This was originally written for a Valentine's day writing contest, I lost so enjoy my garbage
Disclaimer: I don't own IT.
"Richie... I don't understand." The curly-haired boy looked up at him solemnly, pain evident in his pitiful gaze. He sighed, turning his head away from the smaller boy.
"Sometimes the questions are complicated, and the answers are simple. I'm sorry, Eddie." Richie turned, taking a few steps away from his now ex-boyfriend. It had hurt him more than anything, but it would be better for Eddie if he got away now. Richie, however, would most certainly be worse off without him. But it didn't matter, as long as Eddie was kept out of it.
The two teens had gotten together about 10 months ago, the chemistry between them was stronger than steel, their unbreakable bond withstanding all the hate thrown their way. After all, being gay in 1989, in Derry especially, was comparable to putting a sign on your back that said "kick me". But it didn't matter to Eddie and Richie, as long as they had each other.
The two lovebirds had a perfect relationship, down to every last detail. Richie's gentle teasing, Eddie's soft whispers, their protective natures constantly competing for dominance (Richie was a frequent winner in that department), all their quirks made their love grow stronger.
Until the day it all went downhill.
Richie had been alone one day (Eddie was out-of-town for the weekend), when it happened. At first he assumed he was just out of breath because of all the running he had done (Henry Bowers made it his goal to make Eddie and Richie's lives a living hell). But then Richie started coughing, and he saw crimson blood staining his sleeve. He knew he was in a lot of trouble. His chest ached with every bloody cough, his lungs seizing with the effort Richie was putting into his feeble attempt to breathe.
Richie gasped, reaching for the phone to dial 911. After two rings, the operator picked up, and Richie hoarsely explained the situation. An ambulance was sent, whisking Richie away to the hospital.
Richie left the hospital that day with the diagnosis that would change his life forever.
Lung cancer. Stage 3. Terminal.
Richie had two tumors in his left lung. The infectious disease had spread to his heart, and the young boy was given just 5 months to live.
That was 4 months ago.
Richie always knew the dangers of smoking, but he didn't care enough to quit. That is, until he met Eddie. The asthmatic refused to go anywhere near him if Richie had been smoking a cigarette. Richie found it annoying at first, but eventually fell for Eddie's stubbornness. He quit smoking about a month before they got together, and cigarettes were removed from Richie's life forever.
That is, until the diagnosis.
The permanent damage done to his lungs would be the cause of his death. Richie couldn't help but feel guilty for the whole thing. If he hadn't wasted so much time, if only he had listened to Eddie from the start. Maybe instead of having one month to live, he would have years.
Richie hadn't even told Eddie about the diagnosis.
He knew what would happen. The germaphobe would make him wear a mask, or gloves, or worst of all, Eddie would never want to speak to him again. The thought of that was unbearable to Richie, and so he swore to keep it a secret.
He realized, about 3 months into his 5, that hiding a terminal cancer from his boyfriend and best friend was harder than he thought. Richie hated lying to Eddie. It felt wrong, like putting the milk in the bowl before the cereal. He kept telling himself it was for Eddie's own good, that it was better for him not to know, that it would be less painful.
But, if Richie's goal was to make Eddie feel as little pain as possible, then they couldn't be dating when Richie's time came. It would hurt Richie so much, but if he could let Eddie down as gently as possible, maybe it wouldn't be half bad.
Richie would do anything for Eddie. The short, brown-haired boy had captured his heart, and Richie would risk everything to protect Eddie. Even if it meant snapping his heart clean in two.
But he had to do it soon. The cancer made Richie weak, so weak, and the symptoms had gotten a lot worse. It was getting harder to hide it from Eddie. In the beginning, he had said that he was just a little out of breath, or that he had been running. Then, when he started losing weight, he had made the excuse that he was dieting and trying to get back in shape. When he started vomiting, he told Eddie he caught the flu, which would keep him away for a few days. But seizures were much harder to hide.
"Eddie, I told you, I feel much better. I'm right as rain, see?" Richie grinned, doing a little dance. Eddie giggled at his boyfriend's comedic nature, all worry out the door.
"Alright Trashmouth, I believe you."
"Pip pip cheerio, Eds! It's about time!" Richie exclaimed, talking in one of his signature voices. His terrible British accent distracted Eddie, making him howl with laughter. Eddie didn't notice how Richie had gone silent until he heard the loud thump. Richie had collapsed to the ground, seizing uncontrollably. Eddie screamed, desperately trying to hold Richie still while calling for help.
Richie shivered at the sudden flashback. Eddie had been extremely cautious around him for the next couple of weeks, watching him closely. Richie had refused to tell Eddie what had happened, nonchalantly saying it was no big deal. In reality, Richie was terrified. He never wanted to die, to be ripped from Eddie's arms so soon. He wanted to tell Eddie, to let him hold him tight and tell him everything was going to be okay. But the possibility that Eddie would reject him was reason enough to keep his mouth shut.
Richie took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he had promised to do. He approached Eddie, who sat on a park bench, swinging his short legs back and forth. The smaller boy's eyes lit up when they spotted Richie.
"Hey Richie!" Eddie exclaimed happily, grinning from ear to ear. Richie returned it with a half-smile. It was all he could muster.
"Hey Eds," Richie frowned, biting his lip. "Can we talk?" Eddie's smile dissolved into a concerned frown.
"What's wrong, Rich?"
"I, uh, Ithinkweshouldbreakup," Richie coughed in all out in one raspy breath. Eddie's concerned expression morphed into one of pain and betrayal.
"I thought we were soul mates," Eddie whispered, quiet tears slipping out of his eyes. His voice sounded broken, and Richie couldn't bear to look at the smaller boy.
"Trust me Eds, it's better this way."
"Don't call me that," Eddie muttered. He stared up sadly. "Richie... I don't understand." The curly-haired boy looked up at him solemnly, pain evident in his pitiful gaze. He sighed, turning his head away from the smaller boy.
"Sometimes the questions are complicated, and the answers are simple. I'm sorry, Eddie." Richie turned, taking a few steps away from his now ex-boyfriend. It had hurt him more than anything, but it would be better for Eddie if he got away now. Richie, however, would most certainly be worse off without Eddie. But it didn't matter, as long as Eddie was kept out of it.
Eddie shook his head, facing the ground. He lifted his gaze to meet Richie's eyes, uttering a quiet "Fuck you," before storming off. Once Eddie had become nothing more than a tiny red speck in Richie's line of sight, he collapsed in his sorrow, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Just take me already! I'm done, I can't- I can't go on!" he screamed at the sky. Richie's life was empty without Eddie by his side. He had nothing left to live for.
that's a rip