[ the people they are now wouldn't hug. without these memories, richie would have absolutely no reason to wrap his arms around eddie. but now that he does remember? there's nothing else he'd rather be doing.
eddie is right, of course. neither of them should be apologizing. they hadn't done anything wrong; it was this town's fault - It's fault. all of it.
a deep, shuddering sigh escapes him, and beneath the anger and exhaustion he almost feels relieved. so many things he didn't understand make sense to him now: why he couldn't remember most of his childhood, why there were bits and pieces of his life that never felt right, why he never had a good answer when interviewers asked about his first kiss.
their last kiss is a little like their first. richie is nervous, but it's not because of eddie. it's because, despite all their talks about the future and what they'll do together, the world is still big and scary and he really doesn't want to face it alone.
but he gets into his crappy old car, waves out the window, and leaves his life behind. he does it because doing anything else would betray all the things eddie has done to make this happen.
swallowing, he loosens his hold on eddie and pulls back, not quite sure what to say now. he feels awkward, and - despite the gravity of the situation they're in - this feels so much more important than killing that stupid murder clown. ]
I don't want to forget you again, [ he says at last, his eyebrows knitting together in an expression that's part hopelessness and part determination.
they talk as often as they can, and even that's not enough. richie always tells eddie how good things are, how great he's doing, how much he wishes eddie could come see the show.
he starts to make a name for himself, and before he realizes it he stops getting those calls. at first it feels wrong, like a bad case of deja vu, but eventually it fades into the background just like the rest of derry has. it's all too easy to dive into his work and forget that he ever wanted someone special to sit in that front-row seat. ]
no subject
eddie is right, of course. neither of them should be apologizing. they hadn't done anything wrong; it was this town's fault - It's fault. all of it.
a deep, shuddering sigh escapes him, and beneath the anger and exhaustion he almost feels relieved. so many things he didn't understand make sense to him now: why he couldn't remember most of his childhood, why there were bits and pieces of his life that never felt right, why he never had a good answer when interviewers asked about his first kiss.
their last kiss is a little like their first. richie is nervous, but it's not because of eddie. it's because, despite all their talks about the future and what they'll do together, the world is still big and scary and he really doesn't want to face it alone.
but he gets into his crappy old car, waves out the window, and leaves his life behind. he does it because doing anything else would betray all the things eddie has done to make this happen.
swallowing, he loosens his hold on eddie and pulls back, not quite sure what to say now. he feels awkward, and - despite the gravity of the situation they're in - this feels so much more important than killing that stupid murder clown. ]
I don't want to forget you again, [ he says at last, his eyebrows knitting together in an expression that's part hopelessness and part determination.
they talk as often as they can, and even that's not enough. richie always tells eddie how good things are, how great he's doing, how much he wishes eddie could come see the show.
he starts to make a name for himself, and before he realizes it he stops getting those calls. at first it feels wrong, like a bad case of deja vu, but eventually it fades into the background just like the rest of derry has. it's all too easy to dive into his work and forget that he ever wanted someone special to sit in that front-row seat. ]