guy disappear into the throng of people. Ripley tugs at the leash. He snaps his mouth shut.

“Okay,” Eddie says after an embarrassingly long minute, even though the guy’s long gone.

~

The next morning there’s a new sign in his neighbor’s window.

What kind of dog?

He pins up a new piece of paper.

Bernese Mtn Dog

He adds a little smiley face after five minutes of hesitation. He doesn’t check the window the rest of the day.

~

September ends quickly; October rolls in on a stormy weekend.

His neighbor’s gone quiet the last few days; Eddie tries not to focus on it, but it’s difficult when the torrential downpour keeps him cooped up for three days straight. He busies himself with an upcoming project for work that will probably kick his ass all month. He drafts three different this is my two week notice emails and deletes every single one of them.

On Sunday night, he pins up a new note.

I’m Eddie btw

By the time he gets home on Monday, there’s a new note. Peaches is sunbathing on her bed, belly up, little paws folded up against her chest.

Hi!! I’m Richie!

Richie.

Eddie lies in bed that night with a stupid smile on his face. He turns into the pillow with a groan. Ripley’s head is heavy where she’s resting on his hip, curled up behind him.

“Shut up,” he mumbles to her. Her tail thumps on the bed.

~

Eddie goes home early that next Friday. There’s a 10k coming up in a few weekends for Halloween, and he hasn’t had enough time to run longer distances lately. He leaves Ripley at home, drops a kiss on her snout in apology before taking off.

It’s a beautiful day, feeling more and more like fall with every passing week. Some of the trees in the park have started to change, leaves slowly turning deep red and orange from the top down. By the time he’s finished his run, he feels like he still has energy left. For the first time in weeks he feels confident. Content.

He challenges Ripley to a game of rope; she snarls playfully every time he touches her nose, making him laugh so hard he has to collapse on the couch and catch his breath. She rushes towards the window when she hears a couple of dogs barking down below, pressing her nose outside through the cracked window as far as she can.

Eddie joins her, peering down at the one-lane street. There’s a couple dogs playing in the courtyard, chasing each other around the small garden. Ripley’s tail wags quickly, hitting the back of his leg with every swing. He scratches her head and looks across the way. Oh. Richie’s standing in his window too, Peaches cradled in his arms. He’s smiling over at Eddie. Richie gives him a little wave, smiling crookedly.

Eddie lifts his hand and waves back, hoping like hell Richie can’t see the color rising in his cheeks.

Richie lifts up Peaches paw and waves with that too, and Eddie can’t help but laugh, ducking his chin down as he smiles. He looks back up in time to see Richie hold up a finger in a wait there! motion and set Peaches down in her bed.

Eddie shifts nervously until he reappears, petting Ripley’s head when she sits down next to him. She’s still watching the street below with her curious brown eyes, oblivious to what’s happening.

Richie comes back and holds up a piece of paper. It’s got–

Eddie swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat.

It’s got his phone number written on it, with Text me? :) underneath.

Eddie takes his phone out and takes a zoomed-in picture, just to be sure. Yeah. Yeah, that’s Richie’s phone number. He glances back up and gives what he’s sure is the world’s shakiest little smile as he opens up a new message. 

[5:51] Uh. Hi?

[5:52] hi!!

[5:54] Is this really Richie? With the cat?

[5:55] I’m still in the window obviously typing on my phone and u think it’s not me?

Eddie looks up. Richie’s laughing at him. He wishes he could hear what that sounds like.

[5:58] You know anyone could’ve written down your number.

[6:00] worth it :)

Eddie wanders over to the couch, thumb hovering over his screen. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s so bad at this. What even is this? His phone buzzes.

[6:05] sorry if this is weird. u don’t have to talk if u don’t want

[6:07] No, no. It’s okay. I’m just not very good at this.

[6:10] no pressure!
[6:11] how’s your night going?

[6:14] Not too bad. I went for my run already today. You?

[6:15] you went running?? that’s terrible I’m sorry
[6:16] pretty good day for me tho, got the weekend off

[6:18] I’m training for a 10K. It’s on Halloween.

[6:20] ooo fancy running man
[6:21] do u get to wear a costume while u run

[6:24] Haha… You can. I don’t really do that.

[6:30] aw but it’d be so cute.

Eddie launches himself off the couch. He busies himself with Ripley’s dinner and then rummages through the fridge until he figures out something to eat for himself. His phone is still on the couch. He glances at it nervously. The microwave dings. He sets his steaming plate on the coffee table and finally picks up the phone again.

You think I’m cute? Delete.

Is this flirting???? Delete. Fuck.

[6:48] Haha.

He rolls his eyes at himself.

[6:49] I want to get a good time. I don’t think a costume would be very helpful.

[6:55] well u should at least consider a fun spooky themed t-shirt 

[7:02] I’ll consider it.

[7:03] :)

~

Eddie’s up by eight the next morning, a blanket on his lap as he sips at his coffee and watches the news. His phone buzzes on the table.

“For fuck’s sake, Myra,” he mutters, leaning forward to look at the notification. “Oh.”

[8:42] do u drink coffee by chance?

Eddie looks down at the mug balanced on his lap.

[8:44] Good morning. Um yeah I do

[8:46] have you been to Signs down the street? they’ve got outdoor seating if u want to bring the pooch. if u want

“You wanna go for a walk?” Eddie says out loud. Ripley jumps up from her bed and trots over to him. He laughs and touches her velvety ear.

“Yeah, okay.”

[8:50] Yeah that sounds nice. Meet you there?

[8:52] yeah!! just give me like 20 mins?

[8:53] Sure.

Ripley follows him into the bedroom and sits patiently in the doorway while he changes. He shrugs on a light jacket, a dark blue thing that he’s been told looks nice on him. He doesn’t stop to think about what that means.

It’s a brisk morning outside. Ripley trots happily in front of him, sniffing at every tree like it’s the first time she’s been down this block. Fuck. What is he doing? His grip tightens on Ripley’s leash as he tries to remember how to breathe.

Richie’s standing outside the coffee shop, leaning against one of the little tables set up out front. Ripley perks up, noticing the familiar face, and pulls them a little faster down the sidewalk.

“Well hi!” Richie says, rubbing her neck as she wiggles happily and makes little snuffling snorting sounds in the back of her throat.

Eddie isn’t sure if he should go for a handshake. What’s the proper protocol here? What are you supposed to do when you meet your neighbor for coffee after meeting through fucking paper signs? Then Richie looks up at him with a shy little smile and Eddie’s pretty sure he’s not exactly sure what to do in this situation either. He returns the smiles.

“Eddie, yeah?” Richie says. Eddie likes the way he says his name.

“Yeah. Richie, right?” He plays along. Ripley looks up at them both.

“The one and only. You wanna sit?”

Richie gestures to the table and they sit. Eddie starts to loop Ripley’s leash through one of the legs of the table before standing up to go inside when suddenly Richie shakes him off.

“It’s on me. Let me guess, Americano? Cappuccino? You don’t strike me as a sugary drink kinda guy.” Richie asks with a little tilt to his smile.

Eddie blushes and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Um. Yeah, cappuccino is okay. Thank you.”

Richie walks towards the entrance to the shop, holding the door open for a couple of young women once he gets there. Ripley sits down and leans against his leg, looking up at him curiously. He pets her head, smoothing down the little brown patches above her eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confides in her.

Richie comes back out a couple minutes later, two to-go cups and a little brown bag in his hands. He hands Eddie his coffee before pulling out the other chair and sitting down.

“I forgot to ask if you wanted something to eat,” Richie says, sounding a little more nervous now. “I bought a croissant. I thought maybe you’d want half?”

He stumbles over his words, looking up at Eddie a little uncertain.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. “That sounds great. Thank you.”

They split the bread, laughing together when Ripley dives after the crumbs that land on both their laps. She sniffs at the table’s edge, using her height to eye the last bit of croissant lying prone on the napkin.

“Uh-uh,” Eddie says, tapping her lightly on the nose. She sits with a huff, right between their chairs. Her head is on a swivel. Eddie, Richie. The table. Eddie. Richie. Eddie.

“She’s adorable,” Richie says, petting her head.

“She’s a beggar.” Eddie shakes his head at her. 

Richie asks how old she is. (Four.) Eddie asks about why he named his cat Peaches. (Because she’s fuzzy on the outside and sweet on the inside, Richie says with a wink and a grin when Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes.)

“Do you run a lot?”

“More now than the last couple of years,” Eddie says. He rubs at the fading tan line on his ring finger, hoping Richie doesn’t notice. “Have you lived here long?”

“Probably around ten years now. You?”

“Twelve? Maybe. I just moved to Hell’s Kitchen about six months ago, though.”

Richie doesn’t ask why. Eddie is grateful.

They talk for an hour, until the late morning crowd starts to move in and crowd around the door, eyeing their table like vultures. They toss their trash and give in to the scavengers.

“I usually take her for a quick walk around the block,” Eddie fumbles out once they’ve reached the sidewalk and need to decide on a direction. “You can come with us? If you’d like.”

Richie smiles at him, a pondering look lingering on his face before he nods. Ripley leads them down the street, the leash slack as they walk at an easy pace. Eddie listens to him talk about his job, a record store down in Chelsea. Richie asks what he does and grimaces a little when Eddie says I work for an insurance company, actually. He laughs under his breath when Eddie gives him a look that says yeah, yeah, I know, shut up.

“I do comedy shows, sometimes,” Richie adds after a pause.

“Really?” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s cool.”

“Thanks,” Richie says, lifting his head to look at Eddie over the tops of his glasses. He’s got a shy smile on his face.

Eddie likes his smile a lot.

They say goodbye in front of Eddie’s building. Richie leans down to let Ripley lick his chin goodbye. Eddie watches him walk away; watches him turn around and look over his shoulder and smile at them one last time. Eddie crosses the street and ignores his grinning reflection in the elevator doors. 

~

Eddie runs four miles on Monday, then five on Wednesday. He takes another half-day on Friday and runs seven miles. He feels ready. He feels good. There’s still two weeks until the race; he feels confident he can knock those ten minutes off his time and beat his Labor Day run.

It’s a beautiful fall day, the temperature hovering around 65 with a cool breeze. He eats dinner and channel surfs for ten minutes before pacing his living room. He’s restless. He wants to go out. He takes out his phone and opens Richie’s message thread.

Hey, what are you doing tonight? Delete.

Do you want to get a drink with me? Delete. Fuck.

He puts his phone away and rifles through his closet. He pulls out a dark purple button-up; it’s new, the collar still crisp. He rolls up the sleeves. Pulls on a dark pair of jeans. Takes out his phone again.

“Fuck,” he mutters, shoving the device back in his pocket.

“I’ll be back later,” he says to Ripley before opening the front door. She’s dozing on her bed in the living room, legs stretched upwards, paws leaning against the wall. She glances at him and doesn’t move.

Eddie walks out into the brisk night, the last hints of light visible between the buildings. Maybe he should have grabbed a jacket. He makes his way towards 9th Avenue. He passes a saloon with a big rainbow flag in the window; he eyes it warily before continuing down the street. 

It’s still early. There’s music coming from the propped open doors of the various bars, but there aren’t lines, not yet. He hesitates outside of Barrage before finally working up the nerve to go inside. The bar is dark, but the music isn’t overwhelming and the couches lining the walls are pretty empty this early in the night.

“Hey!” The bartender walks up to him as soon as he leans against the bar. “How are you tonight?”

“Hi,” Eddie says. “You have a menu?”

The bartender grins and nods, moving down the bar to grab one.

“Take your time.”

Eddie looks down at the menu and groans under his breath. The cocktail names are… something else. Treasure Trail. Pearl Necklace. Jock. Twink. Cock Ring . He scratches at his chin, ignoring the heat flooding his cheeks.

“Decide what you’d like?” The man asks after making his way over to Eddie again, a smirk on his face.

“Can I– uh. Can I get a Passive Top? Please.” Eddie looks up at him and blushes when the bartender smiles widely.

“You bet.” He winks at Eddie.

Eddie turns away and clears his throat, scanning the thin crowd and tapping his hand nervously on the countertop. He sets some cash down on the counter when his drink is set in front of him. He drinks slowly, the rum and the lemon biting at his throat as he swallows. He starts to relax. He buys another.

He chats with a couple guys, lets someone buy him a shot. Takes out his phone and clicks on Richie’s name again. Puts his phone away. Thinks about broad shoulders and toothy grins.

A fit blond guy named Oskar flirts with him for half an hour. Eddie finds himself distracted by the swell of his bicep, his big hands holding onto the delicate cocktail glass. Eddie watches him lick a stray drop off the back of his thumb and feels himself blush, leaning into the guy as the alcohol starts to soothe his nerves and make him brave.

“Have you had the Pearl Necklace?” Oskar leans in and asks, his lips warm against Eddie’s ear.

Eddie shivers. He reaches out and touches Oskar’s forearm, strong muscles under his fingertips. He swallows and shakes his head no. Oskar waves over the bartender. He orders two. They drink them slowly, until Eddie’s hand brushes against Oskar’s flat stomach, until he looks back up at the taller man looming over him from. Eddie tips his glass back, quickly draining the rest; he swallows hard when Oskar does the same, his throat moving beautifully.

They stumble into Eddie’s apartment, the door slamming shut behind them. They leave behind a trail of clothes, pulling at each other, wide hands gripping his hips and tugging him closer. He lets Oskar push him back on the bed, letting him cover Eddie’s entire body with his own. Eddie moans loudly, lost in the bliss of the heavy weight on top of him. He kisses him until they’re both gasping and coming apart. He feels Oskar’s hand spread out on the pillow next to his head and turns his face to kiss his wrist. He slips his hand under the waistband of Oskar’s boxers and pushes his hips up against him, chasing the friction and heat, spurred on by Oskar gasping above him. Eddie drags him down into a hot kiss, a satisfied grin pulling at his lips. He feels alive.

~

Eddie wakes up alone, the sheets a tangled mess around his hips. He touches his lips and lies there until Ripley nudges at him with her nose. He glances at the clock; it’s almost nine already. He feeds her breakfast and then drains two entire glasses of water, popping a couple of ibuprofen, too.

