overstimulated // a reddie fic

03. Pretty

Richie arrived to class and threw himself in his seat. Eddie looked over from his newest desk doodle, practically beaming.

“Hey, Rich, what’s up?”

Richie shrugged. “Tired.” He pointed to the empty teacher’s desk. “Where’s Bald Guy?”

“Bathroom.” Eddie held his head in his hand, and offered his free one to Richie, who took it. Their thumbs crossing. One, two, three, four. Already, Eddie had almost trapped Richie’s thumb, but he wriggled away.

It’s been nearly a month since they’ve first ditched. They’ve gone back to the library a couple times, to return books and check more out. They’ve become regulars for Sheila.

“I’m becoming a little worried about your grades, kids.”

Eddie wacked the statement away. “We’re passing.”

“For now,” Sheila muttered, but winked at the boys nonetheless.

After one of their library trips once, they decided to go to the park, where Richie had kicked a kid.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to use the swings,” Eddie protested, but watched anyway. “You swing, Rich, not spin.”

“Shut it,” Richie said, happily twisting himself up in the swing. He let off the ground and held his limbs out like a starfish, and spun faster than any merry-go-round Eddie had seen. When the swing was going its fastest, Richie had accidentally kicked a poor girl’s face.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Richie said, covering his mouth.

“You fucking better be,” the mom boomed, holding a tissue up to her daughter’s bloody nose.

“Where are we going today, Eds?”
Richie, who had very cleverly come up with that nickname and would not, almost could not, stop saying it, had trapped Eddie’s thumb in his. Eddie slipped through.

“Well, I’ve been saving up my allowance so, wanna eat at a restaurant for lunch?”

“What? No Slim Jims?” Richie smiled. “This is a big step for you, Eds.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not eating shitty meat sticks for the rest of my sophomore year.”

“They’re not ‘shitty’, they’re fucking masterpieces wrapped in plastic.”

“You’ve somehow made them sound so much less appealing.”

“Shut up,” Richie giggled. He finally held down Eddie’s thumb, counted to three. He won.

He pumped his fist and grabbed his backpack. “Let’s go, Eds.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Lead the way, Eds.”

“Shut up.”

. . .

The two decided on sandwiches, and went to a very well-heated restaurant and ripped off their huge puffy jackets. A waiter took their orders and had just come back with their drinks.

“I was thinking,” Richie started.

“Oh, no.”

“Shut,” Richie said flatly, but smiled. “I was thinking if you wanted to sleep over.” He took his straw and shot the wrapper over to Eddie.

“At your house?” Eddie asked. He grabbed the wrapper and balled it up, and threw it back to Richie, hitting his nose.

“Yeah, dingus, at my house.” Richie set the paper ball on their table. “Do you want to?”