Chapter Text
‘Where’s Richie?’ Eddie asked, swinging his legs over the cafeteria bench to sit beside the other Losers.
Ben waited until he was done with his mouthful, then said, ‘He’s probably down the music block again.’
‘Whoever decided to give Richie Tozier a guitar was an evil man,’ Stan chuckled, picking at his food. ‘He’s loud enough as it is.’
Bev nudged him, her fingers twitching for another cigarette. ‘I think it’s nice how obsessed he is with it. You know how he’s always had trouble focusing on one thing at a time.’
Stan did know, and so did everybody else. Richie’s energy was almost permanently on overdrive, which kept his mouth running faster than his feet and his attention diverting by even the smallest distraction.
Everyone had expected the guitar to go the same way as every other novelty birthday present he’d received over the years, but to their surprise, Richie had kept up with his daily practice and lessons, often taking additional time out of his lunch period, evenings and weekends to play.
He took the instrument with him nearly everywhere he went, would often regale the Losers with new strumming patterns and chord progressions which he had memorised, and would learn to play their favourite songs to sing along. Richie would never sing for them himself though, as he insisted that he couldn’t play and sing at the same time. No one had really questioned whether this was true.
‘I’m sure he could take one lunch break,’ Eddie grumbled. ‘He hasn’t eaten with us all week.’
‘It’s n-not like we don’t s-see him anymore,’ Bill reminded.
Eddie knew that this was true, but ever since he was eight years old, he’d shared his lunch breaks with Richie. As much as he hated to admit it, Eddie was a stickler for routine. It was comforting, and Richie had always been part of that routine.
The guitar had thrown everything off course. Richie was consumed by it in a way which always made Eddie resent it. He saw it as an addiction, like the cigarettes stuffed in Richie’s shirt pockets, or the inhaler that he still hid in his locker, despite knowing it was a placebo.
‘I’m gonna go find him,’ Eddie said, picking up the uneaten half of his sandwich for the walk. ‘One of you can have my pudding.’
‘Dibs,’ Mike said, hauling the plate onto his tray.
---
Eddie finished his sandwich, stopping briefly to rinse his hands in the music block toilets. As he turned off the tap, the muffled sounds of Richie’s guitar percolated through the walls. He started to follow the sound, traipsing down the hall until he reached the furthest room. He was about to burst in, hand poised on the doorknob, when Richie opened his mouth and started to sing.
It’s not often at just thirteen years
You’re forced to face your darkest fears
I never knew someone so brave as you.
Eddie took his hand off the doorknob. It wasn’t a song that he’d heard before. It certainly wasn’t a voice that he’d heard before, lilting and husky.
And when you’re choking raggedly
I find it’s me that cannot breathe
And all that’s red inside me drains to blue.
Something tugged in his heart as his throat dried and constricted, and Eddie wished that he had his inhaler. He raised his hand to knock on the door, to stop himself from eavesdropping on Richie singing, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.
And through my coke-bottle glasses
I’ve seen and missed a thousand chances
And still I find
That it’s you that’s fucking blind
Eddie furrowed his brow as he realised that this wasn’t a song that Richie had found. After all, Richie had often reiterated that Buddy Holly was his hero for being a celebrity musician who wore the same coke-bottle glasses that he did. Eddie knew that this was not a Buddy Holly song.
You catch me stealing glances
You’re always expecting answers
You look at me and ask what’s up
And I say I don’t know, when I know
Well enough.
This was a song that Richie had written for himself, a song he had composed chords and melody and lyrics to. Eddie wondered how he could possibly have done something that impressive without mentioning it sixty times. All he did these days was talk about the guitar and the progress he was making. He’d never even implied that he had tried writing his own music.
I carved your name once next to mine
So we’re preserved there for all time
If only we had shared the kiss it promises.
It was a good voice. Eddie understood not wanting to share a voice, though, since he too was an admirable singer but would never admit such a thing to the other Losers. Whenever he sang along to Richie’s guitar, it was in non-committed hums and half-spoken phrases.
I’ve memorised the valleys of your face
Could sing the notes in how you say my name
I’ve come to accept that it’s just what it is.
Only after these lines did Eddie start to ponder Richie’s inspiration. He used to make up stories all the time, rambling and nonsensical, with too many characters and plotlines which didn’t go anywhere. He was never short of an imagination. He obviously told jokes, which were usually short and quipping, and followed similar formats time and again. That made structuring a song simple, he supposed.
