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Eddie’s day had been utter shit, if he were to be completely honest.
His friends had planned to meet at the quarry, as the days were getting hotter and sweatier and the easiest way to cool down was apparently to jump into waters that were most likely littered with actual shit. He didn’t think it was the best use of their time, but sue him for wanting to hang out with his friends. He had no say in the matter though, as his mother had instantly turned the proposal down. Her dear, defenseless child swimming in infected, infested waters? No chance in hell. So instead, he had the thrilling opportunity to stay sweltering half to death indoors. How lucky.
He’d essentially spent his entire day doing nothing. Any fun activity that he could do in his house had been done to death over ten years ago. So he mostly just stayed glued to his carpet and watched the fan on his ceiling spin. Eventful.
It was getting late. He was planning on turning in early, mainly in an attempt to cut short the agonising boredom he was in, but he was so disgustingly sweaty that no matter how many times he tossed and turned on his mattress, he couldn’t manage to fall asleep. How obnoxious. His boring day of watching a fan spin had turned into a boring night of watching a fan spin and praying for a different life, one without boring blurry blades circling his head and instead the sun beating on his pasty skin, slathered in gross sticky sunscreen that’d wash away the second he set foot into the disgusting waters his friends had made their summer home.
In the midst of his fantasising, Eddie could’ve sworn he heard some sort of tap.
He convinced himself he was hallucinating, like some kind of dying man desperate for water walking through the desert, but not even a minute later, he heard it again.
Peeling his back off the mattress felt like velcro. Vile, soggy velcro. The noise was most likely nothing, maybe a bird, or maybe his impending death via axe murderer. He’d never know unless he checked, and anything would beat his current situation.
The tapping continued. If it were an axe murderer, they were very persistent on being an asshole.
Grabbing his curtains and peeling them back did, in fact, not reveal a bird or a murderer or anything else Eddie would’ve expected, and instead revealed a mop of messy hair belonging to no one other than Richie. What the fuck?
Richie tilted his head upwards to meet Eddie’s eyes and flashed a toothy grin.
It was strange. He had no clue what had prompted this late night visit, which was not agreed upon, so really it was more of a house invasion, but Eddie had been in such agonising boredom all day that he would’ve killed for the company of anyone other than his mother. Really, he had no choice other than to open his window.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He whispered, hoping Richie would pick up the hint and keep his voice down, which seemed to be an impossible task for him,
“I’m here to break you out, Edwardo! Like a prison escape movie or some shit.” Clearly, Richie did not get the hint.
“Dude, shut the fuck up, you’ll wake up my mom. And I’m not escaping anywhere, asshole, it’s the dead of night, that’s how you get murdered, dumb dick.”
“Okay, fine, whatever, stay in your shitty prison cell. Could you at the very least let me in?”
Did he really have any other option?
“Fine, as long as you promise to keep your stupid mouth shut.”
Richie mimed zipping his mouth closed as Eddie took a few steps back to give him room for his stupidly long legs to swing over his windowsill and fall onto his carpet.
“So, why’d you skip out on the quarry? Did the grey water paranoia get to you or some shit? Some dirty water won’t kill you, spaghetti. I don’t think so, at least.”
“No, fuckface, it’s because I’m on house arrest for having friends.”
“Sucks to suck, Edwardo. Should’ve let me in earlier, I know a few ways to get your mother dearest to change that stern little mind of hers.”
“Gross.”
Eddie debated shutting the window after Richie had welcomed himself in, as he didn’t exactly feel like letting his room get infested with bugs, all of which probably carry incurable diseases that’d cause his death via prolonged internal bleeding and painful infections, but the temperature still seemed infinitely more excruciating to him, so open window it was. He also debated shutting the window on Richie’s fingers after his obnoxious comment, but unfortunately he’d already moved them.
“So, anything new to do in the Casa de Eddie?” Richie pondered aloud whilst crouching down and picking up miscellaneous items that’d been thrown across Eddie’s floor.
“You’re not gonna find anything fun to do under my dirty socks, you fucking moron.”
“So harsh.”
“And no, there’s nothing new, I’ve spent my entire day laying on the floor and sweating like a fucking pig.”
“Lame.”
After rummaging through nothing but dirty clothes and giving Eddie the realisation that he probably should’ve spent the day tidying a little instead of doing sweet fuckall, Richie decided that apparently standing, crouching and anything else other than laying down was just too difficult of a task for his poor lanky legs and launched himself directly onto Eddie’s sheetless mattress. Without permission, of course.
“Well Edwardo, do you wanna hear about my day?”
Richie probably had the right idea throwing himself onto the bed, considering it’s the only comfortable place in his stuffy room, so Eddie figured it’d probably be smart to follow suit and sat himself on the edge of his very, very spacious single bed.
“Sure, whatever.”
“I had a lovely time, personally, not to rub it in or anything…”
He was one hundred percent rubbing it in.
“We didn’t really swim for that long, honestly, which I thought was stupid as fuck. I don’t want a tan, I want to avoid drowning in my own sweat, but I guess the others aren’t as gross as me, or something. Almost smashed my glasses too. Didn’t though, can still see your sexy little mug perfectly, what a treat.”
