Reddie Oneshots

Richie's Guitar Pt. 12

When Eddie woke up on Monday morning, he still felt exhausted, despite staying in bed almost all weekend. His alarm trilled loudly, almost like it was cackling at him, and he slammed his hand down on it with such vigour that it fell over.

He glimpsed at the window, the closed window, and remembered when he had woken in the night to see Richie clinging to its frame, a smile on his face both anxious and smug. He imagined Richie scrambling back out of it in the morning, his spindly legs folding up against his chest and his long fingers outstretched, reaching for the branch. Eddie wondered what might have happened if his mother had caught him, or if Richie had fallen, if he'd reached for the branch and missed.

He rolled over onto his side and stared at the gap in the bed that Richie had occupied that night, the side of the bed that Richie naturally gravitated to when they spent time together, never a conscious discussion or awkward bumble, just two people moving in synchronisation, like there was a mirror between them, like they were mirrors of each other.

Eddie groaned and hauled himself up out of the bed.

When Richie's alarm rang out, he was in a foul mood. Another near sleepless night sitting up on his own playing Street Fighter in the basement, the neon glow from the arced screen of the television set illuminating every angle in his face, illuminating the unused second controller coiled on the floor beside him.

He only wrapped himself further into his duvet, remembering when he and Eddie had curled together underneath it, unable to get close enough to each other. He thought of Eddie sat on the end of it, head in his hands, Richie draped around him like a cloak or a shield, as though he could protect him from the world, give him a few moments to himself as he cried. He thought of his own calves crashing against the mattress as Eddie kissed him so hard that he stumbled backwards, Eddie on top of him, pinning him down.

When his second alarm rang, he knew that he actually had to get up, and heaved himself from the warm with great reluctance, cursing quietly. He kicked at the clothes scattered haphazardly over his bedroom floor. There was no point tidying if Eddie wasn't coming over; there was no point doing the laundry.

'Beep-beep, asshole,' he hissed at his alarm, and thwacked it.

Both boys had a moment where they considered if they would cycle to school together. After all, they were trying to be friends, and that was what they'd always done as friends. Both boys decided internally that it was too soon, that spending time alone together was something they deeply feared, like the silence and the memories would hang between them like ivy trellis, obscuring the way back to each other.

When Eddie chained his bike outside the school, Richie arrived. He considered loitering a moment in the shadows, searching for literally anybody else that he even passably knew well enough to engage in conversation, then cursed under his breath and went to the rack.

'Morning,' he greeted, wishing the high-pitched overcompensation in his voice wasn't quite so obvious.

Eddie flinched, his eyes wide as though Richie might have hit him, then recovered, 'Hey.' After a beat of silence, he asked, 'Weekend alright?' His gut boiled as he thought about just how dreadful his had been.

'Working, mostly,' Richie said. He'd picked up two extra shifts, to get himself out of the house and into a distinctly Eddie-free space, but after the Sunday night closedown, he'd accidentally-on-purpose smashed two plates in the sink. It had been taken out of his tips. 'You?'

Scowling, Eddie said, 'Too much fucking homework, as usual.'

'What did you have?' Richie asked, starting to walk towards the doors, yawning.