In The End We Are Still The Same (Reddie)

Trash Mouth

Chapter 1: part 1

Richie hates himself. He seriously fucking does. It's so fucking hard to explain how much he fucking hates himself, that he hates himself for not being able to articulate it properly.

No matter how hard he tries. He cannot, for the life of him stop liking boys. No matter how much he tries to drill it into his head that it's fucking wrong. That he was wrong. That maybe it would just all go away if he avoided it. Bullied it. Dug a hole so deep, that he could throw it down that hole and bury it. Smother it to death and kick it down a well. Never look at it, think of it. Live it.

But it never worked.

He just fucking hated himself. He hated everything, every god damn thing. He hated everyone. Every-fucking-one—

Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie.

God he could get drunk from the idea of him. His name sweet addictive nicotine on his lips. His body could melt into the earth, just thinking about him. The smell of him, so engulfing and pungent, wrapping him up in layers of lavender shampoo, alcohol wipes and excessive amounts of hand sanitizer.

The way his eyes flickered to the side every time he got embarrassed when they would watch reruns of Charlie's Angels, and a slightly risqué scene played out on the fuzzy television in Ben's stuffy living room.

The way his lips would twitch just slightly when he would try and hold in a laugh every time Richie told him a stupid joke. And every time his eyes would never break from his, when they would shove themselves into their own sleeping bags on the floor of Bill's bedroom during slumber parties. While Eddie would then complain about the millions of different germs that could be on the floor, yet never actually getting up because he was too comfortable.

Or that stupid way he will puff on his inhaler, after just jogging a few feet because he fully believes he is going to die if he doesn't. And that stupid little fanny-pack he keeps that inhaler in, paired with those obnoxiously bright red gym shorts he wears that are entirely too short it should be illegal.

Or the way the Richie would stare at his lips when Eddie would begrudgingly finally let him copy his homework after hours and hours of complaining about how stupid he thought he was. And the way Eddies voice would come out soft, and small, so fragile it was like Richie could hold it in his hands. "You're not stupid. Some things are just harder for you. But you can do it if you just try, don't call yourself that. Because you're far from it"

And the way Richies heart would flutter, knowing that someone believed in him. Truly believed in him.

He doesn't hate Eddie.

No matter how absolutely infuriating he is, how many times he picks a fight with him, or when he doesn't ever finish a sentence just to piss Richie off.

He was anal, terrible-with-words. Would repeat himself over and over no matter how many times Richie would yell at him to shut up. He was obsessive, and annoying. And so damn cute.

But he hates the way he feels. The way he feel about him. This desperate, pinning feeling. That feeling when his chest tightens up, and his breath gets caught in his throat. When he can feel himself shaking, his fingers will tremble, curl up into fists. Is it because of anger? Hate?

Confusion? Longing?  Fear?

'I'm afraid.'

Is he afraid of himself? of how he feels? How other people will think of him? How Eddie will think of him.