𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 • 𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆

* here comes the sun *

The café was most definitely not "just down the street". It had been nearly twenty minutes and they were still walking. Eddie was freezing. Now that he was no longer running around like a little kid, he could feel the cold of the night seeping into his body like ink into paper. Deep and permanent.

Despite Richie's vociferous protests, Eddie had given him his jacket and made him take off his sopping sweater.

"You'll be cold," Richie had argued, trying to push the jacket back into Eddie's arms.

Eddie was having none of it. "You'll be colder in that wet hoodie, dipshit. Just take it. Take it . I've got another sweater underneath, see?"

Richie had finally caved when it had become clear that Eddie would not be moved, though not without a fair amount of grumbling. He looked ridiculous in the jacket. It was much too small for him, the hem barely reaching his belly button and the sleeves leaving bare a good portion of his arms, but - as Eddie continued to insist - it was better than the frost-coated hoodie he now carried.

They walked side by side, so close their arms kept brushing against each other. Despite their proximity, they were both shivering. Neither had much body heat to share.

"If I get pneumonia," Eddie said to Richie through chattering teeth. "I'm suing you."

Richie gave a weak laugh. "Understood."

An eternity (it was only five minutes) passed in silence, for both were too cold to even think of of anything to say. Finally, just as Eddie was beginning to regret all of his life's choices, Richie let out an excited breath.

"There it is!"

Eddie stared. He wouldn't have given the café a second glance had Richie not pointed it out. It looked ancient . Crumbling bricks, battered wooden door, rusted sign. Huge lattice windows riddled with cracks spreading through them like spiderwebs took up most of the building's facade. A blue tarp covered much of one half of the glass - it must have been broken. Tarnished gold lettering above the door spelled out simply "Al's", though the "S" seemed to have come unfixed and was dangling weakly upside down.

Richie grinned proudly, as though Eddie should have been impressed, and Eddie didn't have the heart not to grin back, albeit a little strained. He tried to ignore the resounding creak of the door as Richie pulled it open and lead him inside.

Both exhaled the tension from their bodies as the door squeaked shut behind them. They felt warmer already, even with the draughts coming from the windows, and the door, and - unnervingly - the ceiling. Eddie couldn't shake the feeling the entire building was a gust of wind away from collapsing on their heads. He shuddered and looked around.

It wasn't much. There were four rickety old tables, two of which only big enough to seat two people. The walls were painted a dull, peeling yellow, and the checkerboard floor was in need of mopping. The dim lights flickered so much Eddie worried they might burn out at any minute. He glanced at Richie. The other was smiling fondly around the place as if it were a childhood home.

A remarkably old man was hunched behind the counter, peering at a newspaper from behind thick oval glasses. He looked at least as old as the building itself. Probably older. But aside from him, Eddie, and Richie, the café was deserted. It wasn't surprising. Eddie doubted any place got much business at (he glanced at his watch) four thirty in the morning, much less decrepit cafés.