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cylonbarnes · 4 years

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Reddie’s Hammock Secret Santa 2019 Fic

This gift is for Lyra @sarcastic-soprano who requested any Reddie fic involving music. I went the Shark Puppy route.

Length: 4k

Warning: this fic is a hot mess of changing vibes and tones and forgetting characterization because I wrote half of it last month and half of it in the past week. That isn’t to say I didn’t try - just that the busy month realllly got to me 😅

The cassette was thrust into Eddie’s hand at some point during orientation. He didn’t remember when - he didn’t have a cassette with a weird Animorph-esque cover (which made more sense once he realized what the band was called - why did ‘Shark Puppy’ sound cute when the art was absolutely nightmarish?) when he started his quest to find the cafeteria building, but he had it by the time he sat down. Eddie had (somehow gathered): one Shark Puppy cassette, 3 religious pamphlets, a map, a flyer for a wild party at Torrence Hall that night, and a badge for ROTC.

He laid all of the above in front of him at the table, cautiously putting the map, cassette, and party flyer into his messenger bag, the rest going swiftly into the trash can as he walked up to grab a tray.

He forgot about the cassette for a week. Eddie Kaspbrak wasn’t really a music guy. People found that odd when he said it, but he didn’t mind at all. His mind was busy enough - surely music was nothing but distracting, especially when studying, which was all he was doing lately. One week in, and college was beating his ass.

He’d made a friend, thank god, a girl in his Philosophy class. Beverly Marsh, with her red hair and knowing smile, latched onto Eddie almost immediately. They felt like kindred spirits, magnets who stuck together on day one and sat next to each other every day since.

“What’s this?” she asked, rummaging through his shelves. They were meant to be studying, and Eddie was, book open on his desk showing a statue of Socrates. All these old Greek dudes looked the same, he thought, highlighting the birth and death years of the philosopher. Marble heads with beards and some line of thought that contradicted every other philosopher’s line of thought.

That wasn’t something Eddie liked - he liked facts, numbers, black and white answers. Bev, however, was great with the course, asking questions about everything, musing on the various dialogues.

“Hm?” he answered, looking up. Bev held between her fingers, coated with chipping black nail polish, that cassette tape from the other week. “Oh, I dunno. Some tape I got on orientation.”

“Where’s your boombox?”

“I don’t have one… Stan has a cassette deck, though. Be careful, if he sees us touch it he’ll go wild.”

Bev smirked, and quickly waltzed to the other side of the room. If Eddie’s side was clean, Stan’s was impeccable. Everything in its proper place.

She snapped the tape into place in the machine and pressed play. The music started immediately, but Eddie wouldn’t exactly call it music… it was screeching guitars and singing that barely deserved the word.

“Turn it down!” he shouted over the noise, but Bev seemed to enjoy it, dancing along like a blow-up man outside a car dealership.

“It’s good,” she said back.

Eddie blocked his ears. “It’s not even music!”

He tried to study through the song, but as the second started and was more unintelligible than the first, he strode across the room and ejected the tape.

“What, you don’t like grunge?” Bev asked, folding her arms. The smile at the edge of her lips showed that she already knew the answer.

“I don’t really like music.”

She dropped her arms. “Like, any music? Not even classical, or the Beatles, or like… Christmas music?”

“I mean, music is fine, it’s just not really my thing. I can’t concentrate with it on.”

“Hm.” She murmured, but relented. Flopping herself back onto Eddie’s bed, she paged through her textbook. “You’re an odd cookie, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie shrugged at that.

The door opened and Stan Uris entered, looking scholarly as ever. Stan was a good roommate, especially when Eddie considered the possibilities - there was a reason they didn’t study at Bev’s dorm, and her name was Greta.

“Hey, Stan,” Bev said, and Eddie raised a hand of greeting. "How're you doing?"

Stan put his bookbag on the chair and grabbed a jacket out of the closet. “I’m just dropping some stuff off. How was your day?”

“All good, we’re just studying. Are you headed to the library?” Eddie asked.

Stan shook his head. “No, I’m actually... going to a party.”

“Like that?” Bev scoffed.

Stan glanced down at his clothes. Sensible button up, sensible slacks, sensible shoes. The Uris wardrobe.

