flowers ≠ reddie

"pretty mama sews, stitches in all your bitches broken hearts"

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Eddie was weaving sweet flowers' stems into each other. Flower after flower. Soft little daisies that glided against Eddie's fingertips. He stopped and looked at the view in front of him, his feet dangling off the edge carefully.

Eddie peaked at Richie and noticed the way his hair was unbrushed and greasy. It was very unruly. He noticed the way his rosy lips took a long a drag of the cigarette that was pressed between his thumb and pointer finger and the way his denim jacket sat loosely on top of his broad shoulders. He must have gotten a size too big. His sneakers were always the same ones. The same old Vans that were all torn. His freckles were growing grey as the sun was slowly setting. One of his knees was brought up to his chest. Eddie noticed the way Richie's eyes were fixated on the setting sun.

He was fucked up. Eddie knew, Richie told him. He hasn't gotten any sleep in the past 3 days, his humour was slightly fading because of that and weed or cigarette smoke was escaping out of his mouth instead of silly, inappropriate comments. But it was okay. Eddie liked the silence anyway. Though he did wish it was substituted with loving, tender words.

Eddie smiled and his hands found they way back to the crown on his lap. He was almost done, just tying the ends.

"Rich?" he softly said, and Richie turned around to meet his gaze. He took the flower crown and placed it on the boy's head. Richie grinned and took one of the left over flowers from Eddie's bunch and tucked it behind Eddie's small ear. His hand lingered there for a while and then dropped. He shifted his numinous stare back to the setting of the bright colours melting into each other.

Eddie smiled. He had two of his favourite things in the world.

Flowers and Richie.

But what Eddie didn't know was how his sweet Richie, the same Richie who had been putting stupid flowers in Eddie's locker, was fucking bitches behind his back.