And through my coke-bottle glasses
I’ve seen and missed a thousand chances
And still I find
That it’s you that’s fucking blind.
It was catchy. Now that the chorus had rolled around again, Eddie found himself leaning against the wall beside the closed door, smiling to himself and nodding gently in rhythm, even tapping his fingers idly on the fabric of his shorts.
You catch me stealing glances
You’re always expecting answers
You look at me and ask what’s up
And I say I don’t know, when I know
Well enough.
Eddie couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Richie had written the song with a specific person in mind, someone that he had developed feelings for, by the sounds of it. It was only a thin possibility, as far as Eddie was concerned, since Richie told him everything and would certainly have mentioned if he was crushing on someone. At least, Eddie thought so, hoped so. Eddie would tell Richie that kind of thing.
We just keep on getting older
And as the Derry air gets colder
I’ll wrap my arm around your shoulder
The only way I get to hold ya.
There was something pained in Richie’s voice now which Eddie hadn’t noticed before. The same kind of twang that he’d heard a few times before, usually when Richie was scared. He hadn’t seen Richie all that scared since they were young, since they’d faced It that gloomy summer.
It’s only you that I’m afraid for
There’s no one that I wouldn’t trade for
If you wondered what I stayed for
It’s the same thing each night I’ve prayed for.
There was suddenly no doubt in Eddie’s mind that Richie meant each word that fired from his lips. His stomach twisted as he felt jealous, guilty and betrayed that Richie had withheld this secret from him. Even more, he hated the idea that somebody else out there might know who this song was about, when Eddie didn’t.
And I’m not foolish enough
To believe that there could be an us
But I swear I never thought I’d love
Anybody like I love you.
Love. Richie was in love. Unrequited love, he seemed to believe, but love nonetheless. Eddie had never even thought of Richie as being the type to fall in love. Love was such a serious thing, and serious was the last thing that Richie ever wanted to be. That explained a little more why he hadn’t said anything. A crush was one thing, love was something else. Still, Eddie expected to be privy to that information, since love didn’t happen overnight.
And I know I’m so lucky to call
You my best friend at all
So I am sorry that I fall
A little more each day for you.
Eddie’s heart stopped. Best friend. Richie said best friend. Eddie didn’t know who the song was about, but he knew that Richie only had six best friends. Six Losers, only one of whom was a girl.
And through my coke-bottle glasses
I’ve seen and missed a thousand chances
And still I find
That it’s you that’s fucking blind
Still, Beverly and Bill had been together for years. A crush on Beverly would be extremely inappropriate and, Eddie realised sadly, would make complete sense. Richie and Bev were close friends, had a lot in common, spent a lot of time alone together when they were smoking. Eddie felt nauseous.
I can’t live through stolen glances
But if I asked I know the answer
You’re the only way to shut me up
Bev. Eddie sighed. First Bill and Ben, and now Richie. Next thing he knew Stan and Mike would be fawning over her too. He felt guilty even thinking this way. Beverly was one of his closest friends, and she hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t her fault that boys fell in love with her, that Richie had fallen in love with her.
Because I will never tell you
I’m in love.
Eddie was sad and he didn’t know why. Something blue and muddled boiled in his stomach and flooded through his system, sullying him. Silence fell as the last chord rang out into the nothing, clouding over Eddie with its heavy echo. The unfamiliar feeling inside him morphed to frustrated anger, surging red.
To escape it, Eddie went back to the bathroom to wash his hands again. Cleaning something always made him feel better, more relaxed. As he rinsed, the door opened, and Richie yelped, ‘Fuck, Eddie!’ when he saw him standing there.
His eyes wide and frenzied, he took a step back to steady himself, weighted by the guitar slung over his back. ‘Shit,’ he muttered as he stumbled, gaze darting around the dimly lit tiles and porcelain, clawing a hand through his mop of curled, dark hair. ‘What are you doing here?'
Eddie wasn’t sure anymore. ‘Just haven’t seen you much this week,’ Eddie murmured, shrugging. ‘Thought I’d come and find you.’ He was desperate to ask about the song but didn’t.
‘You been missing me, Eds?’ he teased, and a flash of the usual Richie settled back into him, like a pigeon flattening its ruffled feathers.
Rolling his eyes, Eddie said, ‘Fuck off,’ which was the only way he knew how to say yes without stroking Richie’s ego or making things awkward.
Richie scratched the back of his neck until the skin raised pink. ‘Well,’ he coughed, ‘you could come over tonight if you want? Give you a whole evening.’ He winked, ‘Since I’ve been depriving you.’