He notices the scrap of paper on the kitchen island with a phone number written on it. He tosses it in a drawer and sinks down into the couch, turning on the TV.

He orders pizza for lunch. He wanders over to the window as he eats a slice, pulling aside the curtain. He cracks the window, letting the cool breeze in. He sees Peaches on the back of Richie’s couch, curled up in a little ball.

[12:03] Peaches looks comfy.

[12:34] haha! is she snoozin

[12:37] Yep. On the couch. 

[12:52] that’s my girl :) how’s riptide

Eddie rolls his eyes, but sits up to take a picture of her anyway. She’s snoozing in her bed again, tail curled up around her nose.

[12:54] She’s good. She’s napping, too.

[1:01] oh my god… you have the best dog. tell her hi for me

[1:05] Are you working? Sorry I didn’t think to ask.

[1:27] yeah it’s okay tho. slow day.
[1:28] any plans today?

[1:31] Not really. Ordered pizza.

Stayed out too last night, he types out before smashing the backspace button.

[1:35] pizza?? u don’t strike me as a greasy pizza kinda guy

[1:36] I ran more than 15 miles this week, I think I deserve it.

[1:38] u definitely do!!

[2:01] Are you working tomorrow?

[2:02] yeah, but only til noon.
[2:03] what’s on your mind, spagheddio?

Eddie gets up from the couch and paces around the kitchen.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “Just ask him, you idiot.”

[2:08] I usually take Ripley to Central Park on Sundays. Thought maybe you’d like to join us?

[2:32] yeah!!! I’d love that
[2:33] I’ll let you know when I get home tomorrow

Eddie collapses back down on the couch and shoves his face into a throw pillow.

“What are you doing?” He asks himself.

Ripley rolls over with a groan.

~

Things feel easy with Richie. Eddie feels like that shouldn’t be true this soon, but as they walk together through Central Park, it feels like they’ve known each other for years.

They find an empty section of the park -- or as empty as they can on a Sunday afternoon -- and take turns tossing the ball for Ripley. Eddie watches them interact, something like pride settling in his chest. He looks away quickly when Richie catches him staring, deflecting the attention. 

“Just throw the ball,” Eddie says, pushing at Richie’s arm because he can’t help himself.

Eddie thinks about Friday night, remembers long arms wrapped around him, and wonders what it would be like to sink into Richie’s arms. He’s wearing a soft-looking flannel shirt today, the dark green and blue bringing out the color in his eyes. Eddie finds it hard to stop looking.

Ripley shoves her face against his leg before leaping up, front paws landing square on Eddie’s stomach as she tries to get his attention. He winces and pushes her down, grimacing as his arm comes away covered in drool. He takes the ball from her and tosses it as far as he can. He can feel Richie watching him.

“What?” Eddie asks. He wipes his arm on Richie’s shirt, laughing when he gasps dramatically and takes a step back.

His shirt is as soft as it looks.

“No fair!” Richie wipes at his chest. “She’s your dog! Shouldn’t you be used to the drool?”

Ripley comes loping back up, breathing heavily around the ball. She drops the ball and barks at Richie, dropping down into a playful crouch. Richie laughs and reaches down to shake her head back and forth. She barks again and takes off, not even waiting for the ball this time. Eddie’s cheeks hurt; he’s not sure the last time he smiled this much. 

Richie sits down with a grunt, leaning back on his hands in the grass.

“Pop a squat, doc,” he says, squinting up at Eddie.

Eddie glances at the grass beneath his feet. His heart pounds a funny beat. He wishes he were as carefree as he had been as a kid. Well, as carefree as he’d been allowed to be, during those rare times when nobody was keeping a watchful eye. He thinks of sunny days, playing in the river. He sits down next to Richie, stretching his legs out in front of him. Richie gives him a knowing little smile.

Ripley makes her way back over to them, and launches herself right onto Richie’s lap. He falls back with a soft oof, his face scrunching up as he starts to laugh. Ripley licks at his chin, her dirty paws leaving traces of dirt all over his shirt. Eddie can’t stop staring.

Eventually Ripley calms down, flopping down dramatically between the two of them. She licks the sweat off Eddie’s arm and then twists her neck around to watch a Border Collie trot by off-leash.

“Stay down,” Eddie murmurs, stroking the soft fur on her cheek. She puts her head back down and sighs deeply, her big brown eyes calmly watching the busy park around them.

“She’s so big,” Richie says, still lying down on his back. He’s petting her side absently, looking at her with a kind of wonder.

Eddie feels a flash of nervousness. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Richie looks up at him quickly. “What’s there to be sorry for? Just means there’s more dog for me to love.”

Eddie ignores his questioning look and focuses his gaze ahead of them. The Border Collie is busy catching a frisbee in mid-air now. He watches the dog leap up and seek out its prize, seeming to land in slow motion. He pets Ripley’s big belly, feels her breath reassuringly under his palm.

“Sorry, sometimes–” Eddie hesitates. He picks at a blade of grass. “Sometimes people get scared of her size. Or think she’s too much to handle.”

He says the last part bitterly. Richie’s looking up at him differently now; like he’s concerned. Please don’t ask, Eddie thinks. Please .

“Well,” Richie finally says, reaching across Ripley to squeeze his shoulder. “I think she’s great. I think she’s the perfect size.”

Eddie skin feels like it’s been set on fire. He wants to set his hand on top of Richie’s, wants to thread their fingers together. He thinks about what it would be like to lean over and kiss him, the smell of fresh-cut grass flooding his senses, Richie’s sun-warmed lips under his. His pulse quickens, pounding in his throat.

“Thanks,” Eddie says instead, looking down at Richie and distantly wondering if everything he’s feeling is right there on his face. It feels like it is.

Richie smiles and gives his shoulder another squeeze before letting his hand drop back down onto the grass. His fingers ghost over his shoulder blade on their way down, a phantom touch that lingers on Eddie’s skin the rest of the afternoon. 

~

Even after he gets home, Eddie feels warmed by the sun. There’s a red tint to his cheeks, the tips of his ears. Ripley collapses on the cool wood floor as soon as she’s done lapping up half her water bowl. She sleeps deeply as he putters around, organizing himself for the week ahead. He cooks dinner and tosses her scraps from his stir fry even though he knows he shouldn’t.

She hops up on the couch with him while he half-heartedly watches a documentary. He tucks his feet under her haunches, the long hair on her tail tickling his legs. He watches her sleep, her heavy head resting on his hand. His thumb strokes her long muzzle.

“I think she’s the perfect size,” he hears Richie say again.

“You are perfect,” Eddie tells her. Her eyes twitch under her eyelids.

Myra had fought him the moment he saw Ripley’s listing.

“She’ll be too big for you, Eddie!” She had said, over and over, even after he’d brought the little ball of fluff home. Ripley had been a big puppy, all paws and big head, waddling around happily.

“You’re allergic to dogs, Eddie,” Myra had said a year in, looking down distrustfully at Ripley in all her gangly young dog glory. “You shouldn’t keep her. She’ll make your allergies flare up and that’s not good for you.”

“I’m not allergic to dogs, Myra,” he had said. “I used to hang out with Ben’s dog all the time.”

“Well, I don’t think she’s the right fit,” Myra said, just like always, looking down at Ripley with disdain. “She’s getting to be too big, Eddie. What will people think?”

“Maybe if you took the time to play with her, you’d start to like her,” he had said, finally losing his temper.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Eddie. You know I know what’s best for us.”

Myra had never allowed Ripley in the bedroom. She would huff every time Ripley made noise in the middle of the night, a soft whine filtering through the walls from her crate in the living room. When Ripley finally settled down a little around age two, Myra allowed her dog bed to be moved to his side of the bed, but allowing Ripley on the bed itself had been out of the question. Eddie eventually solved this problem by moving into the guest room permanently.

Eddie doesn’t mind that Ripley still prefers her plush dog beds most nights. She sleeps close enough to the edge of the bed that Eddie can reach over the side and feel her when he needs it.

She sleeps with him tonight. He pats the bed until she hops up, laughing when she automatically stretches out on the other side of the mattress. She exhales softly. He grabs his phone and takes a picture.

[9:32] You wore her out. I had a good time today, Richie

[9:35] aww god she’s cute Eds. I had a great time too. same time next weekend?

He groans and throws an elbow over his face.

“He’s killing me, Rip,” he tells her. She yawns widely, a soft whine escaping her throat.

[9:39] Yeah I’d love that. A lot.

He sends it before he can change his mind. His phone buzzes in his hand. He opens the message and laughs. It’s a picture of Peaches sprawled out on Richie’s lap, her head hanging off the side. It looks very precarious.

[9:40] miss peaches n’ cream says hello
[9:41] good, I can’t wait. give ripley a kiss for me?

[9:42] You bet. Give Peaches one for me. Goodnight

[9:44] sleep tight, eddie

Eddie buries his face in Ripley’s fur and groans.

~

Eddie finds himself texting Richie during his lunch hour. Then during his breaks. Then when he’s sitting at his desk, staring at a spreadsheet and losing his mind over stupid mistakes.

[2:35] I don’t know what we pay them for honestly. It’s their job! They keep sending me documents that are COMPLETELY wrong and then get upset when I yell at them

[2:37] are u supposed to yell at them lol

[2:38] I’ve tried to be nice! They’ve been doing this for months and it makes it impossible to do my job when I have to wait for them to fix ten things every time

[2:40] just breathe buddy

[2:41] Fuck you I’m calm.

[2:43] I bet you’re doing that cute scrunched up angry face rn :)

[2:45] Why do I even talk to you

[2:50] because I buy ripley those amazing peanut butter treats

[2:54] If she gets fat I’m going to make you start running with her

He catches his assistant smiling at him and scowls.

“What is it?” he snaps.

“Nothing. Just that you look happy,” she says with a smirk, looking back at her computer like she said nothing at all. “It‘s a good look on you, Mr. K.”

He gets up and closes his office door, face burning.

~

Okay, so maybe he texts Richie when he’s the one who should be working sometimes, too.

[7:15] You really like the late shifts?

[7:20] yeah why not. I like the city at night

[7:23] I get the feeling you start to change your tune when it starts to snow.

[7:28] yeah okay maybe not when we get blizzards and the wind gets terrible but you know what I mean

[7:30] Sure.

[7:51] so when’s your race again? Halloween?

[7:59] Yeah. It’s on Governors Island.

[8:10] oh that’s cool. do you get a snazzy tshirt when you finish??

[8:15] Haha yeah. I think so. I never wear them though.

[8:36] who’s gonna be waiting for you at the finish line?

Eddie turns down the volume on the TV and reads the message three times in a row. He sinks down into the couch and pulls his knees closer to his chest.

[8:39] Um. It’s usually just me

[8:41] what!! are guests allowed
[8:42] I want to come cheer you on

[8:43] Don’t you work on Saturdays?

Eddie hates that he knows that. He hates that now Richie knows he remembers that. He pulls the blanket up to his chin and watches the little dots appear as Richie types.

[8:45] yeah but it’s like a week away, that’s plenty of time to find someone to cover for me.

He brings up the race website on his phone.

[8:51] Are you sure?? It says it costs $30 per person. And you’ll have to take the ferry out with me that morning and then wait around while I run

[8:54] that’s no problem!

[8:55] Richie.. you don’t have to

[9:01] I know, but I want to
[9:02] send me the link and I’ll get the ticket tonight!

He attaches the link and sends it.

When he gets ready for bed an hour later, he stares at himself in the mirror and hardly recognizes himself. He looks happier. He brushes his teeth and tries not to think about how Myra never came to a single one of his races, not even the one for breast cancer that she had wanted him to sign up for because of her own family history.

He tries not to think about her tsk -ing and groaning about every race t-shirt he brought home, heavy medals around his neck and a happy flush on his face.

“Those shirts are so tacky,” she said.

“You should donate them,” she said.

He remembers placing each and every shirt deep in his dresser drawer where she never thought to look. He wanders over to his dresser – a different one, one that he picked out himself – and takes out one of the shirts. He slips it on over his head and crawls into bed.

~

The Monday before the race, Eddie’s on his way back from a five-miler, sweat dripping down his hair onto his forehead. It’s an unusually warm October day, the sun beating down on his neck until it starts to set behind the buildings. He turns the corner onto his street, pushing himself to the end of the block even though his thighs are burning. He focuses on every step, the slap of his shoes a steady rhythm on the concrete.

He dips his head down for half a second to steady his breathing. He should have taken off his jacket, he’s too hot–

“Whoa!”

He looks up in time to veer out of the way, stumbling to a stop right past where Richie’s stopped on the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” Eddie gasps out, his hands dropping to his hips as he struggles to catch his breath.

“No, no,” Richie shakes his head, rubbing at the back of his neck with a grimace. “I’m sorry man, I wasn’t looking where I was going. You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Eddie says, leaning against an iron fence. He lifts his wrist to stop the timer on his watch.

“Did I mess up your time?”

“No, I was almost done. Don’t worry about it, Rich.”

Eddie looks back up, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe at the sweat dripping into his eyes. Richie’s looking down Eddie’s body, lingering on what looks like his shorts. His very bright blue, maybe a bit short, too-tight running shorts. His eyes snap back up to Eddie’s face after a solid ten seconds, a blush spreading over his cheeks.

“You look, uh–” Richie stumbles over his words. “You look good. I mean, you look ready for the race. And everything.”

Eddie grins and bites at his lower lip.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good about it.”

Eddie watches Richie’s eyes flicker down to the ground, nervously shoving a hand in his pocket before his gaze tracks back up, painfully slow. Eddie swallows. He’s not sure if his heart is pounding from the run or from the look on Richie’s face. He takes a half-step towards Richie.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” Eddie says, reaching back to grab his ankle and stretch his quad. Richie watches his movement carefully. Eddie sees his throat move as he swallows.

“To the race, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Richie chokes out, the softly-spoken word hanging between them. “Yeah, me too. I can’t wait.”

“Bye, Richie,” Eddie says, leaning closer for half a second before turning around and walking towards his building.

