Punk Losers vs The Living Dead

Nausea or Nerves, Eds?

Eddie did not like cemeteries. The last time he was here, in Derry's Everygreen Cemetery, was when he was five. His Father was buried just up the hill, under one of the graveyards many willow trees. He'd guessed it was supposed to be poetic but with the amount of trees to gravestones it just seemed tacky.

He hiked his thin frame onto some poor schlubs slanted headstone with a sigh. The cool air around him grew smokey indicating his Trashmouthed friend wasn't too far away.

"Eds, my dear, you're missing the party. It's a few headstones down."

Richie's face was only a few inches behind Eddie's now. His long thin fingers pulled at the black beanie on Eddie's head, exposing a fluff of chestnut waves with a single stripe of red.He slung his lanky arms around Eddie's shoulders, a cigarette dangling in front of his nose.

"I have asthma, douche face."

Eddie threw his friends arms away before crossing his own. Ignoring how adorable Richie looked in his hat, black curls glued to his sharp cheek bones, was a Herculean feat he was barely pulling off.

"Shit, my bad Spaghetti. I'm a little tipsy."

With his apology came a spare inhaler Richie carried in his jacket pocket at all times in case of situations such as these. Eddie smacked it away, jumping off his seat.

"M'fine. Just be careful, fucker."

Richie's footing wavered in front of his friend as if he were one of those damned trees, ready to fall and crush Eddie.
With a sigh the shorter man pushed his friend back onto the headstone. In the background her could hear his other friends laughter, shouting and The Misfits 'Mommy Can I go out and Kill Tonight' playing at an obnoxious level.

"Guess, Mike brought booze and the boom box?"

"Yeah, that trench coat really comes in handy. He and Stan are flirt-arguing over it right now."

At the mention of it, Eddie's ears could pick up the conversation of the two.

"That is too loud, Michael!"

"Stanley, have a drink and kindly remove the dildo from your ass."

"It's literally loud enough to wake the dead."

"You know you love it, dear."

Eddie couldn't help but let out a reserved chuckle. More of a puff of air that hissed through his lips.

"I think they've been around us too long."

Richie's smirk morphed into a full on  sloppy smile at this.

"So you admit you flirt with me, Spaghetti Man?"

Eddie could feel his entire body turn to fire as he registered what he'd implied.

"No, shut up. I'm not gay, Trashmouth. And neither are you."

Richie's smile wavered. He'd wished he was drunker so he wouldn't have to remember this tomorrow.

"Says you."

He managed to mumble before jumping off the grave and heading back to the group.

"Rich, wait!"

Eddie found himself calling as he followed.

...

Ben's eyes sprung open as his chest forced a rough cough out his mouth. He brought a shaky hand to his head as he took a look at his surroundings. It took a moment for him to recall the events before his black out.

Burt let out a loud groan as he regained consciousness.

"Fuck, are you ok, kid?" He asked with a new rasp to his voice.

Ben managed to get up, but it took all his strength to help his Uncle up too. They stood there for a second, finding it hard to breathe, before both leaning onto a nearby wall.

Ben peered into the container to find whatever body had been there appeared to have dissolved into a can of goo. It reeked.

"What an ungodly stank!"

"Where's the body?" Burt inquired, eyes still closed.

"I think it melted. Dissolved once it hit the air."

"Well hurry up and close the lid, just in case."

"The smell. I think I'm gonna be sick. It's in my nose!"

That's when they heard it. It was far away but unmistakable. The barking and whining of dogs carried from the main floor down to the basement.

"Do we have dogs, Uncle Burt."

The look on Burt's face made the hair on Ben's neck stand at attention.

"Only dead ones."

...

Richie, come one. Wait up."

Eddie chased his friend through the crowd of Losers as they drunkenly danced around a standing monument of an Angel. She was on her knees, cement hands covering her face implying her sorrow. Richie grabbed the bottle of whiskey away from it's company of beers, still walking briskly.

Eddie could feel his lungs tighten, but understood it was probably due to the homophobic panic he was currently experiencing and not his possible(but if he was being honest probably bogus) asthma. Still the thought sparked a desperate, if not sinister, idea in his brain.

"C-can't breathe. R-rich!" He called, falling backwards. For good measure he called his friend again through fake gasps.

It took milliseconds for Richie to double back. He rushed to his friends side, considerably more sober than he'd been a few minutes ago. The whiskey ditched a few steps away.

"Eds? Eds, it's ok. I'm here."

He cradled Eddie's head in his lap, digging out the inhaler he carried. He brought it to Eddie's lips and watched as his friend breathed in. The gasping stopped. His chest began to rise and fall at a reassuring level.

"Oh, thank fuck, Eds."

Eddie hated to admit how nice it was to have his head in Richie's lap. His fingers caressing his cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"About what I said. I'm sorry if sounded mad or-"

"Disgusted. The word your looking for is disgusted."

Eddie shot up at this. His hands finding their way to Richie's shoulders.

"No. No. Not that. Not disgusted," his heart was beating a mile a second as he noticed the way Richie leaned in to him. His bulky glasses traveled down the bridge of his freckled nose in a way that was undeniably cute. Eddie took a small breath. Was he really about to say it, "just scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

Of admitting my very gay sexual feelings for you

Eddie opened his mouth only to be cut off by a blood curdling scream.