(1) When Bill Asks Them Who They Had Crushes On, Eddie Had Squirmed A Little In His Seat And Named Greta,

(1) When Bill asks them who they had crushes on, Eddie had squirmed a little in his seat and named Greta, because she was the only girl he could think of. He couldn't even name any of the girls in their class, or think of what any of them looked like. Bill had volunteered his own crush and Stan had half-heartedly listed the attributes of girls he thought he might like, if he could get to know either of them well enough to know for sure, but Eddie couldn't think of anyone. Not like that.

(2) When pressed, he tried to say why he liked her. He liked that she was tall. He liked her shoulders, maybe? She's older than they are, and cool, unattainably out of his league, why wouldn't he like her? And she's familiar. But he doesn't feel all dreamy when he thinks about her, the way Bill seems to, and he doesn't want to get to know her better, exactly, like Stan wants to. She's just... there, and he can see her some of the time, and maybe she's... pretty?

(3) Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, uncomfortable with the turn of his own thoughts, Eddie turns the spotlight on Richie, the last to answer. He doesn't want to know who Richie has a crush on-- he doesn't want Richie to start hanging out with some girl instead of with them, which is stupid, he doesn't dread Bill leaving them, or Stan. But Bill wouldn't, he thinks, if Bill had a girlfriend she'd have to join them. What if Richie left them for some girl?

(4) "You know I only have eyes for your mom." Richie says, though for a moment he looks as uncomfortable as Eddie with the whole notion. Maybe moreso. Eddie takes a little comfort in the thought that maybe, Richie doesn't have a crush. Maybe, like Eddie, he's a 'late bloomer'-- that's what his mom calls him sometimes, and she always tells him there's no rush to think about things like girls, and maybe he and Richie just both aren't in a rush, and they'll figure it out when they're teenagers.

(5) The rest of lunch goes smoothly, the guys rib Richie a little for not giving a real answer and just sticking to a joke they've all heard before, but mostly they stop talking about girls and start talking about comic books and plans for the weekend and stuff like that, and Eddie feels a weight lift from his chest the further they get from the subject. And then Richie grabs Eddie's tray and trash to stack with his own, like it's not even a thing, like he does it every day.

(6) "I got you, babe." He winks, and Eddie's world shatters. Babe. The word echoes in his head. He hates taking his tray at the end of lunch, because of the little swinging flaps on the garbage cans in the cafeteria, and the whole awkward dance it takes to push them open with his tray so he doesn't have to touch it with his hand and he can still dump his trash in instead of scattering it everywhere, and Richie knows he hates it, but it's the 'babe' that strikes at the core of him.

(7) He doesn't like Greta-- he doesn't like any girls. He likes Richie, and he likes the sound of his voice and he likes that Richie is tall. Well, at least next to Eddie he is, and his hands are bigger than Eddie's, and he's gross and dirty and he's started sweating way too much and Eddie thinks he likes that, too. He likes Richie, not in spite of his being a boy, but because of it. If he didn't like Richie, he would like another boy. He likes boys. He's... He can't breathe.

(8) “Eddie! Hey, Eddie!” Richie is back at his side, as Eddie is still fumbling for his inhaler. He helps himself to the antibacterial gel Eddie carries with him before he takes the inhaler from him, shaking and clearing it before holding it to Eddie’s mouth, steady, other hand cupping the back of his head. “Breathe, okay?”

(9) Richie presses down and Eddie inhales hard. Once, twice. He likes boys, he likes Richie, and Richie is touching him. Touching him so casually, like it’s not immense, like it’s not dangerous. Touching him so tenderly, like it’s allowed. And Eddie wishes it was, wishes he could stay like this with Richie holding him, with Richie calling him things like ‘babe’, but once he’s breathing again, the moment passes. He feels cold where Richie used to be.

(10) "I'm okay." Eddie says, just a slight wheeze under his voice. Richie is watching him with attentive concern, no longer touching him but still lingering close, and Eddie wants him to linger close forever, and can never ask it of him. When Richie doesn't move away yet, Eddie gives him a reassuring nod, and he settles back into his own seat, but he keeps an eye on him just the same, and it's... nice. Not like with his mother.

(11/11) Richie just says okay, and walks him to his locker-- gives him an exaggerated wink and a 'carry your books, babe?' that makes Eddie's stomach flip, but he doesn't push or hover too close when Eddie says he's fine, and it feels good. It feels right. Richie walks him to his next class, bearing both their English textbooks, his smile so bright it could light Eddie's entire world. Cute, he thinks deliriously. Richie Tozier is cute, cute, cute.