Eddie mused, ‘Seems fair.’
Licking his lower lip, Richie looked Eddie up and down. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yeah, why?’ Eddie squeaked.
Richie leaned over and twisted off the faucet. ‘Think they’re clean, buddy.’
Flicking the excess water off his hands, vaguely embarrassed, Eddie said, ‘Right.’ He yanked a couple of paper towels from the dispenser quickly and dried himself off.
Richie knew Eddie well enough to know that he only washed his hands so compulsively when he was thinking, or rather overthinking, something. So he checked, ‘You sure you’re okay?’
‘Yeah,’ Eddie said, squeezing past him to get out of the bathroom.
‘Eds?’ Richie queried, a line of worry slicing between his eyebrows as he followed Eddie into the hallway.
Hovering at the entrance of the music block, Eddie felt Richie’s eyes burning into the back of his head. So he assured, ‘I’ll meet you after last period, okay?’
Richie nodded, ‘Okay.’
Eddie opened the door to the outside world. The cold air swept over his shoulders. He knew he shouldn’t say anything, knew he should wait or perhaps not mention it at all, but he looked back over his shoulder and said, ‘I didn’t know you could sing.’
In the periphery of his vision, he saw Richie’s jaw drop open, but Eddie closed the door on it, and slipped away.
---
Eddie lingered by the rack, eyeing Richie’s unclaimed bike. He’d been waiting a good twenty minutes after school and Richie was still yet to appear. He knew that he must have pushed his luck earlier with his comment, because he hadn’t spotted Richie around school all afternoon; not at his locker, not in the hallway or the bathroom.
So Eddie knew that Richie may well be avoiding him, wanting to renege on his offer to spend the evening with him. As long as Richie’s bike was still there, Eddie expected him to appear. He wouldn’t walk all that way. He wouldn’t leave his bike prey to the thieves and vandals that still liked to mess with them.
After another ten minutes, Richie finally appeared. ‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered as he saw that Eddie was still there and waiting.
‘Hey,’ Eddie greeted feebly.
‘Hi.’ He didn’t move. His eyes flashed to his bike and back again. He’d have to go past Eddie to get to it.
‘What took you?’ Eddie asked, raising one of his eyebrows, and when Richie didn’t say anything, he lowered it and said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
Eddie thought. ‘Eavesdropping. I shouldn’t have.’
Richie narrowed his eyes, ‘Okay.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ Eddie said quickly. ‘I just hadn’t heard you really sing before and I didn’t want to interrupt you and well, you can sing.’
Blushing, Richie scooted past him and unlocked his bike with fumbling hands. ‘Thanks,’ he said quietly.
Anxiously, Eddie asked, ‘Am I still coming over tonight?’
Richie’s face contorted, ‘You still want to?’
‘Well, yeah,’ Eddie scoffed. ‘Course I do. Why do you think I stuck around so long?’
‘I don’t know,’ Richie said carefully, cycling slowly towards the road.
Eddie hoped that he would be able to dispel some of Richie’s awkwardness when they got back to his house. It was something that Richie hadn’t repealed his invitation, but Eddie still felt that he hadn’t received Richie’s forgiveness for listening in.
Or perhaps he was concerned that Eddie had heard the content of the song and had figured out the truth behind it, which Eddie wanted to hear from the horse’s mouth, if he could elicit it. He needed both: to be in Richie’s good books and to be his confidante. He hoped that he could have both.
As the Tozier house loomed into view, Richie and Eddie slowed, freewheeling up the driveway. Their wheels clacked in near synchronisation. Eddie was hyperaware of the silence which hung between them, since it was so unusual.
They wandered inside, offering greetings to the Tozier parents slumped on their sofa, then made their way upstairs to Richie’s bedroom. It had changed along with the guitar. There were new posters on the walls, there was a guitar stand permanently erected in the corner of the room, and a music stand stacked with books.
There were plectrums on almost every surface. Sheet music was scattered, disorganised on the floor. Eddie itched to order them. He wondered whether any of Richie’s own music was amidst the pile.
Richie took the guitar case off his back and meticulously replaced it into the stand, adjusting the strap and absentmindedly picking the strings to see if it was still in tune. Then he delved into the pocket on the front of the case and pulled out a book, well-thumbed, with torn pages and graffitied cover. He clenched it, thinking about the song which Eddie had heard.