He doesn’t turn around, but he knows Richie is watching. Eddie ducks his head down and smiles, a pleasant feeling settling deep inside him.

~

After his run on Wednesday, Eddie takes the same loop home, running up their shared street in the hopes of running into Richie again. He doesn’t.

He takes the stairs up to his floor, rolling his eyes at himself, muttering under his breath.

“This is ridiculous.” Second floor.

“It was one look.” Third floor.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Maybe he’s just coming to the race to be nice.” Fifth floor.

He bursts into the apartment and startles Ripley. Her head springs up from the couch, ears perked up and head tilted to the side.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles.

He turns the shower up hot, his legs chilled from the wind. He shoves his face under the spray, scrubs at his skin. He runs his fingers through his wet hair, feels it plastered against his forehead. He thinks about the way Richie said goodbye to him on the street– the deep blush spreading up his neck, the rasp of his voice as he watched Eddie’s lips move, his eyes raking over his legs.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie whispers into the spray, dropping his hand down to his groin. Teasing himself.

He wonders what Richie looks like under those loud shirts he wears. He thinks about pushing that damn ‘80s retro top over his shoulders, down his arms, leaving it on the floor behind them. Richie’s long arms wrapping around him, Eddie’s hands holding onto his shoulders, the back of his neck. The scrape of Richie’s stubble against his chin. He’s hard now, desperately so. He drops his chin down and lets the hot water stream down his neck, blanketing his shoulders.

He thinks about Richie crowding up behind him, his wet cheek against Eddie’s own, big hands wandering down his soapy chest. Richie’s wet chest pressed to every inch of his back, rubbing hard cock against his ass. He gasps, thrusting into his fist harder, losing his rhythm to the want and the need, thinking about Richie’s big hand wrapped around him instead.

He moans when he comes, Richie’s name on the tip of his tongue. He shudders, his hand gradually slowing as the water starts to turn lukewarm. He shoves his face under the water one last time, eyes clenched shut.

He turns off the faucet and stands there, dripping wet and exhausted. Fuck.

Eddie steps out and towels off, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. Once he’s dressed, he nudges Ripley out of the way and collapses onto the couch next to her. He glances at his phone and blushes when he sees there’s a new message from Richie.

[7:15] it’s official, I’m free all day saturday
[7:16] I’m all yours

[7:32] I can’t wait.

~

Eddie spends Thursday and Friday aggressively hydrating and hating every second of it.

“Maybe you should slow down,” his assistant, Kat, says from her desk after his fifth trip to the bathroom before noon on Friday.

“The key is to prepare the day before, Kat,” Eddie huffs, doing a quick lap around his office before sitting again. “I need to be ready for tomorrow.”

“Don’t you run like four days a week? I think you’re pretty well set.”

“Yes, I do,” Eddie shouts through the open door, even though he doesn’t need to. “But this weekend needs to go perfectly, okay. It’s different.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He freezes in his chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He hears Kat’s chair roll back and then she’s standing in his doorway, leaning in with a shit-eating grin.

“Don’t,” he warns.

She plops down in the chair on the other side of his desk.

“How come this weekend’s different, Eddie?” She asks, ignoring his protests.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Mr. K,” Kat says, reaching out to play with the pens standing on end in the little cup. “Did you invite someone to come watch you run? Do you have a date for this event?”

“Please stop,” he says, reaching out to pull the cup of pens closer to him. “Did you send me the updated Barton files? I need to finish them by today and–”

“Stop avoiding the question, Eddie.” She interrupts him with a glare, though there’s a smirk on her lips. “It sounds to me like you’ve got a crush on someone.”

Eddie quickly looks away. He rolls his eyes when she laughs.

“No,” he says, staring blankly at the email draft in front of him. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“What’s his name?”

“Kat, please.”

“Eddie.”

He taps out the word ‘the’ on the email and sighs. “His name is Richie.”

“Richie?”

“Yes.” He glares up at her.

“He sounds like a dork.” Her loose curls bounce as she laughs and grins widely at him.

Eddie laughs too, catching himself off-guard. He ducks his chin down to his chest before smiling up at her.

“He definitely is.”

“Are you going to tell me anything about him?” She asks, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed across her chest.

“No,” he says pointedly. “I am not. Now can you please send me the Barton files?”

She laughs and stands up, hands lifted in an okay, I give up! gesture. Her deep purple top shifts on her shoulders; it compliments her dark skin, reaffirms the self-confident air about her.

“You look nice today,” Eddie says without thinking.

Kat looks back over with a smaller smile, a gentle understanding look on her face.

“Thanks, Mr. K. You better tell me how your date goes on Monday!”

Eddie gets back to work and smiles the rest of the afternoon.

~

Richie’s already waiting outside his apartment building on Saturday morning. They take the subway down to the ferry. He checks the time every two minutes, an annoyed sigh slipping past his lips when there’s a short delay at one of the stops. Richie pokes at his knee with a finger.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles. “I get nervous.”

“It’s okay,” Richie says, smiling at him softly. “You’re gonna do great.”

The ferry barely takes ten minutes. Eddie paces back and forth, ignoring Richie’s amused smirk as he watches from his seat. Once they’ve reached the registration table and finished checking in, he paces some more, until Richie grabs his hand and tugs him over. 

“Hey,” Richie holds onto Eddie’s biceps, centering him. “You need to breathe, pipsqueak.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m not a fucking pipsqueak.”

Richie stands up straight and looks down at him. “I beg to differ.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says. He never wants Richie to stop touching him.

The morning sun is warm on the back of his neck. The cool breeze coming off the ocean brushes past his legs, making him shiver. He pulls his sleeves down over his hands and wonders what Richie would do if he leaned up and kissed him right now. Eddie steps back, clearing his throat.

“I should probably get over to the starting line,” Eddie says, smoothing down the front of his jacket.

“Good luck,” Richie says. His hand is warm on Eddie’s wrist; he squeezes once before letting go. “You’re gonna do great.”

~

The race is a loop. He watches a couple 5K runners ahead of him split off and run towards their finish line. There’s a crowd clapping on the sideline. He focuses on his breathing and forces himself not to scan the faces, searching for Richie. It’s a perfect fall day, the trees lining the streets various shades of red and orange and yellow.

Eddie matches pace with the guy running ten feet in front of him. He feels the sweet burn in his lungs, the stretch in his legs as they reach a downslope. He glances at his watch as they reach the 9K mark, and feels an extra boost. Oh my God, I’m gonna beat my time.

He leans into it, pushing harder, passing his accidental running partner. His sunglasses slip down his nose; he wipes at the sweat and pushes them back up. He sees the turn toward the finish line and extends his stride. He runs towards the cheering lines of people, sprinting as hard as he can, breath rushing out of his lungs with every other step. His hamstrings are burning, his throat raw from the cold air.

Eddie runs past the finish line, hears the Haunted Island banner flap in the wind above his head. He slows into a shaky walk, raising his wrist to stop the timer on his watch. He walks down the road, moving out of the way of the other runners. Somebody hands him a water bottle and he drains half of it in one draw. Somebody touches his shoulder, curls a hand underneath his bicep and turns him around.

“Hey!”

It’s Richie, grinning at him with bright eyes and sun-touched cheeks. The corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs at Eddie, holding him steady as he falters a little on unsteady legs.

“You looked amazing,” Richie says, and Eddie wants to pull him into a sweaty hug so badly.

“I think I–” Eddie starts, cutting himself off to look back down at his watch. “Holy shit! 52 minutes! I beat my time!”

He runs a hand through his hair, pushes his sunglasses up until they’re resting on top of his head.

“I did it!” He shouts, even though Richie’s right there.

Richie’s right there–

“Hell yeah you did!” Richie says, smiling at him like he’s– proud. Like he’s proud of Eddie.

Eddie feels his heart catch, its rhythm fumbling as he struggles to find steady ground, his breath stuck in his throat. He swallows harshly, looks up at Richie’s bright face and stops hesitating. He stops thinking.

“I did it,” he says once more, and then he’s raising both hands to Richie’s face and pulling him into a kiss.

Richie’s cheeks are warm against his palms, his mouth soft under Eddie’s wind-chapped lips. Eddie feels the momentary hesitation, but then he feels Richie relax under his touch. Richie’s hand settles on his lower back even though his shirt is soaked through with sweat. He kisses Eddie back, a gentle press of lips.

Eddie pulls away but doesn’t lean back; his thumb rubs over the corner of Richie’s mouth. He feels hot breath puff against his nose as Richie stands up straight again. Eddie’s right leg is starting to cramp.

“I need to stretch,” Eddie says, not taking his hands off Richie’s face.

“Okay,” Richie says. His hand runs up Eddie’s spine and then settles on his hip again.

They break apart at last, the feel of Richie’s stubble under his fingers burning into his mind. Richie follows him towards the tables set up down the road, lined with fresh fruit and other snacks. His hand lingers on the small of Eddie’s back.

Eddie blames the lingering heat in his cheeks on the unrelenting sun. There’s not a cloud in the sky. 

~

Eddie sucks on an orange slice, biting out the fleshy insides and tossing the rind into the trash can. He laughs when Richie walks back up to him, a bag full of candy in his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s Halloween, Eddie.”

“I’m aware.”

“Hey, I paid thirty bucks to see this thing, I’m gonna take the candy if they offer it to me.”

“They have like three tables full of fresh fruit.”

Richie scrunches up his nose. Eddie lifts a piece of cantaloupe up, rolling his eyes when Richie shakes his head.

“Come on, it tastes sweet,” Eddie says, bringing the piece of melon closer to his lips.

“No, it goes against my religion.”

“The pro-scurvy religion?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Richie says, leaning back with a smirk. “We meet on Thursday nights.”

Eddie scoffs and presses the melon against Richie’s lips. His throat goes dry when Richie relents and opens his mouth, his lips brushing against Eddie’s fingers as he takes the fruit. Eddie wipes away the juice that dribbles down his chin. 

“Very sweet,” Richie says. “You’re right.”

Eddie clears his throat and folds up his sunglasses, tucking one leg down the neck of his shirt.

“Don’t ruin your appetite,” he says, nodding down at the bag. All he can focus on is the sweetness of the fruit lingering in his mouth. On what it would be like to kiss Richie again. How sweet he would taste.

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Because I deserve to eat whatever I want when we get back to the city, and I’m dragging you with me.”

“You lead and I’ll follow, Eds,” Richie says, a content look settling on his face.

~

They part ways once they’ve reached their street. Eddie heads upstairs to shower and change, while Richie dips into his own building to wait.

“Don’t fill up on candy.” Eddie points a finger at him in warning.

“I won’t! Okay, maybe just one piece. This Butterfinger’s been calling my name for an hour now.”

“I’ll be done in like twenty minutes,” Eddie says before crossing the street.

Ripley’s a happy wriggling mess of fur as soon as he walks in, sniffing at his feet and tickling his legs with her whiskers. Eddie drops his head down to plant a kiss on her forehead, grabbing a biscuit out of the jar on the counter for her.

“I’m not staying long. I gotta get changed, baby,” he tells her as she follows him into the bedroom. She plops down in the doorway, the little brown patches above her eyes twitching as she watches him walk around the room.

He showers quickly, groaning as the hot steam fills the room and warms his already-sore muscles. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed so hard that last kilometer. He stands in front of his closet for far too long, trying to decide on a shirt.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, looking over at Ripley. “I kissed him, Rip. I kissed him. What the fuck am I supposed to wear after that?”

He puts on a regular old t-shirt and one of his nicer light sweaters. He rubs his hair with a towel one more time, running his fingers through it. He stares at himself in the mirror and almost doesn’t recognize himself. He looks– relaxed. Tired, but relaxed. Maybe his hair looks good like this, falling in front of his eyes a little, loose and a little curled at the ends.

“Crap. Do you need to go outside?” Eddie turns around and asks, his hand already on the doorknob. “Outside?”

She’s sitting on the rug in front of the couch, staring at him blankly. Her tail wags a little absently, but then she sits down instead. Eddie rolls his eyes and walks out the door. He glances at the stairs before walking over to the elevator; he’s done with the stairs for a few days, that’s for damn sure.

Richie’s waiting outside his building, leaning against the handrail, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey th–”

“I think I want Thai.” Eddie interrupts him, eyes widening as soon as he realizes he cut him off. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to– I just really want some Thai.”

Richie grins at him. “Sounds good to me. Any preference on where we go?”

“I haven’t really been to too many places around here yet,” Eddie shrugs.

“Then follow me, my dear,” Richie says, jogging down the steps. Eddie smiles a little and follows him down the street.

It’s a homey little place, a couple of tables out front but even more squeezed inside the thin restaurant. They’re led to a little table in the corner, the waiter chatting with Richie like he knows him. Judging from the way the man brings out a plate of wontons after they’ve barely received their drinks, he thinks it’s probably a safe bet to assume that Richie comes here fairly often.

Richie leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, as Eddie pours over the menu.

“Need any suggestions?”

“No, no, I’m–” Eddie shoves his face further into the menu. “I’m fine, I just need a minute.”

“The red curry’s really good,” Richie says in a sing-songy voice.

Eddie glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it. He hates that he smiles back when Richie smiles a little and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Come on, don’t you trust me?”

Eddie lowers the menu. “Is the duck good?”

“Oh, you bet your ass it is.”

Eddie orders the curry with duck. Richie orders some noodle dish that Eddie doesn’t recognize.

Richie doesn’t laugh when Eddie reiterates that he wants it mild, please, I’m really serious and the waiter reassures him that yes, sir, it will be mild, I promise!

They share the wontons. Eddie wants to wipe away the cream cheese that sticks to the corner of Richie’s mouth, but he’s suddenly not sure how Richie would react. He keeps his hands on his side of the table, laughing at a story about the first time Richie came here. Their food comes out steaming, bringing along brand new smells that Eddie hasn’t let himself have before. His stomach rumbles, mouth already watering.

“God, this smells amazing,” he says with maybe too much wonder.

Richie laughs gently, looking down at the table with a shy smile.

