#drawing of eddie and a poem about him. and hes super embarrassed about it but one night he couldnt sleep and he started it and now he Needs

[allthatdivides2]

my brain telling me to go back to reading reddie fic 24/7 by making me dream about them last night

[argylemikewheeler]

| Richie misses his life in Maine– and someone in particular– and Mike realizes that Will moving away from Hawkins is making him feel the same way |

Standing at the kitchen sink, Mike could smell the smoke floating up from the backyard. He placed his cup down and yanked the window open the rest of the way, just enough for him to lean over and stick his head out. Richie was sitting, cross-legged and barefoot in the grass, head against the house paneling and glasses hanging on his shirt collar. He held a lit cigarette in his right hand, while his left held a piece of folded paper again his chest. The ripped envelope laid carefully between some untrimmed blades of grass.

“Mom’s going to kill you, you know that?” Mike said loudly.

Richie jerked and opened his eyes, but blinked the shock from his face. “Oh yeah? Well whose do you think these are? Holly’s?”

“Just because you found them in her dresser doesn’t mean they’re hers.” Mike sighed. “They’re the same ones she took from you last week.”

“As far as I’m concerned, these are Mom’s cigarettes. She’s the one with the nasty habit.” Richie rebutted, letting his eyes close again.

“You better put that out. The house is going to reek.”

“Eh, better than that fucking shit and piss candle Mom’s got burning.” Richie said, lifting his hand to wave Mike away.

“It’s peony, Richie.”

“It’s putrid.”

“Would you just put it out?” Mike insisted, wiping his hands. He leaned back onto his feet and walked through the kitchen to the backdoor. He unlocked the door– which if it was locked, Mike wasn’t sure how Richie got outside unless he used the windows… which might probably have been it– and poked his head outside. “Richie, I’m not kidding. Put it out.”

“No.” Richie rebutted quickly, but seemed to lack all fire in his shot back. He sounded tired; his head only lolling to the side to face Mike. He squinted against the sunshine and his nearsightedness.

“Rich, come on.” Mike stepped down from the porch quickly, his bare feet sliding in the grass, as he reached over for Richie’s cigarette. It still rested only in his hand. “Give it to me!”

“Hey, fuck off, shitbird!” Richie cried, twisting and falling onto his back. He stuck a foot out and nearly pushed Mike in the stomach. “Leave me alone!”

“Before Mom comes back, just put it out!”

“NO! I’m not even smoking it!” Richie argued, pointing at the slow column of ash forming at the end of the cigarette. Mike blinked at him– he wasn’t born yesterday. “I’m not. I’m really not. Promise. I’m just… lighting it.”

“What, like an incense? What do you think I am, Richie. A fucking idiot?” Mike retorted, yanking his brother upright.

Upon putting his glasses back on, Richie’s face didn’t unfurrow; he still looked pensive and sharp. He looked angry, but not at Mike or even the prospect of their mother grounding him. His eyes were red, only if Mike caught them in the right light. He’d been crying– but no, Richie never cried. Not like this.

“Well?” Mike continued, unsure what to say. It was obvious to them both what he’d been doing. “What are you doing, Dick?”

“I always thought I was addicted to this shit.” Richie sighed, clenching his jaw. He was speaking against his will, but for some reason all lies felt useless between them. “Turns out… I just miss Eddie.”

“Oh.” Mike eased himself down into the grass beside his brother. A quick glance to the envelope showed the return address to be the Kaspbrak household, all the way back in Maine.

There had been a few stories from Richie’s years with their aunt, Eddie’s name– Eds– peppered in sparingly and safely. Mike hadn’t thought to truly consider what it meant at the time, but it was becoming startlingly familiar. Using Will’s name in a story– one that would come bounding from his lips the moment it happened– was a game, strategically placing his name after two others or at the end, as if he wasn’t the first thought. No one was paying any attention, but Mike was. He had something to hide. And apparently so did Richie.

“I know. Stupid, right? So fucking corny.” He didn’t acknowledge the secret, only his embarrassing way to cope with the distance.

“That’s not stupid. No, that’s… that’s…”

“Really fucking sappy. I know.” Richie took a long inhale but kept the cigarette by his side. “We used to hang over this one bridge in town and share them. I used to think it was the nicotine that had me but, turns out…” He waved his hand out: it was Eddie.

“And we moved you away.” Mike sighed, feeling gutted. Sure, Will had moved away and left Mike feeling all sorts of ungrounded and anxious, but Mike was still in his home, reaching for Will. The Wheelers had taken Richie themselves and pulled him from Eddie; he was the one that was taken away, that had to deliver the news he’d be putting distance between them.

“He knows, so it’s not too bad.” Richie muttered. Oh, that was something Richie had over Mike; he’d never learned to speak any of his feelings aloud. “That’s what the letters are; something more permanent than a phone call.”

Richie’s voice was wobbling and his bottom lip quivered; Mike couldn’t stand to watch his brother break down and quickly scrambled for a joke– any joke.

“Does he write you love poems and shit?” He nudged Richie’s arm. He nearly tipped over.

“No.” Richie sniffled. He finally put the cigarette out on a out-of-place stone by his feet. “I write him about my day– things that I’m not going to tell him on the phone with fucking Ted around thinking scanning my calls is part of good parenting–”

“Understood.” Mike grumbled.

“and he just sends back his day. Signs it the same way: he won’t forget me.” He laughed wetly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “My spaghetti won’t ‘forgetti’.”

