𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐧?| 𝐞 & 𝐫

It was long after the seven minutes passed. When they were 'done', the two sat inside the closet, smiling to themselves like absolute idiots. In a way, they were idiots.

The room was cold, and the off-white walls played with the golden-ish light from the over-head, steadily flickering lightbulb. Dull lighting seemed to be perfect for romantic encounters. It felt like a storage closet in a dingy and quiet library, where strangers become lovers, books were left unread and words were left unsaid. Or like a couple aside from a streetlight in the dark of the night, sharing a last kiss as one got on the taxi and the other regretfully waved goodbye.

Eddie gazed at Richie, who was staring at the floor, in an expression of euphoria. His hair, long and dark, fell down in front of his eyes, like a cloud of smoke masking his even more clouded judgement. His eyes traced the grout of the floor, examining the cracks and crevices of the worn tile their feet rested upon.

Eddie finally saw Richie's eyes, which seemed brighter than before. Richie laughed a bit, clearly having his mind on other things.

"Damn." Richie said.

"Yeah." Eddie said calmly, trying to hide the smile spread upon his face.

With the break of silence, Eddie felt the feelings come back to him.

No one ever mentions how painful the feeling of love is. The burning sensation that sends your heart pounding and your stomach turning, like the sea tossing sailor's ships about. The tightening of the throat, accompanied by coughs to ease the tension. The drunkenness, the sweet ecstasy that makes you lose all sorts of critical thinking. Your face getting warmer, and feeling as if tears could come from your eyes if you couldn't get it together.

However, the pain only lasts for a few seconds. Preceding it comes the relief. The break of the wave. The redolence, where the tears go away or they stream down your cheeks in satisfaction. The feeling of fresh air flooding your senses, and realizing that sometimes, the things that don't make sense can be the most beautiful. Love is really one of the purest forms of manipulation.

"What are we, Eddie? Are we just two people who need to get their shit together?" Richie said, with a laugh.

Eddie laughed a bit, too. "Yeah, I guess we are." He said, giving into the smile.

"But really." Eddie continued, but he didn't know where to start.

There was something pure about this. An unadulterated, authenticity to how this situation could turn out.

They both had a feeling pain would follow, either way, but it didn't matter.

"Do you think this could work out?" Richie said, steering the conversation.

Eddie didn't answer yet - he was deep in thought.

He thought about everything - about the letters. About the accident. About their friendship.

"Come on. I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me that this is gonna work." Richie said, knowing this question was more in jest than seriousness. It obviously wouldn't work out. And it'd be foolish to entertain the notion that it would. But god, it'd be fun.

"No. It won't," Eddie started, half serious, half joking.

"But I don't really care." He finished.