Half The World Away

Its A...

The last few weeks of JULY had been strange for Richie. He was now aware he and Eddie had almost kissed, and so things were awkward. Neither of them wanted to make the first move, and their calls about baby stuff only lasted around 10 minutes each. Richie was hating it. Not only had he had the Eddie Thing to deal with, but he had discovered a new fear of his. For Richie, abandonment and loneliness had been a huge fear, but this new one felt worse than the others. Growing up, Richie had always been extremely close to his parents. He adored and constantly wanted to be around his mom, and his dad was his best friend. One night, one of the nights he wasn't visiting and staying at their place, it had dawned on him that his parents were getting old. His mom was turning 71 in December, and then his dad was turning 71 the day Richie was turning 41. Richie had a fear of his parents dying. He did not want to be without them, and he hated how dependant he was on them.

"How're you feeling?" Maggie asks one particularly hot day, walking into her sons room. He had woken up in the night projectile vomiting (due to a deadlight dream, but she didn't know that) and he was currently lying in bed, sweaty and pale. Richie just groans in response and closes his eyes once more, Maggie chuckling to herself." You want mommy to make you soup?"

"Yes please." Richie whispers in response, opening up one eye to be greeted with a kind smile from his mother, who was in a beautiful white summer dress. Richie loved his moms soup. She was a professional chef after all.

"Comin' right up, bubs." Maggie says, Richie flashing her a tired smile. She smiles back and turns to leave, but she's stopped when she hears a whiny," mom!" from Richie.

"Richard." Maggie response, looking over her shoulder at him.

"I love you." Richie yawns.

"I love you too." His mom responds with a wide smile before walking off to make the soup. Richie groans as he gets out of bed, his limbs feeling heavy and achy. He wraps his comforter around himself and walks to the living room, flopping onto the couch as his dad sits in an armchair and watches TV.

"Still not feeling great?" He asks his son, who whines and shakes his head, turning onto his side and pulling the comforter up and over his shoulder, squinting to look at the blurry view of the TV." Oh wow, so articulate with your words today, aren't you Richard? Nothing says, 'I love you dad' like cleaning up the floor of your 40 year old sons bedroom because he projectile vomited everywhere, not forgetting to add, whilst his mother has to calm him down because he's hysterically crying."

"Sorry." Richie mumbles.

"It's fine. I've been scrubbing up your sick for 40 years, there's no point in stopping now, is there?" Wentworth says with a grin as Richie tiredly glances at him, face serious for once." Nothing will beat the time from when you were about six and you fell asleep in the car and I was carrying you into the house and you threw up all down my back. Y'know, I would have thought that you'd have grown out of the being sick when you're not ill thing by the time you were at least 8, but of course, you happened to inherit your mothers weak stomach."

"Stop abusing me." Richie groans, sitting up a little bit.

"How am I-

"Homophobic!"

"I MET YOUR MOTHER AT A FREE LOVE PROTEST HOW AM I-

"Shut up and let me sleep you old git!" Richie yawns, closing his eyes and snuggling further under his comforter.

"Madge, he's bullying me again." Wentworth says as his wife walks into the room, soup for Richie in hand. She playfully rolls her eyes with a smile and sits down on the spot beside her son. Richie sits up and turns so his back is leaning against his mother's shoulder as he takes the soup from her.