‘How much did you hear earlier?’ Richie asked suddenly.
‘Just one song,’ Eddie said, his heartbeat quickening.
Richie eyed him suspiciously. ‘The whole song?’
Eddie sat on Richie’s bed, folding his legs underneath himself. ‘Yeah.’ When Richie was still quiet, Eddie felt that he had to fill the space. ‘It was good. Catchy.’ He started to hum the chorus.
‘Stop,’ Richie said, almost begging.
‘Sorry.’ Eddie’s throat tightened again, and his fingers reached his waistline, as though there would still be a fanny-pack strapped there, only there wasn’t. He was nervous, more nervous than he had been in a long time, confused and almost frightened at the version of Richie which was currently presenting itself.
Richie frowned, something not making sense to him. ‘You heard the lyrics?’
Eddie considered lying, but he was too curious. His voice cracked like he was still pre-pubescent. ‘Yeah. They’re good. I liked the bridge.’
‘You found that too?’ Richie spluttered.
‘What?’ Eddie asked. ‘I mean the bridge of the song.’
Richie balked, ‘Oh.’ He slotted the book onto his shelf, then started patting at the back pockets of his jeans.
‘Rich?’
He swallowed. ‘Yeah?’
‘You can talk to me, you know,’ Eddie said, picking at the duvet as though it were a plain of grass. Richie just stared at him with that same perplexed look on his face, so he went on, ‘If you need someone to talk to about it, that is. You might already have talked to someone else,’ he said, shrugging, to try and dispel his premature envy.
Richie strained, ‘I haven’t. I haven’t talked to anyone about it.’
Eddie tried not to show his relief. ‘Why not?’
‘Well, I mean it’s,’ Richie blinked, ‘not exactly fucking easy.’
He nodded, ‘Yeah, I guess not.’
‘You guess not?’ Richie repeated incredulously.
Deciding to take a shot, Eddie shifted, ‘Well, yeah. She’s one of your best friends and she’s dating another one of your best friends.’
Richie’s eyes widened then slowly rolled. His eyelids hooded as he stooped to place the flat of his palms on the window sill. A disbelieving smile spread across his face and he huffed, ‘You think it’s about Bev.’
‘Yeah,’ Eddie said quickly, then his heart hardened as he toyed with the possibility that he had been wrong. ‘Are you saying that it isn’t?’
Eddie’s mind raced as he realised that if he was wrong about Bev, but Richie had still declared the subject of his song to be a best friend, then that meant there were five possible candidates for Richie’s affection, and they were all boys.
‘Oh, fuck,’ Eddie said, wiping the sweat from his palms on his thighs.
‘There it is,’ Richie sighed. ‘Penny’s dropped, has it?’
Reeling, Eddie climbed off the bed and paced, wringing his hands together. He had more questions rattling around his head than he could clutch hold of, like salmon jumping upstream and slipping through his fingers, like balloons rising up into the sky just out of his reach.
‘So,’ Eddie gulped, coming to a halt beside Richie at the window, not looking at him. ‘It’s not about Bev,’ was all he managed to say.
‘No,’ Richie affirmed, dropping his chin to his chest.
Eddie ran the lines of the chorus through in his head again. ‘Is it about Stan?’ he asked weakly.
‘Oh fucking sweet Jesus,’ Richie gasped, exasperated, standing up straight and turning to face him. ‘You are such a fucking idiot.’
‘I’m doing my fucking best here,’ Eddie snapped, but the tears were starting to sting in his eyes, as the doubts prickled in the back of his mind, creeping forwards like cockroaches in the dark of a sewer grate.
Frustrated, Richie reached for the book on his shelf, letting it fall open to the break in its spine, and slapped it down on the sill in front of Eddie. ‘Do better.’
Eddie read and re-read the lyrics on the page, peering through the scratches of crossed-out words and lines, at the notes made in the margins, at the chord names inked in red to stand out above the chosen stanzas.
He turned around with the book in his hand, searching for its author’s eyes to confirm the truth that screamed out from the pages. ‘Richie,’ he said quietly.
Richie met his gaze, and Eddie could see that there were tears in his eyes too. ‘What?’
‘I am a fucking idiot,’ Eddie whispered.
Rubbing his temple, Richie sighed, ‘No, you’re not. I’m the fucking idiot.’
Almost inaudibly, Eddie said, ‘You’re in love with me.’
