Try to run but you're always behind it
So you play hide and seek like a blind kid
Until you're caught - yeah you're caught

The four of you were sitting in the little restaurant Richie had spotted earlier.

You don't know how, but Jon ended up sitting next to you; not that you were complaining after all, his position making it a lot easier to not look at him – but having him right there close to you tightened your guts in a way you tried to ignore the best you could.

Even if he had eaten this afternoon, Richie, in front of you, had just finished a plate that you would have taken two days to end, and the waitress had just cleared the table.

Your brother hummed: "Oh, I talked with Doc before you arrived this morning, guys. But he asked me something I didn't get..."

David hummed, waiting for the rest and Jon grabbed his glass.

"He talked about money of the record company we spent, like a rather big amount, the first evening in Vancouver that we haven't paid back yet- Ugh..."

He had been interrupted by a shower of beer Jon spitted on his whole front.

Your first reaction had been to open wide eyes that you tried to control so much they got full of tears and David suddenly got very interested in the patterns of the tablecloth.

"Sorry man, I... It went down the wrong way."

Richie passed his napkin on his face and eyed his stained t-shirt. "That's alright... So, I was saying. Do you remember that? I was so shitfaced, honestly."

A smile had reappeared on his face and he seemed to not take it seriously, so you hoped the conversation would die there. He opened his mouth, and by fear it would be the same subject, you tried: "So, today you shot the cover of the album, that's it? Or the inside of the sleeve?"

David nodded a bit to quickly to be innocent even though you had put two different questions, and you said: "Oh, nice." You released a breath as Richie didn't carry on on the bills and you added: "So, you with barely dressed women will be the cover of the album?"

You had said that shrugging, finding it rather funny in the end, but Jon didn't get it that way: "And? You thought the cover was going to be a garbage bag with the title written on it?"

Both David and Richie raised eyebrows to him, not getting why he had reacted like that. You were taken aback, first by his tone, secondly because you thought he would have gotten you had talked about that to literally save his – and your – ass.

"Jon, it wasn't criticism-"

"You think? I can feel it, it's a reproach. You're not being honest."

There was an urge in his voice, like he didn't want to say that and regretted each word as soon as they left his mouth, but it didn't matter for you.

"Oh, yeah? I'm not being honest? Do you want to talk about honesty, Jon?"

David gulped and Richie was clueless, not getting this nebulous conversation looking full of resentment and the fact that both of you were literally looking in the opposite direction even though you were arguing.

This situation was unbearable, and you let out everything you were feeling since that morning in Vancouver by looking into Richie's eyes and saying those words: "Jon and I got married."

A silence fell on the little table, David's eyes roaming the three of you, Jon gulping so loudly you heard it and Richie blinked several times in row, like he was trying to wake up from a dream.

Jon closed his eyes, ready to take a punch, but nothing happened. David was still anxiously looking at the three of you successively, not knowing if he should intervene.

After two silent seconds, Richie burst into laughs, making the tables around you throw you looks. Forgetting you were in a row, you exchanged a look with Jon; looking away right after.

You blinked; you weren't expecting that.

He was holding his stomach, nearly bent in two above the table and clapped his thigh, like he had heard the best joke ever.

After two very long minutes where you exchanged awkward looks with David and sorry ones with the other clients, he stirred and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. You cleared your throat; "Richie. You have to believe us. We... We did get married in a small chapel in Vancouver."

Thinking he wasn't believing you and that you were pranking him was rather painful.

He said, still catching back his breath: "I believe you, I believe you! I leave both of you unattended for an evening and you get married in a damn chapel! No wonder what you would have done if we went to Vegas!"

He sighed, hand on his belly and finished his glass.

Your jaw clenched; you could nearly say you would have preferred him to scream out of anger than take it like that.

You said on a sharp tone, not believing yourself: "You mean... You're not angry we got married?"

He sniffed: "Ugh, no. I mean, I'm sure it can be quickly arranged... I just think we shouldn't tell mom and dad though."

He had a smile of haze on his face, hand still on his glass, gaze alternating between the three of you. David was holding his breath, and you blinked.

