ℳ𝓎 ℋℴ𝓂ℯ ／／ ℛℯ𝒹𝒹𝒾ℯ 𝒪𝓃ℯ𝓈𝒽ℴ𝓉𝓈

𝑵𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒑?

Tw: language, mention of drinking, mature?

꧁ ꕥ ꧂

Eddie's POV:

My eyes widen as the back of my right heel catches on something unknown, my vision blocked by the cotton button-up over my head. One of the buttons had snagged so I figured I'd try to put it on from the top. Not going very well.

I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation of the sickening thud from my back hitting the floor, glad that I didn't land on top of something, and that it's just me and Richie left in the house.

Though the downside of that is that we're running late. Yay.

I lie there for a second, questioning my seemingly insignificant choice that I made just moments earlier. And now I'm stuck here. Literally and figuratively.

"Need some help in there Eds?"

I pause for a second, about to make a snarky remark when I realize that I probably do need his help, even though he was probably joking or being sarcastic.

"Y-yeah."

Fuck- you had all that time to prepare a response and you fucking stutter? You sound so stupid, weak.

There's a few beats of silence before the handle on the door turns, scratching on the wood but not yet opening (inferring from the fact that the door didn't creak.).

"Are you sure Eddie?"

Eddie

"Please just get the fuck in here Rich. I'm stuck."

I can literally hear his smirk as he lets out a soft chuckle, the sound of his footsteps on the wood signifying him entering the bedroom.

"Oh Eds.." his voice is soft, grin lost and now replaced with a soft smile that I can picture, even with the sheer white fabric blocking my view.

His calloused hands find my soft ones, gently pulling me up from where I fell on the ground. One of his hands slides from mine to the small of my back to steady me, making me shiver.

I can feel heat run to my head, and to where his hand ran along my skin.

I hope he didn't feel my shudder.

He lets out a soft laugh when I finally get back on my feet, his hands slipping away but quickly being placed on my shoulders.

My face feels like it's on fire, but hey, I should do this more often.

I feel him tug lightly on the shirt, slowly sliding it down, before gently grabbing my wrist to guide it to my sleeve and then lets me take it from there.

He loosens a button on the top so that I can wiggle through, and when I finally get the shirt on, I breathe in relief, sighing from the stress. Yes, it was stressful.

When I take back my ability to focus, I notice his cheeks are painted with a dusty red, trying to suppress a smile.

Richie's POV:

I don't think he realizes it, but from the struggle, his hair is all messed up, spiky and unruly. His entire face is red, and his breathing is heavy and fast.

I don't know where I got the confidence from, but I step closer once again, and he stumbles back, a little startled.

The repressed grin on my face melts into a soft smile,

"Sorry Eds."

I slowly reach out with my right hand to his warm cheek, giving him time to back away, but instead he leans into the touch, the movement almost seeming to be subconscious.