Runaway

Chapter 8

"Hey y/n! Catch this!"

You turned to Richie, and the landscape around seemed to turn with you too. You had the feeling of being on a boat in the middle of a storm. You closed your eyes three seconds to repress the urge to throw up, and looked at Richie. It seemed like you inverted roles: he now was full of energy, and your stomach was starting to threaten.

He had a football ball in his hands, that he certainly picked up from an open garden.

"Richie put it back, it doesn't belong to you."

"I touched it, so now it does! Catch it!"

He raised it above his head for the impulse, but the ball fell from behind and rolled below a car. He turned to see where it was, but didn't notice the trajectory. "Oh my god. It just... disappeared." He pouted like a five-year-old and swore.

You laughed before the comical situation and joined him. "Come on Richie, it's time to go-" "SHHHHH." He put his finger on your mouth. "Don't shout, you'll wake Jon up." You removed his hand and cocked an eyebrow: "Richie. We're in the middle of the street."

He watched left and right. "Oh."

You laughed and put your arm below his armpit for support and progressed toward the building. The cold air was pleasant and your stomach calmed down.

"Hey y/n."

"Yeah."

"Do you love him?"

You turned your face to him. "Who?" He smiled and put his head on your shoulder. "Jon of course. I'm sure you would make a very cute couple and would make beautiful babies." He then took your cheek between two fingers, like to a child. You made an embarrassed laugh and removed his hand. You thanked the night to hide your blushing face. "Oh stop it. Why would he like me? First of all, he knows me for a few days. And I'm nothing special. Look at him, he could have all the chicks he wants." You dragged him on the stairs and took the keys out of his pocket. "See? You don't say you don't like him. And you said "he knows ME for a few days", not "we know each other for a few days", which means you feel like you know him a lot, and-"

You sat him, well, more let him fall on the couch and threw a pillow at his face. You took off your shoes, and he did the same. "I see mister Sambora is very far-seeing for a man who drank half of the bar's stocks."

You left in the kitchen to serve him a glass of water. You hoped he was speaking with an alcoholic-inspired mind, and will forget everything in the morning. When you turned to go back in the living-room, you nearly bumped into him; you haven't noticed him standing right behind you.

"Lord Richie, you can't-"

"Can you play guitar?"

You sighed.

"Yes, I can, you do not remember that I played with you all and literally took your-"

"Yeah, but I mean... Can you really play guitar?"

You lifted an eyebrow. He didn't wait for your answer and dragged you in his room. You never entered it; the place was, to your astonishment, well tidy. A guitar was hung to the wall, two others laid against it, and a last one was on the double-bed. You laughed. "I see you have good company during the night." He jumped and took it, plugged it in the amp and presented it to you. You gave him a questioning look.

"Play."

"What?"

"Yeah!"

"But the neighb-"

"Oh shut up, the neighbours don't give a shit either. Plus, they are probably high enough either to not hear anymore or to forget it by the morning."