‘It’s fucked up, I know,’ Richie said, then closed his eyes. ‘So please spare me the platitudes or the slurs or whatever it is you feel you need to say, because I really don’t think I can hear it. You can just go and I guess we’ll figure out which one of us gets custody of which Losers later.’
Eddie didn’t have anything to say. He was in shock. But he didn’t want to go, and his heart ached horribly as he considered what Richie was feeling, how confused and alone and desperate. So he did the only thing he could think of to do, which was to drop the book, approach his friend slowly, quietly, and hold him.
Reopening his eyes with surprise, Richie almost pushed Eddie away, so unprepared for the physical contact, the warmth. As Eddie’s squeeze tightened, drawing him closer, Richie let his arms drape over Eddie’s shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his breath skating past Eddie’s ear.
‘Don’t be,’ Eddie said, shuddering.
‘But I am,’ he insisted. ‘It’s fucking awful.’
Eddie’s knees buckled. ‘It’s not awful.’ He spread his hands up Richie’s back, feeling the heat of his skin through the cotton of his shirt.
‘It is,’ Richie sniffed, not knowing how to respond to Eddie’s kindness, his softness, when he had expected to never be touched by him again. ‘It’s so fucked. I’m so fucked.’
Pulling his head back far enough that he could see Richie’s in front of his again, Eddie clamped his hands on Richie’s face to stop it from dipping with shame. He hated to feel the moistness on Richie’s cheeks as the tears continued to spill, hated to see the devastated defeat in his cobalt eyes.
‘It’s okay, Rich,’ Eddie tried.
‘Do you hate me?’ he asked quietly.
Eddie’s heart froze into glass and shattered. He pulled Richie’s face nearer to his, so that their eyes were aligned, so Richie could see his sincerity. ‘Fuck no. No! Richie, I could never hate you. That’s fucking ridiculous. I – I –’ he stopped, as the tip of his nose grazed against Richie’s.
Richie inhaled sharply as he couldn’t help but notice that Eddie’s lips were closer than they had ever been to his before and couldn’t obstruct the invasive thought which flashed across his mind, that he only had to lean forwards another inch or so to close the gap between them and steal one of his wildest dreams into a reality.
Eddie felt Richie’s hands ball into fists and relax again, sliding to rest on each of Eddie’s shoulders. He saw the tautness appear and disappear in his jaw. He knew what Richie was thinking, unequivocally, but he didn’t move away.
He wasn’t sure why he didn’t, whether he was testing his own bravery or Richie’s, or if some feral curiosity wanted to take advantage of the situation, but he stayed there and gently swiped his thumbs through the tear tracks on Richie’s cheeks, allowing his eyes to flicker between Richie’s, his lips to part.
When Richie kissed him, Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, before he pushed him away, releasing their hold on each other, putting the distance back between them. Richie felt hollowed.
Eddie stared at him, one limb still protectively extended, quite literally keeping Richie at arm’s length. 'I have to go now,' he said quickly, and tried to get around him.
‘Fuck,’ Richie sighed, stumbling backwards, putting himself between Eddie and the door. ‘Fuck, I’m sorry, Eds, I’m sorry. Don’t go.’
‘Don’t call me Eds,’ Eddie pleaded, trying to reach for the door handle to the right of Richie’s hip.
Richie clamped his own hand on it. ‘Wait, wait. I’m sorry. Thought that you,’ he sighed, fighting to meet Eddie’s gaze. ‘I crossed a line. There was a line. I crossed it. Should have guessed that you would just be nice to me because you’re you and you’re always fucking nice to me.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Eddie retorted. ‘I’m a jerk to you.’ He meant it. Staying in that embrace might have been the worst position he could put Richie in, and he felt guilty as he listened to Richie’s rambling apologies, because he didn’t think it was his fault.
‘Can we forget that I did that?’ Richie asked.
‘No,’ Eddie whispered honestly.
‘Please?’ he begged, so desperate not to lose Eddie now. ‘I misread.’
Eddie swallowed, realising painfully that Richie didn’t misread at all. He’d waited for the kiss, daring him, wanting him to. That didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t supposed to think about Richie like that, to wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to let their lips touch.
‘Eddie?’ Richie stammered. ‘Have I fucked it?’
‘I don’t know.’
Richie removed the glasses from his face, carelessly throwing them to the floor so that he could rub his eyes with the calloused balls of his fingertips. ‘Fuck. I really am sorry.’ He dropped his hands. ‘I never would have done anything about it. I was never going to say anything.’
