[ the revelation that eddie thinks about him at all like that hardly feels real. he knows eddie thinks about him, at least in perfunctory ways: in the past few months they've racked up entire novels of text messages; they talk on the phone at least three or four nights a week. richie is aware, peripherally, that he should just be glad to have his best friend back.
it's not enough, of course it's not enough. richie's always been greedy for his attention. he got a taste for more in derry, the touch of those hands, the warmth of that body, and now he wants the rest. ]
You can say something now.
[ his tone dropped low again, inviting, his hand over his eyes. he becomes aware, viscerally, of his heart pounding in his chest. ]
I'll show you mine if you show me yours. [ there's that familiar terror, the one he had to live with passively even with eddie sprawled in a hospital bed beside him. but they killed a fucking clown, for god's sake, and richie's so burnt out on fear. ] How did you feel. With me.
no subject
it's not enough, of course it's not enough. richie's always been greedy for his attention. he got a taste for more in derry, the touch of those hands, the warmth of that body, and now he wants the rest. ]
You can say something now.
[ his tone dropped low again, inviting, his hand over his eyes. he becomes aware, viscerally, of his heart pounding in his chest. ]
I'll show you mine if you show me yours. [ there's that familiar terror, the one he had to live with passively even with eddie sprawled in a hospital bed beside him. but they killed a fucking clown, for god's sake, and richie's so burnt out on fear. ] How did you feel. With me.