Bev hopped off the bed, on a mission. She pushed Stan aside, sifting through his closet. She pulled out things at random, a pair of pants here, a t-shirt there. Once she had gathered some suitable options, she went to mixing and matching them on Stan’s bed. Stan and Eddie simply watched in wonder - they just wore the things they’d always worn, outfits that their mother’s had pre-approved that never stepped too out of the mainstream.

Bev, however, paired Stan’s only pair of jeans - pushed to the back as they had gotten a tear in the knee that he needed his mother to repair - with an oversized shirt he only wore for sleeping. Lastly she grabbed a plaid button-up that he typically wore tucked in, and told him to just layer it over the rest. Eddie and Bev turned around while he changed.

“Damn kid, you almost look cool!” she said, mussing up his hair. “Shoes, shoes… sneakers.”

“Those are for exercising.”

“And they’re better than all your leather lawyer shoes. How old are you, anyway? Fifty?”

Stan relented again. His face showed protest, but honestly he liked the experience - if this girl thought he looked good in this stuff, maybe girls at the party would, too.

“Why are you going to a party, anyway?” Eddie asked.

Bev laughed. “Yeah, not where, not who with, but why? Ha!”

Stan scrunched up his face. “Just some friends.”

“We’re coming with you,” Bev said.

“What?” said Stan.

“What?” said Eddie.

“Wipe those looks off your faces. Where are we headed, Stanley?”

Stan tried to fight them - verbally, of course. Stanley Uris was, as a rule, not interested in fisticuffs, but he was perfectly ready for a debate. Bev was neither into physical or mental fighting - she simply let Stan know that they were going to follow him, and if he wanted to get where he was going, they were going as well, whether he liked it or not (of course, the answer was not).

Bev dressed Eddie as well, and while he was already less grandpa-style than Stan, it was still a departure from his usual look. She let him keep the fanny pack, at least, and otherwise has him in a sweatshirt and jeans, again with messy hair. Unlike Stan, he also relented to some very slight eyeliner. It was college - he was willing to experiment with his look, provided it was an objectively cute girl telling him to.

Eddie knew Bev was cute, but he didn’t actually see it himself. Stan saw it - Eddie could tell, with certain looks he’d give her, a blush to his cheeks when she brushed past him. Eddie had never felt that though, much as he’d tried. He liked being friends with her, though, and she seemed glad to have a friend who didn’t want anything more from her than that.

The party was at Torrence Hall, the dorm building that had a party going on somewhere within its walls almost every night. He preferred living in Mears, which was quiet and no one ever peed on the hallway carpet (Stan told them that story on the walk over, of the mysterious hall-peer over in Sheldon Hall. Eddie almost barfed).

“So, Stan,” Bev started. She was already party ready in her sundress and clunky shoes, a plethora of bracelets tinkling together on her slender, freckled wrists. “Eddie’s question may have been dumb, but you still need to answer it. Why are we going to this party?”

“I said, friends.”

“Yeah, right, cool. What friends?”

Stan didn’t answer that. “It’s not going to be that good of a party, you know. You guys could get the big picture of it all before the band even starts. Get out while you still can, you know?”

Bev’s eyes twinkled. Eddie thought that might be a superpower only she was capable of - full on twinkling. “What’s the band?”

Stan looked at the ground. “Uh… something about a puppy.”

“Shark Puppy?” Bev asked.

Stan nodded.

Eddie groaned.

This many people in this small of a space was a fire hazard. Eddie had never felt so claustrophobic in his life, pushing past hordes of teenagers in a series of dark rooms, getting covered in the smell of beer and weed despite partaking in neither.

Luckily, he found soda. Unluckily, he lost Stan and Bev in his search. Stan has assured him that the band would be playing later, they hadn’t missed them. Eddie was only slightly disappointed.

“Howdy,” came a voice from just behind him.

He turned, coming face to face with… a face. An attractive face, certainly, but too close to Eddie’s own for him to feel comfortable. He stepped back.

