respirations | ― open post.

[ the fact that eddie can still speak in that manic way of his even after being stabbed in the face is honestly impressive. not that richie will ever say as much, of course. it's also kind of relieving, since it means eddie is right and he most likely won't die of blood loss.

death by bowers. that would really fucking suck. ]

I dunno, I think I should ask your mom for help, [ he snaps back, even as he leans away so that he can rummage through the first aid kit eddie had produced from his luggage within minutes of being attacked. richie used to laugh at him for that shit, but it turns out they all need it more than they want to admit.

it takes him a minute, but eventually he manages to create a Frankensteined bandage out of gauze and medical tape. the cut isn't terribly wide, but richie figures it's better to be safe than sorry. ]

Hold still, [ he orders, kneeling next to eddie so that he can be a little steadier as he applies the makeshift dressing. after a second, he smirks a little and adds, ] Think you can manage that much?

Beep beep, Richie.

❪ god, he wants his drink back but it's sitting on the other side of the sink and he doesn't feel like fighting to get it.

instead, eddie watches richie as he rummages through the first aid kit (getting everything out of order) before he somehow stitches together some sort of monster bandage. he huffs out an annoyed sound at the order but does as told although cuts another look at the smirk. ❫

I managed to pull a knife out of my face and stab Bowers in the chest through a shower curtain. I think I can manage. ❪ he mutters, brows furrowing together. once again— he's reminded of that rainy day in the clubhouse and sighs. ❫ You, uh, you remember the last time you bandaged me up? I had fallen and fucked up my hands in the Barrens.

[ he can't help but huff out a laugh at the catchphrase, partially because it means he's won this particular verbal sparring match and partially because it honestly just feels good to hear eddie say it again.

richie is sure they'll both get drunk off their asses later, but right now he needs eddie to keep steady. as carefully as possible, he presses the bandage to eddie's cheek and presses down on the tape with his thumb. it'll hurt, he's sure, but at least now it's covered up. ]

Yeah, yeah, [ he mumbles as he pulls back, wiping his hands on his jeans. it's clear enough by his expression, though, that he really is a little proud of eddie.

he's about to stand up when eddie speaks again and the memory hits him like a freight train, making his smile disappear and his eyebrows knit together.

they're kids, and it's just them, and they'd been doing something stupid like they always did. richie had been messing around and somehow eddie fell on - on a bunch of rocks? was that it?

they're in the clubhouse and it's suddenly so quiet, the jokes have all faded away and richie is holding eddie's bandaged palms in his own, and the feeling in his chest is -- ]

I - remember, [ he says slowly, not looking up. why is his heart suddenly beating faster? ] I think? Did I push you, or -

❪ he breathes in a sharp sound through his teeth as rich presses down on the bandage and sets the tape in place. there's pain, sure but it fades fast enough and eddie brings a hand up to rub gingerly at the spot.

figuring they're finished, he's about to stand when he notices the smile on richie's face disappear and make a face. no doubt, he's thinking about what he said. another memory lost in the haze created in all of them when they left this place. what had mike called it? a virus?

it's weird though. they've remembered that summer, fighting it and now even have their tokens but why does it feel like there's another piece to this puzzle? ❫

I slipped, I think? It must have been at the river. I was freaking out though but you calmed me down by, uh— ❪ shit. what had richie done? he knows it happened because out of everyone rich never was able to calm him down but he did this time. what had happened? and why does it feel like he's about to have a heart attack? ❫ By... fuck, you did something. This is so fucking frustrating.

[ the fog in his brain feels so heavy; it's as if the harder he tries to remember what happened, the more difficult it gets. the other things he's been able to recall came easily enough once he saw everyone, once he found his token, but this? why is this so hard? it's not as though they did anything particularly important, right?

he lets out a grunt of frustration as the memory slips from his grasp yet again, and he takes off his glasses so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. as if that'll help, somehow. ]

I can't fucking remember, [ he says, his voice low and tinged with anger. this is so stupid. it's just a fucking memory, just some stupid shit that happened when they were kids, why can't he just --

his heart is pounding and it's just the two of them, eddie's talking like a maniac, going on about infections and gangrene and amputation and richie hates it, but he keeps talking and there's only one way to shut him up and

richie looks up, the color draining from his face. when his eyes meet eddie's it comes back, finally, the memory seeps into his brain like water dripping from a leaky faucet, one second at a time.

oh no. ]

❪ the whole thing is a tiring process. why does he care so much about some piece of memory surrounding an overall unimportant event? most adults forget a lot of their childhood memories... but why couldn't he let this one go then? why did it feel so important?

he looks at rich at the same time that he looks to him, their eyes meeting and eddie raises a brow in confusion. ❫

Rich, you're white as a sheet. ❪ he mutters, brows furrowing together. ❫ Did you remember something?

