summer camp

Eleven

Henry woke up to something heavy and wet on his chest.

His head frantically shot up, to see Richie's arm around him, his head resting right on Henry's stomach. Even worse, Richie drooled in his sleep. Henry wasn't sure which was more disgusting, but in his mind, it had to be Richie sleeping with him. In the same bed as him, next to him- on top of him. Kind of. Henry wanted to shove him off of the side of the bed and bash his ugly little face in for moving even a sliver closer to him in his sleep, but something told him not to.

While being as still as possible, he observed Richie. If he hurt Richie in any way, he knew he'd be sent right back home. Henry's mind had changed over the last few days, and now he realized that dealing with Richie wasn't nearly as bad as dealing with his father. Still, he didn't want Richie this close to him, especially considering they were both half-naked.

Henry seemed to forget where he was and just exactly who was drooling all over him, and his mind began to wander. No, he didn't want to go back home by any means. He would do whatever he had to do to stay in camp, even if he had to befriend Richie. Henry was working on his acting skills, having lied to the police and his teachers millions of times before, but never having to lie to someone his own age. He was scared Richie would see right through him, but he knew Richie wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, either.

Maybe that wasn't true. Maybe Richie was putting up an act, acting stupid and reckless so nobody would realize how smart he was. He thought back to when Richie pleaded that Henry let him sleep in his bed, and that thought alone confirmed Henry's own theory. Richie had some type of crush on him, and that was a ploy to get closer to him. Another thing- cutting himself on a rock. What if Richie fell deliberately, just while he was close, so Henry would help him up? Richie might not have anticipated being cut by the rock, but Henry fell for it anyway.

He didn't realize how crazy he sounded in his own mind until he put this all into perspective. No, Richie wouldn't like him. Who would have a crush on someone that tormented him? Someone that couldn't even stand up to his own father? Not that Richie would know about that last part, but maybe he did. Rumors spread, maybe through his friends, maybe through other people.

The truth was, Henry had no clue exactly how Richie felt about him. He clearly wasn't scared of Henry, if he had the balls to talk back to him and know that he wouldn't be getting hurt. Hell, they were sleeping in the same bed right now, and Henry could kill Richie in his sleep with one swift movement. Did Richie hate him? Or was he just as curious about Henry as he was about him?

Then, Henry saw movement. Or, he could've swore he did. Henry narrowed his eyes, trying to detect any changes in Richie's face. He wasn't that bad looking without the glasses, Henry thought to himself. Not in a gay way, of course. Just a... general thought. And if Richie wasn't such a fucking loser, an impulsive, reckless idiot...

Richie was awake. He lifted his head, gave one final, scared look at Henry, before leaning over the side of the bed and puking out what little he'd eaten in the past few days.