Eddie stared at him, at his gangly limbs and unruly hair, the patterned shirts and shoes with no socks. He stared at his clouded eyes and the freckles peppered across his cheeks, at his thick eyebrows and angular nose, his square jaw and his red, red lips. He looked at the glasses on the floor.
And through my coke-bottle glasses
I’ve seen and missed a thousand chances.
Panicking, Richie started to stream, ‘You weren’t supposed to hear it but then you did and I just was fucking frustrated because you still couldn’t tell how I fucking feel and I always think I’m being so fucking obvious and then you were here and you weren’t cursing me out about it or yelling at me or even just being freaked out or disgusted which was what I expected and I know I shouldn’t have expected those things because we are friends and you wouldn’t do that to me and then you were right there and fuck, I just got a little lost in it all and –’
‘Beep-beep, Richie,’ Eddie snapped suddenly, his hands trembling.
Richie felt like he’d swallowed his tongue. It had been years since somebody had beeped him to be quiet. It made him feel like he was thirteen years old again, careering along the kissing bridge with his friends, playing at the quarry or in their old hideout, smashing the buttons on a game of Street Fighter. With Eddie. Always with Eddie.
‘Let me,’ Eddie breathed, stepping closer to him, one arm reaching outwards.
Richie’s hand tightened on the door handle, believing that to be Eddie’s target, but he flinched when he felt Eddie’s hand push against his hip.
‘Eddie?’
‘Just shut the fuck up, okay?’ Eddie said quietly, bringing his other hand to mirror the first.
Richie’s heart strummed as, through his blurred vision, he watched Eddie’s feet slot between his own, watched the air between them narrow, watched Eddie’s face tilt slightly upwards towards his. Uncertain, since he felt he had jeopardised everything that he had ever shared with Eddie by kissing him before, he didn’t dare press their lips together. Yet, like a magnetic pull, he found his chin tilting downwards, leaning ever so slightly closer.
If Eddie had ever felt fear before, then the memories paled against how he felt as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Richie’s of his own volition. It consumed and exhumed him until he no longer knew where he was or whether his feet met the ground, and he could sense the corpuscles under his skin quivering like gooseflesh in the cold.
His eyelids squeezed underneath a furrowed brow, almost as though he were in pain, but he pushed his body up against Richie’s with such fervour that Richie was pinned against the door. When he started to pull away, only to snatch a breath, his half-closed eyes saw Richie chase after the kiss, drawing his hands to Eddie’s neck to pull him back. His heart spasmed.
Richie whimpered as his lips parted enough to allow Eddie’s tongue to slip into his mouth. He felt like his mind was quiet for the first time in his life, as he let sweet, dangerous joy trickle through him. He’d never felt so completely snug inside his skin as he did then, with his hands cupping the curve of Eddie’s collar, his knee hitching between Eddie’s thighs.
They slowed; they stopped. Their lips broke apart and hovered a hair’s breadth away, so that when Eddie opened his eyes, Richie’s face was so close that it split into a hazy Venn diagram, blending him together in the wrong places.
Richie wished that he was still wearing his glasses when Eddie stepped back and his face unfocused. He bit his lip, hard.
‘You’re trying not to talk, aren’t you?’ Eddie said quietly, and Richie nodded. Not knowing what else to do, Eddie bent down to the floor and picked up Richie’s glasses to hand back to him. Their fingers brushed together, static, as Eddie placed them in Richie’s unsteady grip.
His vision restored, Richie felt like the dream settled solidly into reality, and he stopped feeling the free delirium, replaced with a hard knot of unknowns. Eddie’s face was unreadable to him: flushed cheeks, lips smacked together, eyes slightly too wide, eyebrows steepled.
Eventually, Eddie broke the silence again. ‘I think I should go.’
‘What?’ Richie spluttered.
‘I should go,’ Eddie said again, more resolutely, stepping to reach for the freed handle, but Richie still stood in front of the door. Without looking at him, Eddie asked, ‘You gonna let me out now?’
Richie hesitated, then stepped aside. His heart dangled precariously in his throat as he watched Eddie leave and close the door behind him. He didn’t realise that he had been holding his breath until he exhaled heavily.
He scratched the crook of his arm as he wandered to the book splayed on the floor, still open at the song which he had written and unwittingly played for Eddie. He picked it up and put it back on the shelf, wondering which lyrics would have to be altered following that evening’s events. His brain boggled; confused, fascinated, and for the first time, hopeful.
Eddie watched him putting the book away from the driveway below, then mounted his bike and cycled home.