No One But You ✔️ Reddie

Twenty

As Richie unpacked his bags later that evening, he wondered how he'd ended up in this situation. In the neighbouring room, Eddie was flushing unnecessary medications down the toilet, medications that his wife, like his mother before, had insisted he request prescriptions for, that he finally remembered he didn't need. He heard a knock at his door.

'What's with all the flushing, man? The noise of the pipes is giving me a fucking headache.' Richie complained as the door swung open, his eyes hanging heavy with sleep deprivation, the hangover creeping in unprecedentedly early. 

Eddie handed him a bottle of aspirin that he'd yet to throw away. 'I'll stop.' Shifting his weight, he asked, 'How are you doing?'

'About as well as you'd expect,' Richie said honestly. 'One of my best friends is dead. I'm probably going to get killed by a clown tomorrow. You're –' he started, unable to choose the words which best fit the end of that sentence. In danger. Probably going to die too. Married to a woman. The person I'm most angry at on the planet. Not in love with me and maybe you never were.

'Here.' Eddie finished for him.

'Yeah,' Richie sighed.

Eddie opened the door wider. 'Do you want to come in?'

Richie hovered, but ultimately crossed the threshold. He looked across the room and saw that Eddie had brought too many bags, even by his standards. He saw the open, empty canisters of medicine and raised an eyebrow at Eddie.

'Gazebos,' Eddie said, rolling his eyes, feeling stupid. 'Again.'

Richie recalled meeting Myra suddenly. The thought made him laugh as he crashed down onto Eddie's bed. 'You know, it's a shame I didn't get to spend more time with your wife.'

Eddie's face screwed up. This was an odd thing for Richie to have said. Delicately, he squeezed onto the bed beside Richie.

Richie went on, 'She's so much like your mom, we probably would have a raw sexual chemistry that—'

Eddie hit him. 'Gross, Richie. Gross on a whole new, twisted level.'

'That's my sweet spot.' Richie bragged. Then he rocked onto his side, so he could look at Eddie properly. 'Seriously though, what are you doing?'

Eddie immediately jumped on the defensive. 'The fuck is that supposed to mean? Which are you attacking now, huh? My dead mom, my fat wife or my boring job?' He twisted away, 'Fuck you, Richie.'

Richie pulled him back around. 'Look, for once, I'm not trying to be a dick. I just want to know if you're happy, Eds. That's all.'

Eddie softened, his heart aching. 'Don't call me Eds,' he said. Reflex reaction. He didn't feel ready for Richie's question, so he deflected it back. 'Are you happy?' he scoffed.

Richie threw his head back, 'No!' he laughed. 'My life is a fucking mess. Okay? You go.'

Eddie squirmed. 'I'm not unhappy,' he said, then he squinted, 'I think.' In truth, he didn't feel much of anything most of the time. The few hours he'd spent in Derry again had explored more emotional range than he had reached in the last decade, but at least he didn't spend his life afraid. 

'So, you're not happy then.' Richie concluded.

'It's easier, Richie.' Eddie said, growing exasperated and tired. 'It's normal. It's quiet. There are no killer clowns. Didn't know that'd have to be an explicit requirement in my life, but here we are.'

'Pennywise is not the worst thing that's happened to us.' Richie said, but it wasn't really aimed at Eddie. It was a realisation he'd just come to about himself but couldn't hold onto.