“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”

He’d seen this face before, or rather, this boy. Passed him in the halls or the cafeteria, seen him wandering with his friends outdoors or, just once, engrossed in a book in the library. Eddie had never learned his name, but he’d paid close attention to everything else - his dark hair, curling at the nape of his neck as he leant over a table reading; his lips, spread wide in a laughing smile; his eyes, magnified behind his thick black glasses.

Eddie wasn’t obsessed, he told himself. He had to tell himself, because he couldn’t tell anyone else.

But now the boy was in front of him.

“I’ve seen you around,” the boy said. “Mears Hall, right? You know Stan.”

Eddie nodded, slightly dumbfounded.

“Cool, he’s a good dude. I’m Richie, by the way. Tozier.” He held out his hand to shake, and Eddie marveled for a moment at the slender fingers, the rings he had adorning them. Eddie himself had long enjoyed that look, but he felt like he couldn’t pull it off. Richie could.

Eddie shook his hand. He already knew his name, of course. It felt like everyone on campus did, even though he was a freshman. Eddie didn’t share the same fame.

“I’m Eddie.”

“Eddie, nice. Is this your first party?”

Eddie looked at his feet. “How could you tell.”

“Your face. Also your, uh,” he waved a hand around in front of Eddie’s chest, “everything.”

Richie said it with a laugh. In high school, when people said mean things with a laugh, Eddie felt like shit. But this didn’t feel mean, it felt like he was in on the joke.

“Do you know Bill?” Richie asked.

Eddie shook his head. “Nope.”

Richie grabbed his hand, startling Eddie - but he didn’t pull away. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Eddie couldn’t help the redness that overtook his cheeks as another boy held his hand, no matter the context.

“Hey, Big Bill!” Richie shouted as they got closer to the makeshift stage - which was the same level as everything else, of course, just a drum kit, microphone, and speakers with a white sheet tacked to the wall behind them that someone had written SHARK PUPPY on in permanent marker.

The boy that Eddie assumed to be Bill waved in return. “Look who the cat dragged in!”

Richie smiled and held up his hand - still holding Eddie’s. “I’m the one doing the dragging!”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Oh jeez.”

“This is Eddie.” Richie said.

“Well, Eddie, I’m sorry that Trashmouth here has latched onto you like an anglerfish.”

Richie let go of Eddie’s hand and crossed his arms. “Hey! Eddie here knows Stan the Man.”

Bill’s face changed from one of playful disdain for the apparent Trashmouth to a welcoming smile for Eddie. “Oh, awesome!” He dropped the bundle of wires he was trying to untangle - Eddie believed they were for the microphone - and stepped over them, pulling Eddie into a hug.

“Any friend of Stan is a friend of mine!”

“I’m so confused,” Eddie muttered.

Bill held him at arm’s length, his eyebrows furrowed. “We’re Stan’s bandmates?”

“His what?”

Richie laughed, hard enough that he genuinely bent over and slapped his knee. When he got over it, he stood straight and wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. “Oh, that explains a lot.”

Eddie stared at him, ready for more explanation, only to be interrupted by Stan’s arrival.

“Hey, Eddie, I- oh, shit.”

Shark Puppy were scheduled to play in thirty minutes. Scheduled was a broad term, to the band, enforced on them by their bassist, who was now regretting his choices based on the fact that he now had thirty minutes to explain to his roommate what was happening.

Or rather, Richie had thirty minutes to talk to Eddie while Stan’s anxiety grew with each passing moment.

“I feel responsible,” Richie said, a grin spreading across his cheeks. He had the easiest smile Eddie had ever seen, and he’d seen it a few times now, every time as dazzling as the last. It wasn’t like he had the nicest lips or teeth - well, maybe he did have the nicest lips… - but it was what it did to his eyes, turning them into little crescents of joy that Eddie felt warm just to be a part of. “I’m the reason Stan hasn’t told you about Shark Puppy.”

He said it all with a gravitas that almost spilled over into laughter, one hand pressed to his heart. Stan hung his head. “Oh my goodness.”

“I didn’t even know you played an instrument. It’s not in the dorm!” Eddie said, still confused by the whole thing. Someone pushed past his elbow - he’d almost forgotten the rest of the party existed. Bev was out there, somewhere in the sea of bodies.