After all...

That's good, no?

Better that than a fight?

You finally released your breath, something like relief spreading in your chest.

But it would have been too good, wouldn't it.

Apparently, Jon had felt a certain relief too. He said in a shrug: "Oh, right. It was certainly something that night, I will sure remember when the owner nearly burst in the room in the morning and forced us to run half-naked in the street..."

It took a second to Jon to acknowledge this excess of phlegm and he clamped his hand on his mouth, eyes widening. Richie's eyes shot wide opened and his hand clenched around his glass, David hiding his lower face in his.

"What room?"

Ooh, you didn't like the tone of his voice. The furthest you remembered it, it was around twenty years ago, when you told him you broke one of his toys.

Richie turned his face so quickly towards David even his hair full of hairspray moved. "You told me they were already at the apartment when you brought me back."

David lowered his glass to meet his eyes, but kept his lips on it and didn't say anything.

Richie's eyes went on Jon, carefully avoiding you in the process; what pissed you off.

"So you spent the night... together?" The last word came out painfully. He repeated, not on the tone of a question anymore: "You spent the night together."

A silence fell again, and you could have jumped on the occasion to deny.

But you didn't.

At your side, Jon was still hand on his mouth and eyes wide open.

"Richie, look at me. Look at me for God's sake!"

He finally planted his eyes in yours with anger, but you were too used to this to get affected. "Yes, we spent a night together. What are you going to do?"

"He hadn't the right to touch you! Plus... You got married!"

You scoffed: "Two minutes ago you didn't care!"

He crossed his arms on his chest and pouted, making you once again think about the six-year-old version of himself; but it wasn't the time to laugh. "Well, now, I do!"

"Richie, you don't decide for me. I do what I want!"

"Oh, so you were doing what you wanted that night? Tell me you weren't drunk!"

You paused. At your sides, Jon's hand had dropped and David had put his glass back on the table.

He carried on: "Tell me you don't regret this!"

"I don't!"

You had nearly shouted and everyone in the small restaurant stopped to talk. The ambient noise started again though as long seconds passed where Richie blinked, not believing his ears, David laid wide eyes on you too and Jon finally, after so many days, looked at you thoughtfully.

But your eyes were still planted into Richie's and you didn't see his expression.

"Maybe, deep inside me, I wanted it?"

All colours left your brother's face and he said, merely opening his mouth: "You wanted to have sex with him?"

You rolled your eyes: "I meant the wedding, Richie, for lord's sake." You nearly added "But yes" for some reasons but decided against.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came for you, so he switched to Jon – who settled down in his chair: "And you? You've got nothing to say? She was drunk!"

Jon gasped: "Don't imply that! It's disgusting! Both of us wanted it!" He glanced at you. "You... Did?"

You met his eyes, and acknowledged it was the first time you really looked at him since that night. "Yes."

Richie let out a long plead, and you looked back at him. "Oh my god Richie, stop being a drama queen!"

You knew he hated to be called like that, and he hissed: "I'm. not. a. drama. queen!"

He then took his empty glass and eyed it, probably imagining Jon's head in it, and literally exploded it on the table. The sound of the glass breaking made, once again, people around you turn – but instead of throwing you pissed looks, they repressed gasps.

A piece of glass somehow landed on his jaw, marking it of a long cut. He squealed and clamped one of his hands on the table right on the shards of glass, what made him scream. You said: "Richie, for god's sake, stop moving!"

But he led his full-of-glass hand on his cheek to move the piece – which just worsened everything. You rolled your eyes and David blinked, still not able to process the events as Jon let out in a cry: "Someone calls an ambulance!"

You got up: "No, the hospital is not far. David, let's take your car."

You looked for money as Jon went to grab Richie below the armpit, but this one hissed like a cat and battled his valid hand in the air like to repel a fly. He seemed to get up painfully and you rolled your eyes as you let two bills on the table: "Richie, it's your hand and face that's hurt, not your legs."

He didn't answer and dramatically let himself fall on David.