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“This fucking sucks, dude.”
Richie had spent approximately the past fifteen minutes staring at a blank sheet of paper, hoping that somehow between the faint lines of nothingness an entire perfect plan would simply materialise in front of him, but so far he’s had no such luck.
“What do you mean? You haven’t even done anything!”
“That’s the point, asshole!”
In hindsight, he wasn’t exactly sure why he’d invited Eddie over. Maybe, in his deluded mind, he thought the boy would help him. Give him moral support. Be his own personal cheerleader. But apparently he’d forgotten who he actually befriended.
He taps his pen on the desk.
One.
Two.
Three times.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. His brain’s never felt so empty.
“I’ve seriously got nothing.”
“They literally told us how to write it. Just be fake passionate about whatever dumbass course you chose, numb nuts.”
Throwing his head back, he tried his best to reach Eddie’s eyes, which was rather difficult considering their different positions.
“That’s the problem! I don’t even have a course chosen! This is so fucking dumb!”
He hears a dramatic sigh from the boy splayed across his carpet. What an asshole.
“Maybe you’re just fucking dumb, have you ever considered that?”
The shuffling behind him seemed to suggest Eddie had decided to stand up. Feeling a warm hand on his shoulder, Eddie peaked over it, probably to try and see the paper. He wasn’t sure why, it’s not like there was anything to read.
The hand moved from his shoulder, and he was now on the receiving end of a flick to the cheek.
“What the fuck? Asshole.”
He couldn’t confirm it since the boy wasn’t in his line of sight, but he would bet his life savings that Eddie had that stupid shit-eating grin on his face.
“So, what’s the diagnosis, Dr Edwardo? I wasn’t lying about not writing shit.”
“I can tell. My diagnosis is that you are indeed fucking dumb. It’s lethal. Have fun being dead.”
“Okay, whatever, thanks dick. I would rather be dead than continue this torture.”
“You’re so dramatic, it’s a sheet of paper.”
Okay, maybe he was being a little dramatic. But it was hard not to be. His school was treating this like it’s the end of the world, like if he doesn’t suck his own dick in the form of self centred literature which was to be sent off to pretentious pricks to pick apart every shitty sentence he’s written he’ll explode or something.
“Since I’m so dramatic then, would you care to share with the class your progress? How’s it going for you, mastermind?”
Richie wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him to be condescending, considering he knew the type of person Eddie is. There’s no way he kept it until the last minute.
“Don’t be smug. I finished writing mine weeks ago.”
He called it.
“You’re shitting me.”
He knew he wasn’t.
Eyeing up the half empty can of off-brand heart attack inducing drink on his desk, Richie reached towards it and downed it like the alcoholic college student he’d never be able to be if he didn’t find out how to start this stupid fucking sentence.
“That shit’ll probably kill you one day, you know. Heart failure. Or it’ll just rot all your teeth.”
“Aw, babe, I didn’t know you were so concerned about me! My own personal doctor, what a privilege!” Richie replied in a strange accent he didn’t really know the origin of, yanking the other boy into a headlock and ruffling his hair.
“Get off me, asshole. I never said I’d care.” He flapped his hands, trying to escape. To be fair, it wasn’t very difficult. Richie’s never claimed to be strong in any sense of the word.
Letting go of the other boy, he slumped back into the position he’s been in for however long. His back aches.
“Spaghetti, this is literally going nowhere. Let’s go on a walk or some shit, stretch those stubby little legs of yours.”
“Whatever, dick.”
Richie shot up the second anything close to confirmation came out of Eddie’s mouth. He needed to be anywhere else doing anything else. This fucking sucked. He patted his pocket to be sure he had some money in there, then marched straight to the door.
“Then let’s get going!”
-
Their destination was a shitty convenience store. Richie could do with something to drink that wasn’t pure sugar. Maybe something that was only half sugar, or something full of artificial sweeteners instead. His health be damned.
“You want anything, Eds? Did you even bring money?”
He knew he didn’t, as far as Eddie knew their sleepover plan was to stay up too late watching shitty movies then fall asleep on the weirdly hard sofa, waking up with a crick in their backs and permanent spinal issues promised in the future. Probably not to watch Richie struggle to write one sentence for what felt like literal decades then be whizzed to a cheap corner shop.
“Why the fuck would I bring money? I thought we’d just stay at yours.” Bingo. “Buy me a Sprite though.”
“So adventurous, Edwardo.”
Grabbing two Sprites and a chocolate bar, Richie headed to the counter and prayed to all the gods he didn’t believe in that he had enough money.
Luckily, he did. Just barely. Maybe this shop wasn’t as cheap as he thought.
The overhead bell rang as they left, and the chilled outside air hit his skin.
“You wanna go to the park? Just as something to do, I guess.”
“You’re just trying to avoid writing, prick.”