“Stan keeps his bass in our room for practices,” Bill said. Eddie couldn’t tell who was who in the band just yet, outside of Stan, but he thought Bill would make a good lead singer.

Though Richie had a certain Mick Jagger quality to him.

“Stan won’t dedicate his life to the art like us,” Richie said derisively. “He’d rather make money with… law, or accounting, or whatever… than be a starving artist.”

Stan shrugged. “I like to have a back up plan. If I’m gonna incur mountains of debt with my college education, I’d like actually be able to pay it off.”

Richie scoffed.

“I have your tape,” Eddie blurted out suddenly. “It sucked.”

The rest of the boys stared at him.

Richie burst out laughing, and after a pause, everyone else laughed, too.

“Sorry, I just… wanted it out there.”

“Okay, well, hopefully you’ll like it more live. We’ve changed our style,” Bill said.

“Yeah, we took the sucking part out,” Richie said. He turned to Stan and continued, “Is that why you didn’t want him to come?”

Richie’s tone and smirk indicted that he was asking a different question underneath the obvious one, whose meaning was definitely known to him and Stan, but no one else in the group.

Stan threw his hands in the air in defeat. “Fine, fine. You’ve backed me into a corner.”

“What’s happening?” Eddie asked.

“Wait -” Richie started.

“Eddie, this bastard here,” Stan said, jerking a thumb at Richie in a way of indication, as though it was up in the air who the bastard was (it wasn’t), “has been asking me for your number ever since he figured out you were my roommate.”

Richie went red in the face. Eddie went stark white.

“What?” Eddie said, looking at Stan still - he couldn’t look at Richie.

Richie, who he had a crush on, despite his judgement telling him not to, before he even knew his name. Richie, with his overgrown black hair and his easy smile and his devil-may-care attitude.

Richie, who he had never spoken to until less than twenty minutes earlier.

“Oh, come on, dude,” Richie said. “I- I mean- don’t call me a bastard in front of him!”

Stan laughed. “You guys have twenty minutes before we play. And I gotta say, I feel a lot better with all these secrets out in the open.”

Stan looked out to the rest of the party. “Hey, Patty!” he called into the crowd with a wave, making his way into the fray.

Bill, too, had skedaddled somewhere within the conversation.

Which left Richie and Eddie alone.

“Dude, if you don’t like guys, that’s fine.”

It was the first thing Richie said, somehow. Eddie was amazed at the flippancy of it all. The thing that ate him up inside all through his childhood, Richie was somehow able to shrug off easily in this conversation - though, maybe not easily, as the red flush was still fresh in his cheeks.

They had sat down on the floor that comprised the stage, hip to hip, both facing out to the party.

“No, I… I’m not sure…” Eddie started, not meeting Richie’s eyes.

“Oh,” Richie said. He paused for a moment, and Eddie feared he had said the worst thing ever, but then another one of those smiles spread across his face. It made Eddie’s heart flutter and told him everything would be fine.

And then Richie slung his arm across Eddie’s shoulders.

“You’re all good, man. I’m just glad you finally like, know, you know?”

“Know what?”

Richie turned his face to Eddie. “Like Stan said. I’ve been asking Stan to hook us up for a month. He said no, because you’re quiet, and he likes quiet, and if I was around it would ruin everything. And that’s stupid, obviously, but I didn’t want to fuck up the band in case he actually meant it, so I just… looked from afar. I think you’re really cute, and I know that might be weird, because we’ve never talked, but -”

“I think you’re cute, too.” Eddie couldn’t believe himself. He barely allowed himself to think it, let alone say it, but here he was. It was out loud now, floating between them.

Some gears inside him must have started randomly cranking, because he kept speaking without even realizing it. “I, uh, I’ve seen you around a lot. In hallways, or out in the quad, or the cafeteria. I… I look for you.”

Richie leaned over, and fear filled Eddie’s chest. He’s gonna kiss me. He’s gonna kiss me. Oh fuck, he’s gonna kiss me.

But he didn’t. Eddie was glad, honestly. He didn’t think he was ready for that, not here, not in his first conversation with the boy, which he couldn’t even believe was happening.

Richie whispered in his ear, “Can we go into the hallway?”

Eddie nodded, unable to speak after the sensation of Richie’s breath hot on his neck.

