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It took Eddie a few hours to get the thought of where he was out of his head, the fact that it was a place where horrible things had happened. But he had looked around, scoured every corner for something that would tell the story of the place - in great morbid detail.
But it was as Richie had said when he'd arrived - It's just a house, Eds. Just a house with some bad history.
He was surprised by the state of it all, the cleanliness, and the upkeep. No one had lived here for almost 30 years, but it was still in tip-top shape. Nothing about it said that it had been vacant.
Turns out the old Estate workers were still being paid, so some of them had continued to do what they could. It was, after all, kind of a landmark in town. One of the first houses that were built in Derry before the town was even called Derry.
The floors creaked a bit as Eddie walked through the large sitting room, dark hardwood floors that had swelled and settled with the years. It all felt very lived in. High ceilings and intricate crown molding, walls covered in that thick kind of wallpaper - with the embossed shapes and a bit of velvet.
He sat down in one of the armchairs, sinking in further than he expected, and gave Richie a quick look. He was leaning back in another armchair on the other end of the room, a book laid over his face as he breathed slowly. Eddie wondered if Richie was actually asleep or just pretending so that he could do nothing for a while. He didn't want to disturb him, so he said nothing to get Richie's attention. Just allowed himself to look.
Richie had his arms crossed over his chest, scrunching up the white t-shirt and ruffling the corners of the unbuttoned bright yellow shirt he was wearing on top. He had his 2 watches on, turned inwards on his wrist, and Eddie knew neither of them showed the correct time. They both worked, ticking along carelessly and reliantly, and they always seemed to tell Richie something when he gave them a peek. Eddie had asked many times, and Richie had acted like it was obvious but not giving him an answer. Keeping the mystery.
Everything Richie did was a mystery to Eddie, and he wanted to figure every single one of them out. Solve it all. No matter how long it would take him, he would let time pass if he knew everything in the end.
He guessed that was why he so easily fell into Richie's schemes and plans. Both when they were kids with knobbly, achingly bruised knees and now when the same knees are less bruised but just as aching. More than 30 years of them causing havoc, and more than 30 years of Eddie loving every single second of it.
They had known each other for so long. Eddie didn't remember when the feelings changed. He just knew that one day he had looked at Richie's lopsided grin and bespectacled face and felt a firm grip crushing around his heart. The sun over Derry had seemed brighter that day, the air a little sweeter. And Eddie had never lost that feeling.
Their teenage years had been spent with too long looks, too firm touches, and loud, unnecessary fights.
With late nights on the roof outside of Richie's room as they passed a cigarette back and forth. Eddie's skin burning hot with the thought of the indirect kiss that lingered on the cigarette filter as he took a sharp inhale, the heat from the smoke burning in his lungs in the same way.
They had been close to twenty when Richie had leaned in close, stopping nervously right in front of Eddie's face. The smell of tar from a hot roof hung in the air, and Eddie had turned away. We shouldn't, he had said. Let's not ruin what we have, Rich.
Eddie was difficult, hard to love. Ragged edges that pulled your skin raw. Richie would be disappointed and bored, and he would leave. Staying friends was easier.
Now they were doing this dance around each other, neither of them wanting to push too hard. Eddie knew he was leading; he could feel how Richie was following and slowing down when his feet got out of line. Finding the beat again.
Just a few steps forward and a few steps back. 1-3-5-7, moving to the beat and counting along.
Eddie could also feel how he was leading when he missed the count, breaking one of his own rules and getting too close. Richie would correct him, and they would continue to dance. Getting close, and then far again.
The dance was necessary. Eddie had made countless lists and gone through every scenario. The safest option was to orbit around each other, allowing each other the lingering looks.
He hated that he never could look away.
Richie suddenly stirred, the book over his face hitting the floor with a thud. The empty house swallowed the sound, an echo reverberating down the hall. He looked up with heavily lidded eyes, catching Eddie's gaze.
"Oh, hi," Richie said, his smile taking up most of his face. Eddie loved that smile. Wanted to touch it and memorize it, feel the shape under his fingers.
Out of step, get back on beat. 1-3-5-7.
"Hi," Eddie said, finally looking away. He started fidgeting with his own fingers, picking at the skin around his nails until it was starting to get red and sore. He picked at the yellow mark between his long and pointer finger, trying to rub the nicotine away. A reminder, he guessed.
After a moment, he looked at Richie again. This time he was less observing. "Good nap?"
Richie shrugged. He stretched his arms out, shirt riding up a little. Then slapped his thighs as an indication that it was time to get back to work. "How long have you watched me sleep? A bit creepy, Eds."
