ic inbox.

[heatmetal]

[ his voicemail greeting is just a guitar riff ]

Comments

[camarod]

You're worried about your ugly parts? Eddie, look at who you're talking to.

[he's all ugly parts, more or less: hurt; angry; slightly bitter. ] We'll figure it out, man. Eventually.

[it's so juvenile, how he wants to curl up now. like that's something you do with your friends, put your head in their lap to feel close to them, or wrap your arms around them to feel the anchor of being alive. ]

- Thanks. Thanks for - this.

[heatmetal]

[ he feels it, and without thinking, his arm comes out. pulling billy to his shoulder. ]

I'm talking to my generous friend who is sometimes a colossal prick. But that is, weirdly, why I love him.

It's no problem, man. You feeling better?

[camarod]

[his head goes temple to shoulder. it feels, somehow, more intimate than having been in Eddie's head. ]

Your generous friend sounds exhausting. But he's fine. More or less.

[generous. ha. ] If I start growing tentacles, you promise to take me out?

[heatmetal]

Oh, definitely. Even you can't pull that look off.

[camarod]

Appreciate it, killer.

[that's a relief too. ] I wonder how close I gotta be to be like, in your head.

[heatmetal]

You think it's a proximity thing? Because long range telepathy could have a shitton of uses when we're dealing with monsters.

[camarod]

I guess we test it out when I drive back home?

[and - okay, yes. a use for it. and if - if it's safe, he wonders if Eddie could just, piggyback off of him to connect with others? hm. ]

I don't know what's worse, though - those goddamn walkie talkies, or having a bunch of us in your head.

[heatmetal]

Mm... Yeah. Walkie talkies are better. Dunno if I can keep my thoughts clean for all the kids.

[camarod]

The kids are not getting in. Steve - maybe.

[heatmetal]

I bet his head's real soothing. Like... easy listening radio.

[ it's a little mean but he says it fondly. ]

[camarod]

Just vibes. Some Madonna.

[heatmetal]

Definitely a shitton of ABBA.

[camarod]

ABBA’s so fucking depressing dude. Those lyrics? Yeesh.

[this is comfortable. Eddie’s shoulder is a little bony, a little awkward at this angle, but it’s comfortable with him also just there at the edge of his consciousness. a flickering little neighbour that feels like safety.

it’s real fucking novel, if he’s honest. he’s never felt safe before. let’s that one slip out before he can contain it. ]

I bet he’d like the Stones. Or KISS. Something he can dance to.