Chapter Text
"When you said a couple people might be joining us," Ben says, "I expected one or two."
His soft voice somehow carries over the general din of the restaurant. It's nearing eleven on a Saturday morning, and the place is packed. The corner booth Eddie and Ben always favor is not made for seven people, but they've managed. Ben is shoved up against the wall, and his broad shoulders only fit because Beverly is slight enough to slot perfectly between him and Eddie. Opposite them, Bill and Mike and Stan are all squished together. The bench seat is not designed to hold three grown men, but none of them look altogether displeased to be squeezed together so tightly. Richie has pulled up a chair to the end of the booth and is straddling it backwards, like the tool he is.
Eddie glances at Ben over Bev's head and tries to look sheepish. He doesn't manage it at all. "Maybe I should have said a few."
"Isn't a few supposed to be three?" Stan asks. "You still would have been wrong." He's between Mike and Bill and does not look at all upset about it.
Richie leers at him. "I'd believe him, Ben. He seems to be the expert on threesomes."
Ben laughs, then covers his mouth with his hand like he didn't mean to. Stan's lips thin. He looks like he's trying very hard to look upset, but it's not really working. His eyes are still bright and happy. Eddie has never seen him in such a good mood. He's going to send Mike and Bill the nicest fruit basket money can buy.
"So." Bev leans her elbow on the table and props her chin in her hand. Her hair is loose and wavy this morning, falling down her back. She looks soft and sleepy, like maybe being awake before noon is a foreign concept to her. "What do you do for a living, Ben?"
Ben's smile is both a little shy and a little proud. "I'm an architect."
"Fancy," Richie says.
"Ben is better than all of us," Eddie announces proudly. Ben's face flames as red as Beverly's hair.
Stan cups his hands around his steaming mug of coffee. "I would argue, but it's true," he says, taking a careful sip.
Eddie and Stan had come together out of necessity in grade school, the only children who cared about keeping their knees unscraped and their noses clean. All of Eddie's formative memories involve Stan in some way. Stan was his only friend for a long time, but more than that, Stan was his best friend. He remembers knowing that even if he had a million people to hang out with, he would always want to hang out with Stan first.
They were inseparable. Eddie followed Stan to college, and Stan had haunted Eddie's dorm so often that Ben claims he didn't know which of them was his roommate at first. It hadn't mattered. Ben had fallen in with them so easily it was like they had all always been friends.
Eddie remembers what it had felt like, meeting Ben. When Ben had smiled at Eddie and shook Stan's hand, there had been a quiet, understanding oh in the back of Eddie's brain. He had looked at Stan, and he had just known that Stan had felt it, too. They had both known, instantly, without doubt, that they were meant to be friends with Ben Hanscom.
Looking around the table then, taking in Bill's smile and Mike's open-mouthed laugh, the way Richie talks with his hands and the bright spark of Bev's wide eyes, Eddie feels it again. This is where he's meant to be: right here, right now, surrounded by these people. Eddie doesn't necessarily believe in destiny, but if he did, he's sure it would feel a lot like this.
Eddie tunes back into the conversation when the food arrives. Richie pauses in his story just long enough to thank the waitress before continuing, more emphatically than before. One of his flailing limbs nearly smacks Eddie in the face. "Sorry, sweetheart," Richie says, off-handed, and resumes talking before Eddie can recover from the pet name. He just knows, when he looks up, Stan is going to be making fun of him across the table.
Except Stan is not looking at him at all. Eddie watches Stan watch Bill lift a strip of bacon to his mouth and take a truly impressive bite out of it. "Stan," Eddie says, and Stan gives him a distracted hum of acknowledgment but does not look away. "If you play tonsil hockey with Bill after he's eaten pork, is that kosher?"
Stan finally drags his gaze away long enough to give Eddie a flat look.
"Kosher?" Richie interrupts, distracted from his own conversation. "You're Jewish?"
"Yes," Stan says, very slowly, like he's already anticipating the joke.
Richie squints at him. "But your nose is so normal."
Stan reaches across Bill so he can punch Richie in the chest. Eddie punches Richie's side at the same time. Neither of them are gentle about it, but Richie does not even seem fazed, cackling loudly.
"You'll have to forgive Richie," Beverly says, though she's very poorly hiding a smile.
"He was druh-dropped on h-his head as an infant," Bill adds.
"Is that what ruined his face?" Stan mutters, almost to himself. A handful of seconds pass, where Bev looks at Bill and Richie looks at Ben and Mike looks at Eddie, none of them sure if serious Stanley Uris actually made such an underhanded joke, and then they're all laughing, loudly, even Richie.
"I deserved that one," Richie says. He holds his hand out across the table. "Truce?"
Stan eyes him warily, but he starts to put his hand in Richie's. Beverly reaches out to stop him. "Don't trust him just yet," she says. "We have business to discuss."