“I love this place,” he says. Eddie thinks he might love it, too.

Eddie makes an embarrassingly loud noise when he tastes the first piece of duck, setting Richie off and making him drop a piece of beef on the floor. Eddie reaches under the table to push at his knee, then snaps his mouth shut when Richie just… finds his knee with his own and rests against it. Eddie goes back to eating his curry, ignoring the blush spreading up his neck. He doesn’t move his leg away.

Eddie’s half-way through his curry, soaking every piece of rice in the sauce, when Richie lifts his fork and holds it out for him.

“Try this,” Richie says, holding the fork across the table. “It’s good, I swear. It’s sweet.”

“Um.” Eddie moves some rice off a corner of his plate. “You can just put it down there.”

“Take my fork, it’s fine,” Richie shrugs. “I don’t have cooties.”

You kissed me like two hours ago, Richie clearly thinks, judging from the smirk on his face. Eddie takes the fork and eats the noodles and the little slice of beef. Richie’s right, it’s very sweet.

“It’s good,” he says instead, denying him the satisfaction. Richie’s leg stretches out against him, his calf warm against Eddie’s ankle.

“I’m glad.” Richie smiles and takes his fork back.

~

Richie walks with him all the way back to the front door of his building. The takeout bag twists around in the wind where it hangs from Eddie’s hand.

“Thanks for paying,” Eddie says. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” Richie steps up onto the stair below Eddie. “I wanted to. You deserved it after your race.”

“I’m glad you came.” He shifts his weight, drawing closer to Richie like there’s some sort of force pulling on him. “It really meant a lot.”

Richie smiles at him like he doesn’t want to leave his side either. Something burns inside Eddie, pushes him to lean forward, reaching up with his free hand to tug Richie toward him by the back of the neck. His skin is warm, and soft, and he wants to touch him everywhere– Eddie loses his nerve half-way to Richie’s mouth. He shifts direction and kisses his cheek instead, warmth spreading down his chest when he feels Richie smile under his lips. Eddie lingers there, maybe a second or two longer than necessary, stroking the side of Richie’s neck with his thumb.

“I’ll see you later,” Eddie says when he pulls back, a hushed whisper. Something just for them.

“Bye, Eddie,” Richie says, not yet moving from his stair.

Eddie turns back around once he’s reached the door. Richie’s touching his cheek with his fingers, still smiling. He walks down the steps backwards and gives a little wave as Eddie dips inside. 

~

He wakes up much later than normal the next day. Every muscle in his lower body hurts. He’s pretty sure even his toes are sore. Eddie rolls over in bed and buries his face against Ripley’s back. He feels her head lift up, twisting around to try to nose at him.

“No!” He groans when she starts to stand up. “Lie down. Don’t leave.”

Her nails click click click on the floor as she jumps down and then wanders over to his side of the bed. Eddie gasps when she shoves her cold, wet nose against his bare back. He flips over – well, rolls over very slowly with a pained groan – and glares at her.

“I’m going to need you to learn how to use the toilet,” he tells her. “I don’t want to move today.”

She snorts and licks his face, over and over until he pushes her away and finally sits up in bed. He follows her into the kitchen, dragging his feet the entire way. He dumps a cup of food in her dish and starts the coffeemaker. He listens to it gurgle and gradually begin to drip into the pot. He glances at the clock above the stove; it’s nearly ten.

“Holy shit.”

Ripley lifts her head from her bowl and tilts her head at him.

“You’ve probably gotta go, huh?”

He pulls on a hoodie and snaps on her leash once he’s had his first cup. It’s breezy this morning. It smells like fall; the smell of decay hangs in the air. There’s a droopy pumpkin sitting on the front step. He wrinkles his nose at it and leads them down to the patch of grass so Ripley can go to the bathroom. His breath fogs in the air. 

Twenty minutes later, he’s on the couch and in the process of dozing off again, coffee mug cradled on his chest. His phone buzzes on his lap, and he snaps back awake.

[10:46] how ya doing, mister record breaker?

[10:47] I’m so fucking sore
[10:47] I don’t want to move at all today

[10:50] awww

[10:52] Ripley’s going to be devastated when she realizes we’re not going for a walk today

[11:01] no!! you can’t do that to her!

[11:02] I can’t move!
[11:03] I almost fell off the couch trying to stand up

[11:15] I get off work at like three today. do u want me to take her?
[11:16] you don’t have to say yes, if it’d be weird for either of you

[11:20] Are you sure??

[11:24] I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I kind of really love your dog, dude

“Do you want to hang out with Richie today?” Eddie calls out to Ripley. Her ears perk up and she gives a tentative wag of the tail. He chuckles and takes a picture for Richie.

[11:27] You might not believe me, but this is what she looks like when she’s excited

[11:41] omg!! don’t say stuff like that or I might start crying in front of this 70 year old hippie
[11:42] I’ll let u know when I’m home from work

Eddie stretches out on the couch and drinks the rest of his coffee.

“Looks like you’re gonna have fun with Richie today,” he says.

The coffee doesn’t help. He falls asleep again.

~

Eddie buzzes Richie up a couple hours later. He’d pace the kitchen if he weren’t so stiff. He sits at the kitchen island and taps his hand nervously on the counter. Ripley’s already got her leash on, sitting patiently by his side. He jumps up when he hears the knock on his door.

“Hey, beautiful!” Richie says as soon as he opens the door, and Eddie’s mouth drops open, feeling like his heart just skipped an embarrassing beat. Except Richie’s looking down at Ripley. Duh. Of course he is.

“Don’t worry,” Richie says as he steps inside, his voice a little softer. “I think you look good, too.”

Eddie blushes, opening and closing his mouth like a damn fish. “Shut up. I look like shit today.”

“Nah, I like the sleepy look on you,” Richie says with a little smile. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Eddie smooths a hand over his head, scowling at him. He pushes the leash into Richie’s hands and pushes at his shoulder.

“Don’t lose my dog,” he warns.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, I’ll have your girl home before sundown.”

“You better.”

“Don’t wait up, pops!” Richie shouts over his shoulder as they turn the corner for the elevator.

An hour later, Richie sends him a picture. Ripley’s stretched out on a sunny patch of grass next to him, head resting on his ankle as she clearly watches something that’s just out of frame. Eddie sinks further into the couch and saves the picture to his phone.

~

True to his word, Richie returns with his dog before sundown. The light has just started to dim, turning the sidewalks golden and hitting the red and yellow foliage at just the right angle down on the streets below. Eddie can hear the wind gusting through the gaps between the buildings, gathering speed as it moves up the island.

Ripley makes her way over to the water bowl immediately, leash trailing behind her. She laps up the water, splashing it everywhere. They stand there in the kitchen, watching her make a mess, a pleasant silence surrounding them. Eddie leans against the kitchen island and feels Richie move closer to him. When he looks over, Richie’s leaning next to him, bracing himself with a hand on the countertop. He’s looking down at Eddie with a look he can’t quite figure out.

“Thanks for trusting me with her,” Richie says.

“She really likes you,” Eddie replies, laughing a little when Ripley wanders back over and rubs her wet muzzle against Richie’s jeans.

Richie laughs and reaches down to stroke her soft ear. He looks back up at Eddie with such focus that he’s pretty sure he forgets how to breathe. Richie lifts his hand off the counter and smooths his palm over Eddie’s upper arm. He shivers under his touch.

Richie’s hand finds the nape of his neck, fingers scratching lightly at the soft hair at the back of his head. His mouth drops open, a tiny sigh slipping past his lips right before Richie leans down and kisses him. He finds Richie’s side, trailing a hand down his ribs and settling on his hip.

Richie kisses him so gently that he shivers again and leans into him even further. He opens his mouth and feels Richie sigh, the air moving past his cheek. Richie’s tongue is hot against his, but it doesn’t feel rushed. Eddie’s not sure he’s ever been kissed like this, like he’s worth the time and the effort. Like this is what he’s deserved all along.

Eddie’s other hand trails down the arm hanging down by Richie’s side, his hand still buried in Ripley’s fur. He finds his wrist and wraps his slim fingers around it, touches the soft skin on the underside of Richie’s arm. He lets Richie kiss him until it feels like his lungs are going to burst, his exhausted body held up by sheer force of will.

He kisses Richie one more time, seeks out his lips again like it pains him to be apart from them. Maybe it does.

“I hope you feel better tomorrow,” Richie says, still leaning in close. His words ghost across Eddie’s flushed cheeks.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t know what else to possibly say. All Eddie knows is he doesn’t want to let go.

This time Richie’s the one to kiss his cheek. Eddie turns into it, shivers at the gentle scrape of Richie’s five o’clock shadow against his skin.

“See you later, Eddie,” Richie says, and then he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him with a soft click and Eddie’s left there leaning against his counter, struggling to get a handle on the thoughts running through his head.

~

On Wednesday morning, somebody replies-all to an email and Eddie’s inbox is flooded for hours. He’s two seconds away from walking down to the original culprit’s office, but Kat stops him with a glare and a vaguely threatening gesture. He goes back to his office with a groan. His face feels like it should be as red as an angry cartoon character’s, steam billowing out of his ears.

[2:13] I cannot stand this place. How hard is it to send a fucking email correctly

[2:18] uh oh. take deep breaths

[2:20] My breathing is fine! The competency of my coworkers is non-existent

[2:22] I’m pretty sure that’s everyone’s coworkers everywhere tbh

[2:25] You’re so annoying.

[2:26] aw thanks :)
[2:27] go for a run when you get home, isn’t that your chill-out method

[2:32] Yes but I’m trying to take the week off. I haven’t decided if I’m gonna run in anything else before the year ends

[2:35] ahh. gotcha.

Eddie realizes how pent-up he feels and flushes when the next thought to run through his head is I know how we could take the edge off.

[2:38] I think I’m going to take Friday off.

[2:44] hell yeah three day weekend
[2:46] oh hey. actually. I’ve got a little show on saturday night… did u maybe wanna come? it’s at a little comedy place. I’ve got like a 20 minute set so it’s nothing super special

Eddie smiles for what feels like the first time all day. He ducks his head down below his computer screen in case Kat looks in.

[2:50] I’d love to.

Is this a date? He wants to ask. Even thinking it feels stupid and juvenile.

[3:00] I don’t work til noon on friday. do you want to come over and watch a movie or something tomorrow night? you can meet miss peaches!!

Wait. Is this a date? Eddie sets his phone down on the desk and rubs a hand down his face.

“I’m not very good at this,” he says out loud.

“What’d you say?” Kat asks.

“Nothing!” He shouts back, blushing.

[3:07] That sounds fun.

“I sound like an idiot,” he says to himself, quieter this time.

[3:08] She’s not gonna scratch me, right

[3:15] no, she’s all lover, trust me

Eddie spends the rest of the day with a feeling that’s nervous, but also vaguely content lodged in his chest. 

~

The next night, Eddie walks across the street at ten minutes before seven. He knocks on the door to apartment 604 with a sweaty hand. He wipes his palm on the front of his pants and fidgets until he hears Richie walk up to the door.

“Hey!” Richie says with a grin.

Eddie wants to launch himself into his arms. Richie’s wearing a worn t-shirt, frayed at the collar. It looks soft and well-loved and it hugs him in all the right places; the sleeves are comfortably tight around his biceps, the soft curves of his belly. Eddie wants to bury his face against Richie’s chest and breathe him in, the stress of the week weakening his resolve. He chooses to walk past Richie instead, brushing against his arm. Even through his coat, a chill runs down his arm to the tips of his fingers.

“Pizza will be here soon,” Richie says, shutting the door and moving past him, dipping into the kitchen. “You want a beer?”

“Um, sure.” Eddie lingers in the front hall before moving down towards the main room.

“Light or dark?” Richie shouts back.

“Dark, I guess,” he shrugs.

The sun has long since gone down. The lights from outside filter through Richie’s frayed curtains, but there’s a couple of lamps on, casting soft yellow light on the couch. Peaches is sitting on the back, staring at him curiously.

“Hi,” Eddie says to her, feeling a little awkward. He doesn’t know how to meet cats.

“You can pet her,” Richie says, walking into the room behind him. “I promise she’s cool.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m not scared of her. I just… dogs are easier. They say hi whether you like it or not.”

“I mean, my little Peach does play fetch, so you can pretend she’s a dog if that makes it easier.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

“And you’re a sweet talker, Eds.”

There’s another knock at the door. Richie grabs his wallet off the coffee table and disappears back into the front hallway. Eddie steps forward and holds out his hand to Peaches, smiling when she delicately sniffs at his fingers before rubbing her cheek against his open palm. He strokes her arched back, all the way up her tail and then drops his hand back down to scratch her under the chin.

“See, you’re friends already! What’d I tell ya. Pizza’s on.” Richie sets the pizza box down on the table; a couple of plates are balanced on top.

“Feel free to dig in,” Richie says before he walks around another corner. His bedroom, Eddie assumes. He leans down to kiss the top of Peaches’ head and then sits down on one end of the couch.

Eddie puts a couple slices on his plate, the cheese hanging off the sides in melted strings as he lifts a piece to his mouth.

“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted,” he says when Richie comes back into the room. There’s a chance he says it with a little too much lust in his voice.

Richie sits on the other end of the couch. He sets a couple of napkins on the empty middle cushion between them and starts piling pizza onto his own plate.

“This side’s got artichoke hearts on it,” Richie points out. “I wasn’t sure if you were into that, so I only got it on half. You should try it, though. Trust me.”

Eddie glances at the other side of the pizza. It does look good. Richie picks up the remote and starts the movie. Eddie takes another slice; no warning sirens go off in his head, no worried, piercing voice saying be careful, you don’t know how you might react– Eddie takes a bite and feels braver for it.

“It’s really good,” Eddie says after he swallows. “What else is on this?”

“Keno’s does amazing things with feta cheese and basil,” Richie says, leaning back against the cushions. Eddie looks over at him and isn’t sure how to handle the quietly happy look Richie’s giving him.

