VI

Rocket Man | Elton John

A week later

"Holy fucking shit, Eds, I'm going out of my mind here" Richie croaked, wrapping his arms around himself as he paced back and forth on the apron of the stage, his head hanging low and his curls falling over his face.

"Calm your tits, Richie," Eddie mocked with a smirk, speaking in a slightly deeper, and stupid voice that must have been his impression of Richie. That had been a thing Richie would not stop saying over the past week when Eddie got too uptight.

The taller boy dismissed it completely, too busy attacking his hair with his own hand every five seconds and mumbling his own lines to himself like a maniac.

"You look like you belong in a psych ward," Eddie comments from his spot on the wood of the stage, legs crossed as per usual. He brought the camera to his eye and snapped a quick photo of Richie that he hoped he hadn't noticed. He didn't. He's too in over his head like he always is. (Truthfully, Richie either is always overthinking, or never thinking at all. No in between for Mr.Tozier).

Today, rather than throwing on a collared sweatshirt and shorts, Eddie had slipped on his jeans and a dark green t shirt. He wasn't sure if the style was meant to be big on him, but the short sleeves nearly fell to his elbows, so the educated guess was sufficient enough.

Richie, on the other hand, was wearing his usual disaster attire. Everyday it was different. Today, it was light baggy jeans, cuffed at the bottoms, with a plain white t-shirt tucked into them with a belt. Over the white shirt was a breezy (unbuttoned) button up, purple with bright little orange slices scattered all over. His normal spaceship socks and vans too. Eddie hadn't noticed it before, but his chipped and chewed nails had been painted over. They were black. Weird. Richie's a boy. That's weird, right? He must've done that over the weekend.

"I... I-I don't even know why I'm freaking out so much, I've done trillions of shows! It shouldn't be this nerve-racking" Richie confessed, leaving his trail of pacing to walk over to Eddie on the floor, staring down at him like a madman.

"Maybe it's because i'll be there this time" Eddie remarked quietly, smart-assedly, to which Richie snickered at.

Richie: Very funny, Spaghetti, but believe it or not, you are the least of my problems right now.

Richie said, rolling his eyes when Eddie went all puppy-eyed and frowned sarcastically, pretending to wipe tears.

The had talked about it over the weekend, about how Eddie could be Richie's free plus-one for the show today, since he liked to make Stan and Beverly pay the entrance fee when he could. It was a weird, over-the-phone conversation at 1 am, to say the least; Awkward pauses, tangling into the phone cord, hesitant, chewed lips.

Richie explained through the wire that watching a performance first-hand would be a good 'learning experience', despite Eddie continuously teasing him with "Is this you asking me on a date, Richard?".

At that, Richie barked out a laugh. "It wouldn't be a date because I wouldn't be anywhere near you, but on stage where the important people are".

Eddie: Ouch, that burned, Tozier. Where are you getting all this 'important people' bullshit from, you're a theatre nerd for christsake!"

Richie: Fair point, fair point.

Eddie: So you're saying you wouldn't ask me on a date? Truly offended.

It was obvious that Eddie wasn't actually offended whatsoever, but Richie still stammered and slipped on his next words.

Richie: I- B... I never said that!

Eddie: Oh? So you would?

Richie: I never said that either, dickhead.

It was like the roles were suddenly reversed, and Eddie was teasing relentlessly as Richie always did to him.

Eddie laughed into the phone, careful to be quiet, for his mother was sleeping in a nearby room. Richie heard the angelic, soft giggle and bit back a smile.

"Whatever, I'll see you on Monday" Richie said, letting out a laugh of his own. He could practically hear Eddies thoughts through the receiver. They exchanged goodbyes and Richie put the phone back on the wall carefully, as if one wrong move would ruin everything.

When the button clicked and the call was over, Richie let out a sigh and thumped his head on the phone. What the hell was that all about? Would I ask him on a date? Did it actually sound like a date? God, now that he thought of it, Richie wouldn't mind another morning at the diner together- Fuck. No. That's weird. Eddie is a boy.

But technically, a date is like going to the diner together, all alone. And they've done that before. It wasn't weird that time, was it? Did he feel uncomfortable that time? Was he thinking of it as a date? What the fuck am I talking about, he literally had to point out to me that he's a straight man! Hell, I'm a straight man!

...right?

"You'll be fine, idiot" Eddie shrugged, still staring as Richies pacing began to grow more frantic.

