My Girlfriends Brother || Reddie

Chapter Thirteen

The days following Eddie's midnight escape were quieter, but not in the way he had expected. The ache in his chest, a dull and constant reminder of everything he couldn't have, still lingered. Yet, there was something different, a tiny shift in his perspective. Sitting with Richie in that secret hideout, wrapped in his hoodie and laughing—however briefly—had cracked through the despair that had been suffocating him for weeks.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Eddie realized he was tired. Not just physically exhausted, but tired of the way his world seemed to orbit around Richie. Tired of feeling invisible and small. Tired of being trapped in a cycle of pain that left no room for anything else. He couldn't keep living like this. He had to try something new. Something for himself.

The next morning, Eddie woke up with a faint sense of purpose. He lay in bed for a few extra minutes, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation he'd had with Richie in the park. As much as he hated to admit it, that moment of honesty—and Richie's warmth, both literal and emotional—had given him a spark of something he hadn't felt in a long time. Hope.

But hope wasn't enough. He had to act on it.

Eddie got out of bed and stood in front of his mirror, taking in his reflection. His hair was a mess, his eyes still puffy from crying, and the hoodie Richie had given him was draped over the chair in the corner. He grabbed his comb and ran it through his hair, then splashed water on his face. It wasn't much, but it felt like the start of reclaiming himself.

At school, Eddie made a conscious effort to break free from the shell he'd built around himself. He stopped taking the long way to class to avoid Lexi and Richie, even though seeing them still hurt. Instead, he kept his head up, shoulders straight, and walked confidently through the hallways. He sat with Stan and Bill at lunch as usual, but this time, he didn't retreat into silence.

"So, Eddie," Stan said one day, raising an eyebrow as Eddie actually joined the conversation for once. "What's with the sudden confidence?"

Eddie shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Just tired of feeling sorry for myself, I guess."

Bill grinned. "W-we've been waiting for you to s-say that."

Stan smirked. "Does this mean you're finally ready to destroy me in Mario Kart again? I've been getting bored without any real competition."

"Bring it on, Uris," Eddie shot back, a spark of humor returning to his eyes. "You're going down."

Eddie's resolve wasn't without its challenges, though. Every time he saw Richie in the hallway, chatting with Lexi or joking with his friends, the ache in his chest flared up again. But he refused to let it control him. He'd force himself to look away, focus on something else, and remind himself that Richie wasn't the center of his world anymore. At least, he didn't have to be.

One afternoon, Eddie decided to take it a step further. After school, instead of heading straight home, he joined the art club. He'd always liked drawing, but he'd never given himself the chance to explore it seriously. The club was small, with only a handful of students, but it felt safe—a place where he could express himself without fear of judgment.

He quickly discovered that sketching helped quiet his mind. His favorite subjects were people, and he found himself drawing his friends, his sister, and even strangers he'd seen around town. One day, without even realizing it, he started sketching Richie. His fingers moved automatically, tracing the sharp lines of Richie's jaw, the messy hair, the glint in his eyes that was equal parts mischief and warmth.

When he finished, Eddie stared at the drawing for a long time. It hurt to see Richie staring back at him from the page, but it also felt cathartic. Folding the paper neatly, he tucked it into his sketchbook and moved on to his next piece.