The opening scene of The Mummy starts to play on the screen. Eddie doesn’t know how he let Richie talk him into this movie; he hasn’t seen it for years. The flashbacks hold up. Forbidden love. Murder. Promises of forever. The usual story, but Eddie can’t tear his eyes away, even though he can feel Richie watching him. He finishes his last slice and tucks his feet up next to him on the couch. The movie transitions into the 1920s.

Richie sets his plate down on the table and then reaches down around the arm of the couch. His corner suddenly springs back, reclining fully. He unfolds the blanket behind his head and tosses it over his feet. Peaches must know what this sound means, because she hops up onto the arm of the couch Eddie’s leaning on. She rubs against his forearm and meows softly at him, a high-pitched, happy little sound. She steps delicately down onto Eddie’s lap, headbutting his chest with a loud purr until he pets her back. Her tail trails over him as she moves on, confidently leaping up onto Richie’s lap.

Peaches spins in a tight little circle, reminding Eddie of Ripley and her nightly routine. The cat finally settles down once Richie gives her a little shove. She leans her head back, peering back at Richie with wide eyes, purring loud enough for Eddie to hear all the way across the couch. She meows up at him, even though it’s barely audible. She kneads at the blanket, toes stretching apart every time they release before tightening down again, claws extended.

Richie’s hand settles on her stomach, his fingers leaving little indents in her fur. Eddie thinks about Richie’s hands on his skin, little dips in his skin under the press of his thumb. He drags his eyes up to the TV again. Evelyn is about to knock over all the bookshelves in this library, if he remembers correctly. 

Evy’s brother bursts out of the sarcophagus and Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin when something touches his ankle. Richie snorts under his breath, squeezing Eddie’s leg a little in apology.

“Sorry,” Richie says, a crooked smile on his face.

“It’s okay,” Eddie mumbles. He stretches his leg out towards Richie, smiling when his hand slips further up his leg, curling around his calf. His fingers are gentle on Eddie’s skin, soft to the touch.

“Do you want to come over here?” Richie asks after a couple of seconds. He sounds nervous. Uncertain. His thumb sweeps down Eddie’s leg again.

Eddie swallows and nods a little. Richie brightens up immediately, squeezing his leg one more time before taking his hand back to lift up the edge of the blanket. Eddie shifts over, tucking himself under Richie’s arm. He’s warm and his solidity is instantly comforting. He rests his head on his chest and smiles a little to himself. Eddie was right; the shirt is very soft.

He stretches out against him, sliding his feet under the blanket and tucking a foot under one of Richie’s ankles. Peaches hardly moves a muscle where she’s still sleeping on Richie’s lap. Eddie snakes his right arm out from under the blanket and pets her with the back of his finger.

O’Connell reaches through the bars to kiss Evy and Eddie feels Richie’s fingers ghost over his upper arm, curling around his elbow and resting in the junction between his ribs and hip. Eddie stops petting Peaches and wraps his arm around Richie’s stomach above her. She’s soft against his arm, Richie warm underneath him. The doomed group arrives at the boat dock, O’Connell freshly shaved and handsome. 

“Brendan Fraser was hot,” Eddie mumbles against his shirt without thinking. 

He feels Richie laugh, a gentle movement that shifts Eddie closer. He smiles and rubs his cheek against him, sighing deeply and melting into Richie even further.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, girl, it wasn’t even that good of a kiss anyway,” Evy says on the boat.

Richie laughs again, sliding his hand down onto Eddie’s hip, giving him a little squeeze. 

It was a great kiss, Eddie thinks. Both times. His foot rubs against Richie’s under the blanket. 

“Hey, Beni! Looks to me like you’re on the wrong side of the river!” O’Connell yells after they’ve escaped the burning boat and have landed on the shore. 

Eddie feels himself start to drift off. He slides his arm back towards himself, tucking it underneath his chin. He tries to keep his eyes open, he does, but Richie’s gentle breathing and the soft music as the group caravans through the desert at night lures him asleep. Distantly, he feels Richie scoot down a little and rest his cheek against the top of Eddie’s head. He thinks maybe he feels a kiss pressed gently to his hair. 

Eddie jerks awake when Evy reads from the forbidden book. The mummy awakens with an echoing howl and Eddie rubs at his eyes. He blushes when he realizes he just fell asleep not even halfway through the movie. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, flattening his hand on Richie’s chest. 

“It’s okay,” Richie says; Eddie can feel his jaw move against his head. “The good part’s about to start.” 

“That’s so gross,” Eddie says when Imhotep takes the guy’s eyes and tongue. 

“You’re such a softy,” Richie hums. 

“I hate you,” Eddie mumbles back.

“No, you don’t,” he replies, pressing a firm kiss to Eddie’s forehead. 

Eddie can’t help but smile and bury his face in Richie’s chest. Peaches lifts her head with a yawn, looking between the two of them. She accepts a scratch under the chin from Eddie before standing up and arching her back in a stretch. She walks up the length of Richie’s body and leaps onto the back of the couch. Richie grunts as she digs her hind feet into his collarbone to gain enough leverage. 

“She’s a pain in my ass,” Richie mutters. 

Eddie chuckles and soothes him by wrapping his arm around Richie’s now-accessible stomach. The blanket is fluffy and nice, but it’s not what he wants. He reaches back behind him for the edge of the blanket; Richie obliges and lifts his arm so Eddie can sneak his under the blanket. It’s much better this way. He rubs his hand up Richie’s stomach and then back down. He hesitates for a second, sucking in a breath and holding it in, before he finally slips his hand underneath Richie’s shirt. Eddie feels him flinch a little in surprise, but then his hand is squeezing Eddie’s hip again. 

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks quietly, eyes still glued to the screen, watching as Cairo descends into chaos.

Richie’s other arm lifts up off the armrest and brushes the hair out of Eddie’s eyes. 

“Mhm,” Richie hums, voice low and gravelly. 

A shiver runs down Eddie’s body. His fingers scratch lightly through the soft hair on Richie’s belly.

Eddie manages to stay awake for the rest of the movie. Richie joins the chanting, boil-covered masses, mumbling Imhotep! Imhotep! until Eddie pokes him hard in the ribs. Richie devolves into a fit of laughter, clutching him tightly.

“Will you shut up?” Eddie says, trying to hold in his own laughter. “I’m trying to watch the movie!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie says, settling back down. He shifts up a little in the recliner, pulling Eddie with him.

He’s resting a little higher against Richie now, the bony bump of Richie’s under his cheek. He presses his forehead against Richie’s neck, breathing in the smell of him. Eddie thinks about how easy it would be to turn and lift his face, to kiss Richie’s neck and feel his pulse beneath his lips. He doesn’t do it. Instead, he slides his hand up higher under Richie’s shirt; the heat of his body is intoxicating.

Eddie tries to focus on the fight between good and evil, mummies coming to life all over the place, but it’s nearly impossible. Richie draws his left leg up to scratch at his knee, and then he leaves it resting up against the armrest. Eddie tries to watch the movie, he does, but all he can think about is lifting himself up until he’s lying between Richie’s legs. He thinks about pushing the blanket aside and pushing Richie’s shirt up to his collar, kissing the wide expanse of chest under him, restless hands running up and down Richie’s sides.

Richie’s head dropping backwards, mouth falling open as he gasps and moans Eddie’s name–

Shit. Shit.

Eddie tries to calm his breathing, tries to slow the pounding of his heart. He’s thankful the music in this scene is so loud. He tugs Richie’s shirt back down under the blanket, smoothing it out under his hand. In the movie, they defeat the mummy. The desert begins to collapse. The heroes ride off into the sunset, happy in love. Eddie’s heart does a funny little flip.

Richie stretches his arms up above his head as the end credits roll. He settles back down with a sigh, turning his body into Eddie’s and resting his stubbly cheek on his forehead. Eddie closes his eyes and wishes he never had to move again. He wants to lie like this for–

He slides his hand further up under the blanket, touching Richie’s neck tenderly, finding his way up to his cheek. Eddie lifts his head up and pulls Richie down into a kiss. He kisses him like he’s wanted to since he walked in the door.

He shivers when Richie wraps both his arms around his back, drawing him in close as he kisses Eddie more firmly. With intention. Eddie lets Richie roll into him, laying him down on the couch. Eddie opens his mouth to him and moans at the hot, wet heat. His hand slips down Richie’s cheek and finds the back of his neck, kneading at the soft skin there. He feels Richie's heavy weight settle on top of him, a suffocating feeling he can’t get enough of. He hooks an ankle around the back of Richie’s knee and drags him down further. Eddie moans into his mouth when Richie’s groin settles against his thigh, rubbing up against him when he hears Eddie’s response. 

Eddie dips his hand under Richie’s shirt again, the absolute warmth of him bleeding into Eddie’s bones. He feels that warm feeling settle deep inside him, pooling in his groin. He kisses Richie until he’s gasping for breath, until Richie breaks off to suck at the tender spot where Eddie’s jaw ends. He clenches his eyes shut and loses himself in the feel of Richie’s sturdy weight pressing him into the couch cushion. Eddie just tries to hold on, fingers scraping gently down Richie’s back. His eyes fly open when he realizes he’s already half-hard and rubbing himself Richie’s stomach. 

He pulls away too quickly, startling Richie, who lifts his head immediately, cheeks flushed and glasses crooked on his nose. Eddie swallows against the dryness in his throat when he realizes Richie is getting hard against him, too. Of course he is. Look at them. Look at him. Eddie gets distracted by the darkness in Richie’s eyes, the desperate want on his flushed face.

“I’m–” Eddie starts to say, the single word cracking in his throat.

Richie shifts, pulling off him a little. But the movement just means the front of Richie’s pants slides heavily along Eddie’s thigh. He can feel how hard Richie is, and all Eddie wants to do is drag his mouth back down and slip his fingers down to his zipper.

“I really like you.” Eddie blurts out.

“I really like you, too,” Richie says, the words raw and laced with desperation. Eddie feels them shoot straight down to his dick.

“I just–” got out of a really terrible marriage.

He tries again.

“I don’t want to rush this.”

Richie brushes his thumb over Eddie’s cheek, blushing a little and smiling softly down at him.

“Me neither,” Richie says, quieter than Eddie’s ever heard him.

It was a bad divorce, Eddie wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. I really can’t explain how bad it felt, Richie. I like you so much–

He gives up on explanations and kisses Richie again instead, hoping his apologies come through in the gentle way he holds Richie’s face. There’s no rush this time. It feels unhurried, the easy way Richie kisses him and strokes his fingers through Eddie’s hair over and over. Eddie melts into the couch, one of his hands sliding back down to hold onto Richie’s hip. There’s no intention behind it now, he just wants to feel his skin under his fingers. He lets Richie kiss him until his exhaustion catches back up with him. He wants to burrow into Richie’s side and sleep for a year. 

Eddie’s lips are chapped and bruised when they finally pull apart. Richie leans down to kiss his forehead before he heaves himself up off the couch, grabbing the pizza box and disappearing into the kitchen. His warmth lingers on Eddie’s skin. He feels content, and the feeling stays settled deep in his chest as he sits up and runs a hand through his tangled hair. He gets up and finds the bathroom, splashing lukewarm water on his face after he’s washed his hands.

Richie’s straightening out the remotes on the coffee table when Eddie comes back out. When he stands up again, Eddie attaches himself to his back, wrapping his arms around his soft middle. Richie laughs softly and lets himself be held.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles against his broad back.

“I don’t know what you think you’re apologizing for,” Richie says, rubbing Eddie’s arm. 

“What time is your thing tomorrow?” Eddie squeezes him a little tighter and rubs his cheek against Richie’s shoulder blade.

“I think I go on at like 9:15,” he says, lifting one of Eddie’s hands off his waist to tangle their fingers together. “You’re still coming, right?”

Eddie nods his head. “Of course.”

“Do you want to come a little early? Like 8? We can sit down and have a drink before I go on.”

“That sounds nice.”

Richie laughs a little under his breath and lifts their hands to his mouth. He kisses Eddie’s knuckles, one by one. Eddie closes his eyes and smiles. Maybe he can stay a couple more minutes. 

~

Eddie pushes open the door to The Dock a couple minutes after eight, squeezing past a group of people crowded around a small table. He finds an empty table up near the stage and chooses the chair that’s closest to the wall. He pulls a paper towel off the roll in the center of the table and wipes down the surface with a grimace. It’s not too sticky, he supposes. Maybe he can ask someone to wipe it down with a rag.

There’s a single microphone stand in the front center of the wooden stage. The floor is made up of thick slabs of dark wood. A couple of heavy-looking ropes hang against the back wall, looped and tied around metal hooks in intricate sailor’s knots. It’s tasteful, Eddie admits. There’s no gaudy seashells or starfish hanging from the walls, just a couple of framed paintings of stormy seas and rocky coasts. He glances at the cocktail menu and shakes his head, smiling a little at the admittedly-clever nautically-themed drink names. Okay, they’re allowed to be a little cheesy.

Richie finds him a couple minutes later, pint glass in his hands and a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey! There you are,” Richie says, sliding onto the chair next to Eddie. He’s so tall he barely has to lift himself up to sit down.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his nerves starting to calm as soon as he feels Richie’s leg find his under the table.

“Did you order a drink?”

“No, not yet,” Eddie says, shaking his hands. He notices a taller menu behind the paper towel roll.

“You like mixed drinks?” Richie asks, tugging the little plastic cocktail menu stand closer and pointing at the list. “The Portside Anchor’s pretty good if you’re into rum.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Eddie nods a little and browses the entire page of the menu dedicated to chicken wings and their various sauce options.

“Their wings are pretty famous.” Richie laughs a little. “In case you couldn’t tell. Let me grab us some drinks.”

He finishes the last of his beer and stands back up, reaching out to squeeze Eddie’s hand before he weaves his way through the growing crowd. Eddie smiles and watches him go. He can see him at the bar, leaning against the counter and chatting with the bartender. She laughs at something he says, smiling that easy sort of way that comes with familiarity. Eddie turns back to the food menu and feels his stomach start to grumble.

