𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄 / 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

ᴅɪᴇᴄɪꜱÉɪꜱ

Richie has no fucking idea what to do.

He sits outside the bathroom for what feels like hours, begging Eddie to open the door, to let him in, and let him help, in any way he possibly can. But Eddie is so damn stubborn- or maybe he's officially had enough- and he flat out refuses, and even stops responding to Richie after a while, no matter how many times Richie says his name. When Eddie finally emerges he's quiet, with no trace of any tears, no smell of vomit- even though Richie heard him gagging several times in there- and he doesn't say a word.

Now it's time for bed, and Richie is flat on his back on the far right of Eddie's full size mattress, and he starts to think that maybe he should offer to sleep in the spare room. He's fucking terrified to say anything, though, as Eddie enters the room, clad in a soft-looking shirt and dark sweats, his eyes downcast as he switches the light off. He slides into the bed, turning on his side, facing away from Richie- and he hates to admit it, even to himself, but it hurts a little bit, because all Richie wants to do is hold him, and comfort him, and tell him that everything is going to be okay.

Getting to sleep seems impossible with all his thoughts whirling around, centered on the boy beside him. If Richie was braver, he'd roll over and scoop Eddie up in his arms, hug him and tell him he loves him, that he's not going to let anything happen to him- but he's a coward, and he's not sure Eddie won't shove him away, or kick him out of the room, and then he'll have to sleep in the spare room, alone, wanting so badly to be next to Eddie. So he keeps to himself, slowly slipping into a dream filled with dark tunnels, and school, and Eddie standing on the opposite side of a long, pitch black hall, illuminated in a narrow beam of light, yelling something at him across the darkness, but Richie can't hear what he's trying to say.

Something jolts Richie awake- a sound, and movement, the bed dipping a little as he blinks his eyes open and squints to the left, peering through the darkness to see Eddie sitting up against the headboard. Richie turns over- he ended up with his back to Eddie at some point- and he notices that the desk chair is wedged under the door handle, an obstacle for anyone attempting to break into the room.

"Eds?" He says groggily, reaching out and gently touching Eddie's knee. "Whas goin' on?"

Eddie exhales unsteadily, then says, "There was a noise downstairs." He pauses, pulls his legs in closer to himself. "I um, I went and checked. It's nothing."

Richie stares up at him, looking closely at the slight tremble of Eddie's lip, the heaviness of his eyes- it's a look he's seen before, plenty of times, when Eddie's scared and trying his best to hide it. He hates that look; Eddie should never be that terrified of something. He can't hold back- he lifts his left arm up in invitation, says, "Come here," as softly as he can, and Eddie only hesitates for a second before he's crawling under the covers and plastering himself to Richie's side. His fingers curl in Richie's shirt, resting on his abdomen, and he sets his head down on Richie's shoulder; Richie drapes his arm over Eddie's back, and starts to run his fingernails down and along Eddie's spine, stopping once he reaches the dip, and he splays his hand out over the warmth seeping through the cotton shirt Eddie is wearing. Maybe Richie's dreaming- yeah, he's got to be- because this is what he's been wanting ever since the night in the motel room, when he got his first real taste of having Eddie this way, and he can't imagine how it could possibly be happening again. "Now you're okay with snuggling, huh?" he mumbles drowsily, eyes already sliding closed once again, to slip away into another strange dream. "But last weekend, when I wanted to, you told me to fuck off."

Eddie huffs, his warm breath puffing over Richie's neck, sending little tingles all through his skin. "I didn't say that. I told you to turn on the heater."