Aerial Silks, and Other Ways to Fall in Love

Chapter Four

Hands. It's all Eddie can think about, desperately- hands. They're on his shoulders and brushing his hips and pulling on his thighs, and Eddie's doing all he can to stay level-headed; he feels like he's swimming through water, but at the same time, everything feels crystal clear. Suddenly, he's pushed backwards, and his back hits something hard that would have left him breathless if the hands against him didn't already have that honor. The bottom of his shirt is pulled upwards. He shivers, from both the contact of skin on skin and the coldness in the air.

Then, there's more than hands. He feels a mouth against his neck and the ghosting of their nose, an entire body keeping him flat against the wall. Eddie shudders and brings his hands to the person's shoulders, gripping hard.

And now the hands continue their movement, continue moving, moving down-

"Richie," Eddie gasps. "Richie, wait-"

Eddie wakes up desperately wheezing, feeling as if he needs his inhaler for the first time in over a year. He tries to calm himself, but his heart is hammering in his chest, only one emotion prevalent in his head-

Fear. Pure and unadulterated fear.

He stands up and begins pacing his bedroom, thinking too many thoughts to stop the panic setting over him. Dreams are normal, he knows, but dreams about boys are another story. Dreams about boys get you knifed and killed.

Eddie doesn't want to think that Stan and Bill are dirty like how society deems them, doesn't want to think that at all, but he knows that no matter how hard he fights it, that's how other people are always going to see them. People like Stan and Bill are always going to be abused and outcasted, destined to never be accepted, people like Stan and Bill and Eddie-

Eddie shakes his head and almost jumps, repulsed from the thought. And people like Eddie? People like Eddie- that's just normal people. Eddie isn't like Stan and Bill.

Except...

Except, though he never saw a face, a name had escaped from his lips, pulled without any hesitation.

And in the quiet of his own room, Eddie whispers it again.

"Richie fucking Tozier..."

__________

"You look like hell." Stan says as soon as he sees Eddie walk onto the stage for practice. After living with Stan for so long, they've both come to the mutual agreement that the pleasantries of a greeting are beneath their level of friendship.

"Didn't sleep last night." Eddie responds in a monotone voice, reaching up to the highest point on the silks and pulling himself up, beginning to use a classic climb in order to get the midpoint. Once there, he lowers himself to a seated position and grabs underneath his unwrapped left foot with his left hand. This position allows for him to completely lower his body down into a position where he flexes his wrapped foot to keep the fabric pinched in place, enabling him to release his right hand and pose.

From the ground, Stan speaks up. "Point your left foot." He says incredulously, as if Eddie's broken a fundamental law of nature. But in the circus, he kind of did.

"Shit." He swears and does so, styling himself. "Do I look okay?"

"Yeah. Great! It was just your toes. How tired are you? Should you be performing?"

"I'm not brain dead because I forgot to point my toes." Eddie counters, his voice coming out a little weaker than normal because he's climbing the tail to get out of the pose. He perches and then straightens his legs to let the fabrics untangle from his limbs and climbs down, up again, and then down one more time.