A guy with a lip ring and dark blue hair drops by their table while Richie’s still gathering their drinks. Eddie orders some wings and manages to ask the guy if he wouldn’t mind wiping down the table real quick, thank you. He manages to not feel too embarrassed when the guy says hey, no problem, with a slight lilt to his deep voice, but Eddie can’t place the accent. Richie comes back with drinks in hand, something blue and full of ice for Eddie and a deep red beer for himself.

“Hey Rich,” the guy says, reaching across the table to pat Richie’s shoulder. “You ready for tonight? It better be good.”

“Yeah, yeah, Charlie. It’ll be a good one, I promise.” Richie smirks and wipes away the foam that sticks to the corner of his mouth after he takes a drink.

“You want some food before you go on? I can bump your order to the top of the list.”

“No,” Richie shakes his head, suddenly looking a little paler. “You know how I get if I eat too much before I go on. Maybe after. You know how I love Rudy’s mozz sticks.”

Charlie snorts and nods knowingly. “You got it. I’ll be right out with your wings!”

Charlie raps lightly on the table with his knuckles and smiles widely at Eddie before walking off. Richie pushes the blue monstrosity towards Eddie, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Come on, try it before it gets too watery.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and takes a drink. “It’s good. You have shows here a lot?”

“Using the word ‘show’ is probably a little generous,” Richie says, looking down at the table and picking at a knot in the wood with his fingernail. “But yeah, they have mic nights on Fridays, and they pay a couple of the later slots. I mean, not a lot, but you know. It’s something.”

“No, that’s really cool,” Eddie says quickly, heat spreading through his cheeks.

Richie looks back up at him with a shy look. “Thanks, Eds.”

Eddie finds Richie’s knee under the table and rests his hand there. He takes another sip of his drink; it really is good.

“So how was the day off?” Richie asks, playing with the condensation left behind on the wood.

“It was good. Walked Ripley over to the little park by the Hudson. It’s getting too cold to sit outside for very long,” Eddie shrugs. He doesn’t mention how badly he had wished Richie was there when he woke up, or the fact he spent an hour dozing in bed, wondering what Richie looks like when he’s soft and warm with sleep.

“I miss her,” Richie sighs, propping his chin up on his hand and slumping over dramatically.

“You saw her like four days ago,” Eddie laughs and rolls his eyes, but he can’t ignore the incredible fondness that floods through him.

“Yeah, but…” Richie trails off, leaning further into Eddie’s space until he’s resting against his arm.

“Well, I don’t know why you insist on closing when nobody ever comes to the store after eight,” Eddie shrugs.

“And how would you know that!” Richie whines, trying to cover his smile with his fingers.

“Because you complain about how bored you are every other night, Richie.”

“Maybe I just miss you.”

Eddie blushes and hides it by taking another sip. The ice slides down the glass and knocks against his nose. Luckily, Charlie chooses that moment to drop by with a basket of wings drenched in sauce. Eddie’s mouth starts to water as soon as the smell reaches him.

“Oh, yeah,” Richie groans next to him, sitting up straighter and wrapping an arm around the back of Eddie’s chair. “Great choice, Eds. That’s like my second favorite sauce.”

Richie leans over, resting comfortably against Eddie’s side as he peers at the food.

“Uh-uh,” Eddie shakes his head. “You just said you don’t like to eat before you go on.”

Eddie takes a bite out of the first wing and nearly moans.

“Come on, I just want a taste,” Richie says, dropping his voice down an octave and setting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Please?”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, holding out the next wing for Richie before pulling it back at the last second.

He kisses Richie instead, smiling against his lips when he makes a quiet noise of surprise. Richie doesn’t pull away, though. He leans into him and kisses him back, before licking Eddie’s lips and pulling away with a shit-eating grin. Eddie groans and wipes at his face with a napkin.

“Hey, it was your idea,” Richie says with a loud laugh.

“You’re still gross,” Eddie says, eating the wing for himself.

“All I ask is that you save me one. I need to get backstage soon. And by backstage I mean the tiny claustrophobic room in the back they have set aside for us.”

“Of course I’ll save you one,” Eddie says, turning to look at him. He almost looks… nervous. Something like guilt settles in his gut. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie shrugs, rubbing Eddie’s side through his jacket. “Sometimes I psych myself out too much. I’ll be fine. It’s just a quick set.”

Richie kisses his cheek before he leaves. Maybe I’m not messing this up after all , Eddie thinks.

~

The first person to take the stage is a nervous girl who barely looks old enough to be at the bar in the first place. She fumbles her way through the first couple jokes, but gets a couple of loud laughs with her last story. The next guy is funny in a “I spent too much time in a frat” kind of way. Eddie ignores him in favor of another drink, draping his jacket over the back of his chair before winding his way over to the bar. He orders a Captain and Coke, dropping a five in the tip jar. He makes it back to the table just in time for the frat boy to step off.

A couple of claps burst through the noise when Richie comes out with a little wave, followed by a couple of loud catcalls from the very back of the bar. Eddie smiles and takes a drink.

“Hey, hey!” Richie says, grabbing the mic off the stand and twirling the cable around his wrist. “Who’s that in the back? Is that you Les? Stop, I’m blushing.”

He looks comfortable up there. Confident. Eddie sees the sweat beading on his forehead, his hair a bit of a mess like he’s been running his fingers through it over and over again. It’s a good look on him. Richie launches into his first joke; he finds Eddie’s gaze right before the punchline, winking at him quickly, smoothly. Like it’s just another part of the act. Eddie blushes and stirs his drink.

Richie walks around the stage like he owns it. He only falters a little when one story falls flat.

“Come on, Rich, what was that?” Charlie yells towards the stage from where he’s leaning against the end of the bar, arms crossed over his chest, a big grin on his face.

“Yeah, yeah! Shut your trap, Charlie, unless you want me to tell everyone about that time you tripped and fell off the pier.”

The crowd laughs at that, some of the regulars pitching in and yelling Charlie’s name, too.

“He tried to run off with my funnel cake,” Richie says. “In case you were wondering.”

Richie meets his gaze about ten times over the course of the set. Eddie’s cheeks hurt from laughing by the end. He feels content, a little pleasantly buzzed but mostly just happy. He doesn’t know the last time he felt this comfortable surrounded by people he doesn’t know in a place he’s never been. He watches Richie thank the crowd and slip the mic back in its holder before walking off stage. Eddie has an idea why that might be.

There’s a ten minute “intermission” after Richie walks off. The noise level quickly rises, some classic rock coming over the speakers set up in the corners. Richie comes back with a glass of water and another beer. He collapses into his chair, holding up a finger when Eddie opens his mouth to say something. Richie drains the glass of water, his throat bared to Eddie in the dim light. Water drips down his chin when he pulls the glass away and Eddie wipes at it with his thumb.

“You’re a mess,” he says, enjoying the way Richie leans into his touch ever so slightly.

“Aw, just how you like me.”

Eddie has to stop himself from dragging him into a kiss. Richie must see the look on his face because he gives him another wink and reaches down to squeeze his thigh.

Please let me take you home tonight, Eddie thinks suddenly, throat dry like he hasn’t had a drink all day.

His thoughts are interrupted by Charlie returning to the table, sliding a plate stacked with mozzarella sticks in front of Richie.

“Here you go, Tozier,” Charlie says, though it’s more of an amused grumble. “Just so you know, I licked one of these.”

“What!” Richie shoves at his shoulder. “I didn’t even tell the whole story about the pier, dude.”

“You told enough.” Charlie laughs and glances at the table. “You guys need anything else?”

“Yeah, whatever my man over here wants to drink,” Richie says before shoving an entire mozzarella stick in his mouth.

Eddie blushes and looks back at Charlie quickly, who’s still just smiling widely. He gives Eddie a wink, too.

“Um,” he stutters out. “Just another rum and coke.”

“Oh, yeah,” Richie says through his full mouth. Eddie slaps the side of his leg. “Make him one, Charles. You know you make ‘em better than Delia.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you said that,” Charlie says with a laugh as he walks off.

“Crap,” Richie mutters before turning his attention back to Eddie. “So, what’d you think?”

“You were great,” Eddie says, handing him a paper towel with a pointed look. “Better than the frat guy.”

Richie laughs and wipes at his face. “Well, thanks. Phil’s new, he’ll get there. Maybe.”

“ Phil? ”

“Yeah, I know. He really screams ‘I was in the same frat that my dad was in, we wear five hundred dollar polo’s when we go golfing together’.”

Charlie drops off the new drink and Eddie rubs his thumb through the condensation on the side. He feels warm inside, all the way down to his toes. He’s pleasantly buzzed, so maybe that’s why he’s about to reach over and pull Richie into a kiss. He can’t stop thinking about last night and the day of the race and the way Richie talks about Ripley. Eddie’s sliding his hand up Richie’s thigh when sudden movement behind them makes him pause. He takes his hand back like he’s been burned when a man wraps an arm Richie’s shoulders and pulls his head towards his chest in a half-way hug.

A very handsome man, Eddie notices. His dark curls are loose on top of his head, the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks tastefully sculpted. His eyes are piercing, his grin fond and knowing. Eddie drops both his hands into his lap and rubs at the tops of his legs with nervous energy. He watches Richie gasp with barely restrained joy and take the man’s face in his hands. Richie pulls him towards him and– Eddie’s shoulders slump. Richie kisses the corner of the guy’s mouth. Decidedly not his cheek. Eddie feels his face burn with confusion.

“Stanley!” Richie yells over the sounds of the busy bar. “You made it!”

“Unfortunately,” the guy says, taking a seat next to Richie.

“Eddie, this is Stan,” Richie says. “We were roommates in college.”

Stan snorts into his beer. Eddie looks between the two of them and suddenly doesn’t feel so warm anymore.

“Okay,” Richie shrugs. “Stan let me bum on his couch when I dropped out during our second year. But we eventually rented a place together and I paid my fair share of the rent, don’t let him tell you any differently.”

Richie offers Stan one of his last mozzarella sticks before holding the basket out to Eddie. Don’t read into it , Eddie tells himself. Then he tells himself again.

“Oh,” Eddie squeaks out. He clears his throat. “That’s cool. Do you live in the city, too?”

Stan shakes his head. “No, I live outside Atlanta. I’m in town for a conference. Thought I’d take some time out of my very busy weekend and see Richie throw up on stage.”

“I haven’t thrown up on stage since we were like 22, man. Stop trying to ruin my reputation,” Richie whines. “Whatever, you’re grateful I gave you an excuse to get out of drinks with the stuffy suits you work with.”

“What do you do?” Eddie asks, squinting uncertainly at Stan. He doesn’t really look like a corporate sort of guy.

“Boring things with numbers,” Richie mumbles, before quickly looking up at Eddie with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, Eds.”

“I own a small accounting office,” Stan says. “I take it you do ‘something boring with numbers’ as well?”

“I work for an insurance company,” Eddie nods. “I’m a risk analyst. It’s not very… exciting work, but...”

He trails off and downs the rest of his rum and coke. Half the ice is melted, watering down the sweetness of the spiced rum. He grimaces. He feels Richie’s hand settle on his knee again. He tries to take comfort in it, but it’s difficult when Stan’s making Richie smile like that. The lights on stage flash twice in quick succession, the music fading out.

There’s two more acts. Eddie holds Richie’s hand under the table, tracing the soft skin of his palm with his thumb. He tries to focus on the people on stage, but Richie keeps leaning over to whisper in Stan’s ear and snicker under his breath. Stan rolls his eyes and lightly slaps at Richie’s chest with the back of his hand. The words coming through the microphone blur together in Eddie’s mind, a buzz settling beneath his skin. He rubs at the center of his chest with his free hand. Stan catches his eye and smiles kindly. Eddie flushes and looks back towards the stage.

Richie holds his hand all night, but it hardly calms Eddie’s nerves. The bar gets even busier after the shows on the stage end, the bass of the music pounding uncomfortably in his chest as the late night patrons crowd in. Richie pays for his food despite his protests, and then he’s dragging Eddie through the mass of sweaty drunks, still holding onto his hand tightly. It’s barely half past eleven, but Eddie’s suddenly exhausted. The bitter wind bites through his jacket before he manages to zip it up. Eddie shivers and lets himself gravitate towards Richie, who always seems to radiate heat. 

Richie catches his gaze and smiles softly; perhaps a little drunkenly, too. He rubs his hand up and down Eddie’s back. It helps.

“So, what’s the verdict, Stan my man?” Richie shouts a little louder than necessary, then rubs at his ear with a little wince. “You want to come over and catch up? I think I’ve got some boxed wine.”

Richie giggles a little and pokes at Stan’s side, who groans loudly.

“Boxed wine is terrible,” Eddie mutters, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s why I save the good stuff for you,” Richie says without missing a beat, leaning over to give Eddie a sloppy kiss above his eyebrow.

Eddie can’t help it; he leans into the kiss, closing his eyes and smiling.

“Sure,” he hears Stan say.

They make their way towards the subway station a couple blocks away. The wind whips past his ears, brushing over the short hair at the nape of his neck. Winter is starting to creep in. Rain-soaked leaves cover the sidewalk, the last hints of summer decaying beneath their feet. The air smells sharp, the descending chill numbing the back of his hand that’s swinging by his side, fingers still laced with Richie’s. 

Stan tells a couple of stories about 20-something Richie once they’re on the train. Eddie laughs and feels some warmth sink back into his skin when Richie blushes furiously, his neck turning bright red as he hisses at Stan to shut up. It’s starting to drizzle by the time they’ve reached their street. The roads are quiet, or as quiet as they get in the city.

Eddie can’t shake the feeling that he’s intruding on something old and comfortable. The familiarity between Richie and Stan is an intimidating force. Something in the back of his mind whispers you’re jealous. He stomps it down. Then Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand to hug Stan from behind, causing them both to stumble and nearly trip on the wet sidewalk. Richie laughs as Stan struggles to shove him off, though Eddie can tell it’s a half-hearted effort. Then Richie kisses the side of Stan’s neck, and a chill runs down Eddie’s spine. He stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk and catches himself, but he can’t take his eyes off them. He’s breathing too quickly.

