99. three to get ready

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by: sunxcherries

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The first three months of living in Richie's apartment had been a nightmare.

Eddie had just rediscovered the feelings for Richie that had been lying dormant this whole time, the ones he would have found just under the surface if he would have had the courage to dig deep enough to find them. He realized he'd known, back when they were kids. He had known about his sexuality, he had known about his feelings for Richie, and he thought that he had known about Richie's feelings for him, too. But once they had all moved away—once they had all forgotten each other—he had forgotten all of that, too.

Undoing all of the shit that he had put himself through over the last thirty years was hard , but it was easier to work through it lying in his hospital bed with his six best friends—his family , he was now coming to realize again—by his side, helping him with his questions and filling in the gaps. Offering advice about how to leave Myra, about how to come out. He swore that Richie had made some sort of face when he had brought that up, but he wasn't going to comment on it.

After leaving the hospital and his wife, he took a quick trip to New York to get all of his shit and then, against his better judgement, moved in with Richie. He had ignored the butterflies that pushed against his stomach when Richie had been more than enthusiastic to have Eddie stay with him. Deep down, he had known it would be a bad idea to live with the guy he had been in love with his entire life right when his romantic and sexual wants could finally be out in the open, but the truth of the matter was that he didn't have anywhere else to go. And really, he didn't want to go anywhere else.

Richie had come out to him as soon as they had gotten everything moved into the spare bedroom, like he wanted to make sure Eddie couldn't run away. Eddie obviously didn't , because Eddie was fucking in love with him, but he hadn't been about to say that to Richie in the middle of his living room.

It only got hellish once Richie started walking around in his underwear, or his pajama pants with no boxers underneath, or even just a towel after the shower. Eddie had to yell at him more than once not to sit on the couch with his wet towel on while he desperately tried not to look directly at Richie. Sometimes he swore the fucker was doing it on purpose just to fuck with him, but he was too uncomfortable still to ask him about it directly. Because even though he found himself jerking off a lot, locking himself in his room and tugging on his dick with one hand over his mouth so Richie couldn't hear him panting his name, it was like there was a block in his chest. Any time he tried to say he was gay out loud, even though everyone already knew, it was like some invisible hand was choking him and stopping him from being able to face it completely. He still had a hard time dealing with it even though there was nothing for him to be afraid of anymore. No Derry, no clown, no controlling wife or mother waiting just down the hall.

So the first three months of living with the love of his life, watching him hum constantly and scratch his stomach and yawn adorably when he had to get up before nine am, had been so incredibly hard for Eddie in more ways than one.

Once he and Richie had finally snapped and made out, though, it got so much better.

Eddie got to touch now instead of just look. He got to wake up next to Richie most mornings and make them both coffee before Richie woke up (espresso for him and a donut shop Keurig cup for Richie with a cream and a sugar), kissing his nose and petting his hair and just being so in love that his chest hurt because of it. It felt like that block again, almost, like if he didn't do something about it he wouldn't be able to swallow or breathe fully or do anything except wrap all of his limbs around Richie and mumble I love you into his neck.

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