Wait For It || Reddie ✔️

three

TW: homophobia

Back outside in the heat, Richie tied the loops of the plastic back to his handlebars. The cashier had to double bag it due to its weight, and it was proving to be more difficult than Richie anticipated.

"Fuck," he muttered, visibly growing more frustrated. The bag fell with its weight against the wires of his bike, and as Eddie unhelpfully pointed out, with motion the bag will tear. "Too bad Mike didn't come with us. Imma rob him of his basket one day."

"Here, Rich, just give it to me," Eddie said, stretching out his hand and motioning for Richie to relent the bag to him.

"No," Richie said, shaking his head. "Look! Volià!" He looked over at Eddie, who looked very unconvinced. "Stop dogging on me!" he whined as he hopped back onto his bike.

"No one's dogging on you!" Eddie, already sat on his own bike, waited for Richie to push off down the sidewalk before following. "I hate it when you use that phrase, you know. Sounds.. weird."

"Ben says it sounds made-up."

"Did you make it up?"

Richie's shoulders bunch. "I don't fucking think so!"

"Well, if Ben says it is.."

"Shut it, Eds!"

Eddie giggled, dipping his chin as he rode behind Richie. The sun sat high in the sky and it was during these times Eddie became hyper-aware of his gratitude towards the vast amount of trees in Derry. They were round and full, their leaves shimmering gold and white in the sunlight, flowing with the breeze. The sidewalks he and Richie glided down were shaded with kaleidoscope shadows, ones that rolled down Richie's back at a quick pace. Eddie watched delightedly, seeing how the breeze opened Richie's tacky Hawaiian button-up and curled his hair back. Nearly to the patch of woods that held the secret bunker, Eddie could feel his heartbeat high in his chest, close to the point of choking him. Half of it was from the pedaling and the heat, and the other half summoned only when he looked at Richie, who was slowing to a stop.

"Why are we.." Eddie began, confused, but that blindfold quickly fell when his attention caught onto a car up ahead, stopped at a red-light before an intersection they were meant to cross. Eddie pushed out a tight sigh. "Bowers."

To their left was a high stone wall, decoratively lined with bushes. A joke popped into Eddie's head, featuring Richie and his mother's rose bushes from the previous hour, but the light turned green and the car jolted forward before turning down the street they were on.

The stressed tension built up with each foot the mustard yellow car passed. Richie tried to pedal away, but his foot rested too poorly and he slipped when he tried to bike, the worn down plastic scraping a thick white gash into his calf.

Just then, the engine roared and the car came speeding up. Eddie watched in silent horror as a window rolled down and Patrick stuck his head out, a devilish grin showing his teeth. "Hey butt-bumpers," he yelled out. He looked as though he was going to say more, but he began to laugh and reeled back into the interior of the car as it drove away.

Richie went rigid. Eddie, still gathering himself, threw a scared look over to him.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Richie muttered, looking down at his leg. "My fuckin' leg hurts, though."

"Let's hurry," Eddie offered, casting a glance over his shoulder, just seeing how the car took another right, and if Eddie was correct, they'd be circling around at any minute. Richie nodded and fumbled with his bike.

It wasn't very often Eddie saw Richie rendered speechless. It happens very, very rarely. Like once when Beverly clapped back with a joke of her own that was so clever, so deliciously funny Richie could only look back at her with disbelief. And, occasionally, Richie will forget his young age and push the boundaries set in place by his parents. Curfews were a suggestion to him, and it doesn't help that his parents are lax enough to rarely enforce them. But, when they do it never fails to make Richie quiet with confusion.

By the time they reach the dense forested part of Derry, steering off paved sidewalks and onto uneven territory, the scratch down Richie's calf began to blot with blood. A few yards from the bunker where the other bikes were haphazardly piled onto one another is where Eddie made Richie lean against a tree while he dug around in his fanny pack.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes," Eddie said. "Unless you want to get an infection."

"Lemme just pour some battery acid on it and it'll be fine."

Eddie's head snapped up in shock and disbelief and all Richie could do was dissolve into a fit of snorting laughter. "I'm just kidding. Do what you need to do, Dr. K."

"Thank you."

Eddie worked in diligent silence as he sprayed disinfectant onto a cotton pad and dapped Richie's leg, ignoring how it flexed and winced at the stinging pain. The voices of their friends rose out from the wooden trapdoor that was propped open. Richie's eyes darted from Eddie in front of him to the trapdoor, to the canopy of trees above them. He didn't know where to look or how to act, as his body felt awkward and uncomfortable at every angle. He rested against the tree as Eddie dapped at his flesh cut, then stood all his weight onto one foot as Eddie peeled open band-aids. When that proved to be worse, he opted back for leaning against the trunk.

"All done," Eddie said as he smoothed down the last flap of a band-aid. He only put two where the pedal dug into his skin the deepest.

"I can't get a kiss to top it off?" Richie asked, a boyish smile on his face. When Eddie's facial expressions twisted, with horrifying clarity the memory of Bowers flashed across his mind. "N-Never mind," Richie quickly sputtered out. "Stupid joke. It was meant for your mom."

Eddie's expression fell flat. "You're so annoying," he said, getting up and repackaging his fanny. "Was the joke or the kiss meant for my mom?"

"The kiss, obviously."