They reach the front steps of Richie’s building, but Eddie hangs back, shoving his numb hands in his jacket pockets. Richie jogs up the steps, laughing at something Stan says, but Eddie can’t hear it out over the pounding of his heart.

“I’m, uh–” Eddie says, breaking the momentary silence as Richie tugs the door open. “I might head home, actually.”

He feels like a coward as soon as the words leave his mouth.

He sees Stan frown a little and glance at Richie, who’s stumbling a little as he hurries back down the steps.

“Are you sure?” Richie says, skidding to a stop in front of him.

Eddie glances over his shoulder at Stan. He’s leaning against the handrail now, scrolling through his phone and purposefully turned away from them.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says in a rush, and he sees Richie frown deepen, brow knitting together. “I’m just– tired.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about Stan,” Richie says, stepping further into his space. The shoulders of his leather jacket are getting stained from the growing rain.

“He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it, so I forgot to mention that he might show up. You’re not mad, right?” Richie shifts his weight nervously, nearly tripping over his words in his hurry to get them out.

“Of course I’m not mad,” Eddie says, voice hushed. A car drives past, headlights flashing over them. He wonders what they look like, Richie holding him close by the elbows in the cold rain. The late fall wind bites at his cheeks.

“Okay,” Richie says, a sad-sounding acceptance, like he doesn’t believe a word Eddie’s said. He wipes at his glasses with a frustrated swipe, rubbing the water droplets together and making a further mess of the lenses.

Eddie glances at Stan again, but he’s still looking down at his phone, huddled under the overhang to avoid the rain. Eddie looks back at Richie and stands on the tips of his toes, kissing him softly. Richie doesn’t let him go far once he drops back down onto his heels. He kisses Eddie deeply, the heat of his mouth a welcome contrast to the night’s chill. He shivers when Richie’s cold hand settles on his cheek before running his fingers through Eddie’s drenched hair.

Eddie pulls back with a gasp. He’s holding onto the front of Richie’s coat desperately. He loosens his grip and smooths down the material. Richie’s breath is warm against his cheek.

“Ripley probably needs to go out,” he whispers. He’s full of excuses and lingering panic that’s lodged deep within his chest. He feels it mix with regret and shame, coursing through him unapologetically and curling around his heart.

“Okay,” Richie says, just as softly. He tugs Eddie’s jacket zipper a little higher and kisses his cheek. “Tell her hi for me?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.

He walks away and hates himself for it. He doesn’t turn around to see if Richie’s still perched on the steps, watching him make his way over to the crosswalk. He misjudges a puddle and soaks his right pant leg. By the time he manages to turn his key and step into his dark, lonely apartment, he’s a shivering mess.

Ripley greets him with a wide, whining yawn, her tail wagging slowly. He’s dripping on the floor. He clicks on her leash after a second’s hesitation. All he wants to do is get dry, but he leads her into the elevator, shivering as air blows down on him from the vent above. He buries a cold hand in the thick fur on her neck. She does her business quickly, thankfully, as displeased by the cold rain as he is. She shakes off the water off her back in the middle of the lobby. They leave a trail of dirty footprints on the tile.

When Eddie finally steps into the shower, he turns the water temperature up until the steam is billowing around him, until his numb skin starts to tingle uncomfortably. He tugs on a worn pair of flannel pants and pulls the Halloween race shirt over his head. He tucks himself into bed and doesn’t even have to ask Ripley to hop up, too. She curls up against his feet, covering her nose with her long tail. Eddie grabs his phone off the nightstand and types out three different messages before he finally hits send.

[12:57] Sorry I ditched you. hope you guys have fun catching up. Ripley says goodnight

He waits a couple minutes, but his phone doesn’t light up with a response. He turns out the light and pulls the comforter up to his chin, falling quickly into a fitful, hazy night of sleep.

~ 

It’s still dreary outside when Eddie finally wakes up. His mouth is dry, but at least his head isn’t pounding. He stumbles towards the bathroom, cursing the cold wood beneath his single bare foot, his other sock lost somewhere under the covers. 

He splashes his face with hot water once he’s finished using the bathroom and washed his hands. He glares at the dark circles under his eyes and downs an entire glass of water, gasping for breath when he lowers the glass back down onto the counter. He hears Ripley jump off the bed, claws clicking on the floor as she wanders over to the doorway. She sits down and looks up at him worriedly, blinking the sleep from her eyes. One of her back feet slides out from under her on the slick floor. He drops a hand onto her head, trying to take comfort in the smooth velvet of her ear.

“You’re probably hungry,” Eddie says, smiling a little when she noses at his wrist and licks his skin. He feels his own stomach start to grumble.

Eddie pours her kibble into her bowl and turns on the burner on the stove. He cooks himself a couple of eggs and lets Ripley lick the bowl clean, ruffling her fur as he winds his way over to the couch. He can’t stand the morning news, the endless droning about things he doesn’t particularly care about today. He turns on a sitcom that’s mindless in a way that quiets the racing thoughts in his head. He forces himself to sit on the couch for an hour, his second cup of coffee quickly cooling on the table. He makes himself sit still and not think about his phone in the other room.

The studio audience laughs at a bad joke and all Eddie can think about is how comfortable Richie seemed with Stan. His oldest friend. Someone who knows Richie better than Eddie probably ever will. He scrubs a hand over his face and yells fuck! into the still apartment. Ripley lifts her head from her outstretched forelegs before lying back down with a concerned whine. He thinks about how it felt kissing Richie last night, at the bar and then on the street, in full view of the rest of the city. Staking his claim. His own cowardice a heavy cloak on his hunched shoulders as he left him standing there on the street. He let Stan take him home, instead.

Eddie wonders if Stan spent the night. He thinks about the gold band on Stan’s finger and stands up so quickly he feels lightheaded, flushed with embarrassment. He dumps his cold coffee down the kitchen drain. 

He had been planning on waiting until Monday to start running again, but he can’t shake the angry, nervous energy slithering underneath his skin. He picks at himself, brushing his hair behind his ears again and again, straightening out the socks on his feet until he finally tears them off. He swaps them for a shorter pair, then follows them with a pair of spandex that go down to the tops of his knees. He doesn’t like to run in pants until the weather forces his hand.

Ripley watches him put on his shorts, then a long sleeve shirt. Then the old hoodie he’s had since college, the one that used to hide away in the back of his dresser because Myra couldn’t stand its faded logo. He smooths his hand down the front, pulling on the drawstrings until they’re hanging evenly. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and ignores the three unread messages from Richie, shoving the device into his pocket.

Eddie ties one of Ripley’s bandanas around her neck and clicks on her leash. They take the stairs; their footsteps echo against the concrete walls.

It’s not raining, but the clouds above the city are still grey and swollen, obscuring the highest floors of the tallest buildings and threatening to drench them at any minute. They run a crooked path, taking turns whenever the urge strikes him. They’re two miles in when his mind finally starts to quiet down. They run through a small park, scattering a group of birds that are busy picking at a soggy hotdog bun. Ripley’s head swivels to watch them take flight, her sharp eyes betraying her yearning for the chase.

They start to turn back towards home around mile three. It’s starting to sprinkle, a gentle rain that hardly bothers to land on his skin. The random drops break the stillness of the puddles that they dodge. They run past mothers with children tucked away in their strollers, bundled in their tiny coats against the November chill. Ripley’s trot starts to slow a little, the long fur on her belly dripping with water from the puddles she’s decidedly not avoided. Eddie slows his pace to match her, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Their rhythm relaxes him.

They hit mile four about five blocks from the apartment. They run beneath a great maple, half its leaves already littering the ground. Four blocks from his apartment, Eddie runs over a stretch of sidewalk covered in wet leaves, obscured by puddles too big to avoid. He splashes through one of the last puddles and lands on a stable-looking pile of leaves. His left foot slips out from under him; he tries to catch himself with his right, but he can’t hold himself up. He tugs harshly on Ripley’s leash without meaning to, but manages to let go of her before his left knee scrapes across the concrete and he skids to a stop.

The impact jolts through his body. His palm is burnt and raw from where he manages to stop and brace himself and avoid bashing his head into the ground, too. His wrist aches. He lifts himself up and manages to turn enough to sit down, tenderly stretching out his left leg to finally get a look at it. Ripley crowds against him, her warmth a comfort on the empty street. His breathing is ragged from the exertion and the shock.

His knee is scraped badly, little rocks embedded in his skin and dirt smeared all down his shin. He hisses through his teeth as he pokes at the raw skin, frowning as a thick drop of blood curls down the side of his knee and drips onto the ground. He sits there until he catches his breath. He tells Ripley to sit and then uses her sturdy shoulders to help lift himself up off the ground. She stays close to his side as he starts to hobble down the path, using his uninjured hand to steady himself on her neck. She’s still looking up at him, sniffing loudly in that concerned way she does when she’s upset. The leash trails through the dirt beneath her until he finally manages to reach for it.

He limps delicately all the way back to his street, his ego just as bruised as his skin. He feels hot blood trickling down his leg, winding its way down to his ankle, no doubt staining his sock. When they walk past Richie’s building, the front door swings open, catching in the wind. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as someone jogs down the steps, but it’s not him. It’s not Richie.

Eddie’s cheeks burn as he makes his way to the corner, leaning on the button for the crosswalk. When the light finally turns green, someone walking the other way glances at his leg and gives him what’s probably meant to be a sympathetic smile. Eddie nods his head and smiles back, though it feels more like he’s baring his teeth. Ripley rests her head against his hip the entire elevator ride up to the sixth floor. 

He toes off his shoes by the door as gently as he can, leaning all of his weight against the wall.

“Shit,” he mutters, quickly taking his phone out of his pocket. He sighs, grateful. The screen isn’t broken or scratched. There’s a little ding on the corner, but that’s about it. He sets it on the kitchen island and limps towards the bathroom.

There are five unread messages from Richie now.

His shorts are soaked from sitting on the ground. He steps out of them, guiding them carefully past his banged-up knee. He puts down the toilet seat and sits down, propping his foot up on the side of the tub. He tosses a washcloth into the sink and leans over to turn on the hot water before opening up the cabinet to find his First Aid kit.

He picks out one of the bigger rocks with his fingers, cursing under his breath. Ripley taps her way over to the doorway, a mirror image of her morning self. Her head is hanging low to the ground, watching him warily. She plops down and keeps a watchful eye on him as she dutifully licks her wet paws clean.

Eddie wipes the blood from his skin with the washcloth, sighing at its warmth. He presses the cloth to the scrape with a wince before filling his cup with cold water and pouring it over the scrape. The water lands in the tub, tinged brown and red. He does this until the wound is clean, until all that’s left is his tender, bruised skin. He pulls out the antibiotic ointment and mutters fuck fuck fuck under his breath until it’s done and over. He covers the deepest scrape with a bandage, taping it down delicately.

Ripley lifts her head up when he stands back up, peeling off his bloody sock and dropping it in the sink. He runs the cold water and lets it soak. She scrambles to her feet when he tries to walk past, then stays close by his side all the way to the couch. His diligent caretaker. 

He stops to grab a bag of frozen corn from the freezer, pulling a towel off the oven door and wrapping it around the bag. He lies down on the couch and shoves a pillow under his knee. He sucks in a breath and rests the towel-wrapped bag on his skin; his knee is already starting to turn purple and blue. Ripley sinks down with a huff until she’s lying in the empty space between the couch and the coffee table. Eddie reaches down to pet her slowly, heeding the freshly torn skin on his palm. He hears his phone start buzz on the counter in the kitchen; it’s a phone call. Richie, if he had to guess.

He drops his head back against the pillow and sighs.

Eddie reaches for the TV remote and switches to a movie marathon on TNT. He listens to the drama play out, too distracted by the view outside his windows to pay attention to the tense dialogue and fast-paced car chase happening on screen. He looks out the window and turns his face into the couch, wondering if he sits up enough, can he see into Richie’s window?

His phone dings with the sound that signals a new voicemail. Guilt floods his lungs, choking him. What if Richie’s worried.

“I was so worried, Eddie,” a voice that’s not Richie’s says in the back of his mind. He presses the bag of corn down harder, gasping as the cold spreads up his body with such finality. Pain follows soon after, hardly numbed. Then the numbness spreads, following the chill. His heart pounds in his chest, an uncomfortable tingling sitting just beneath his ribs.

“I was so worried, Eddie bear,” Myra says. “You’re hurt, I always knew you’d get hurt. You should have listened to me.”

It had been one of those early runs with Ripley, when she was still learning, eagerly looking up at him for approval every five steps as they jogged around the neighborhood. She was a gangly, leggy creature at that age, her gait a little unsteady. But she was eager, and Eddie relied more and more on their time together as the days went on. Ripley helped him to realize he was worth so much more than his bad marriage. His dishonest marriage. Ripley saw him for who he was and loved him either way.

It had been one of those early runs with Ripley, when he’d missed a crack in the sidewalk and twisted his ankle so badly it had swelled almost immediately. Luckily they’d only been a block away from their apartment, and someone had been nice enough to help him limp home.

“You could have broken your ankle, Eddie!” Myra had yelled after the considerate stranger had dropped him off at their door.

Ripley had slunk towards her bed, ashamed and scared. Eddie called her name but she refused to get back up, her leash still attached to her collar.

“I told you it’s too dangerous to run with that dog,” she had said, and his anger had momentarily eclipsed the pounding pain in his ankle.

“Don’t talk about her like that, Myra,” he had spat. “Please, just get me some ice. I need to get this swelling down.” 

“It could be broken! We should really go to the hospital. Please listen to me, Eddie. I love you.”

–Eddie reaches down and buries his hand in Ripley’s fur, trying to breathe through the panic squeezing his lungs. She licks his arm and makes a noise in the back of her throat, trying to get his attention. He touches her fur over and over and over–

“I told you all this running wasn’t a good idea,” Myra had said.

She had finally brought him a bag of ice, wrapped in a too-thin towel. He peeled off his sock and winced when it jostled his foot.

“I tripped. That’s all. It wasn’t Ripley’s fault.”

Myra shook her head, busy pacing the length of the living room and running a hand through her hair until it was a hopeless mess.