[ richie doesn't want to remember any more. as soon as the image of what he'd done - the feeling of what he'd done - comes back to him, he instantly regrets ever trying to figure it out.

why that? of all things, why did it have to be that?! ]

No. [ the answer comes out instinctively, without thought. he shakes his head, just a little at first, then more violently. ] No, I didn't - I can't remember anything. This is stupid.

[ he stands up abruptly and moves to the sink to wash his hands, pointedly looking anywhere but at eddie. try as he might to push the memory away, it fights to stay at the front of his brain, as though determined to make itself known - to force richie to acknowledge the fact that it really happened.

they're kids, and they don't know anything, and richie doesn't think or speak before he's kissing eddie, sudden and awkward and just for a second but it's a kiss nonetheless.

it's his first kiss. ]

Edited 2019-09-29 22:43 (UTC)

No? ❪ he repeats, blinking once and then twice before suddenly rich is abruptly standing up. eddie is left, sitting awkwardly and staring into the space no longer occupied.

it's the sound of water that jostles him out of his thoughts and he stands, making a grab at richie's shoulder to try and turn him back toward him. ❫

This isn't stupid, Rich. We should be able to remember our own fucking lives and—

❪ "this is stupid." eddie is halfway leaned out his window, staring at one richie tozier perched atop the awning under his window and grinning wildly. he, on the other hand, is near panicking again. his hands are still bandaged so this can't be long after what happened in the barrens. "if my mom catches us, we'll be—"

but suddenly (and without warning) richie is leaning in, hands on eddie's face and kissing him soundly quietly. although there's a moment of stillness, it isn't a long wait before eddie is returning the kiss. ❫

And our memories... holy shit.

[ please don't let eddie remember, he prays to whatever god will listen. please don't let him remember.

because it's not just the kiss that richie knows about now, it's not just the butterflies and the nerves - it's the shame. the shame of being like that in a town where kids get killed, where people like eddie's mom teach them that you'll get aids if someone like that breathes on you, where being different is hard enough without the additional fact that you're a boy who likes boys.

it makes him nauseous, and he wants to puke, but then eddie grabs his shoulder and it's too hard not to look at him again.

richie just wishes it didn't hurt so much.

he stays quiet as he watches eddie's expression shift, first from frustration to wonder and then to surprise. the nausea comes back because richie's pretty sure eddie remembers too and what the fuck are they supposed to do now?

for once in his life, richie tozier is unable to speak. ]

❪ it's like a dam breaking. one memory comes through and suddenly he's awash with bits and pieces of others, nothing solid to hold on to but everything is there despite being in pieces.

holy shit. holy fucking shit.

eddie considers sitting back down but he sort of just wobbles backwards instead, his hand on richie's shoulder the only thing keeping him from falling over onto the floor and remaining there until this made sense. although he doubts it'll be that simple. nothing so far has proven simple and he can't help the awkward little wheeze he gives as a thought strikes him. ❫

Were we... together? Like together together? ❪ that doesn't make any fucking sense but neither has anything else since he came back to this fucking town. ❫

[ richie stays quiet, but when eddie begins to wobble like that he instinctively reaches out to put his own hand on the other's shoulder, steadying him. his own legs feel weak but being around eddie makes it easy to feel strong, so he doesn't worry about falling over just yet.

he hates this. hates the flashes of events that appear behind his eyelids each time he blinks, hates the way his gut churns as he realizes the memories continue past that summer and the next summer and the next. hates the sound that eddie makes before he asks that stupid fucking question. ]

I don't know, [ richie says, but his voice is so small and wavering that it's pretty obviously a lie. he doesn't want it to be real because what the fuck, how do you - how do you date someone, how do you fall in love and then just fucking forget about it?! ]

I don't know, [ he says again, trying to make himself believe his own falsehood. ] I - I don't know how - how would I forget that? How did I forget --

[ you, he doesn't finish. ]