Eddie hadn't actually seen Richie perform anything before, aside from a small monologue here and there when Eddie needed an example for something he was teaching him. But still, Richie could tell Eddie didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

"You don't know that, Kaspbrak. I could freeze up halfway through Act 2! Or worse, throw up!" Richie yelped with a horrified look on his face. Eddie giggled and shook his head. If Richie were to have ever thrown up during a show, Eddie would have already heard of it from him by now, likely in disgustingly perfect detail.

That was another thing. The two of them have spent a lot of time together the past week... and weekend. Ever since that day in the library, both their friend groups became one all of a sudden. Now, they don't go a day without integrating into their own circled lunch table. Every once in a while, they'll all meet up in the library on early mornings when no one else is there, and offer to help the librarian boy (who they soon learned was named Mike Hanlon) with his tasks. Considering it's 7 people, they get shit done pretty quickly, and Mike has easily grown fond of them all. His lunch break is coincidentally the same time as everyone else's, so he sits with them as well.

Stan and Bill still sit closer with each other than most, but Richie is beginning to notice how Ben can so easily laugh at Stans remarks, and how Beverly is playing with Bills food casually and they don't say a word about it. How Mike, although new to both friend groups, does anything but stick out like a sore thumb. It was like they were made for each other, destined to become a friendship somehow. Richie can never help but smile at the sight of all these new friends during lunch when they're goofing around. It feels real and never awkward, and when Richie cracks horrible jokes, they all laugh and throw fries at him. Beep beep him, flip him off, but he doesn't care because it's too perfect to bother him.

But the weird thing about all of it by far is that, for some reason, Richie and Eddie haven't told the others about their little tutoring sessions.

It wasn't something that had to be hidden from their friends, and at first Richie just wrote it off as something that hadn't come up in conversation, so just wasn't relevant.

But then, there was Thursday afternoon.

Alright, take a rewind.

Let's start from... here.

Thursday afternoon; the lunch bell rang, and everyone had casually sidled into their respective spots in the lunch table. Mike wasn't far behind, and quickly greeted them all before they fell into the usual mindless chatter. Bill stuttered on about how crazy his homework for Physics class was, and a few losers chimed in, agreeing.

"It's fucking tuh-t- torture, you guys" Bill had said, his movements exaggerated as he rolled his eyes at the thought of his own homework. "Mr. Banks might as well have just ss-suh-sort-sort of slammed a packet of wuh-work in my face and said 'Deal with i-it'

"God, it must have buh- b- been even worse for you, Eddie... you were late to class af-aft-t-ter all!" Bill shook his head as if it were unbelievable. And honestly it was. Eddie being late to anything in general? Never to be seen. Of course except for that particular day.

Physics was Eddies class that stood right after Theatre.

Richie quirked an eyebrow at Bills words. He distinctly remembered the day, Wednesday, when they had gone out to the diner and tested the "spaghetti theory", as they now like to call it. But it couldn't have been that, because as promised, Eddie got back to class right on time. So when was-... oh.

How could dumb Mr. Tozier ever forget? Truthfully, he hadn't fucking forgotten about it all week after, but up until now, his mind was blank of any possible answer. Of fucking course.

Okay. Last rewind. I promise.

Tuesday morning; two days prior to this exact conversation with Bill. Richie and Eddie were nearly done with second period, their bookbags already secured onto their backs in preparation for the bell. Richie was blabbering on about how excited he was for the show next week (ironically enough) and Eddie listened halfheartedly, roaming the dim backstage area as Richie followed closely behind. The only lights backstage were a lamp nearby, and another all the way on the other side of the room.

The taller boy's loud voice rang throughout the auditorium, not a single other noise to be heard. "I feel like Jason has our scene memorized by now, I mean, it's been like forever since he kept messing up-" "You guys have a piano down here?"

Eddie interrupted, his eye catching a sleek black piano in the corner of the room, it's keys glowing white in stark contrast to the rest of it. Richie blinked, and nodded distractedly.

"Oh yeah! Well, sometimes we have people play background music during shows, a-and it's for musicals... too..." Richie scratched the back of his head, quickly scanning the room as Eddie took a seat on one of the stools in front of it.

Richie didn't have the heart to tell Eddie that it was a bad idea to play around with it, considering somebody might hear them, so he silently, carefully, took a seat next to him.

