𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭 | 𝐫

"Can we talk?" Mike said, breaking away from Bill and Beverly's mindless quarrelling and Ben's constant loyalty towards Bev. Richie, who'd sat down, looked up at Mike and raised his eyebrows a bit. "Yeah, sure." He said, a bit off guard. He wasn't ready for a one on one chat. As he stood up he got a glimpse of Eddie out of the window, who was staring at the grey cast street and the sidewalk beside it's cracked pavement. He didn't have time to go through his usual process to try to discern what the boy was thinking based on his facial expression - Mike was clearly in a hurry to get away from the noise pollution and general annoyance that their other three peers were being.

"Where are they going?" Beverely muttered.

"Just shut up." Bill replied.

"Oh, you're telling me to shut up?" She replied.

"T-the hell I am, it's my house."

What happened to them?

The arguing continued on until Mike and Richie were far enough for it to only sound like faint whispers. Mike led Richie through the back of the house into a garage. Despite it being dark, Mike still found a way to turn on the lights - it sort of hurt that he knew how to but Richie had forgotten. Time really had passed.

They flickered for a moment, only to reveal a faint, dimly lit garage with tools scattered around it and miscellaneous toys, bikes, and stuff that his father must have used. Rain was dripping in pitter-patter noises from the ceiling, which had scattered, damp patches from previous precipitation. The garage door was partially open, illuminating the ground a bit, but not by much due to the overcast skies. It highlighted the dust gracefully dancing across the grey floor like nymphs across a meadow's grassy ground. Gusts of wind blew from under the door, giving Richie's frail legs the chills. There was a map of Derry loosely hung upon the walls, and an empty hamster cage with food still left in it. Mike sat down on a bench near a box of hydroelectric tools, assumed to be Bill's fathers. Richie sat down as well, sitting on another bench right beside Mike's. His feet touched the ground and he awkwardly shuffled them to avoid the tension. In shuffling them, he accidentally knocked down something, causing him to jump. Mike smiled one of those smiles where you couldn't tell if he was making fun of you or trying to laugh with you. It was usually the latter.

Standing up, Richie looked at what he knocked over. "Oh, geez..." He audibly said, letting out a sigh. "Yeah." Mike said, probably not knowing what more to say. It was Bill's brother's bike. Georgie's bike. He stood it back up and sat down, feeling sick. "God..." Richie muttered, feeling his palms sweat. "Hey," Mike said. "Don't overthink it." He said with a nod, looking back at the floor.

"You know... we missed you. Both of you," Mike said, frantically adding 'both' as to make Eddie not feel left out, despite him not being in the room. The words felt nice to listen to at first, but they soon left a sour aftertaste. All he'd ever wanted was to be missed, to be recognized as gone, to be even possibly perceived in a loving fashion, but when he had it, it felt... bittersweet. "Yeah..." He began. "I'm sorry." Richie finished.

"No, don't apologize, it's fine. We all have to move on sometimes." Mike said, sitting back in his chair. This caught Richie off guard. "Wait, what? No, I didn't leave because I wanted to move on." He said, with a sudden burst of energy. Mike looked back at Richie with furrowed brows. "Oh? I mean, we just figured, because it was so sudden, I guess. Like, you were there and then you just... weren't.

"Yeah, no, I... I left because of Eddie." Richie replied, which further spiked Mike's curiosity.

"Well, what did Eddie do?"

"Sorry, no - It's me. It's 'what did I do?'."

"Okay, what did you do?"

"I just made a really, really bad mistake." Richie said, nearly stuttering on the word mistake.

"A mistake that Eddie probably still hates me for. It made him leave, too. I just fucked up." He said, sighing. He felt immense relief for admitting it, but he had a tinge of regret. He didn't want to say anything that could be used against him.

"Was it really that bad, or are you just convincing yourself it was that bad?"

Richie didn't answer for a moment. Part of his mind was screaming, "It was self-defense!" but the other half still felt the anger he felt that night. It was always there. It grew in some circumstances, but it was generally tame. He found it growing harder to keep at bay, though.

"Yeah. It was that bad. It really was." He said.

"Richie," Mike began, then stopped himself.

After a few seconds of silence, Richie looked back up at Mike. "Yeah?"

"What?"

"You were going to say something."

Mike cleared his throat, and stood up. "We should go."

"Mike, stop. Tell me what you were going to say."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Mike said with a serious look in his eyes.

"Please tell me." Richie said, softening his voice. He looked into Mike's eyes with a desperate look. Richie had an itch to scratch, and this could be it. He needed Mike to tell him what he was going to say.

"You can tell me anything." Richie continued.

"Stanley killed himself." Mike said, in a low tone. His face was devoid from the softness it had before. The room felt cold, colder than before, colder than the coldest day of Maine's springs.

"Come on." Mike said after a few moments, gesturing towards the door as Richie sat there.

He wished he'd never known that information.