❪ he can't help the way he jolts slightly when richie's hand comes to rest on his shoulder. it's like all the forgotten memories are slowly overcoming him, weighing down and making it hard to remain upright. more than anything, he can't help the awkward wheeze that has started up with every breath he takes. ❫

You're a shit liar, Richie. ❪ eddie shots back with a stuttered voice as he gasps for a needy breath of air and—

and another memory. they're older or, at least, richie looks taller. all gangling looking with long arms and legs and a mess of hair. eddie's near hyperventilating though as they sit, foreheads pressed together and richie whispering things that he can't quite remember. whatever is said seems to work though, his breathing slows and manages the smallest of smiles. ❫

I need my inhaler. ❪ it comes out small, wobbly as he makes a movement to get by richie. his inhaler is in his room covered in his and bower's blood but that seems easier to deal with than all this. ❫

[ normally, richie would fire back some sort of insult at that, or maybe a witty joke. something to change the atmosphere, to put things back in his own control. when people were laughing it was easy to hide the things you didn't want them to see.

but he can't do that right now. he's too taken in by that wheeze, by the way eddie jumps when he touches him, when --

they're in bed together for the first time and everything is quiet, because it's 3am and they can't make noise or eddie's mom will hear them. it's too hot to sleep, so they're just in their underwear and when richie presses his too-tall, too-skinny body up against eddie's back he hears that sound, a booming echo in the silence. ]

Eddie --

[ he doesn't think before he reaches down to wrap his fingers around eddie's wrist, trying to keep him there. richie doesn't know what to do but he doesn't want to be left here by himself with those memories. ]

❪ the fingers around his wrist get another jolt out of him. eddie is trying to keep himself calm, slow his breathing and keep himself from hyperventilating like his body wants so badly to do in the moment.

he can't even look at rich for a moment but finally his gaze flickers up and he gives another shaky sound. ❫

Richie, I can't breathe.

❪ "richie, you jackass, i can't breathe." he's near yelling. they're on the floor of richie's room surrounded by action figures, comics and a discarded game of street fighter still on the tv. he knows he doesn't have to be quiet, he knows rich's parents aren't ever home and it's one of the few times they don't have to worry. maybe that's why richie is so eager to smother him with kisses again and leaving him unable to do anything but laugh. ❫

I can't— ❪ so he does the only thing that makes sense and presses his head into richie's shoulder, his own shoulders heaving as he tries to find his breath. ❫

Edited 2019-09-30 01:10 (UTC)

[ eddie can't breathe. richie knows this, understands it, and yet he isn't willing to let go. there have been so many times (he remembers them now, every single one is coming back to him thanks to those three words) that eddie's said that and it hasn't been true, that he's just been fooling himself into believing he needs help to survive when he's always been brave and strong enough on his own.

richie's face crumples when he feels eddie press against him, and it takes absolutely no time or thought to bring his own hand up to press against the back of the other man's head, cradling him like he might break at any moment. ]

Yes you can, [ he whispers, the words issuing from his mouth at the same time they appear in his mind, along with -

eddie taking his hand as they walk through the streets of derry in the middle of the summer, past crowds of people visiting for the carnival. they're older now, high school seniors, and yet the fear that fills richie's heart is the same as it was that day in the arcade when bowers called him out. ]

Just breathe, Ed. [ richie swallows back the lump in his throat and tries his best not to give away the fact that he's shaking. how could this just disappear? how did he ever allow himself to let go? ] I'm here.

❪ there's no jolt when richie touches him this time. instead, he near relaxes into the touch that is so familiar its near suffocating. yet another memory on the tip of his tongue. it's overwhelming as he tries to keep up with everything literally slamming back into him like a freight train.

they're laying together in the back street of richie's car. some beat-up old thing older than the both of them but they've spent near all summer in it together just driving around and exploring the edges outside of derry but never much further.

always talking about the what ifs and maybes, laughing about their future outside of this fucking town.

but then what happened? how could they ever have forgotten something like this so utterly and completely? he gets missing childhood memories, not everyone remembers their entire childhood but everything him and rich shared?

if he wasn't already shaking because of his breathing, he's sure he'd be shaking from a combination of the fear and anger currently welling up. ❫

You're here. ❪ he repeats and lets himself listen to richie's own breathing; tries to copy it and help calm himself down. ❫ You're fine and I'm fine. I'm fine.

