serendipity {sequel to pop} || reddie

dix-sept

The day is waning. Once the day is over, it means Richie can go home. But it seems like he's the only one that wants to, and that won't work, not without Eddie. To say that he was upset would be the understatement of the year; and yet, it's a strange kind of upset. He's upset in a way that involves disbelief, and thus invokes numbness. This numbness is amplified by Richie's natural tendency to shut down, and so he's left sitting on the shitty hotel bed, staring into the middle distance with unfocused eyes and an unfocused mind.

But Richie isn't scared of death. He's scared that he will live and Eddie won't.

The very person plaguing Richie's mind is what pulls him out of it. Richie feels Eddie's weight appear beside him on the bed, then he feels Eddie's hand on his shoulder, and then Eddie's head replaces his hand, which slides down to Richie's back. Eddie smells good, which isn't surprising. Richie knows the exact soaps and products Eddie uses, because those were the only ones that he would use. Watermelon.

Eddie sighs a little. "Are you okay?" He asks, which, at the moment, is a loaded question.

"I'm fine." Richie replies. He isn't, of course, and Eddie knows that.

"I guess I should rephrase that." Eddie snakes an arm around Richie's front, meeting his other hand in the back to form a loose embrace. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Can't predict the future, Eds." Richie says. The nickname is playful, but his tone isn't; it's tense, almost curt.

"Everyone's downstairs, talking." Eddie tells him. "We should go join them."

"I don't want to do that." Richie shakes his head a little, and he feels Eddie's neatly-combed hair brush against his neck.

"I know." Eddie traces patterns on Richie's back with one finger. "If you come downstairs," He begins. "I'll suck your dick later."

Richie laughs once through his nose, a small smile spreading onto his face. "Uh-huh. When's later?"

"After we kill the interdimensional space mist, I guess." Eddie answers.

"Okay." Richie says. "I'm holding you to that."

Richie's a little more grounded now, a little less numb. Eddie knows knew how to do that, how to melt his ice a little. It was understandable; after all, Eddie owns a PhD in counseling. Fitting that Richie would marry a therapist.

Eddie laughs a little. "Alright. Wanna go down now?"

"Fine." Richie relents.

Eddie brings his head back up, giving Richie a quick peck on the cheek. Richie turns his head towards Eddie, meeting him in a kiss. Eddie brings his hand up to the side of Richie's face. He gives it a light pat, then a bit harsher of a pat as he pulls away, bordering on a smack.

"Ow." Richie complains as Eddie stands up off the bed.

"You like it." Eddie smiles at him, offering his hand. Richie takes it, and Eddie pulls him up off the bed with strength that would be surprising to anyone who didn't know him. "Come on."

The slow walk down the stairs carries an inexplicable sense of doom for Richie. It feels like he's walking towards his execution. In that situation, he supposes, Eddie would be the executioner.

Mike is the first one to greet them. "Hey, Rich! Hey, Eddie! Come join us." He's grinning like everything is normal, like they're just having some fucking high school reunion or something, and for some reason that makes Richie angry.

But he lets Eddie drag him towards the others anyway, easily slipping into the conversation, which is, of course, about It.

"So, last time," Beverly says, holding a glass of red wine in her thin hand. "We had tokens. Right? Do we need more?"