Okay, maybe he’d hit the nail on the head, just a little.
“You think so little of me, Spaghetti. Maybe I just wanna spend time with you.”
“Ew. Fine, as long as I don’t get murdered.”
“You know I’d never let that happen to you, Eds.”
-
They’d decided to sit on the swings, fulfilling the nightmare of every parent, the intimidating teenagers stealing the playground equipment from their dear, precious children. It’s not really like any families were around at this time of day though. The skies overhead were littered with stars and emptiness, coming outside at this time in Derry was a death wish. But Richie had Eddie, and Eddie had Richie, and security comes in numbers. He thinks.
He took a swig from his Sprite, then turned to his left to look at the other boy.
God. Maybe he’d gotten just a tiny bit lucky with this one.
The moonlight highlighted his obnoxious features. Chapped lips due to the cold weather setting in, wide dark eyes reflecting the bright stars above. Maybe he was a bit pretty. Just a little. How obnoxious.
Those dark eyes met his own, eyebrows furrowing above them.
“What’re you thinking about, dick? Don’t you dare say anything about my mother, I’ll fucking kill you.”
“You’ll fulfill the prophecy, Edwardo! You’re the murderer we’re actively trying to avoid!”
Richie turned his head and pushed his legs into the ground, letting himself use the swing for its actual purpose instead of just using it as some rip-off seat like every other person who places themselves upon it, even though the combination of sweetness in his mouth and stomach combined with the movement will probably end in disaster.
He took a deep breath, feeling the night air fill his lungs.
“Hey, Eddie, can I tell you something?”
He hated being serious. It felt so out of character, so out of place. The night made it different. The night made it feel more normal, less forced. He didn’t wait for an answer.
“I think I might be scared.”
He could feel Eddie staring at him, but he refused to return the eye contact.
“I mean, what if everything changes? What if you all grow up and decide you don’t like me anymore? I don’t know what I wanna do with my life, Spaghetti, I didn’t think that far ahead. I thought I’d die in some tragic accident and that’d be it, but that accident hasn’t happened yet, and now people are expecting me to know shit that I don’t think I’ll ever really know.”
He really wishes he knew what laced the nighttime air that filled him with such ill placed confidence.
“Hey, Richie. I don’t expect you to know shit, because you’re stupid, as we’ve established.”
Slightly confused, he turned his head to the left again. Richie was expecting to meet his eye, yet for some reason Eddie had now decided it was his turn to face away and stare at the trees and debris of the park.
“Nothing will change. I still like you, even if you’re irritating. No one knows shit, Richie. I don’t know shit. We can not know shit together. Also, you better not die in any dumbass accident anytime soon. If you do, I won’t show up to your funeral, dick.”
Finally, he met his eyes, dark and pretty.
Richie could feel a genuine smile forming on his face. Maybe a slight flush too, but he had a million excuses. He was just too hot with his two layers of clothing. His body was reacting weird to the air. Or maybe it was the embarrassment at being genuine. Any reason other than what he felt towards the boy who was meant to just be his best friend.
“Thanks, Eddie.”
Slightly abruptly, Richie stood, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Maybe we should get going, before we actually do get murdered.”
-
Upon his return home, Richie immediately body slammed himself into his bed. He was tired. He was hoping Eddie was too.
“Do me a solid Eds, hit the lights could you?”
“Stop calling me that. Fine.”
Rolling onto his side so he could watch him, Eddie began moving a pile of clothes onto the floor.
“No fucking way, you’re not sleeping on that. What kind of shit excuse of a hypochondriac are you? Your spine, Eddie!”
“Fuck off, I don’t see an extra bed in here.”
Richie began to roll his way backwards, directly into the wall, then patted his hand onto the mattress. Hopefully Eddie understood the invite when he received it. The other boy’s eyebrows raised slightly. Apparently he couldn’t take a hint.
“Just sleep here, dumbass. There’s so much room!”
“Your bed is a single, asshole!”
“Think of your spine, Eddie.”
Eddie kneeled in his shitty makeshift bed of worn clothes for a bit, seemingly contemplating the very difficult decision of either sleeping on gross socks, or in a bed like a normal person.
“Okay, fine. Budge up.”
“I’m as budged as I can be, Eds.”
He sighed, acting as though sleeping on an actual mattress in an actual bed is some kind of punishment.
“Don’t you dare kick me in your sleep, asshole.”
“I wouldn’t dare. Or at least, I consciously wouldn’t. I’ll be asleep, so it’s technically not my choice.”
“Whatever. Go to bed, Richie.”
“Fine. Goodnight, Eddie Spaghetti.”
“Goodnight, dickhead.”
Watching as Eddie’s hair splayed out in front of him, he wondered what he’d done to deserve this weird combination of both a blessing and a curse. Maybe he’d done nothing, maybe it cancelled out. Or maybe he did everything. Who would be able to tell.