mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 36

"W-W-We can uh-uh-uhdopt you," Bill suggests.

Richie shrugs, his body weak and exhausted from the day's events. His arms are crossed tightly over the front of himself, as if hes guarding his heart from being prodded at by yet another person. "It doesn't matter. It's not- It's not- I don't think you can, Bill."

"We can t-t-try," Bill says persistently.

Richie shakes his head, staring down at his leg bouncing up and down on the couch with impatience. The fabric of his jeans is ripped at the knee, threads criss crossing all across his skin in a disorganized manner. Richie reaches down and slowly starts picking at the fabric, only for his hand to be slapped away by Beverly.

"Stop fidgeting," she comments, motherly as always.

"Then give me a fucking cigarette," Richie replies with a distant tone.

They sit in Bill's basement, the only place that Richie can really go without having to explain anything to overbearing parents. Mike suggested they go to Stan's, but Richie quickly shot the idea down. Stan Uris is a boy who worries about everything to the point of giving himself stomach ulcers, Richie's afraid that the Jew just might damn near have a stroke if he were to hear about the current situation.

The basement door opens, followed by a clatter of footsteps descending the long hallway. Well, a pair of footsteps, and then a kickdrum setting off in time with the beat of Richie's heart. One sounds like a pair of shoes, a regular old pair of shoes, while the other sounds like a ballerina symphony calling his name.

Richie looks up to greet the two new guests, Mike and Eddie finally making their way to the Denbrough household after stopping at the convenience store to get snacks for everyone. Richie denied this, claiming he wasn't feeling hungry, but Eddie gave him that kind of look that can get him to do just about anything. So Richie nodded, told him he'd pay Eddie back, then kissed the boy on the forehead as he mounted himself in the basket of Mike's bicycle. Nobody has spoken a word of the blatant affection that the two boys are sharing, there's a much bigger issue than whether or not two of the losers are gay together.

Even now, when Eddie chooses to ignore the empty seat that Bill left open next to Richie, and the tiny one instead opts for bringing himself up onto Richie's lap, tucking his feet between Richie's thighs to warm them up from the cold outside, nobody says anything. Richie takes notice of the ducks decorating Eddie's socks, and he smiles a little at the sheer absurdity of it. Still, even then, he fastens his arms around Eddie's torso and rests his chin upon the heavenly shoulder. Mike passes out snacks, making small talk with Beverly about the road block set up on fourth street to avoid car crashes that could occur while descending the hill.

None of it seems important. Stupid Derry and its stupid fucking hills, stupid fucking road blocks, stupid fucking downtown traffic. It's all meaningless, none of it matters. We're all going to die eventually. Why don't I just... die now? I could die now and it wouldn't change a thing. Not a damn th-

Richie's train of thought is cut short by the feeling of warm lips being pressed to his temple. His eyes flutter upwards, and he is brought back to reality by the sight of Eddie, the tiny one holding up a bag of chips.

"Here, eat," Eddie says encouragingly, holding his own snack on his lap.

Richie looks at the bag of food for a moment, his eyes glancing over the nutritional facts label and counting the calories per serving, but then his gaze returns to the resting place they have decided to call home; locked with Eddie's own hazel sweet eyes.

So, without thinking it over much further, Richie takes the bag of chips and leans back so that he can eat them without hovering over Eddie. He thinks that this boy really can get him to do just about anything, it's a little alarming just how much of himself he gives up and surrenders in the name of Kaspbrak.