Lover | Richie Tozier

Chapter 77.

"This girl that called; Is she your girlfriend?"

Castro attempted to make free-flowing small talk to the best of his abilities, not realizing this question was the gateway to doing the exact opposite.

Richie's feet stuttered across the floor of the police station when the question resonated with him, and the way he struggled to move suddenly would've made anyone think he was in there to take a sobriety test. He tripped over his own legs like a fawn learning how to walk for the first time. "Girlfriend? Elowynn? N-No. She's just a..."

A what? A friend? Friends don't detach from all altitude when they slightly brush against each other's skin. Friends don't create their own aurora when they meet eyes with each other. Friend's don't disturb the natural balance of the world every time they inch closer to each other. Friend's aren't capable of blocking one celestial body from the other, creating an eclipse.

"She's someone really close to me."

The officer solemnly proceeded to nod, reading the expression Richie had written on his face but not informing the boy that he'd accidentally scripted the entire love story across his features instead. The kid had already undergone enough emotional suppression, what's a little more?

"Well then, your 'someone really close to you' is just on the other side of this door," Castro beckoned towards the barrier keeping them from the other side of the interrogation room. "She didn't have to be here, you know. She could've easily called in the tip, filled out some paperwork, and went on her merry way, but she didn't. Our receptionist said she's been waiting here restlessly since before we found you. You might wanna tell her she's not your girlfriend, in that case. She sure acts like it."

He left no time for Richie to plant himself into the ground firmly enough for the world to stop spinning before scanning his key-card and pushing the door open.

As soon as the hinges were heard unhooking from the stillness they were conforming to, carrying the door away from the frame, Elle's vigilant senses came to life. Anticipation could be felt ringing around her bones, the earth split open, and if there was a hell, she couldn't fall into it. Not before seeing her boy and making sure he was okay.

Her hands had already clutched around the arms of the chair, pushing herself upwards the second their faces had the chance to meet.

And there he was. Living proof that everything was okay.

The wind rushed out of him achingly, advancing across the room to breathe life into Elle instead. Even though they had only seen each other an hour ago, there was something about the circumstances that strengthened what could already be felt in the stars braiding throughout the sky. She was fiction; purely the truth inside the lie. The lie he uttered out to Castro, trying to assure him that she was nothing more but someone who was close to him. In contrast, she was the veracity, the entire reason Richie was living this romantic prose.

Richie's arms stretched out in front of him, begging for her to crash into him.

He could see the fear haunting around her eyes -- fear that he would somehow be mad at her. Fear that getting the cops involved had driven him into more trouble rather than out of it. Fear that she had overstepped a boundary, but fear of what would happen if she hadn't.

"Richie," she gave out a small sigh, fading the area between them. The words hardly managed to break out, soon becoming muffled inside the heat of his chest.

His arms captured her waist, embracing her so tightly that you'd never guess they could be apart. A gesture so incredibly free, like a sunset escaping over a horizon, but so demanding, as night trying to capture it. She tucked herself into his neck, fanning over his skin with small reciprocations of relief.