5555 reddie (Completed)

Part 13

"That thing's ugly," Eddie breathes, and Richie whips his head to make eye contact with Eddie; Richie hadn't noticed Eddie had walked up beside him.

Richie turns his attention back to the shirt. I know I've seen this somewhere before. There's no way I haven't.

"Why are you just, like... looking at it like that?" Eddie asks confusedly. He says it with a bit of a chuckle and begins to look through the collared shirts. "I found two sweaters I like. You can buy me those instead of two pairs of jeans. And they're both only four bucks, so I know you can afford it."

"Yeah... sure, Spaghetti," Richie says. He still feels strange, like he's disconnected from everything, from Eddie, like his body is separating from his mind. Something is... off.

"You should get it," Eddie says, nodding to the shirt.

"No," Richie finds himself saying, and then he's putting it back on the rack, and he wishes he had never taken it off to examine it in the first place. Cautiously, he takes a step back. "No. I don't want it. It's okay."

"Are you okay, Rich?" Eddie asks, and suddenly he is holding Richie's hands to keep Richie from tumbling backwards. "Are you okay?" he's asking again, and Richie doesn't know what to say, his mouth runs dry, his skin crawls, and it feels as though his body is forgetting how to breathe. "Deep breath," he hears Eddie tell him, and then he's following Eddie's breathing exercises, unknowingly, but then suddenly he is okay. He is sitting on the floor of the thrift store, and Eddie is holding him still, and his gaze is stuck to the wall. It seems as though years have passed. Richie doesn't know what happened. "What happened, Richie?" Eddie asks, his voice wavering, fueled with concern, or perhaps fear.

"I... don't know." Richie meets Eddie's eyes and he realizes his brows are furrowed. He takes a deep breath and his tense expression relaxes. "I don't know. I'm okay, I was just... dizzy all of a sudden."

"Okay, Richie," Eddie says. "You're okay." And then Eddie pulls Richie into his arms, and Richie doesn't know why, or when he began, but he can feel his face hot with tears. "You're okay, Rich," Eddie tells him, and Richie is limp in his arms. Why am I crying? Richie wants to ask himself, but he is choked up, helplessly enveloped by Eddie's welcoming arms. Crying and choked up, Richie doesn't understand what's happened to him.

They decide to pay and leave after this, and when they're back in the car, Richie's hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road, Eddie won't stop looking at him. Richie knows he's scared Eddie, and he wants to say sorry or I don't know what happened, but he can't bring himself to say anything. He plays the radio loud. Eddie doesn't complain. It is a no-talking drive for at least a half hour, but when they pull to a stop at one red light, Eddie tells Richie, "I want to change into my new jeans." And he grabs them from the backseat, leaning too close to Richie in his reach. Richie grips the steering wheel tightly, begging himself to keep his eyes trained on the light. He doesn't want to let himself look at Eddie, especially not when Eddie is unbuttoning his jeans and slipping a new pair on.

He's never been this big of a distraction before so what the fuck is getting into me? It's just Eddie.

Richie glances over just as Eddie is tightening his belt. Richie digs his nails into the wheel.

It's Eddie.

"Rich?" Eddie asks, his voice soft, and he runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly. It's at an awkward length, longer than Eddie is used to, Richie supposes. That must be why he fusses with it.

"Eds," Richie replies. He wears a gentle grin. The light turns green. They go.