LIVE FAST | REDDIE

- 14 | LIVE FAST

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"So what's your story? I told you mine." Eddie threw his jacket onto the worn down post next to the door, kicking off his shoes. The little house was certainly bigger than what he had, and it owned two floors, but it was almost broken in a way. Richie walked with a purpose, so Eddie didn't stick around in one place for long. He followed him into another room. A messy bed sat in one corner, pieces of fabric all over the floor such as clothes and blankets. The room smelled like weed, but Eddie discovered there was a rather large stash of candy in the corner. He smiled a little bit as Richie turned on a television that he hadn't noticed, and decided the room had an overall homely feel.

"Mom's always out drinking, Dad's a terrible person who does nothing to stop it." Richie shrugged as if it made no difference to him, eyes blank. Eddie frowned, sitting down on the bed beside him and leaning back against the wall.

"Well, there's got to be more to it than that. Surely something started it, so something can stop it as well," he reasoned. Richie's gaze turned to him, and he tensed, swallowing thickly. The eyes that he had come to seek out were dark, filled with unrelenting anger and frustration. But it wasn't directed at Eddie.

"I started it," Richie said finally. "They couldn't afford a baby but they had one anyway. I guess this is just the stress catching up with them. It's been like this for years now, it's not going to change." He scowled, looking back at the television and getting up. Eddie watched him as he pulled a box of movies out from under his bed, sifting through them carefully.

"That's not your fault," Eddie mumbled. Part of him wanted to reach out, but he got the sense that Richie didn't exactly want to be touched at the moment, so he held back. The boy looked up at him with a sad smile, shaking his head.

"Right. Just like it's not your fault that your dad got sick. But it still feels like your fault, doesn't it?" Eddie's mouth fell opened while Richie set up the movie he chose, pressing play and throwing himself back onto the bed. "It sucks," he said after a few minutes of just the beginning credits playing in the background. "It sucks feeling like we do. But now we have each other. You and me, nobodies who are Somebody to each other. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie agreed immediately. He stared at Richie's hair, his wild curls, fingers itching to play with it. He hadn't played with anyone's hair in forever, not since his last sleepover with Mike and Stan. Stan always let him play with his hair because it was curly. But it would be weird to ask Richie, wouldn't it? He reached out hesitantly, and let his fingertips brush the very tips of his curls, moving them ever-so-slightly. Richie seemed to automatically relax, shifting closer before Eddie could even say anything until the boy's head was in Eddie's lap and the brunette's hands were buried in Richie's hair.

"Nobody has touched my hair in a long time," Richie mumbled, eyes focused on the screen. Eddie took a deep breath, beginning to slowly card his fingers through the curls that were surprisingly a lot softer than they looked. Despite their frizziness, they were unbelievably silky.

"What do you think happened to the Denbrough kid?" Richie asked suddenly. Eddie stopped moving for a moment until there was a whine and he started again, eyes wide.

"What do you think?" He countered casually, frowning. Richie sighed softly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Some hippie probably drugged him up at the party thinking it was funny and he OD'd. Not the poor kid's fault, he was 13, but he shouldn't have been taking shit from anyone." The suggestion sent a chill straight through Eddie. He shivered,  tugging at Richie's hair anxiously. He softened his movements so he wouldn't hurt him, curling a strand over his fingers and letting it bounce back.