Richie took his hand again, and this time Eddie felt more at peace with the action, though still uncomfortable at the thought of being seen.

The hallway was still loud, but they found their way down to another room, door open for the party but devoid of any guests.

Richie pointed to the poster on the wall. “Do you think these people even know who Che Guevara was?”

Eddie didn’t know who he was, so he shook his head no.

“I guess that’s what college is for, then,” Richie said, flopping himself down on the stranger’s bed.

“What did you want to talk about?” Eddie asked.

“I just needed to get out of there. Too loud.”

Eddie was surprised anything was too loud for Richie. Between the Shark Puppy tape and Richie’s naturally loud energy, Eddie had assumed it was his standard setting.

Eddie was quiet. His mother had made him that way, and he didn’t really have any friends as a kid to be loud with. It’s no good to be loud by yourself.

But Richie was loud by himself - the way he dressed alone shouted ‘LOOK AT ME!’ And Eddie thought this worked for him wonderfully. You can’t get embarrassed or ashamed of yourself if you proclaim those qualities. Richie seemed fine with his sexuality, with his uniqueness, all of it.

Eddie wanted to be loud.

“How are you so cool?” Eddie said. When he was around Richie, none of his words were intentional. They all just slipped out of his mouth, their meanings half-formed or too blunt.

“Weed,” Richie responded. He chuckled, and then responded for real. “What do you mean?”

“With your… you know.”

“I don’t.”

They were staring now, eyes locked. “No one knows I like boys.”

“I have a funny feeling Stan might.”

Eddie somehow hadn’t realized that, but he also realized that he didn’t mind.

“But people know you do.”

Richie shook his head. “I don’t care what people know or don’t know about me. It’s none of their business. If they don’t like it, I’ll fight them.”

Eddie wanted to fight, too.

“You make it sound easy.”

“I’m a musician, Eddie. Emotions are everything. I know you fucking hated the tape, but the words… I put it all out there. That’s my diary. My songs are my songs, they’re about me, they’re about my life. People can interpret them any way they want, but I’m not gonna hide myself in my own art.”

“What are the… could you tell me the words? I couldn’t understand them on the tape,” Eddie said, almost reverently.

“I was worried,” Richie said, ignoring Eddie’s comment completely, “that you were dating her.”

Eddie furrowed his brows before realizing. “Oh, Bev?”

“Yeah. You’re always together, and… well, I wrote a song about you.”

“You…”

“It’s better than anything on that tape, I promise.”

Eddie was stunned.

“Let’s… I’ll be right back, okay?”

Eddie simply nodded.

Richie left the room, and for two minutes, Eddie was alone with his thoughts.

What the fuck? was his main thought, popping up time and time again. He wrote me a song? was another. He thought I was dating Bev? He told Stan he liked me? were tied for third place.

Richie came back with a guitar. “Ten more minutes,” he said.

Sitting back on the bed next to Eddie, he tentatively strummed a few chords, checking his tuning.

“Okay, okay,” he said.

And then, surpassing Eddie’s wildest hopes with that cute boy he saw in the halls, Richie Tozier sang him a song.

Do I tell you I like you or not? 'Cause I can't really guess what you want If you let me down, let me down slow If you let me down, let me down slow Do you have feelings for me? I just wanna speak honestly If you let me down, let me down slow If you let me down, let me down slow

I'm praying but don't see the signs I've been praying for you to be mine If you let me down, let me down slow If you let me down, let me down slow I don't believe in forever But I still wanna give it try If you let me down, let me down slow If you let me down, let me down slow

Eddie felt like he was outside of his own body. Richie’s voice was soft, sweet, a far cry from the grungy sound Eddie had heard from the tape deck. He wondered if that was an affectation, just trying to look cool. He wondered how much of Richie really was effortless.

Richie didn’t look at him the whole time, plucking at the guitar strings, moving his hand up and down the neck. Eddie didn’t know anything about guitar, but he was amazed at Richie’s abilities, the quickness of his fingers.

I don't wanna give you up I don't wanna let you love somebody else but me So what's it gonna be? So what's it gonna be? I don't wanna give you up I don't wanna make it out like it's no big deal So what's it gonna be? So what's it gonna be?

