cliché || reddie ✔️

eighteen

He repeats his list in his head over and over again until he reaches the correct aisle. He throws a bag of potatoes into his cart and carries on. The store is deserted, just the occasional worker restocking shelves. With no one around, Richie feels more alone then ever tonight. Like everyone is hiding from him.

He finds packets of gravy and throws a few into the cart. A basket would've been easier with such few things, but Richie couldn't pass up the opportunity to stand on the bottom of the cart and roll down the empty aisles. On his way to the checkout, he spots the cereal and tosses a few boxes of Lucky Charms in.

There's only one dimly glowing light in the row of numbers, but Richie doesn't feel like being forced into small talk so he heads to the self checkout instead. Out of curiosity, he looks up to the open cashier.

He's facing away from Richie, but he's sitting on a stool with his legs weirdly positioned to prop up the book in his lap.

Looks kinda gay, if you ask Richie.

With Lucky Charms in one hand, Richie glances back and forth between the safety of self checkout and the boy's back.

Couldn't hurt, right?

He throws the box back into the cart, metal rattling against metal, and heads to the boy with the book.

As Richie is turning his cart into the narrow aisle lined with magazines and candy, he's internally rehearsing his lines to carry a conversation. Which wasn't too hard in theory, but when Richie's eyes connects with the boy's all of that goes out the window.

"Hey, I didn't know you worked here," he sputters out.

Eddie's staring at him with a surprised look, probably the same look Richie has. "What are you doing here, Rich?"

Richie breaths out a laugh and gestures to his small pile of food. "What does it look like? I'm shopping."

"On Christmas Eve?"

"Yeah, dude," he says with a shrug, "and you're working on Christmas Eve. What's up with that? You pull the short straw?"

Eddie closes his book and sets it under the counter, away from Richie's view. His hands fall onto the edge of the counter and his fingers curl around it. Finally, Eddie shrugs. "I asked to work tonight."

Richie snorts as he leans over to start unloading the cart. "The fuck? Why would you do that?" He asks, then it hits him. The memory of Stanley telling him and Bev about Eddie's mom in the musty library. The fights they have. "Well, you don't have to answer that. Not if you don't want to," he adds.

"No, it's okay," Eddie says. He grabs for the first item and scans it, a high and quick beep cutting through. "I took it to get away from my mom."

Bingo.

"What's uh," Richie says. He teeters on the question, debating if he should ask it or not. He wants to know, wants to know more than the simple explanation. Richie wants to know why Eddie is so upset with his mom. So, he asks, "What's with Mrs. K?"

Eddie continues scanning, never glancing up. "She's really controlling. Wouldn't even let me leave the house to leave for work tonight," he says. He puts the sack of potatoes into a bag and his hand lingers on it. "I had to go out the backdoor when she wasn't looking."

Sympathy rocks him instantly. But the powerfulness of it isn't as strong as the first hit when Richie meets Eddie's eyes. He doesn't look sad about it, probably used to it, annoyed at the most.

"That's shitty," Richie says.

"Really shitty," Eddie echoes. Richie doesn't say anything more and neither does Eddie for a moment. Richie's fingers drum against his leg as Eddie scans the last box of cereal.