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Getting drunk was one of Richie’s pass times. His life had gotten to a point of complete and utter fear or boredom where all he could do is swing a bottle and gulp it away, hiding his emotions for his dear friend, dumbing him down, calming him.
There was something about how the liquor would burn his throat which was so alluring. Maybe the light pain was addictive, maybe it was the only time he ever really felt anything. Maybe it was because he knew what would come next.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Sitting alone in his room and drinking some vodka Bev would have smuggled for him, since the guy behind the counter would be smitten by her smile. She always got away with being twenty-one. Sometimes Richie paid her to get him drinks.
So he always ended up alone in his room, or getting drunk with the rest of the gang.
Majority of the time, Bev and himself got pissed, while Ben, Mike and Eddie stayed sober, and Bill had a few cans.
Eddie had taken care of Richie every time, making sure he didn’t throw up, and if he did, not over himself. Though it was clear by his mere expression he wanted to vomit himself, looking at Richie retching his guts into some poor hedge.
But he was always there.
Oh, yeah. That was the main reason for him getting drunk. Eddie. It may have been grim, but Richie got drunk because Eddie would be gentle with him, and it was the only time he could compliment him without seeming gay.
And... that was also a reason. The fear of everyone knowing. The beatings. The bullies. People joke and tease about drinking his problems away, and Richie liked jokes, and he really did commit to it.
This time, he was alone in his room again, intoxicated out of his mind, shirt slung on the floor as he lied on his bed and stared at his ceiling.
He fucking hated his room.
It was covered in lewd girls. He had never seen anything less attractive.
He had never really seen a girl and thought them as hot, really. Bev was gorgeous, and some other girls from his school were pretty, but boys? Yeah. Boys.
He just had to keep up this facade of being in love with girls.
He couldn’t have anyone know.
Especially not Eddie.
Richie blinked slowly when he heard a grunt outside his window, and he lazily looked over to where the moon beamed a harsh light into his room. He ignored the sound until it came again, another grunt, and Richie frowned and sat up. Almost falling, he went to the window and pulled it up.
It wasn’t the clown, was it?
It couldn’t be.
No, no... he wasn’t coming back for a very long time.
Not only could he not locate the sound, he also couldn’t place who it was. Or what it was. He was making himself panic now.
“Hell—“ he tried, but was surprised as he saw Eddie pull himself up to his roof and stand outside his window.
“Eds..?” He slurred, and Eddie weakly smiled, “Hey, um, Rich. Can I come in?”
Opening his window more, Richie let him in before flopping on his bed, drunken mind not quite understanding the situation.
“You okay?” He murmured, looking over Eddie. Physically, he looked okay.
Physically, he looked great.
He was gorgeous.
He wasn’t like girls, he was fucking beautiful.
He turned his face into his pillow to hide his reddening face.
“Um... yeah. My mom and I just had an argument and I just— I just wanted to— are you drinking?” He asked suddenly, eyes focusing to be bottle that was on the floor by Richie’s fingertips. Richie revealed his face and grinned, “hmmhmm.. yeah. It’s great. But, uh... you were talk—“
“Jesus Christ, Richie. You know how dangerous it is to drink alone? You could vomit and choke and die or trip over and crack your head open or you could get alcohol poisoning... it’s really bad, and that’s why I’m always here with you when you do this, dumbass.” He said quickly, leaning down so he would make eye contact with Richie, but his hand found the neck of the bottle and he held it up with a winning smile. “Want some? I drink it when I’m stressed... and you, Mr. I-have-a-stick-up-my-ass, look stressed.”
Disgusted, Eddie put the bottle down and lied down next to Richie. He was silent for a moment, and Richie grew concerned, “what happened between you and your mom, then?”
Eddie turned so now his face was buried in his arm, and he inhaled slowly, and then exhaled. His exhale was wet. He was trying not to cry.
With the realisation, Richie put his arms around him and lightly stroked his hair. “It’s okay...” his voice didn’t dare go above a whisper. “Take your time, Eds.”
Five minutes passed of Eddie just softly crying, choking every so often when he tried to stop it, though Richie would stop him from attempting by just ‘shh’ing him soothingly and continuing to pet his hair.
Finally, Eddie’s lips parted as he struggled to speak.
“I’m moving.”
Richie felt his body tense and his hand on his heart stopped.
“What?”
“I’m moving.” Eddie said again, raising his head to see Richie’s devastated expression. It was soul shattering to see.
“What— But... we..? Eddie...” he couldn’t get it out, he was stuttering, and he sat up, which was a terrible idea and his head pulsed and he groaned, lying back.
“Eddie... you can’t move. Please... don’t. You’re my best friend.” What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?
Richie was beginning to panic, “no, no, no, no... you can’t— no, Eds, but—“
Eddie stroked his hair this time, “I-I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She wants us to move. Thinks you guys are a bad influence on me a-and that this place is a shit hole. I’m sorry.”
A bad influence?
It was Richie’s fault.
He looked at his hands like he committed a crime.
“Eddie, Eddie... I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
Tears.
He hadn’t felt tears in a while. He was shaking, his hands coming to Eddie’s face. “A-ah... when are you going?” He said, trying to hold back his cries now.
“Soon. Within this month. I’m sorry.”
Four weeks.
Four weeks.
Four weeks.
That was no time. He had no time. It may of well have been tomorrow.
“Eddie... Eddie, please...”
Eddie shook his head, and they both had tears running down their faces. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” Richie held him close and cried into his clothes, shoulders coming up and down as tears pulled into his shirt. Eddie cried too.
Eddie picked up the bottle and took a drink.
“Call me everyday, Eds.” He smiled, waving.
“I will.” He said, promising.
Richie sat by the phone.
He waited.
He waited.
He waited.
He waited.
The phone never rang.
Forgotten.
Lost.
Empty.