𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 • 𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆

* from today *

"You c-c-can't keep avoiding him forever," Bill told Eddie from across the table. The two were seated at their usual table at The Golden Spoon Diner, sharing desert. They had spent the last half hour on small talk, dancing around anything more important than how much revision they had to do with finals just around the corner. They were doing a pretty good job of pretending they weren't both perfectly aware of the shadow the proverbial elephant cast over their table, but apparently Bill had had enough.

Eddie jabbed his fork petulantly into his pie. "Watch me."

Bill sighed. "You're neighbours. And friends . How l-long are you going to let this keep dragging on?"

Eddie said nothing.

"Have you even t-talked to him yet?"

He took a bite of pie to avoid answering. Unphased, Bill waited for him to finish.

"No," Eddie mumbled finally.

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously? How do you expect to g-get anywhere if you d-d-don't at least talk to the guy?"

Tears stung the backs of Eddie's eyes. He shook his head numbly, not trusting himself to speak. Bill just didn't understand. He couldn't talk to Richie. He just couldn't . Just the thought of it - the thought of even being in the same space as Richie, let alone sharing words with him - was enough to make his heart pick up speed and the strength drain from his legs.

Bill's expression softened. "I know it's scary," he said gently. "B-but you need to figure this out. I'm worried about you. You've been so s-sad recently, and I know you've ba-barely been sl-s-sleeping. I hate seeing you like this."

Eddie nodded wordlessly. His eyes were glued to his hands, as if by staring hard enough he could make them stop trembling. He was about to withdraw them, to tuck them under his thighs and make their shaking stop, when Bill's hand came to rest gently on top of Eddie's own.

"Talk to him," he said. "I can g-guarantee it won't be as bad as y-y-you're expecting."

Eddie found his voice. "How do you know ?" he croaked.

Bill smiled. "Because it n-never is. Trust me. For all you know, he c-could be sitting with one of his friends having this exact same conversation."

***

Somehow, Stan's couch was more comfortable if it was sat on upside down. Richie thought it must have something to do with the cushions being worn in, and if Stan really wanted him to "Sit properly, Richie, your feet are in my face", he should just invest in new couch cushions. Or a new couch. Richie had said as much, several times, but all it had gotten him thus far were multiple eye rolls and a couple of pillows to the face.

"The couch is fine," Stan would tell him. "It's you I need to replace."

And yet, here they both were: thoroughly unreplaced.

Richie was upside down now, his socked feet dangerously close to Stan's nose and his hair grazing the carpet. "- and I just don't know what to do," he was saying. "I hate not seeing him. It's driving me crazy."