𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

to regret, and all it may bring

Richie's body had a cold chill, a chill colder than usual - it was like expecting to walk into a hug, but getting greeted by a bitter coldness. His teeth clenched together out of habit, and he stood still. Mike had walked out of the room and swiftly shut the door, providing no further nuance to the unfortunate news he'd just given. Richie couldn't blame him - don't hate the messenger, hate the message. In this case, the message was like a rejection letter from your dream college, or like a message from your grandmother than your grandfather had passed away. His fingers felt bare, like they had been stripped of their skin - a punishing cold. A regretful one.

Regret.

He had an intimacy with the word regret. It was as if he were dating it, in an on and off relationship. He tried to escape it, his bags were packed, yet it's sharp claws clutched his ankles and pulled him back in. He couldn't get away. He was rotting in a grave of regret.

His eyes drifted to the door - he needed to go back in. The garage reeked of death, metaphorically. He looked back and the bike he'd previously knocked down. He swallowed and walked back inside.

Eddie had been sitting on the porch, despite it being damp from the rain. He'd been scrapping chips of faded paint off the floor with his nails, them being lined with it. He felt calmer now - maybe it was the wind that gently caressed his hands, or the fact that he felt embarrassment now, because when he stood up the back of his pants would likely be wet & Richie probably wouldn't be able to shut up about it. Maybe it was the leaves that strummed a tune like a woody acoustic guitar would, or maybe it was occasionally glancing upward and seeing the light shift through the windows from people walking back and forth.

Inside the house, there was a quiet murmur - Eddie could hear it even from the outside. He didn't know when he'd be going back in, but it wouldn't be now.

After several minutes, Eddie heard a creak from behind him and a soft gust of wind - it was Richie, walking in behind him. He felt the woodboards shift from the new pressure - Richie had sat down next to him, grabbing his hand gently. It felt pitifully soothing.

"You don't wanna come back inside?" Richie asked. "It's cold out."

No shit. I've been the one sitting outside in it for thirty minutes while you didn't even bother to check on me, Eddie thought.

"I just don't understand." Eddie said, quietly but sharper than the gust of wind that hit them, feeling like a cut to the skin.

"I don't understand why they would wait so long to tell us. They had our numbers. Just because we were gone, doesn't mean..." Eddie trailed off, realizing his words would have been contradictory to each other.

"He was your best friend." Richie said. His voice wasn't jealous, it was factual. "I'm sorry." He said, almost in a tone as if he was shocked.

Eddie looked back to him. "...For what? It's not your fault."

Richie's eyebrows furrowed a bit. He wasn't sure if that was true.