mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 22

The front door slams shut and Richie stands there for a moment more, waiting for Henry to come back in and punch him until he can't feel his face anymore. But then, the Camaro starts up, its muffler bleeds, and Richie listens as Henry Bowers tears through the neighborhood at illegal speeds.

Richie sighs and shakes his head, turning around to return to the kitchen. He begins to put the groceries away with a lack of care. If his parents were home, his mother would throw a fit about whether vegetables can go in the fruit drawer and vice versa. But because there is a cute boy waiting for Richie up in his room, Rich really can't find a moment to care about where he puts the green peppers.

As Richie turns around to put a bunch of bananas on the counter, he's met with a tiny figure standing in the doorway of the kitchen, small hands resting against the oak frame with a certain delicateness that comes from fauna in woodland areas.

"Oh, Eds," Richie exhales, then remembers that Eddie could have heard the entire conversation that he confessed to Henry Bowers. "Eds. How long have you been standing there?"

"Just came down," Eddie says, then frowns. "Why the fuck are you- Why are you- You-"

Richie raises his eyebrows and puts on an auctioneer voice. "Step right up, step right up! This piece is an authentic, one-of-a-kind tongue of 15 year old Eds Kaspbrak! Caught by yer local kitty cat, dragged in from the lands of Derry! DoIhearuhhh 100? 100 ova there to that foine gent, do I hear uhh 200? 200? 200 to the lady with the massive breas-"

"Beep beep," Eddie spits out, glaring at Richie. "What the fuck were you doing with Henry Bowers? Are you- Are you friends? You're friends with the asshole that beats the shit out of me on a daily? Are you serious, Richie? I told you about how he... he... I thought- I thought I could trust you."

"Eds-" Richie begins.

"Don't fucking call me that!" Eddie shakes his head, his petite hands curling into fists by his sides. "Eddie! Eddie! Is that so fucking hard?"

Richie puts his hands up in defense, having to physically swallow another Voice from coming up. He's nervous, and when he's nervous, he performs.

"Eddie," Richie says softy, taking a step towards the boy. When Eddie doesn't push him away, he lets his hands gently rest on the sides of Eddie's cheeks. "I'll tell you everything. I swear. Come on, go wait upstairs."

Eddie opens his mouth to object, almost demanding that he goes home instead of listening to fabricated stories, but then he looks at Richie and sees a bit of that vulnerability that is considered a rarity for people like Rich.

"Okay," Eddie nods, pushing Richie's hands off his face. "This better be good."

Eddie begins climbing the stairs, and Richie smiles as he watches the boy's shirt untuck from his shorts, exposing a strip of tanned skin over the small of his back. He can hear Henry's voice calling him a poof, yet his only thought is Fuck yeah I am.

Richie finishes up the groceries quickly, and as soon as everything is put away, he's climbing the stairs two at a time to get to Eddie faster. As expected, the boy is in his room, but he's focused on the vinyl collection stacked on the bookshelf next to Richie's desk.

"Lot of oldies," Eddie says, then traces his fingers over the spines of Richie's modern collection. "Lot of new stuff, too."

"Little bit of both," Richie shrugs. "Do you want to listen to anything?"

"I'm starting to fancy tapes more," Eddie says, followed by him batting his wide eyes and saying in a feminine voice "They're groovy."

"God, the sixties called, they want their word back," Richie rolls his eyes.