Eddie leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as something in his stomach was starting to rumble. "Just making sure you weren't dead; I don't think this house could take any more bad press."
Richie laughed, "That's true." He pushed himself out of the chair and walked over to the table where he had laid out all the Bower's notes as well as their own notes. It looked like a mess, but Richie had assured him that it was an organized mess, that the mess had meaning. Eddie believed him.
"How long have you been here?" Eddie asked after a short silence. Richie seemed comfortable like he was just about to move in. Two empty takeaway cups from the local coffee shop stood on the table, next to an empty paper bag with Richie's name on it.
"Uh, I got here yesterday." He said, not looking away from the table as he was sorting through the notes. He was making new piles, looking at the notes for a few seconds, and then putting them down again. It looked like he was just trying to keep his hands busy.
Eddie scrunched his nose, "You slept here?"
"Yeah."
"In the house?"
Richie laughed, "They didn't die in any of the bedrooms, Eds." He turned to give Eddie another one of his wonderful, large smiles. "And Ophelia cleans this place weekly. The beds are clean. She's great, by the way. I might invite her into the club."
Eddie rolled his eyes, "We are 40 years old. Stop calling it a club."
Richie turned his whole body towards Eddie, tapping his cheek with his pointer finger as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand. "Talk like that will get you kicked out of the club," Richie said. He sat down in one of the chairs around the large oak table, continuing to lean his face in his hand. "And it would be such a shame to lose one of the founding members."
Eddie let out a small laugh, shook his head, and looked at Richie fondly. It was almost painful to look, like staring into the sun.
They sat in silence for a bit. Richie goes through some of the notes, and Eddie watches him. Observing how Richie held his pen in a death grip as he wrote, the tip of the pen peeking out from the bottom of his left palm. His other hand tapped his cheek rhythmically as he was thinking. Eddie wondered what song was going 'round and 'round in Richie's head, wondering if he'd recognized it. He rarely did. Richie liked older music; The Platters, Elvis, and Buddy Holly. Classics, as Richie called them.
They probably were. Eddie wouldn't know. That kind of music never played in his house; his mother hated music. She barely allowed Christmas music, only if it was sung by a choir or some monks. Their house had always been so quiet. Nothing like the Tozier house, not even close.
Music like that will give people the wrong idea, Eddie-Bear she'd said when Eddie had asked for Blue Hawaii for his birthday one year. Richie had said it was one of his favorite Elvis albums, and Eddie wanted to check it out. His teeth ached from the tension he was keeping in his jaw. He just wanted to break the silence.
He didn't get it that year. Or any year after that.
"What's playing?" Eddie asked, breaking the silence and making Richie jump a bit. "…in your head, I mean." He could feel the slight blush rolling over his face. Was this weird? Should he not have come? Richie could obviously work without the company; this was just a distraction. He was just…
"I could - uh. I have my speakers with me." Richie said, nodding his head towards his beat-up backpack on the floor. "Do you want some music?"
"Sure," Eddie said, clasping his hand awkwardly in his lap. Why did it all feel so different?
"No problemo, Eds. I will play you something." Richie dug through his backpack, pulling out some balled-up clothes and placing them on the floor before he pulled out a small, matte black cube. He placed it in one of the bookshelves, picking up his phone from his pocket and scrolling for a moment.
Soon the room was filled with music, Richie moving his shoulders to the beat as he walked back to his spot at the table. Eddie could see him mouthing along to the lyrics as the women sang; baby love, my baby love. Eddie had heard this before; he didn't know who it was by, though. He should pay more attention; Richie had probably told him once.
Eddie leaned back, trying to relax a bit. He closed his eyes to listen to the music. He had always liked what Richie played for him - it felt like he was being told secrets. Knowing what Richie liked was not something he was supposed to know or want to know.
The song changed, another woman singing now. He didn't recognize it, but the woman sang in that old "rock" way that Richie seemed to like, the vocal hiccups and the falsetto squeaks.
I'd like to clip your wings so you can't fly .
He opened his eyes briefly, seeing how Richie was moving with the music, singing along. His head tipped slightly side to side.
The house felt a little less terrifying with the music going around. The weird cracks and pops that moved through the walls were a little less noticeable. Old houses were always so loud. Eddie closed his eyes again, listening to the music.
Stupid cupid, stop picking on me.
His fingers were starting to buzz, feeling like his blood was carbonated. Like his body knew something before his mind had fully caught up. Fight or flight.
Something else started to play. He knew this one. Buddy Holly.
You're so square, baby. I don't care.
