beep beep, richie. shut up, richie. no one cares, richie.

he hears it all the time. from everyone. parents, teachers, friends, random people passing on the street. sometimes it grates so much he wants to vanish into the air just to make it stop. there’s only one person around whom he can drop all that bombastic, over-the-top comic flair—the one person who makes it easy to just be… him. audrey, of course.

walking the trail to her house at night has become second nature. the path is practically worn into the grass from his constant trips, from his constant need to see her, to talk to her, to dump all the energy he doesn’t know how else to contain. the night is quiet except for the crunch of his sneakers against gravel and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot.

like clockwork, he taps on the glass of her window. like clockwork, it cracks open just enough for him to squeeze through.

“hey.” he brushes off his jeans, shaking loose the dust from the walk. then, almost reluctantly, he opens his arms, offering a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. it’s there because he knows he’s supposed to do it, because it’s part of the routine, but it doesn’t hide the exhaustion behind it.