Eddies fingers glided over the keys, studying them intently. Richie fumbled with his own thumbs in the silence, unsure of what to do next. He considered cracking a joke, but before his brain could consider what the joke would even be about, the sound of the piano filled his ears in a startling burst of music.

Eddie was playing. His fingers moved from one key to the next; professional, effortless, perfect. Richie wasn't sure what song he was playing at first, until he got to the next verse, he smiled to himself.

Rocketman.

Richie lifted his gaze from Eddies fingers to his face. He could only see Eddies side profile, but he noticed that his eyes were cast down and his head swayed softly with the melody, hands doing a wonder all on their own. The lamp beside them gave off a honey glow onto one side of Eddies face, and he quite literally looked like an angel at that very moment.

Richies eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. Everything around them seemed to disappear, and all he could see was Eddie. His heart wrenched as the chorus came on in a crescendoed burst of feeling;

And I think it's gonna be a long long time

Till touch down, Brings me round again to find

I'm not the man they think I am at home

Oh no no no

I'm a Rocket man

There were no lyrics playing, but Richie could feel them. His heart was hammering in his chest and it hurt so fucking bad and good at the same time he though he might cry. What is it? Does he need to go to the nurse? Is it a heart attack? Stroke? Fuck, I can't stop looking at him. Why can't I stop looking at him?!

Richie finally tore his gaze away and looked back to his shoes. When his eyes fell closed, enticed with the soothing melody, he clenched them tight. It was painful how perfect the moment was.

He listened and listened and listened, and his heart throbbed in his chest painfully. He kept his eyes closed, but he could practically feel the energy of Eddie between them. Like they were connecting somehow, their souls aligning at this very moment.

Richie could hear the second bridge of the song coming to a close, and he cautiously opened his eyes. The song was meant to be longer, but Eddie seemed expert at shortening it and making it sound like nothing had changed at all. He opened his eyes slowly, playing the last few notes with his tongue poked out in concentration. Richies heart seized in his chest again, and he nearly physically winced.

The last note sent shivers down his spine, and Eddie sighed quietly before looking back up to Richie beside him. Richie blinked again, still processing whatever the hell he was feeling, and he was sure he could feel his own pupils dilate when Eddie caught his gaze.

"Holy shit," Richie breathed, smiling softly with his eyebrows raised. Nonchalantly surprised, unable to express how extreme that holy shit really meant. Neither looked away. Eddie smirked and huffed a quiet laugh, "Holy shit."

"Should've known you were a sucker for Elton John" Richie wanted to say, crack a one-liner to drown out the scarily comfortable silence, but when he opened his mouth slightly to speak, no words came out.

Suddenly, they felt extremely close. Had these chairs always been so close together? Did we just not notice the proximity or something??

Eddie seemed to have felt this too, because as he lowered his hands from the piano, his face contorted into something one could only describe as slightly troubled, as though he had been suddenly snapped out of thought and brought into the real world. Where he was here. With Richie. Merely inches away from one another.

Seeing Eddies face up close, Richie took notice of many new things he hadn't seen before. With only a dim light illuminating some of his face, he saw freckles. Sprinkled on like a perfect splat of paint, each one uniquely placed by God herself. His skin looked soft as hell, and Richie had to physically restrain himself from reaching out a thumb to smooth over the especially freckled spot down under his right eye.

Richie wasn't sure what Eddie was seeing in him, but he could tell he was looking at his features as well. Eddies eyes scanned his face over with a sort of childlike curiosity.

Richie chewed at the inside of his cheek and tentatively, unsurely, his eyes trailed down to Eddies mouth. God, what was it with him and Eddies lips? Technically it isn't gay, because girls have mouths too! It's like, the same fucking thing.

But my goodness, it overwhelmed him how much it reminded him of the janitors closet. Fuck, he knows what he's doing.

But this time he doesn't, and this time Eddie isn't trying to get something out of him either. So what the hell is going on?

When Richie looked back up to his eyes, Eddie was suddenly coughing and looking away, shuffling out of his stool noisily.

"What- uh what time is it?" He fumbled with a keychain on his backpack, and Richie, still sitting on his stool, shook his head to clear his thoughts, and looked to the watch on his wrist.

"Oh shit," Richies eyes widened, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and jolting out of his chair. "We're late for fucking class!"

"What!? Wouldn't we have heard the bell?" "I guess not, Eds" "Don't call me that."

