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it took a moment for richie to scan his eyes over the complete crowd inside the diner, and when he reached the short brunette named eddie kaspbrak, that's when he got nervous.
and when richie gets nervous, he gets a sick feeling in his gut, a sharp pain in his temple, and he makes a joke.
and so, the searing pain in the left side of his head left him squeezing his eyes shut in pain, but soon opened them back up long enough to say, "you guys look like you've been getting laid. the fuck happened to me?"
and that little joke left everyone except eddie smiling. choruses of, "hi rich," and "that's the richie we know," or "we missed you, richie," flooded from everyone's mouths.
but the moment of pride that filled richie up was a mere second before that nauseous, sick feeling rose up in him again and he rushed to the bathroom with no warning. and there he was, in a diner bathroom on his knees, puking into the toilet.
the losers looked at each other frantically, attempting to piece together the puzzle, but eddie didn't. eddie wasn't smiling, his eyebrows weren't furrowed in concern, he wasn't happy to be there.
he just needed to get the hell out.
and so, he took his last drink from his cup and got out of the booth, sliding his jacket over his shoulders and rushing to the door. the nostalgia was too much and his anxiety was through the roof. it left him unable to breath with a tight squeeze in his chest, eyes wide.
"eddie? eds, where are you going?" bev called after him, running to his side and holding onto his arm.
"home," was all he managed to spit out, before taking off into the cold breeze and realize he didn't have a ride back. he wasn't going to steal bills car, so he ran down the sidewalk and hoped he was heading towards his apartment.
     mama looked over at the losers in shock, wobbling her big body over to the edge of the counter so they could speak properly. "is eddie alright? and that boy that went into the bathroom? should someone check on them?" her voice was caring and kind. she was a large, black woman with a caring face and beautiful personality. she knew eddie like the back of her hand.
     but bill simply nodded to assure they'd be just fine, and waltzed into the bathroom calmly to find richie.
     he was no longer puking, instead rinsing off his face, wiping his glasses, and washing his hands. he looked up at the mirror to see bill standing behind him, "hey, big bill. what's up?"
     "i could ask you the same thing. what happened out there?" bill furrowed his eyebrows and stood closer to him, rubbing his back gently.
     "i need a drink, after this. wanna go to a bar? or a club, or something?" richie ignored the question, itching for a beer or a couple shots or just a really good margarita.
     bill nodded, "yeah. yeah, after this. i
guess i could use a drink too."
richie grinned and patted him on the shoulder, "that's my bill right there. c'mon, let's go back to the others."
bill prepared to explain how eddie simply stormed out, but to his surprise, richie never asked. he seemed relieved, even, to have him gone. this left bill extremely confused. he was certain they'd be all over each other and down each other's throats all night. perhaps not.


eddies fingers were on the verge of freezing and falling off his hands as he walked down the icy sidewalk. he itches for the smallest bit of warmth, or just some music to distract his mind from the overbearing, crisp air.
it nipped at his nose, turning it a tint of pink as he began hugging himself, the snow crunching beneath his boots. he prayed to be home. prayed that someone, anyone, would come and pick him up and take him home. but where is home?
when he was a child, he always thought of his house as being his home. but that's never the case. because a house is where you reside, but a home is where you wish to reside. where you love. where you feel safest.
and to some people, their house is their home, because they love to reside there, they wish to reside there, and they feel safest residing there. but eddie never got to feel that, because when he went home he was hurt by his mom and constantly reminded he had no father.
he used to consider the losers his home, his shelter. he used to go to the losers when his house was too much. and eddie begins to wonder whether home is the proper term for his apartment whose bathroom smells of prescriptions.
maybe his home is with richie.
but he's not ready to face him again. now after what happened. not after the things they'd said and the things they'd shared. they gave themselves to each other, even, and eddie can't handle reliving that.
     he opened the door to his apartment and closed it behind him. he didn't even take his shoes off, just waltzed to his bed and collapsed face first into his pillows. bill is coming over later that night, since eddies going to be hosting him for who knows how long, and he's not in the mood. his social battery is zero and has been at zero for the majority of the night.
     and with tears streaming down his face, almost asleep, one thought stayed lingering on his mind.
     who is home?

tiny dancer. //reddie (heartless sequel)Where stories live. Discover now