Stan yanks his hand back like he's been burned. "Are you going to tell me about all of his communicable diseases?" he asks, and there is only the slightest twitch of his lip to indicate he's joking.
"Hey!" Richie cries. "We just called a truce."
"We didn't shake on it," Stan says, rather smugly.
"As far as I know," Mike interjects, "Richie doesn't have any communicable diseases. You don't have to look so worried, Eddie."
They all look at Eddie then, whose face has gone pale. He flushes under the attention and reaches for the hand Richie still has stretched over the table, a distraction. "I'm not worried," he mutters, and for the most part he's really not.
"Even if I did have something - which I do not," Richie chimes in, glaring daggers at Stan, "it wouldn't matter." He flashes them all a dirty little smirk that makes Eddie feel both embarrassed and a little turned on. "We used a condom."
Eddie frees his hand from Richie's so he can hide his face with it.
"Oh my God," he moans, mortified.
"Oh my God," Stan groans, disgusted.
"Oh my God!" Bev squeals, delighted.
Richie shoves a forkful of scrambled egg into his mouth, seemingly satisfied. Eddie has the thought that he's never going to sleep with Richie ever, ever again, but then Richie's free hand reaches under the table and grips his thigh, rubbing a little pattern there with his thumb, and Eddie thinks okay, maybe one more time a little hazily.
"So," Ben says, giving Eddie a little knowing look, like he knows exactly what's happening beneath the table. Eddie goes red again and grabs Richie's hand, pinning it against his own thigh to keep those wandering fingers from creeping up any further. "What's this business we have to discuss?"
Beverly's face does something interesting, looking both serious and playful at the same time. She laces her fingers together and places them primly on the tabletop. Her back is ramrod straight. She would look professional except her hair is a messy halo around her face and her mouth is trying to tug into a smile.
"It is time to discuss-" A dramatic pause, "-the bet."
Bill groans.
"Wait, you guys were serious about that?" Mike says, sounding surprised.
"When have I ever not been serious about $20?" Richie asks.
"One time you were s-so hungover you puh-paid me $20 not to t-talk to you," Bill says.
Richie stares at him. "Yes, and I was very serious about it."
"You tried to get me to eat a worm for $20," Mike adds flatly.
"No offense, but middle school with you guys sounds like hell," Stan says.
"Oh, no, that was last year," Mike says back.
Eddie takes his hand off Richie's, puts it on the table, and says, very seriously, "If you guys made a bet about whether Richie could fuck me or not, I will get Ben to punch all of you in the face."
Ben looks a little bit caught. On one hand, he is not the kind of guy who goes around punching near-strangers in the face. On the other hand, Ben is very clearly protective of Eddie, and those meaty fists look like they could pack a serious punch.
"It's not that, exactly," Richie says, a little slowly, looking around for help.
Eddie narrows his eyes and pushes Richie's hand from his lap. "What is it, then? Exactly."
Richie makes eye contact with Mike, who gives him a look that says you're on your own. Bill won't even look at Richie. Coward, Richie thinks, even though it's not at all true. Bill is the bravest man Richie knows; he just knows how to pick his battles. Richie has never been very good at that.
"It was a stupid bet," Richie starts.
Stan's eyebrows shoot up. "You made a stupid bet? You, of all people?" His sarcasm is cutting.
Richie glares at him. "I hope you rode Bill and Mike even half as hard as you're riding my nerves right now."
Mike chokes on nothing and Bill finally looks up. His face is pink but he looks ready to argue. Stan opens his mouth first. "I did," he says, very calmly, picking up his coffee and taking a very smug sip.
"Well, that's one question answered," Beverly says, not even attempting to conceal her amusement.
Eddie's head whips around to face her. "That was part of the bet?"
Richie holds his hands up. "Just listen to me for a second, would you?" Eddie wants to argue, but Richie tacks on a soft little "Please?" and Eddie has yet to deny him anything, so he motions for Richie to continue.
Richie takes a deep breath and says, all in one breath, "You told me you were going to the event with Stan and I kind of panicked because I thought maybe you guys were together but Beverly said she was pretty sure both of you like getting fucked and I didn't believe her so she made a bet with me because I have no impulse control and I always take bets no matter what and so she bet that you were gay and that you're both bottoms because she was just trying to convince me that you guys weren't fucking so that I would actually make a move and in hindsight it's kind of creepy and weird and I'm sorry." He reaches for Eddie's hand again and says, much more slowly, "Please don't hate me."
Eddie blinks, mostly because he has never heard anyone talk that fast. There is a long silence while they all try to parse out what Richie said, and then they all start talking at the same time.
"He had good intentions," Beverly says, sounding earnest.
"You guys are idiots," Mike says, long-suffering.
"You thought Eddie and I were together?" Stan asks, surprised.
Richie shrugs, looking a little helpless. "I didn't know. You guys seem... close."