❪ this entire exchange... it's so familiar that it hurts. ❫

We're fine.

[ he gets the words out with only a little difficulty. it feels like his throat's closing up; his eyes are burning because he doesn't want to let the moisture collecting at the corners of his eyes turn into actual tears. the realization of what they had - what they were - should be happy, but all he can feel is pain.

was this his fault? what happened? after that last summer together...

he's driving away and eddie isn't there

this time the images are broken, distorted -

he passes the bridge where he'd carved their initials and they're faded

the pictures in his head don't make sense, there's no logic to them -

he's in new york and he sees a couple on the street, the man is so small next to the woman and richie pauses because something feels wrong

- and then the memories run out, like a film reel with nothing left on it. just a whirring machine with no purpose, nothing to show. ]

Eddie, [ he mumbles, tilting his head so he can press his cheek to the other's hair, his eyes squeezing shut and those tears finally falling. ] I'm sorry --

Edited (formatting!! /shakes fist) 2019-09-30 02:56 (UTC)

We're fine.

❪ how many times had they sat, laid or held hand saying the exact same thing throughout those years? it's like a tidal wave of memories full of things he shouldn't have forgotten. so many firsts lost to the haze that had been infecting them for almost twenty-seven years.

he's sitting in class, his second year of university and doing some stupid student survey. the relationship question, he finds, throws him into an odd loop— he marks single.

everything is a flickering mess of memories that don't all make sense.

his breath is coming out in hurried wheezes. he's muttering to himself, familiar words told to him before but myra pushes his inhaler in his hand and they're forgotten.

they jump around, never sticking to one singular period of time.

he's flickering through channels when he stops on a comedy special and finds himself staring too hard. the joke is about his girlfriend and it just... doesn't right? before he can figure it out though, myra is already changing the channel and complaining about foul mouthed, trashy people.

quietly, he shifts just enough so he can bring his free hand up to touch richie's face and swallow hard. it sparks a whole new round of memories as he cups his cheek, wiping away tears with his thumb and finally breathing in a more settled manner. ❫

... I missed you. I've missed you so much and didn't have a fucking clue.

[ richie hates this. he hates crying, especially in front of other people. but the feeling of eddie's thumb brushing tears off his cheek, the touch of his palm against richie's skin, makes new - no, old - memories tumble through his brain so fast they're blurry.

they're sixteen, and bowers called him a faggot again and this time richie can't hide how much it hurts but eddie is there, holding him and kissing his tears away with promises of leaving this town together someday. ]

Eddie, [ he repeats, not knowing what else to say. his voice is weak but he holds on to the other man tighter now, as if he'll disappear if richie lets go. ] I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry --

[ they tell the others one day and everyone laughs at them because they've been so fucking obvious, but later on richie can't help crying about it because he'd been so afraid they would all hate him, so scared they would cast him out the way he knows his parents will if they ever figure out what he really is.

he's trying not to cry but he breaks down anyway, sobs building in his chest until he's hanging on to eddie for support just as much as he's holding the other man up. ]

I forgot you, I fucking -- I forgot fucking everything, what the fuck?!

Edited 2019-09-30 13:49 (UTC)

❪ he feels at such a loss. there's a million and one thoughts running through his head but nothing sticks, nothing makes sense and he feels utterly useless in the moment. if eddie thinks on it, he can probably count on his hands the number of times he's seen richie cry but nothing he remembers feels useful now.

and rich isn't just crying, he's full on being rockes with sobs and all eddie can do is hold on. finally, he shuffles on his feet and moves to get richie sitting on the tiolet seat before they both fell over. ❫

Hey, hey. Listen to me... none of this is our fucking fault. You heard what Mike said about our memories.

❪ he's holding richie's face in both of his hands now, weakly rubbing away at the tears and trying to keep his own breathing in check.

honestly, he'd probably cry too if he wasn't so pissed off. ❫

It's all because of that fucking clown. That thing... It fucked with our memories.

[ this is stupid, richie shouldn't be crying - hell, he should be taking care of eddie like's supposed to be doing. eddie is the one that got stabbed, after all. besides, it's not as though richie's the only one dealing with this sudden flood of emotions.

it takes a couple of minutes, but once eddie's got him sitting down it's easier to calm himself down. he removes his glasses with one shaky hand so he can rub his face with the other, his eyes red and swollen.

