Part 11

3.7K 134 610
                                    

"Shitty?" Richie gawks. "I'm offended. My truck's a real pretty lady, I will have you know."

"Sure," Eddie muses, rolling his eyes. Suddenly he kicks his feet up on the dash. "Get moving, Tozier. I'm thinking about my new jeans. Now you really have to buy me a pair." Richie backs out of the motel parking lot and heads back on the road, muttering, "Oh, we're doing last names now?"

"I'll buy you whatever you like, Kaspbrak...as long as it's not more than ten bucks. Papa's not that rich," Richie says, and Eddie visibly winces.

"Never call yourself Papa ever again," Eddie says.

"I do what I want," Richie replies. Turning the radio on, Richie attempts to find a radio station he actually likes, but there seems to be nothing good on right now. After a few minutes, Richie still has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the radio dial. He grins widely, ignoring the annoyed glare he is receiving from Eddie.

"Can you pick a fucking station already?" Eddie snaps, reaching out and grabbing Richie's hand. The radio bumps to a classical station, which is Richie's absolute last choice, but he leaves it alone and watches as Eddie huffs to himself quietly. Richie whistles lowly, attempting to fill the air. Eddie doesn't always like to talk when they're on the road. It's mostly Richie who talks, or sings, or throws pointless questions at Eddie only for them to be ignored.

"You chilly?" Richie asks Eddie, just wanting an excuse to talk to him. Without waiting for a response, Richie turns the heat up a few degrees and points the heaters in the direction of Eddie's seat.

"Thanks," Eddie mumbles, perhaps appreciative. He's cuddled into himself, sunk back into his seat like he always is. Richie wonders if something is the matter, but decides against asking. "You play instruments, right?" comes an unexpected question from Eddie. As Richie glances over at Eddie, he nods.

"Yeah. Guitar and drums-drums are my main, though."

"That's cool. I always wanted to learn an instrument," Eddie admits. He's facing Richie now, sitting a little more upright, his legs tucked beneath him in a crisscross formation. "My mom never let me. She said it was too noisy."

"I think I remember you mentioning that," Richie says. "What would you have learned?"

"Probably like... clarinet."

"Clarinet?" Richie's eyebrows are raised. "That's very..."

"Yeah. I dunno. I always thought it was kinda neat."

"It is neat," Richie agrees. "That's cool. Clarinet is cool." Eddie hums, turning back to his window, and then it is quiet again. Richie is desperate for conversation, to keep speaking with Eddie. He always feels this way-like he needs to feed into the silence, to never let a moment with Eddie be blank. "Wish there was like... a magic thing that could let us know where the nearest thrift store was," he says with a chuckle, and Eddie looks over at him. "That'd be so useful. We wouldn't have to just drive and drive and drive. We could actually know where we're headed."

"True, but it's more fun this way," Eddie states.

"For you, maybe. You're not the one who has to drive and drive and-"

"-I just meant that this is like, a nice time. With you... You know?" Eddie says, and Richie isn't sure he knows. He thinks he does. Maybe.

"Oh." Richie blinks. Then he shrugs, nodding his head. His heart is pounding. It feels like a boulder in his chest. "Yeah. It is nice. Good time for..." he searches for a word, "Bonding."

"Yeah," Eddie says. Then he raises his finger and stretches his arm out the window. "Look! There's a thrift store right there!" And Richie slams his foot on the breaks. Eddie lunges forward and Richie slaps an arm to Eddie's chest to protect him from the impact. Thankfully there's no car behind them, otherwise this would have ended far worse. Slowly, Eddie turns his head and swivels his attention to Richie. Richie's arm is still pressed against Eddie's chest, tense. His jaw is clenched, eyebrows furrowed. "Why the fuck did you do that?!"

5555 reddie (Completed)Where stories live. Discover now