And that was the day Eddie was late for Physics.

"You never even told-told me wuh-w-why you were late, Eddie" Bill quirked his head, the realization hitting him suddenly.

Richie kept his head downcast as everyone awaited Eddies response, but he couldn't help poking his eyes out to take a look nevertheless. To his dismay, Eddie had taken a small glance at him at the same time. Their eyes locked. Without a second of hesitation, they both quickly looked away. Richie was positive nobody noticed, but he wasn't sure why it even mattered. Eddie could tell them everything for all he cares. He shouldn't care. He doesn't care.

After barely a moments hesitation, "Oh uh, it was nothing, just got caught up with a teacher is all" he said, rolling his eyes. Well, he played that off pretty good. Richie wondered for a second that maybe Eddie was catching on the the acting tactics faster than he thought.

Bill hummed our a noise of approval, "Mrs. Davis been giving you sh-shit again?". Eddie nodded and laughed with everyone else.

And that was when it hit him. (Richies brain may be fast with schoolwork, but he sucks at registering things while they're actually happening.)

Eddie was lying. About what had really happened. About the tutoring. About Richie and Eddie. Well, that's confusing as hell. What's there to lie about? I mean, sure they haven't told the others about any of the things they've done together outside of the group, but why should they need to know? It just hasn't come up to talk about yet.

Except it just had. And Eddie lied about it.

When the others resumed their casual banter after the conversation, Richie lifted his head and looked at Eddie. He twists his face into an expression that can only be read as what the hell was that? Eddie glances at him, gets the message, but shakes it off and says nothing in return.

Richie thought of it all day after that. All. Damn. Day. Soon the day turned to days, days of him contemplating what it meant, and unsure of if he should ask, and eventually Richie finds himself backstage in the men's changing room on Monday, preparing for the show that's set to open in a few minutes.

He shrugged his doctors coat on, and tugged at a few loose curls in his face. Was Eddie embarrassed of having to be tutored? Was he embarrassed of the elective? Or was he embarrassed of Richie? He subconsciously tugged harder at the thought, and winced when the pain shot through him.

He was alone in the changing room, because everyone always liked to stand on stage before a show while the curtains are still closed and the people are still filtering into the auditorium quietly. He never liked doing that, because it would get him too jittery, and he'd be bouncing off the walls before his entrance in no time. But still, he sat here alone in the changing room, and fucked his mind over with thoughts about EddieEddieEddie.

He's probably in the crowd right now, and Stan and Bev are probably over-psyching out his performance to him telling how great he's gonna be tonight.

At this point, Richie is grabbing chunks of his hair and pulling mercilessly at his own thoughts, as though he were trying to will them away. He needs to focus on the show. At least for now.

Suddenly, someone is barging into the changing room and tripping over their own laces. "Dude, the show's about to start, Amy's pulling up the curtain right now!" Jason says alarmingly, heaving out breaths and balancing himself. Richie curses softly under his breath and jumps out of his chair. He's in the first scene, but he knows the girl doing the monologue before him takes her damn time to have the spotlight, so he's got time to get to the wings.

He and Jason scurry into one of the wings, pushing past stage helpers, and Richie sighs as he's right in time. Enough time for him to catch his breath and think for a second.

He hears his cue line begin, the monologue that comes right before he's supposed to enter, and he exhales with the shake of his fingers.

"Dude, your hair is a fucking mess" Jason murmurs, plucking at a dark strand. But it's too late. Just as the words slip past his mouth, Richie is striding out onto stage and the lights hit his eyes oh so familiarly. Well fuck. He gets the urge to fix up his hair quickly, get it at least decent even though he's already on stage, but the damage is done, and he can't do shit about it. He'll just have to deal with this now.

He snaps into character immediately and does his blocking, gazing out into the audience subtly. His eye catches a whole cluster of teens in the corner, watching intently. A whole cluster of losers, to be exact. He doesn't know why he's surprised. I suppose no one other than Stan and Beverly has gone to any of his shows for the longest time, and it's a foreign feeling too see it. Friends. Lots of them. And they support the hell out of him. He covers his mouth, and smiles to himself, slightly breaking character.

His eyes catch onto a certain blonde boy in the cluster of losers, and his chest constricts all so suddenly. Richie continues with his acting, trying hard to not let the tiny outline of a small hypochondriac boy in the audience get to him.

Well fuck.