how do i look to you? ; closed

[badimpression]

Who: Richie & Eddie
Where: Abandoned spheres
What: post dragon encounter shenanigans
When: 05/27
Warnings: blood + injury

[Alright, so this isn't his brightest moment.

In Richie's defense, despite everything that had happened since he'd arrived here, all of the consequences he's faced thus far have been mental. Social. Even the shit that happened to his creepy doppelganger hadn't transferred over to Richie as anything but a detached sort of memory.

He was hardly thinking about the possibility of any physical danger when he pestered Charis for information, or even when he started nosing about the abandoned domes. All he'd been thinking about was how cool it'd be to video call his friends with a dragon standing in the background.

Evidently said dragon isn't interested in getting active on the socials, because the moment Richie had made himself known with a loud, crowing,]

Holy smokes, Puff! [it had turned on him, hissing and clawing and loudly expressing it's displeasure at having an audience.

Richie isn't entirely stupid, he'd booked it within seconds, but her enormous tail had raked down his side as she turned to chase Richie out, and once he was sure she'd retreated back to where she'd been hiding, Rich hadn't been able to take more than a cursory glance at the shredded sleeve and torn skin along his left arm.

It hurts more and more as the adrenaline wears off, and embarrassment settles in it's place. Richie can feel the sting of fabric glued to his injury with blood, and it's enough to make him dizzy- so he does the first thing he thinks of, and staggers his way to the safest place he knows in the outer, abandoned domes: his and Eddie's hideout.

Richie sits there now, curled up against one of the beams that holds up their hammock, numbly holding his bundled up over-shirt over the worst of it, too shocked to even cry. He's still dizzy. It's probably to do with the blood loss, he thinks. Might make it hard to get back to the dorm. And he has no idea how to clean this up, or if it's deep enough for stitches.

He's not panicking though. He's not freaking out at all.]

Comments

[wheezed]

( God, it's happening. He can feel his cheeks heating up, and it's all he can do not to drop the handfuls of bandages clutched in his fists. Richie audibly winces even as he's clearly trying to keep it in, and Eddie's fists clench up tighter in response.

The last thing he should be doing is entertaining– thoughts, while Richie's injured like this. It's only the injury that keeps him focused enough to avoid tailspinning on that thought, honestly, and as soon as the shirt is off Eddie quickly swoops in.

He keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he starts wrapping the bandage around the arm, meaningless and easy to tune out and non-stop, right up until he secures the end.

The noise dies off. Eddie looks at Richie, a complicated expression on his face. He's still holding the other boys arm loosely, and the other hand drops to rest on Richie's knee. )

...You have to be more careful, Rich. I can't– I don't want to see you get hurt again.

[badimpression]

[Maybe it's easy for Eddie to tune himself out, but Richie could never. He soaks up every word, eyes tracking Eddie's face as he speaks like there's something more to glean from the way his brow furrows as he focuses, or the shape of his lips when they thin out all stern. He feels dizzy. On a precipice.

Eddie's words are a friendly little nudge. He cares so much. More than anyone else in Richie's life has ever bothered to care.]

Yeah, I- this was fucking stupid. I know. I'm sorry.

[Eddie's hands feel warm and soft, and Richie's heart isn't racing, but it's loud as thunder in his ears all the same. Everything feels slow and heavy, and the usual sharp slash of fear that hits him at times like these is absent when he reaches up and curls a hand over Eddie's cheek. Richie smiles at him.]

Would you still bandage me up again, if there was a next time, Doctor K?

[wheezed]

That's a stupid question.

( Eddie has lost count of the amount of times that he's said something to that effect to Richie. 'That's so stupid', or 'you're so stupid', or 'you're being stupid' – and always with this annoyingly fond slant to the words. As if he's really saying the opposite.

This time is no different, really. It's just as fond as ever, just a hell of a lot gentler than Eddie normally manages. There's so many more sharp corners and barbed edges to Eddie's words than he wants – most of all when it comes to Richie – it's a wonder anyone sees anything beyond that. And beyond all expectations, it's Richie who sees it. Sees him. )

I'll always help. No matter what.

( It's entirely plausible that Eddie stopped breathing at some point. Probably right around when Richie's hand met his cheek, and he's probably just passed out by now. Maybe it's that crazy notion that this is some nonsense dream that makes him move, or maybe it's just been left simmering for far too long. Maybe it's the adrenaline and fear of losing Richie finally making itself known – but Eddie doesn't barf. Instead he does something much, much more stupid.

He leans in fast, and just like that he's pressing his lips somewhat clumsily against Richie's. )

[badimpression]

That's the only kinda question I got.