Stan rolls his eyes. "So do you and Beverly. Does that mean you're sleeping together?"
Bev shifts in her seat and Richie licks his lips like he's nervous.
"This is a mess," Mike says, putting his face in his hands.
"It was one time!" Richie says defensively.
"Technically twice," Bev says, looking thoughtful.
"It doesn't count if we don't remember it," Richie argues.
Bill shakes his head. "It c-counts if I ruh-remember it."
"Nobody asked you to walk in on us," Richie says, shrugging. "The door was closed."
Bill glares at him. "It w-was my room."
"A mess," Mike groans again. He has not lifted his face out of his hands.
Eddie is very seriously considering walking out of the restaurant when, suddenly, Ben starts to laugh. It's so loud and sudden that they all fall silent, staring at him. "I'm sorry," he manages after a moment, his smile wide, not yet fully calm. "This conversation just sounds so familiar."
Stan suddenly looks very interested in his food and Eddie stares at Ben hard, betrayed.
"Why do I get the feeling we're about to be best friends?" Richie asks, leaning in, giving Ben the full-force of his admittedly short attention span. "Please continue, Ben Handsome."
"I'm not much of a storyteller," Ben says, and cuts Richie off when he starts to argue. "Basically, Stan and Eddie made out a lot in college. They were always drunk, and they never remembered it. It took me years to convince them it actually happened."
"I made out with everyone in college!" Eddie says defensively.
Richie looks at him. "I think I would have liked college Eddie."
Stan shakes his head. "Probably not. You wouldn't have gotten nearly as far with him as you did last night. College Eddie was a pretty proud tease."
"Can we move on, please?" Eddie says from between his fingers, hiding his face in his hands.
"Don't feel bad, Eddie," Mike says, his voice kind. "Bill and I did the same thing in college. We just never really stopped."
"Oh, thank God," Ben mutters, almost to himself. "I didn't want to be the one to ask about that."
"We're not tuh-together." Bill sounds like he's had this conversation before, more than once. "We tried and it d-didn't work."
"But we're still good friends," Mike adds, stretching his arm across Stan's shoulders to brush his fingers against Bill's.
"Friends with benefits," Richie corrects.
Mike shrugs. "Sure. Whatever you wanna call it. Look, the way I see it, the world kind of sucks. I get shit for being black. Bill gets shit for his stutter. I'm sure life isn't all sunshine and rainbows for a male model or a gay Jewish man. So sometimes you've just gotta do what makes you happy. Bill makes me happy." He tightens his arm around Stan. "Last night made me very happy. And that's what it's all about, you know?" He looks around the table. "I just want to be happy. And I want all of you to be happy, too."
They're all quiet, then. Eddie has to blink quickly to stave off sudden tears. It's the most honest, beautiful thing anyone has ever said to him. He laces his fingers through Richie's. The smile Richie gives him makes him pretty damn happy. Mike has a good point, he thinks.
"I hate to interrupt this moment," Stan says quietly. "But I have something to add." He looks directly at Richie and says, "You were wrong."
Richie blinks at him. "You are not the first person to say so. Can I get some clarification?"
Stan smiles, but it's very smug. "I'm not a bottom."
Richie laughs, like it's a joke. "You literally said-"
Stan waves his hand dismissively. "I know what I said."
"You got fucked," Richie says, slowly, like he's trying to explain something to a small child. "Which makes you a-"
"He's a sw-switch," Bill blurts. Everyone looks at him, and he shifts a little uncomfortably, flashing them all a shy grin.
"Oh my God!" Richie crows. "Big Bill got fucked!"
Eddie smacks his arm. "Keep your voice down!" He glances around to make sure no one has overhead, and then slumps down in the booth. "You guys know it's called a private life for a reason, right? You're supposed to keep it private."
Richie smiles at him. "Don't worry, Eds. I promise to keep what we did a secret. Especially that little thing you did with your-" Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth. Richie's laugh is hot and wet against his palm.
"I hate you," Eddie tells him seriously.
"No, you don't," all of their friends say, in unison. Even Eddie has to laugh.
It feels stupidly right, all of them crowded together in the small corner booth, laughing and joking like old friends. Eddie takes his hand off Richie's mouth and watches him fish out his wallet, griping the whole time. Beverly beams when he hands her a $20 bill, holding it over her head like a trophy. Stan complains that the money really belongs to him, since he won the bet for her, so she offers to buy his breakfast. Ben explains that won't be necessary; he has already footed the bill. Mike and Bill both protest, clamoring to pay him back, but he waves them off. "Trust me," he says, "the entertainment has been payment enough."
Richie's hand is back in Eddie's lap, but Eddie no longer intends to push it away. He holds it tightly instead, and eyes the table near the back of the restaurant, the long one that's much more suited for a group their size.
He thinks he'll come early next time and snag it.
He has every intention of doing this again.