“It’s too dangerous. You get home from work so late, and then you barely eat dinner before you go out with that dog–”

Eddie’s hand clenched tightly around the throw pillow next to him.

“–what if you get attacked! It’s getting darker now, Eddie. What if you get hit by a car because she pulls you into the street?”

“She’s never pulled me into the street.”

“It’s just not safe. Please don’t run anymore.”

Eddie lies on the couch, Ripley’s heavy head resting on his chest now, whining low in her throat, and wonders if he’s still running away.

He thinks about how Myra hadn’t left him alone for days. Pushing pills into his hand and obsessively worrying about the wrap on his ankle, still convinced it had been broken. She’d been distressed that he’d taken a day off work, and wouldn’t stop glaring daggers at Ripley.

“You’re making her feel guilty, Myra,” he had yelled a couple nights later. “She didn’t do anything wrong! Stop punishing her! It’s not her fault!”

“Don’t yell at me! I’m not doing anything wrong! Don’t you love me, Eddie bear? Don’t you love me? Sometimes I think you’d choose the dog over me!”

don’t you love me– don’t you love me– I know what’s best for you, Eddie. take your medicine, Eddie. that dog. that dog. that dog.

“Of course I’d choose her over you!” Eddie had yelled, the words scraping his throat as they burst out of him. 

Myra had gaped at him, mouth opening and closing silently before she’d finally stalked off, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her.

Eddie doesn’t realize he’s crying until he comes back to himself and swipes angrily at his cheeks, gasping for air as Ripley licks at his neck, the tip of his chin, his wrist when he pets her head to ease her worries. She licks the tears off his cheeks, nosing at his ear until he laughs and kisses her sloppily.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles to her, though he’s not really sure why. He says it again because once he’s said it out loud, he finds it hard to stop.

He looks out the window and misses Richie so intensely all he can do is shove his face into Ripley’s neck and try to catch his breath. He falls into an exhausted, fretful sleep without meaning to, his arm curled around Ripley’s patient, loving self.

~

Eddie wakes up an hour or two later, he’s not really sure. His throat is dry and raw, face tight from crying. His arm is hanging over the edge of the couch, next to Ripley’s head. He strokes his index finger down her soft muzzle. She exhales loudly but doesn’t lift her head. His legs ache from the run and the fall; the corn is just uncomfortably wet now. He tosses the bag onto the table and grimaces at the darkening bruise spreading down the outside of his knee. His wrist is stiff when he pushes himself up until he’s sitting upright.

He stands up and walks towards the kitchen, the torn skin on his knee pulling and stretching with every slow step he takes. He starts to heat up a can of soup, his stomach growling painfully. It’s after four, apparently. He’s not sure if this is a late lunch or an early dinner at this point. The light outside is already starting to fade, casting long shadows across the streets.

He picks up his phone and ignores the text messages, pressing play on the waiting voicemail.

“Um, hey,” Richie says, a nervous edge to his voice that Eddie’s never heard before. But he doesn’t sound mad. Eddie holds the phone tighter to his ear.

“I think you’re avoiding me, and I’m not really sure what– what happened last night, I guess? I’m not very good at, uh. Sometimes it takes me awhile to pick up on people’s moods, especially when I get a little drunk and–”

Richie cuts himself off and Eddie swallows hard. He stops stirring the soup, just turns off the burner and leans heavily against the counter.

“I’m just worried about you, I guess. That sounds kinda dumb when I say it out loud, but it’s true. I really like you, Eddie.”

“I really like you, too,” Eddie whispers, heart pounding.

“I’m not doing anything tonight,” Richie continues after a couple seconds. “So, um. Feel free to call me. If you want. I had a really good time with you last night. I just– okay. Bye, Eds.”

Eddie stands there for a minute, staring at his dark phone screen, steam rising from the pot on the stove and dampening the air. He slips the phone into his hoodie pocket and pours himself a bowl, bringing it with him back to the couch. He takes a couple sips, pushing the rice around the bowl and watching it change directions in the broth. Ripley hops up onto the couch next to him and curls up, watching him quietly. He runs a hand over her back.

He sets the bowl on the table and tucks his feet under Ripley’s belly. She licks at his ankle, tickling his skin, and he smiles for the first time in hours. He takes the phone out of his pocket, thumbs hovering over the lit up screen. He doesn’t even read the messages from Richie, just opens the keyboard and– he hesitates.

[4:25] I’m sorry. It’s been a bad day

Richie starts typing almost as soon as the message goes through. Eddie rubs at his eye as it starts to burn, a choked little sob escaping his throat. Ripley curls herself around his feet even further.

[4:26] are you okay??

[4:28] I don’t really know

Richie starts to type and then stops. Nothing comes through. The little dots appear again.

[4:30] is there anything I can do

[4:32] Will you come over

[4:33] I’ll be right there

Richie’s there within ten minutes. Eddie’s not sure how he manages to knock at the door both frantically and nervously, but he does. When Eddie opens the door, Richie’s standing there with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, one of his shoes still unlaced. He takes in Eddie’s red eyes first, then his gaze drops down to his knee and his mouth drops open.

“Eddie, what happened–” Richie says, pushing into the apartment and closing the door behind him. He takes Eddie’s cheek in his hand, thumb brushing over his skin so tenderly that Eddie can only close his eyes and lean into the touch. His breath hitches in his chest.

“I’m fine,” Eddie manages to get out past the lump in his throat. He just wants to crawl into Richie’s arms. So he does.

“I fell,” he says once he’s wrapped his arms around Richie’s waist and his face is buried against his warm chest.

“Looks like it must have been quite the tumble,” Richie whispers against the top of his head, his tone light but the tight grip on Eddie’s waist betrays his quiet worry.

“It was an accident,” Eddie says in a rush. “It wasn’t her fault.”

Richie makes a confused noise but it falls away. He holds onto Eddie firmly, kissing the top of his head.

“I know,” Richie finally says. “Do you want to go sit down?”

Eddie nods against him and lets himself be led back to the couch. Ripley’s still curled up in one corner, but she lifts her head to greet Richie when they walk over. He scratches her under the chin before shifting the pillows around so he can sit back against the opposite end of the couch. He pulls Eddie down until he’s sitting between Richie’s outstretched legs, propped up against his chest. Eddie stretches out his busted up knee until it’s resting on Ripley’s hind end; she doesn’t move away, just lets him lean on her.

Eddie takes a deep breath and it rattles his chest. He leans his head back against Richie’s shoulder and tips his face until Richie’s cheek is warm against his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he says, trailing a finger over the arm Richie has wrapped around his waist.

“What do I need to say to get you to stop apologizing?” Richie asks. Eddie can feel his jaw moving as he talks.

“It’s an old habit,” Eddie says, feeling small.

“That’s okay,” Richie says, and Eddie thinks he believes him.

It had never mattered how much he apologized to Myra. It hadn’t made a difference, whether or not it was about him coming home late from work and forgetting to call. If he had forgotten to take his medicine when he was home sick from the flu and delirious from fever. It didn’t matter when Ripley accidentally found the stuffed bunny intended for Myra’s niece for Easter and chewed it to pieces. It didn’t matter that he had said I’m sorry, Myra. She probably thought it was a toy for her. I’ll go down to the store and buy another one, okay? I’m sorry.

“Why would I buy a toy for the dog?” Myra had said, shaking the deflated bunny with its torn-open belly in Ripley’s face.

Ripley had looked up at Eddie, confused and unsure why they were yelling. She started to back away from him. He reached for her right as Myra threw the toy onto the ground, and Ripley trotted away, tail tucked between her legs.

Eddie fists his hand in Richie’s jacket and clenches his eyes shut.

“She’s a good dog, right? Richie?” He asks, hating the sound of his broken voice.

“Of course she is, Eds. Ripley’s the best dog in the world,” Richie says, hugging him tightly.

Ripley’s collar jingles as she perks up at the sound of her name. Eddie cracks open an eye and watches Richie rub the side of her neck with his foot.

“She used to yell at Ripley,” Eddie finds himself saying; he shuts his eyes and turns into Richie’s neck again. “Even when it wasn’t her fault.”

“Who?” Richie asks, softly, like he’s giving him the freedom to ignore the question.

“Myra,” Eddie says after a pause. “My ex-wife.”

Richie rubs Eddie’s chest until he starts to relax against him.

“She hated her,” Eddie mumbles against his throat. “She hated her the day I brought her home and never even gave her a chance.”

“Well, I think Ripley’s amazing. You clearly mean the world to her, Eddie.”

Eddie covers the hand on his chest with his own. He plays with Richie’s fingers to distract himself, the embarrassment of crying again slowly leaving him. He traces the ridge of a skinny scar on the back of Richie’s hand.

“She used to yell at me, too,” Eddie says, so quietly he’s not sure Richie even heard him. But then Richie’s pressing a rough kiss to his forehead and exhaling sharply against his skin.

“She tried to control everything I did,” he continues, the words rushing out of him like a confession. “She always said she knew what was best for me, and I believed her.”

“Well, she didn’t,” Richie says firmly, threading their fingers together on Eddie’s chest. “She’s not here. You’re here, and Ripley’s here, and you’re both safe with me.”

Eddie exhales loudly, a wet sound that matches the hot tears smeared across his cheeks.

“I should have left sooner,” he says, squeezing Richie’s hand weakly.

“But you did,” Richie says, with such certainty that Eddie can feel it.

“I did,” Eddie repeats.

I did. We both did . He opens his eyes and looks down at Ripley, letting go of Richie’s hand to reach out for her. She wags her tail, thumping it down on the couch before hopping down and moving to sit by his side. She pushes her nose up under his elbow, bullying her way in to rest her chin on his stomach. He feels Richie’s quiet laugh, and Eddie takes comfort in it. He buries his fingers in the thick fur around Ripley’s neck and looks at her deep brown eyes.

“She never gets to tell us what to do again, Rip,” Eddie tells her, voice thick with emotion. Her tail whacks against the leg of the coffee table, a steady thumping that matches the beat of his heart. 

Eddie’s stomach growls, and he knows Richie felt it, judging by the way he snorts softly in his ear.

“Did you eat today?”

Eddie glances over at the bowl sitting forgotten on the table, practically still full to the brim.

“Sort of?”

“Here, sit up,” Richie says, pushing at his shoulder.

“No,” Eddie whines, blushing immediately.

“I’ll be right back,” Richie laughs, his beard scratching against Eddie’s forehead. “You need to eat, baby.”

Eddie blushes even harder. He sits up and drags a hand over his face. Richie laughs all the way to the kitchen, taking the soup with him. Ripley follows after him, tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. Eddie hears the microwave start; he smooths down the wrinkled bandage on his knee, frowning at the darkening bruises.

“Um,” Richie says. “Does Ripley need dinner? She’s giving me some pretty pointed looks over here, dude.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can–”

“Nuh-uh, sit your ass down. Just tell me where her food is.”

“The cabinet under the sink.” 

The cabinet door squeaks as Richie opens it, and Eddie hears Ripley start to do her excited little pre-dinner dance, claws tapping excitedly on the floor as she turns in circles. He listens to Richie laugh and talk to her like they have their own special language together already.

“Eat,” Richie says when he sets the steaming bowl down in front of Eddie. “Please.”

Eddie does. He eats quickly, after that first bite. He lifts the bowl to his mouth to drink the rest of the broth before setting the bowl back down, wiping away a drop that starts to drip down his chin. He can hear Richie puttering around in the kitchen, the sound of the sink running a quiet constant behind the noise of Ripley’s bowl scraping along the wall as she licks it clean.

The sink shuts off. Eddie turns around and watches Richie wipe his hands on a towel, walking towards the front door. Ripley’s trotting alongside him happily, looking up at Richie like she adores him. Eddie thinks he knows how she feels.

“We’ll be right back,” Richie says, clasping her leash onto her collar.

“You don’t have to–” Eddie starts to stand. He sits back down when Richie tosses him a look. “You can take my keys. To get back in the building.”

Richie smiles at him and grabs them from the hook, and then Eddie’s alone in his apartment. He sits back and sinks into the cushion, hugging a pillow to his chest. He turns on the TV and channel surfs until they come back upstairs. Ripley rushes towards him as soon as the leash is back off; her fur is cold to the touch, a refreshing chill. Eddie rubs some dirt off her nose.

Richie shuts off the kitchen lights before joining him again. He sits next to Eddie and draws him into a kiss that’s so slow, so deep that it makes him ache. Eventually, Richie lies down against the back of the couch and Eddie settles down in front him, using Richie’s arm as a pillow. They settle on a movie Eddie’s never heard of before, something bleak but quietly hopeful in that dead-of-winter way, fields covered in endless blankets of snow. The sun sets and the radiator clicks on. Richie pulls the blanket down off the back of the couch and spreads it over them. 

“Will you stay?” Eddie asks when the film fades to black and the credits begin to roll. A single cello hums its sad song.

“As long as you want,” Richie says, pressing a kiss to his neck. 

Eddie leads them to the bedroom, their hands clasped and swinging between them. He pulls his shirt and hoodie over his head at the same time, throwing them towards the hamper in the corner. He grabs the Halloween race shirt from where it’s crumpled up on his comforter, slipping it over his head. He looks back up at Richie, who’s blushing a little and standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. He snaps out of it when Eddie pushes his shorts over his hips, smoothing out the waistband on his boxers before crawling onto the bed.

Richie unzips his jacket and drops it at the foot of the bed, quickly stepping out of his jeans and walking around to the other side of the mattress. He pulls the covers over them as soon as he’s tucked up against Eddie’s back. He reaches across Eddie to set his glasses down on the nightstand, tugging on the lamp cord while he’s there. The room sinks into darkness, and Eddie feels fingers tipping his chin back. Richie kisses him slowly, sleepily. 

Eddie tangles their legs together and smiles when Richie’s hand slides up under his shirt, thumb sweeping slowly over his belly, no intention behind it other than simply wanting to be closer. With Richie wrapped around him and Ripley curled up next to the bed on the floor, Eddie falls asleep easily to the sounds of their steady breathing.