[Richie's still grinning, eyes lit up at the way Eddie is entirely in this moment with him, softer around the edges than he usually allows himself to be, which is just how Richie feels right now, too. Like they're both letting their guard down, together.

And Richie is definitely caught off guard when Eddie leans in and lands one on him.

For a second he just sort of sits there, mind racing to catch up, feeling outside of himself. Like maybe he really has lost too much blood, and he's hallucinating.

But it's truly only just a second, and then Eddie's lips, and his warm breath on Richie's face, feels too real to be anything else, and Richie is kissing back, only able to think about how much he's wanted exactly this for longer than he would ever care to admit.

He doesn't think about any consequences, or dealing with the aftermath, or why it's happening. Just this.

Until he needs to take a breath, and then the floodgates open up and he's bowled over, so stunned that he can't move.]

[wheezed]

( The real tragedy, more than anything, is that Eddie never lets himself enjoy it.

He's grappled with this for months, probably longer if he's honest with himself, and there should be even just a single moment where he forgets about his many and varied anxieties for just long enough to actually appreciate what is happening. He's wanted this very thing so badly that it felt like a physical thing taking up residence in his lungs and weighing down his chest – but he's hated how much he has wanted this just as much.

Even as Richie doesn't pull away, Eddie's mind is already spinning with the reality of what he's just done. He's already piecing together exactly what has just happened and putting it together in the most unpleasant ways possible. Richie's injured, Richie needed him, and Eddie—

By the time Richie takes his breath and Eddie yanks back quick as a flash, already visibly mortified. He touches his mouth once, quickly, and then his hands drop back into little fists in his lap once more. )

I- You- I didn't- Richie, don't-

( His breathing is already ramping up to dangerous speeds, but at least he's not wheezing yet. Eddie can't focus on articulating properly and staving off an asthma attack at the same time, so he just ends up doing a very poor job of both. )

I didn't mean to. I didn't, I swear. I don't–

[badimpression]

[It's like the ground rushing up to meet him after leaping off a swing. Eddie looks horrified, at himself, or at Richie, or at what just happened, maybe all of the above, and Richie doesn't really want to fucking know. He does his best to lock his expression down, bites on the inside of his cheek to stop the way his mouth quivers, and swallows the bile that rises in his throat.

When he speaks, it's as much to himself as it is to Eddie.]

No, it's okay. It's fine. Eds, breathe. Stop for a second. You gotta just breathe.

[He's already dropped his hand from Eddie's cheek like it's been burned, and now he balls it up in the fabric of his shirt, clenching it tightly and then dropping it once he realises it's not enough, it doesn't do anything to calm his own mounting panic. Instead, he curls his fingers around his knee, and it's nothing like the soft touch of his hand to Eddie's face- he bites his nails viciously into the skin of his leg, digging and pushing until it's all he can feel, not the swimming of his stomach.]

I know. It's okay. I know.

[Of course Eddie didn't mean to. Of course he didn't. Fuck.]

[wheezed]

( This is probably the worst thing that's ever happened to Eddie, and he can't even blame Pennywise this time. This is a mess entirely of his own making, and now to make it worse Richie is left trying to comfort him. As if Eddie hasn't just done something terrible.

It's that thought more than anything that makes Eddie gulp down a few rapid, large breaths of air. His head is spinning a little, but he can't tell if it's from the sudden rush of oxygen to his lungs or the magnitude of what he's just done. Either way it's entirely unimportant right now. )

You do?

( If there's even a glimmer of hope that he might make it through this without Richie hating him, he'll grab it with both hands. Even if that means swallowing down the rising pain that comes with the knowledge that Richie really isn't interested in all that, at least not where Eddie is concerned.

Stupid really, because Eddie already knew that. But he maybe could have lived without the confirmation a little longer.

He swallows hard, a few times in quick succession just like his breaths, and when he speaks it's even faster. )

So. Just– forget about it. It's not even important when you've got a literal open wound just pissing out blood right there. I mean not really pissing out blood but it could still get infected, there's dust like...everywhere...

[badimpression]

[Eddie grabs onto his words with something desperate, relief maybe, and Richie allows it to happen as if it doesn't shatter him into pieces. He nods a few times, jittery and anxious to pass the moment by, wanting that look off of Eddie's face.]

Yeah. Yeah, forgotten. Done. Bam. Memory like a sieve, this one! What's my name again? Woah golly! How did I get here!

[His voice, a fast-paced, transatlantic accent, invites Eddie to laugh, but his eyes are empty.]

Alrighty, doc. You think we can finish up here soon?