𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐞 & 𝐫

As the two arrived at the cabin, there was a very clear contrast in Eddie's perspective from the very first time they'd arrived to present day. They didn't exchange coy glances, and Eddie wasn't as repulsed by the soppy, damp feeling beneath the soles of his shoes. The spark of childlike wonder and wanderlust wasn't seen when Eddie's eyes shifted up to meet Richie's chillingly. Richie wasn't showing much emotion. He didn't seem to be a complete wreck, yet he clearly wasn't all there.

    The air felt good as it brushed against Richie's dark hair, cooling the heat built up around him that was nearly unbearable. Arriving at the cabin wasn't the same to him. It felt even more uninviting than the first time he set his eyes upon it, except this time he couldn't hide his feelings of uneasiness to alleviate Eddie's uneasiness.

    Glancing over at Eddie, Richie saw his nervousness, and the tension between the two of them was more powerful than the heat. Richie didn't want to say anything to initiate a conversation - he could tell Eddie wasn't up to it. His body language showed that he was fine, almost stoic, but his eyes told a different tale. Even with a slight glance of the side of Eddie's eyes, Richie saw they were buffering. Processing. So much was going on in his head, and he couldn't say any of it. Richie knew the feeling - the feeling of drowning from the tidal waves of your own mind. The feeling of having to try so hard to have your lips being frozen together, trying to melt the ice but just leaving even more painful burns in the process. The feeling of being tied down with heavy weights, words that constrained you until you feel like you can't take it anymore.

Richie took a deep breath, the air smelling of the syrupy saccharine honey suckles from a bush near the sparkling lake. Subconsciously, a slight smile was brought to Richie's face, remembering when he'd tried eating the honeysuckles as a kid. Eddie was freaking out, telling him not to eat the entire thing, and that the berries were poisonous, or that they'd probably been sprayed with pesticides. Richie still ate them anyway, not because they tasted particularly delectable, but for the sole purpose just to spite Eddie.

Eddie had always been, in some sort of weird, peculiar way, a protector for Richie, which was ironic, due to the fact that he was just some scrawny, abnormally short kid.

He always tried to make sure Richie stayed out of trouble (whether his methods actually worked were questionable, but nonetheless), he always carried a mini medi-kit in one of his stupid pastel fanny packs he'd carry around like his life depended on it. He'd always used to text Richie when he wasn't at school to make sure that he was okay, and if he was sick, he'd bring over all his textbooks and catch him up on what schoolwork he missed (even though the discussion usually shifted from schoolwork to some trivial argument about which colors they associated class with, or whether a certain unnamed topping belonged on pizza or not).

They'd used to fight, a lot, but not close to the extent that they would now. If they fought back then, it was simple and petty. They'd forget in fifteen minutes and be off talking about the next conversation topic (leading to another simple and petty fight). There were gaps in between the fighting, and it was never severe.

Now, it felt as if it were all just fights.

Richie watched as the boy walked over to sit on the washed out wooden bench. When he walked, Richie felt as if he'd fall apart. His psyche consisted of various saturated layers of paint, getting chipped away unknowingly by himself with every moment he spent alone. Behind the layers of paint was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Maybe a dull wall, something of a beige or tan color, but besides that, there was an emptiness that he couldn't quite place.

Though Eddie was right there, they felt miles apart.

No.

No. Richie wasn't going to let this happen. He couldn't. He felt Eddie slowly fading away from him. He wasn't going to allow that, not again. He'd let go the best thing, the only thing, in his life once, and he couldn't let it happen again. The repercussions would be drastic if he spent a second longer letting his person fly away like a kite on a breezy countryside day.

Eddie felt violently vacant in his own body, as if he had no dominion over his own thoughts and actions. It was likely he was disassociating - it felt similar to an out of body experience. He saw through himself for the first time in a while. Any trace of a god complex he had was gone. He just felt regret.

I should have spent more time with him.

Eddie did spend quite a bit of time with Stan back in the day - they not only birdwatched in the park on those sunny afternoons in Derry, but they talked. A lot. Some of the best discussions he'd ever had were with Stan. No conversation could compare to the way Stan could articulate his words. He never talked about his own emotions, but helped others through theirs.

I should have cared more.

I shouldn't have left Derry.

Eddie felt the pressure shift on the bench he was sitting on. Looking to his side, he saw Richie, who had a blank expression on his face. He was concentrating on something, that was certain.  He was looking at the pond, his eyes almost twinkling. Eddie couldn't tell if his eyes were just glazed over or if they had tears in them.

"Can we talk?" Richie said, breaking the silence, not making direct eye contact with anyone besides the pond.

Eddie almost flinched - it'd been so quiet before, the only conversations coming from the birds melodic and rhythmic chirping. Richie's words rippled like the water as he pick up a small stone and skipped it across with ease. Richie had a sort of comforting aura all of a sudden - as if he were one with the atmosphere. As if he were home.

"Sure. Yeah, we can." Eddie replied, in a slightly monotonous and shaky voice. He cleared his throat to mask the slip in his voice, but Richie noticed. He didn't say anything about it - he didn't want Eddie to feel even worse than he probably did.

After a few seconds of silence, the wind guiding the previously said words away and the water's moving state returning to a stagnant one, Eddie waited for Richie to speak. Eddie himself didn't know what to say, he just hoped their conversation wouldn't lead to a fight. But it always did.

Richie was hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. He dropped his arms, hesitantly hovering over another stone. He was about to pass it to Eddie, but he didn't know if that was a 'rule' in their little 'game'. He didn't know if they had to talk first, or if they could just jump right into the next action like they used to do. They were almost adults now. Everything was far more complicated than it'd ever been. They had to talk and fight, rinse and repeat. There was no inbetween.

"I hope it's not too cold." Richie said, not meaning to let the words slip out of his mouth, or at least not in that way. Eddie looked over to him, not with judgemental eyes, but with the same processing eyes he'd seen before.

Eddie couldn't tell exactly what Richie meant by that. Did he just mean the water?

"It never is." Eddie replied, his tone almost sounding as if it were a question.

Richie looked back up at Eddie, straightening his own posture. "Never?"

"Not to me, it isn't." Eddie replied carefully.

"Well, you're used to it." Richie said clumsily, wincing afterwards. Not another fight.

"I am?" Eddie simply asked, his face confused.

"You are," Richie mirrored, quieter this time and trailing off.

"Well, I suppose you are too." Eddie says, taking a breath and sitting back against the frame of the bench.

The two didn't say anything for a while.

"The temperature's fine." Eddie said dismissively, reaching for the stone Richie was holding in the palm of his hand touching it for longer than Richie had expected.