fire walk with me

“God I hate this.”

Eddie mutters angrily as yet another person bumps into him, pointedly glaring over his shoulder, but they’re already gone. It’s smoky and loud and humid as fuck, and his fucking feet hurt. Thirty is too goddamn old for this.

“I’m too old for this shit,” he grumbles out loud to no one, because his traitorous coworker had bailed on him literally two minutes ago.

He doesn’t know why he even agreed to this, or better yet, why he’s still here at all. Sure, the tickets were free; Marcy had won them at their joke of a holiday party, four fucking months ago. And yes he’d agreed to go when he’d been in a good mood, and drunk enough to forget his germaphobia and like, overall anxiety. And they aren’t even good tickets. They’re general fucking admission, aka standing room only, to see Richie fucking Tozier.

You should be able to be the person that you say you are.

“he’s gone.”

“no-no he’s just hurt we gotta get him out of here! he’s hurt! he’s okay we gotta get him out of here bev.”

“richie...”

“what?”

“honey, he’s dead.”