Richie chuckled again to himself, but Mike was left still and silent. That was kind of the saddest thing he’d ever heard.

“Richie–”

“I know it’s stupid and I love our friends here at home but, I love my friends up there and I want to go back and see them but Auntie fucking hates me because I’m such a fucking handful and I can’t stay with Eddie and his mom– no fucking way– and I can’t stay with Bev because that’s a shit idea and Stan does not deserve to have me constantly under his roof and I sure as fuck can’t ask Mom or Dad to have Eddie stay over. That’s a surefire way to get both my prescription and teeth knocked out.”

“I- uh–” Mike wasn’t sure what to say. Richie was right.

“And if I have to wait until I have somewhere else to stay to see them, it might be a year before I see Eddie again. A year. That’s so long. That’s impossible to ask of him. Or anyone. And he’s just gonna… He’ll forget me. Act like I never existed– and I mean, he should! I’m a terrible, terrible friend.”

“That’s not true.” Mike grabbed his brother’s hand. The touch spoiled the rest of his sentences; this was so unlike them. “D-Do you worry about that a lot?”

“Oh come on, are you telling me you don’t feel that same way about Will?” Richie sniffled sharply, taking a long inhale.

Mike felt as if he had taken a drag of Richie’s cigarette. “Uh, that’s completely different.” He choked out.

Richie blinked at Mike for a long time– way too long, if Mike was being honest– with a look of slight disgust on his face. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s not like you a-and Eddie!”

“I open up to you– even the tiniest bit– and you’re gonna just lie to my face like this.”

Richie was teasing, of course he was, but he had a valid point. He was back on the brink of tears after having already cried, all because he missed his boyfriend– was that the word they used, Mike wondered. He’d never thought Richie as being any sort of “boyfriend”; it was too formal, too dutiful– and he was going to lie to his brother; Mike’s first best friend that had been sent away for four years after intermediate summers in Maine that never truly spoke a word about his “forced vacation” was sharing about his first love, and Mike was shutting him out. He was making Richie feel more alone than he had to.

Mike groaned and rubbed his face. “I’m not just lying to you.”

“Oh. Oh no. You didn’t tell him before he moved? Mike, are you shitting me?”

“Hey! Shut up! I’m not the one crying over handwritten letters here!” Mike said. It wasn’t entirely accusatory and Richie knew it. His eyebrows lifted and his jaw set in expectation: go on. “A binder– I keep all his drawings in a binder. In the basement. He still sends me some– ones he draws when he’s bored in class or just ones he does for fun. I save every single one. Every. Single. One.”

There wasn’t much Richie could say, Mike knew that, but he was just super appreciative he stayed silent rather than laughing. He nodded and collected a response. “I know I’m more like Ted than I am like Mom…”

“You’re not–”

“Dad was born afraid of emotions and has passed that onto me, I know this and I’m not going to lie to myself.” Richie said sternly. “But, my point is: if I think you should tell him? Maybe you really should fucking tell him. Like yesterday.”

“Why would I do that? He’s hours away now and–”

“And he’s sending you drawings, Mike.” Richie looked upset again. His hands curling around the letter. “That sounds a whole lot like ‘I won’t forget you’ to me. Kinda gross, actually… He’s in love with you.”

Hearing it first from Richie sent Mike almost into another plane of existence. Mike reached for the cigarette and felt around in the grass for the lighter. “He is not.” He coughed, no smoke even in his lungs.

“Okay.” Richie nodded, laughing. “I’m sure he’s just, carefully creating art for every boy he knows.”

Mike spoke without thinking. “I sure fucking hope not.”

Slowly, Richie pulled his hand from his pocket and held out his lighter. He clinked his tongue and sparked it. “Oh, you’re in far worse than I thought.”

“Am not!”

“Well, when you stop pining over some crayola art, you let me know, Mike n Ike.” Richie laughed. “Denial’s only fun for so long.”

It wasn’t denial, was it? Mike knew he liked Will but he was just so fucking sure that Will didn’t– and couldn’t– like him back. It wasn’t denial if it was the truth, right? Then again, when had Mike heard those words from Will? He was hurting from being so far from Will, but he had yet to be hurt from being rejected. God, Mike was sure being rejected would hurt a hell of a lot less.

Maybe he should test that theory. Finally, maybe Richie had given good advice. Just this once.

“If I tell him, it’s you who’s driving me to Chicago to see him.” Mike threatened, pointing the cigarette at him. “I can’t just do it in a letter or-or a phone call. That’ll kill him.”

“You chip in and help me rent a place in Maine for a week this summer and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Deal. Fine. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” Mike nodded, ditching the cigarette.

Richie closed the lighter and smiled at Mike, free of mischief. “Thanks, Mike… Don’t tell Mom about the smoking. Any parts of it. Please.”

“They’re hers anyway.” Mike said winking. “She really needs to quit, honestly.”

“We’re just helping!” Richie slung his arm around Mike and brought him toppling into him. “We’re the best children she could ask for–”

“– Do I smell cigarettes?”

“Fuck! Run!” Richie giggled, scrambling up his papers and getting to his feet. Mike threw the lighter and pack into the bush behind the patio and took off after his brother.

The backdoor opened just as Richie jumped the fence, Mike struggling to do the same. “You boys better get back here!” Karen shouted.

“Sorry, Mom!” Richie called back, waving. “We’re running to Chicago!”

“And then Maine!” Mike wheezed. “Be back later!”

ao3