He kept playing for a few seconds after the lyrics ended, and then placed the guitar next to them on the bed.

Richie still didn’t look at him.

“So did you hate it, or…?”

“That was amazing,” Eddie said, putting his hand on Richie’s knee. “Really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s funny, if I had played that for any of the guys, I’d… I dunno. I’d want to make it rockier or something. And I love the music we make, even if you think it’s shit. But that was is… just for me.”

Richie put his hand on his knee. Luckily, his knee happened to be below Eddie’s hand. He squeezed his fingers around Eddie’s.

“I’m glad we got to talk.”

“You’re different than I thought you were,” Eddie said. “Softer.”

“Oh, great. That’s what every guy wants to hear.”

“You seem so bulletproof all the time, and I’ve heard people mention how funny you are, but…” Eddie couldn’t help himself from leaning in. “You’re a lot deeper of a pool than I would have thought.”

“That’s a weird thing to say before a kiss,” Richie said, before completing his self-fulfilling prophecy.

Eddie Kaspbrak was kissing Richie Tozier. An hour ago, he had said zero cumulative words to the boy, and now they were kissing on a stranger’s bed.

They didn’t get to enjoy it for more than a few seconds before a shout interrupted them.

“Two minutes!”

Eddie pulled away from Richie and looked to the door.

“Bev?”

“Hi, Eddie! Hi, Richie, nice to meet you! I’m also dating your drummer!”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Go Ben!” Richie fist-pumped.

Hands still clutched, they slid off the bed. Eddie wanted more kissing, if he was being honest, but the show must go on, or else Stan would have their throats.

Bev ran back to the main party room, and Richie started to follow, but Eddie tugged him back.

“I like you,” he said. The words were just the tip of the iceberg of his heart, but he felt like Richie understood the fullness of the statement.

Richie showed he did by responding with quick kiss. “I like you, too, Eddie.”

“You should play that song - if you want!” Eddie clarified. “You don’t have to. I’m sure this crowd want your… rocking stuff? But I bet someone out there wants a slow dance.”

Richie smiled. “Maybe I will.”

Hand in hand (and Richie’s other hand with his guitar), they ran back to the main room, to the stage area.

The rest of Shark Puppy was in place - Bill had a guitar as well, and he was at the front in front of the microphone. There was another microphone where Richie was to stand. Stan had his bass, the strap holding it high on his chest. Behind the drums was Ben, who Eddie instantly recognized from his Alg course. He hadn’t connected that Ben with Band Ben when Bev and Richie mentioned him, but Eddie was glad it was him. Ben was the nicest dude, and Bev deserved nothing but niceness.

Richie grabbed his guitar, so covered in stickers that the true color was unknowable, and Ben immediately started tapping to count down.

And then the cacophony started.

Eddie didn’t mind it, though. Richie had said they’d changed their sound, and while they weren’t anything like the song Richie had just played for him, the words were easier to understand, the instruments seemed to communicate with each other more. The crowd got into it, dancing and having fun, and some kids even knew the lyrics.

At the end, as the party wound down, and they’d played their last song, Bill gave his usual send-off before they packed up. But Richie stayed put.

“Shark Puppy is done, and you can buy cassettes and stickers from Mike over there near the drinks, but I’m gonna do something a little different.”

His bandmates looked to him in confusion, and he nodded, somehow communicating to them that they were good to go. he put his electric guitar down and picked up his acoustic again.

“This one’s just me,” Richie said. “And it’s dedicated to a special someone.”

He played his song again, and Eddie liked it even more this time. There was added confidence behind the words - the lyrics told a story of uncertainty, anxiety, but Richie had his confirmation now.

The claps at the end were scattered, but that didn’t bother Richie. It was a crowd of drunk kids who liked his band better, and that was fine. Eddie was the only person in the audience who mattered.

His smile at the end was a different type, Eddie thought as Richie took a quick bow. It was wider, prouder, and the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Richie walked right into the crowd and kissed Eddie, and Eddie didn’t feel worried at all.

(the song is “what’s it gonna be” by shura (with slightly changed lyrics) because i am completely unable to write lyrics)

#reddie exchange 2019

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