whoa, baby! | reddie

- seven

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❝ i'm a ghost with the most, babe. ❞

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Richie finished lunch at 1:00, and the snow was starting to look like it might prove an issue on his quest.

He walked out of the café with intentions to head straight to his final destination— and stopped in his tracks halfway down the main street, staring up at a sign that hung over the door of a dusty old pawn shop.

It should not have been opened in this weather— but Richie pushed the door opened.

The bell rang in his memory more loudly than in did in his actual ears.

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Derry, Spring of 1994

It was admittedly childish to play with something before you bought it. But Richie had never been the type of person that people would say acted 'mature' for his age.

Eddie, on the other hand...

This was a surprise coming from him.

Richie crouched behind the legs of an old desk, dating back to the whatever-hundreds were old enough to make it worth the number on the price tag, and held the small walkie-talkie he had discovered up to his mouth, excitement causing his heart to pound.

"Trashmouth to Spaghetti— Spaghetti, do you copy? Over."

Then he waited, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing. He pressed himself further backwards and under the desk as the brunet himself rounded the corner, prowling, stepping carefully through the rows of old items for sale.

"Roger that, Trashmouth." Richie frantically shushed the volume on his walkie as Eddie's voice floated into his ears without the help of the device "I'm looking for you now. Over." Richie waited until he was at the other end of the aisle and uttered a soft, excited "Richie?" into the contraption, then disappeared around the corner.

"You'll never find me," He said, feeling giddy and light. "But I'm going to get you." Richie heard Eddie's giggle as he squeezed out from under the desk, sneaking along the shelves and diving behind an old bike as Eddie's footsteps grew near again.

"How can you be so sure?" The teen asked. Richie held his breath as the feet stopped right in front of him. All Eddie had to do was lean over the edge of the junk piled up beside him and he would be looking down at his target.

"Richie?" Eddie said, and the boy turned his walkie off so Eddie wouldn't hear it, biting his lip to contain his laughter. "You're not talking because I'm close," Eddie realized aloud. "I would hear you if you tried to say anything." His feet turned and the boy they belonged to began wandering around the general area. "I've got you now."

No, I've got you, Richie thought, shifting around the edge of his protective wall and staring at where Eddie stood with his back facing him. Light filtered in through the front windows of the shop and when Eddie turned around it framed him— almost making him look as though he had an airy glow about him. His hair was a little bit messy— and he was smiling, clutching the walkie to his chest with a fierce, nervous grip. He looked almost angelic. And God help me, Richie thought, I love you.