"None of this is our fucking fault."

he's standing with eddie on the kissing bridge. it's the day after bev moved out of derry - the first of them to leave - and nothing feels right anymore. ]

But we were -- [ he can't even bring himself to say it out loud, for fucks' sake. swallowing, he stares up at eddie through blurry eyes, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. ]

-- how could I leave you behind?

[ that's the last thing he can remember of their youth, of the day he left derry and followed in the footsteps of the others, heading towards his new life. he left, and eddie stayed. ]

❪ eddie can only stand there awkwardly holding richie's face hoping it's offering some comfort as he wipes away at the tears. there's a part of him that feels like crying too but knows that richie probably needs this right now and, so, he holds it together for now.

there's always later, much later when he's alone and away from everyone. ❫

What? In love? ❪ it probably comes out a little harsh but he's been flickering through emotions like changing the channels on a television. besides— there's no use beating around the bush. ❫ Some six or seven years too.

❪ which might as well be forever when you're that young. still, the question does give eddie a moment of pause and he finally lets his hands drop and steps back, crossing his arms. ❫

It could have been around the time my mom was getting sick, like, really sick. Not just in her head.

[ In love?

hearing eddie say it makes it more real, somehow, and that just makes it hurt more. despite that, richie manages to ebb the flow of his tears, and after a couple more breathy sobs he forces himself to straighten up and put his glasses back on. ]

Seven years, [ he echoes, shaking his head in disbelief. seven years of being attached at the hip, of feeling his heart burn whenever they're together, gone. just like that.

and now - now eddie is married.

that thought makes eddie want to puke, so he shoves it away and stares at the middle distance between them, doing his best to focus on what eddie's saying. ]

I - remember, [ he says slowly, frowning, as the images trickle into his brain. ] The hospital, the tests. But why would I leave you if -

[ it's the spring of their senior year, and he's in the hospital's waiting room, staring at the ancient tv set as he waits for eddie to finish visiting his mom. a comedy special is airing; just before it cuts to commercial, the host announces some contest the network is running, a chance for upcoming comedians to appear on the program.

the nausea comes back, so strong this time that richie has to cup a hand over his mouth. ]

❪ he's beginning to hate the small space of this bathroom. there's far too much emotion and eddie can't help (finally) wiping at his eyes with a tired sigh.

he's been tired, exhausted beyond words lately. cancer, the doctor had said. first his dad, now his mom and he doubts she'll ever be emotionally stable enough to handle the more complicated workings that comes with the diagnoses. while she lays in the hospital, richie stays over and eddie finally breaks down sobbing one night while curled against richie's chest.

but what happened then? why did rich leave and he―

the doctors think his mother might have a better chance in a bigger city with more specialized care. boston, they suggest, and the cancer center there. it's not something he wants but, despite everything, he can't let his mom go all alone. richie wants to come along too but it would fuck up the deadline for the comedy show contest. they worked their asses off putting the tape together and for what? rich to throw his big chance away because of him?

and, so, he mails it off one night without a word to rich. he's mad but eddie brushes it off, saying, promising― ❫

Because I was going to catch up later. Come be with you after I got everything settled with mom.

❪ they just had no clue that the moment they stepped foot outside of derry things were already turning against them. they had already started forgetting each other. ❫

Edited 2019-10-02 02:34 (UTC)

[ every memory hurts more than the last, driving knives into his heart and twisting them until he's sure he'll bleed out.

he holds eddie close, closer than ever, and just listens to him cry, not knowing how to make it better. there are no jokes that can fix this, no words to dispel the fear filling their hearts. it's the first time richie understands what real fear is - not clowns and mummies and wolfmen, but the hidden diseases that destroy everything before you know they exist.

he looks up and sees eddie crying and it takes less than two seconds for him to surge forward and take the smaller man in his arms. it's instinct more than anything; every fibre of his being burns to take care of him, to make sure nothing ever hurts him again. ]

I'm sorry, [ he says again, his voice tight. he squeezes eddie closer, not wanting to let go. ] I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry --

[ "I'm sorry," he says, and he knows eddie knows what it means before he even reads the letter clutched in richie's hand. eddie's mom just got approved for treatment, and richie had come over to help pack, but he checked his mail first and there it was: his ticket out of derry, the thing they'd dreamed of since they were little kids who didn't know any better. ]

I hate this fucking town, [ he bites out, burying his face in eddie's hair. ]

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