Richie had played this for him many times, smile bright and voice booming as he's singing along - words, instruments. All of it.
"You're not as square now as you used to be, but this is still about you," He'd said.
They would sit on Richie's old IKEA couch as Richie ran back and forward to his record player. The crackling of the needle on the plastic and the static of Richie's speakers between songs had always felt so electric - like he could taste the music as he breathed. He didn't have to talk when Richie was showing him his music. He could just listen and watch. It would still be on beat, still allowed for the dance. Cause Richie was singing and dancing, it would be rude to look away.
Imagine me and you, I do.
Another song played now, and he knew this one too. He opened his eyes and gave Richie a questioning look. His lungs were burning as he opened his mouth, prepared for the words to taste like iron.
"Is this your playlist?"
"Yeah," Richie said, turning back to look at Eddie. "Just a bunch of songs that I like, nothing special."
Eddie nodded, the buzzing in his fingers getting further up his hands. "Oh." He said quietly.
They sat through the song without talking, letting the words nestle into every creek and crack of Eddie's brain. I can't see me…
Suddenly Eddie's thinking about how they were before - before it all got so serious. When the tiny touches and looks were enough. When did that change? When did it start to hurt like this?
They had talked about it, many times. Been clear that they both understood. Agreed that, yes, these rules suck, but it's better like this.
We still get each other like this.
He didn't know how long he was zoned out for, but the song was different. He didn't recognize it.
"Who's this?"
You're mine…
"Ritchie."
And we belong together.
"No, I mean the song. Who's singing?" Eddie asked, rolling his eyes. He was fidgeting with his hands again, his right thumb starting to bleed a little.
"Ritchie, with a T. Like, in the middle, not like Titchie." Richie said quickly with a laugh. The words falling over each other. "Ritchie Valens."
"It's another love song?" Eddie regretted the question as it left his mouth. His whole body was buzzing now. His mind had caught up. It was all love songs. Most of them had been sad.
"I like a lot of love songs," Richie said with a non-committal shrug. The sound of him swallowing down a lie could be heard from space. There was a pause, and then Richie got to his feet. "Can I have this dance?" He asked, reaching his hand out for Eddie. "You don't have to, I- um. Do you want to dance?"
The question hit Eddie like a wet slap across the face. He immediately knew what he should answer. Dancing for real would get their metaphorical dance out of step, but his mouth had other plans, as it always had.
"Sure, yeah,"
The armchair creaked a little as he got to his feet and took Richie's hand. The touch makes his already buzzing body feel like the atoms were splitting. The air in his lungs went even hotter and filled every space available.
Out of step, offbeat.
Richie pulled him close. There was basically no space between them as they slowly started to swing side to side with the music. Richie's body felt strong, solid. Eddie wanted to creep even closer, closer than would be possible - much closer than what was allowed. But he allows himself to rest his head on Richie's shoulder as they continue to swing together.
It's nice. Eddie likes it. But they shouldn't. Right?
Eddie pushes back, standing an arm's length away from Richie as he tries to find his words. He wishes he was different, braver, firmer. Easier to love. Because he'd always been difficult. Anxious and fidgety. Too loud, too particular.
He looked at Richie, wanting to apologize for how he was. Apologize for the kind of mold he was pulled from and the way his clay had been shaped after that.
Richie looked sad, not hurt or disappointed but a sad that could almost be touched. His hands were still resting on Eddie's waist, his grip less firm than a moment before. The song was getting quieter around them as Eddie tried again to find his words, his mouth falling open and closing again when nothing came.
Then trumpets started playing. A new song.
The sad look on Richie's face morphs into something mischievous. Eddie can see his feet start to tap-tap-tap as a man starts to sing.
You're just too good to be true.
Richie sings along, dancing a little in front of Eddie - keeping the space that Eddie put there. His hands waving in Eddie's face.
"Can't take my eyes off of you…." Richie spins around, pointing at Eddie, which makes Eddie blush scarlet. He feels like he's about to pass out. He can't keep his emotions in check around Richie. He moves around the entire spectrum. Happy-sad-angry-delighted. He is the entire spectrum around Richie.
The music blares. Echoing down the corridors and up the stairs. The whole house was jumping along with Richie as he kept moving around Eddie. Making gestures and stealing quick touches.
He couldn't keep his emotions stable around Eddie either. Eddie knew that he hurt Richie a lot and that Richie hurt him too. But they quickly went back to this because this was better than having nothing. They couldn't hold grudges when this is so good to just have.
Richie stomped his foot and went still, the grin on his face screaming on misbehavior. Eddie furrowed his brows.
"What?"
