𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐞 & 𝐫

Eddie woke up, immediately feeling the warm sun hit his tan back. He winced a bit, groggily reaching next to him for Richie. He felt around until he realized something - an emptiness. He sat up a bit with squinted eyes and turned, seeing that Richie wasn't there. He drew in a deep breath, almost feeling embarrassed that he wanted to rely on someone else for a sense of comfort.

He felt that often - feeling ashamed to want to rely on someone. It was something he'd been taught, and not just from the incident. It wasn't from anything, really, but his own mind. He didn't realize that codependence could be healthy, in some cases. He'd used to need so much, and he felt like growing up extremely independent could somehow "pay back" the precious time he spent being such a burden. After all, anytime that he did happen to reach out for help or even just a friend, which he seldom did, he found himself in the same place.

Loneliness.

Sure, he had friends - but did he really? Why couldn't he ever have a strong connection with anyone? In highschool, it was just using the label of friends to mask the fact that he was essentially talking to strangers. They talked about their lives, but Eddie never shared anything. He never felt compelled. The connection was never so linear and clear, no. He wanted long talks til dawn, running away with someone until he couldn't feel his own legs, tripping on concrete and scraping his knees from laughing to hard, feeling rain pour down as he danced in it under the pale moonlight and twinkling stars, looking at someone and it feeling like a song. But no. Instead, it was exchanging hellos in passing in the halls, awkward silences in shallow conversations, uncomfortable group calls, and sending loosely written "happy birthday" cards from the fucking dollar tree-

"Eddie?"

Did he like anyone? Did he love anyone?

"Yeah?"

Or did he just have a love shaped hole in his heart?

Eddie gulped, almost as to dismiss the thoughts and slip into his day-to-day headspace.

"I need to ask you a question."

Another gulp.

"Yeah? What's up?" He said, sitting up a bit. Richie's expression lured him in to the conversation more. It was hesitant, but also yearning. He couldn't tell what for.

"Do you like me?" Richie said, messily asking a question which couldn't have been what he truly meant.

"Of course I do."

"No, like," Richie softly interjected, and Eddie watched as he repositioned himself on the bed, his hands doing the thing that Eddie, although he wouldn't admit it, found so goddamn attractive.

Eddie looked back up into Richie's eyes.

"Do you feel like you want to spend every hour of the day with me?" Richie asked, biting his lip either in regret or to keep more word vomit from spewing out of his uncontrollable mouth.

Eddie's eyes widened a bit, and he raised his eyebrows slightly.

"I..." Eddie began to speak, but cut himself off.

There was a moment of silence, and Eddie felt his face burning as the blood rushed to it.

Richie felt the opposite, feeling as if the life was being drained from him. He felt his eyes water a bit, almost blaming himself for asking such a stupid question. It felt like a trap, he shouldn't have put Eddie in this situation. Why did he keep doing this? Over, and over again. Piece of shit.

Eddie opened his mouth, and then shut it.

"Oh." Richie said in a bit of a higher tone, probably the most genuine freudian slip that had ever come out of his mouth.

Eddie immediately felt guilt. His stomach hurt as it infiltrated his body.

"Richie..." Eddie began in a comforting way. He didn't know what to say.

"No, it's fine. It's whatever. You don't have to answer that." Richie nervously stammered out, his voice cracking a bit.

"Can we talk about this-"

"I'm gonna go ahead and pack. It's okay." Richie laughed anxiously, it sounding far too forced and nearly concerning. He walked away, nearly tripping on the bed sheets that were half off the bed.