“You’re so obnoxious.”
In the span of approximately five seconds, Eddie had also concluded that sitting was too much of a chore, and so he lay himself down, not facing Richie, of course. There was nothing weird about him wanting to lay on his own bed. It’s not his fault Richie had decided to make himself at home. It didn’t make Eddie feel weird. Eddie found it to be perfectly normal, if anything.
Or at least, he found it to be perfectly normal until Richie placed his hand just above Eddie’s hip, like some sort of failed half hug.
“I really wish you were there today, spaghetti.”
Eddie could feel Richie’s hair tickle the back of his neck, his breath hit the back of his spine, his sweaty palms lay across his waist. This was really not helping him beat the heat.
“I wish I could’ve gone. Today sucked ass.” He grumbled into his pillow, hoping Richie had the ability to perk his ears up and hear him. It was humiliating to tell the truth, but it felt unfair to lie to Richie after he sounded so honest.
Richie began to move his hand further down, wrapping it around him and pulling him closer. Eddie prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that Richie couldn’t feel his hammering heartbeat from the angle he was at. How embarrassing.
“Maybe we can hang out tomorrow? Just don’t tell your babe of a mother that we’re going to the quarry, say we’re studying or some shit.”
“Ew, don’t call her that.”
“Take it as a compliment Eds, you got her best genes.”
Richie sure knew how to activate the primal urge to kill in Eddie.
He began flailing his legs like a toddler in the midst of a temper tantrum, however, turns out it’s rather difficult to kick someone when they’re behind you, but like hell if he wasn’t gonna try.
He did not succeed, and all he got as a reward for his attempt was the sensation of Richie’s body vibrating against his own as he laughed.
“Fuck off, asshole. It’s not funny. And don’t call me that.”
“It is funny. You’re funny, you’re so...”
Richie was tracing his fingers on Eddie’s stomach, on his ribs, over his chest, presumably as some sort of idle animation while he thought of the word. It wasn’t bad. It felt nice. It was just not helping Eddie’s current situation of overheating like he was being smothered in the slightest. He felt red. Bright, hot, burning red.
“...so dramatic. So melodramatic.”
“What the fuck, am not.”
“Are too.”
Eddie tried to pick himself up to turn himself around, but it was a bit of a challenge considering he was currently caged by Richie’s weirdly long arm. He could do it though, with the help of some slightly awkward maneuvers, no aid at all from Richie who apparently decided it would be against his morals to move his stupid arm. Dickhead.
Now facing him, Eddie raised his hand and flicked Richie’s forehead.
“Am not, asshole.”
Richie began to vibrate again, laughing at a joke that Eddie didn’t really understand, probably because it was shitty and sucks.
“You literally just proved my point, Edwardo.”
“Fuck off, dick.”
Eddie felt as though his smile should’ve been obnoxious, it should've felt condescending, but it didn’t. It felt oddly comforting. Maybe he could swallow his pride and admit he missed Richie today. Of course, he missed all his friends, but admitting he missed Richie felt like something he should keep secret, something he should let rot and fester within his soul.
He didn’t want to let it rot, though.
Staring at Richie like this felt like something he should be more self conscious about. It felt like it should be embarrassing. Richie should’ve said some shitty quip by now, but he’s just laying there, looking oddly dumbfounded. Weirdo.
Then again, if that makes Richie weird, then what the fuck does that make Eddie?
Eddie wasn’t quite sure if he could explain why he did what he did after this thought. Maybe he could blame it on the night corrupting his poor brain, maybe he could blame his sheltered life followed up by a very sheltered day. Or maybe he just wanted to.
Eddie kissed Richie.
Richie’s lips weren’t bubblegum pink, they didn’t taste like cotton candy or daydreams and they didn’t set off fireworks in his head. They were a dull, pale shade of red and chapped. And they were on Eddie’s. What the fuck.
Warm. He was already warm. Richie was warm too. The air was warm, but not in a pleasant way, in a gross sticky way. Richie was warm in a pleasant way. He felt warm in a pleasant way.
Richie was kissing him back. Maybe he too was possessed by the night or the devil or whatever other excuses Eddie could conjure up before admitting to himself that maybe, just maybe, Richie wanted to as well.
Very suddenly, it hit Eddie just what he was doing.
He pulled away as quick as his body would let him, and looked down, avoiding eye contact like the plague. What the fuck. Why did he do that? Was he really this embarrassingly lonely? Surely his day wasn’t any more sad than other days he’d spent locked alone due to his mother?
Distantly, he knew he didn’t do it simply out of boredom or a need for any sort of physical contact, but like hell if he would admit that to himself.
He needed to shut this down before it got out of hand. Before it became obvious.
“Goodnight, Richie.”
Eddie prayed to all things holy Richie had finally learned how to pick up a hint in the span of the last however long it’d been.
He coughed.
Once.
Twice.
“Uh, yeah. Goodnight, Eddie.”