"Nothing," Richie said, still that grin on his face. Like a Cheshire Cat.
Then Eddie heard it, the start of a vintage beat drop. And he stares at Richie; cause at that moment, he knew exactly what was going through his mind.
"No," Eddie said.
"I'm not doing anything…." Richie said, but Eddie could see how he braced himself. Backing up a little as to get a better runway.
"You're not Heath Ledger. You're going to break something if you- "
The trumpets played long and loud, and with that, Richie shouted and ran full speed at the table. He jumped, somehow managing to get both feet on top of the scuffed tabletop, and he started to dance and sing along to the music. He's loud and bold, and Eddie can't take his eyes off of him.
"I love you, baby, and if it's quite alright!" Richie moves like he's never had an ache in his life. Hips swinging, legs kicking. It made Eddie laugh, and he couldn't even be bothered to hide it. He knew he was a goner. It's all so unfortunate.
"I need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights!" Richie smiles. His voice is pleasant. It had always annoyed Eddie that Richie could sing well. He was good at voices, good at throwing voices. It was a given that he would be able to carry a tune too. And it made Eddie want to eat a lightbulb.
"I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…." Richie jumped down from the table, rushing Eddie and getting close again. Eddie allows it, the voice in his head be damned. If he had to see that sad look on Richie's face again, he would combust.
He can have this. Just one moment. They can get back on beat soon. The 1-3-5-7 can wait for just a few beats. Just a few missed steps would be okay.
"Oh, pretty baby…." Richie sang, his fingers gracing the skin over Eddie's jaw. Tenderly and lovingly. It almost hurts, like a toothache. Pulsing through Eddie's jaw and up to his face.
Richie breathes heavily, the dancing probably being the most movement his body had done in quite some time. They stood and looked at each other as the song played. Richie's breathing steadied, and he kept smiling shyly at Eddie as if he was asking for permission. Eddie was almost ready to give it.
Then the song changed, and Richie's eyes dart up again, his fingers sneakily slipping into the collar of Eddie's T-shirt and pulling him along. It doesn't take much.
Won't you wear my ring, up around your neck.
Elvis. Eddie knew Elvis, and he knew Elvis well.
Elvis is evil.
"To tell the world, I'm yours by heck!" Richie sings, and he pulls Eddie along with him. He's moving fast, backward, and Eddie tries to keep an eye on both Richie and where they're going so that they won't fall. Some floorboards were uneven. Eddie's feet kept losing and finding their balance over and over again as Richie continued to pull him by the collar. The room seems so enormous as they move 'round it, around the furniture and the columns. It's big, and it feels like it's going to crash in over them. The whole house will collapse because Eddie allowed them to lose the beat. 1-3-5-7. They're so far offbeat.
Some of the panic must show on Eddie's face because Richie stops, his smile growing kinder as he stands close. Their foreheads touching. It's intimate, feeling too good and too safe. It's more than Eddie deserved. It made him feel like his chest was about to crack open.
Like the atoms that built his body was splitting for real now.
He closes his eyes, tries to back away, but he's frozen in place. The song changes again.
I want to be loved by you.
"Norma Jeane," Richie said, his eyes were still closed. "Just you, and nobody else but you…." He sings along quietly, almost in a whisper.
And it makes Eddie want to break all the rules. Makes him want to start his own count, miss the beat completely. But…
No.
Eddie straightens up. He moves back a bit, Richie follows. Their foreheads are still together.
"This is a bad idea," Eddie said. "This is against the rules. We agreed on rules."
"Why can't we be rule breakers for just one teeny-tiny moment," Richie asked. "It doesn't have to mean anything."
Eddie sighed. He wished he was braver. He wanted it to mean everything.
"Rich," Eddie said, closing his eyes. They're stinging like he's about to cry. But Eddie doesn't cry. So, he bites down.
He feels overwhelmed - by the size of the room, the house, by Richie's love, and his own painful realism. "It's a bad idea," He said. His tone was tired, but his voice was steady.
Richie pouts, but because they're standing so close, it ends up like a soft kiss just on the tip of Eddie's nose. It made a shiver go down his spine.
"Why?" Richie whispered; his tone was far from how he usually sounded. It's broken and fragile without confidence. Eddie hates how he's the reason when he sounds like this.
"It just is."
There's a moment. Then Richie sniffles and goes completely still before he straightens up again. He roughly drags his palm over his mouth, squaring his shoulder and giving Eddie another smile. It's different.
"Should we get back to work?" He asked, walking over the table before Eddie even had time to answer. The heat on Eddie's nose is still very much there.
Count along, 1-3-5-7, back on beat.