mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 46

Richie lingers by Eddie's locker before lunch, waiting for the tiny one across the hall.

He can't hear what Eddie is saying, but he knows he's talking fast. His hands wave wildly the way they always do whenever he's worked up, his foot stomping against the tile to prove a point.

Henry is much more calm, but he's always been a silent killer. Richie can see it in his tight shoulders and clenched jawline that he is not happy about who is standing at Eddie's locker.

Eventually, Henry looks up to make eye contact with Richie, a dangerous threat in this pin point pupils. Richie nods, lifting his hands up in surrender. That seems to be enough communication to appease Bowers, because he scoffs and sulks off in the opposite direction. Eddie's shoulders relax as he begins to make his way over towards his locker, mumbling under his breath.

"What was that about?" Richie asks, watching the way that Eddie spins his combination lock. "I mean- Sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"It's fine," Eddie shakes his head, still grumbling. "He's just being Henry, that's all."

"Is... Is he..." Richie trails off, struggling to find the words to form in his mind. He wants to ask if he's hurting Eddie, or even if they're together, but... he doesn't want to offend the temper of the little unit of rage before him. "Is he still the same?"

"Henry?" Eddie lifts his eyes up as he swings his locker open. He shakes his head, a sad look in his eyes. "No. He tries to be, but... no. The Henry you know is long gone."

Richie doesn't quite hear the words because he's more focused on the picture taped to the inside of that metal wall. A picture that's been there since freshman year, one that's aged clearly by the worn corners and folding edges. Richie when he was still a Tozier, cigarettes stuck up his nose, the supple cheeks of a kid who has just barely lost his baby fat.

Richie doesn't look like that anymore. His features are all sharp and hard now, his eyes tired and lacking any of that shine from the photograph. He's aged quickly, but trauma tends to do that to you.

"You- You kept that photo?" Richie stutters out, the tips of his ears growing hot.

Eddie glances at the picture in question and simply rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he drops his books off at the bottom of the locker and retrieves his coat. "Don't flatter yourself."

Richie nods quietly, agreeing that he shouldn't flatter himself. He doesn't deserve to feel flattered; not now, not ever.

The two head out a set of doors that Richie and Bill never go through, leading out towards the soccer  field behind the school rather than the parking lot in front. Upon seeing the goal posts, Richie looks over to see if Eddie is remembering the same distant memories as Richie. Instead of a face of recognition, Richie just watches the way that Eddie's eyes cast downward as he walks. His eyes are down low, but his chin is still held high enough with a bit of confidence that comes with hanging out with the likes of Henry Bowers. He's got that scowl, too. The one that says he is pissed off at the world; everything and anything.

Eddie takes Richie to Curly's. Apparently, when the pizza parlor reinvented itself come the 90's, the once famous Curly's died down in business and has become a place for couples to go when they're discussing their divorce.

Richie sits in the booth, nursing his black coffee, watching the very few couples in the restaurant. Eddie's eyes are more focused on the menu in front of him, scanning the letters he's read his whole life. The demographic may have changed, but the atmosphere and food of Curly's has stayed the same. Complete with broken jukebox.

"Well," Eddie exhales after awhile. He folds the menu up, deciding he can't eat with a stomach full of nerves. Eddie looks at Richie expectantly and says "I'm... I'm listening."