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❝ you will never see things as they are; you will only see things as you are. ❞

—SHANNON L. ALDER

THE SOUND of our feet padding upon the gravel of the sidewalk occupied my ears due to the straining silence.

Bill announced that he'd assist Mike on his way home due to his gruesome injuries. The rest of the group of losers decided to flee home.

My heart clenched at the mere thought of walking through my door this late—my mothers piercing screams entangling my eardrum. I felt panic drench me as I tried to decide on what I could do in order to avoid going home.

Richie continued walking next to me silently, a habit of chewing toothpicks developing for him slowly. I studied the way he'd twirl the small wooden stick between the small dent of his two bottom teeth, his upper lip occasionally dipping to grind upon it.

My gaze was ripped from him as Stanley's voice filled the overbearing silence. "I'll see you guys later."

We waved goodbye toward the golden-haired boy, his twig-like legs stalking across the street.

Without realizing, Richie and I were left alone—everyone else disappearing home. I groaned aloud as I contemplated my options.

"What's your problem?" Richie spoke up, amusement embarking his features.

"Nothing, I just—" I attempted to explain. "Nothing, never mind."

He stared at me quietly before formulating a reply. "You know, for someone who acts like they are so bad-ass, you have a habit of being a pussy."

His comment bubbled up my irritation. "Okay, you don't know shit, Tozier, now shut-up."

"No," he stopped me in the middle of the sidewalk, the hues of marigold from the sun dipping into the sky kissed the chiseled dents of his cheekbones.

"What do you mean no? It's my life, Tozier, don't act like you give the slightest shit about me."

"I don't, I'm just sick of that stupid sad look you always have when nobody's looking," his lips perked upwards slowly. "I like a challenge, and you giving me reasons to insult you is boring."

A snort spilled from my lips. "You're fucked, Tozier."

For once, Richie and I laughed in unison. A conflicted feeling raging through me.

"Copperhead," he began, appearing nervous, "listen, Eddie kind of bailed on me to come over and I'm home alone, which is like a rare occasion, but I owe you for going to your house, so do you wanna, like, come over?"

A laugh almost belched from the pit of my stomach, but as I re-evaluated my options at avoiding to go home, I dreaded the answer that escaped from my lips. "I don't know, I guess so."

Richie nodded instead of answering, silently leading the way with a small smile twitching upon his features.

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"Welcome to Tozier central, where I smash and dash every chick in Derry," Richie chanted as we sauntered into his house.

To my own surprise, his house slightly resembled mine; his entire living room only occupied by a beige pull-out couch, table lamp, television set, and a circular russet dinning table.

Richie didn't seem bothered by the fact that I was blatantly judging his living-room, he carelessly made his way to the kitchen.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," I whispered to myself.

"Oh, don't act like you had anything better to do, Copperhead," he interjected between my thoughts. "You would've just went home and wasted the evening.

"Aren't I wasting it right now? I mean, all we have in common is our distaste towards each other."

"Distaste? I think the word is hatred my dear intellectual."

"See, you and I don't agree on shit."

"We can agree that you're annoying," he snarled in attempts at a whisper.

"You know what," I planted my feet in the direction of the door, "what's the point of me being here; you're annoying, narcissistic, a fucking—"

"Okay, okay, I'm. . . sorry," he confessed shamelessly.

"That's a fucking first, next you're going to admit you have a small dick."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves now, fucknut," he rolled his eyes harshly, pigments of chocolate dancing in spectrums around his dilated pupils. "Now, I need more dirt to uncover and bully you with, what kind of music are you into, Copperhead?"

"For your information," I said, making my way to the damaged couch, "I have excellent taste in music."

He snickered. "Yeah, right, you're full of shit."

"I listen to great fucking music, you probably listen to boring shit or punk rockers that scream their brains out so you can consider yourself an angsty teen."

"Objection," he shouted in his attempt at a British accent, "I listen to what the cool kids like."

"Yes, because that's fucking reassuring."

Richie plopped his torso upon a kitchen counter as I sat on the couch, the pearl walls blocking my way of seeing him.

"Fine, you first kid," his head poked out from the kitchen, pointing his chin toward me, "favourite song, ever."

"Easy," the ghost of a smile lingered upon my face. "Every breath you take by The Police."

"Wow, an intellectual," he continued speaking in his horrible British accent. "Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

"Well, everyone loves a song for their own personal reason, why is that song your favourite above all the music that exists on the entirety of the planet?"

Swallowing firmly, I answered the question carefully. "It was my mom and dad's song, the song that played when they met, so they used to play it a lot when I was a baby."

"Oh," he breathed. "So, you seem to have some hatred toward your father, why would you like a song like that if you hate him so much?"

"You ask a lot of fucking questions, detective dickface," I sighed. "And, I honestly don't know, it's just a song I always listen to and it makes me see love differently."

"The subject of love, the entire concept; an excuse for human kind to act like fucking idiots," Richie chuckled toward his own joke, a headache slowly haunting me.

"I mean, yeah, but that song makes you see it like, no matter what they put you through or how far they go, this person who's connected to you by their love is, like, willing to go through any length just because they love you that much." I explained. "It's stupid, you can be yourself now."

I couldn't see Richie, but I felt the irked feeling of embarrassment pulse through me as he became silent for too long.

"Tozier, what the fuck is up?"

"Nothing, I—I was looking for the milk," he hesitated. "I don't think it's stupid, I guess."

"What's your favourite song, Tozier?"

"Good question," he replied. "It's come as you are by Nirvana."

"Good song, but why is it your favourite?"

"Because Kurt Cobain is a fucking beast," he spoke as a matter-of-factly. "And, for that cheesy meaning shit, I like how the lyrics are telling you to love someone no matter how fucked up they are."

"That's probably the most beautiful thing you've ever said, Tozier, congrats on not being a pig-head for once," I laughed lightly, as he did as well.

"Yeah, well, it's just the meaning of it makes it seem like if someone fucked up like that can fall in love then everyone can," he continued to justify his reasoning. "But I still think love is so fucked up, it's such a stupid concept."

"You're so contradicting."

"You're one to talk."

"How? You say how shit love is yet you like the theme of love in the song," I pointed out.

"I—" he paused momentarily between his thoughts. "I don't know, it's complicated. I guess you could say that even pessimistic people get hopeful sometimes."

He wasn't wrong, though I didn't bother commenting further.

Richie's scrawny figure stalked into the living-room, two bowls of corn flakes balanced upon the palms of his hands.

He handed me a bowl as he took a seat next to me, searching for the remote to the tv in the dips of his couch.

He switched the channel from MTV to some scary movie, his attention engrossed upon the scene unfolding in front of him—though, I couldn't say the same about myself.

I hated Richie, pure hatred pulsed through my veins at the mere sight or thought of him. But, I took note of the fact that in some case scenarios, he wasn't much different than I was.

"I still hate you, Richie," I spoke up, placing the metal spoon of cereal into my mouth. "You were an asshole for taking my first kiss."

He exhaled an incoherent grunt. "That was a like a millennium* ago."

"Still, I didn't want you to just rob me of my childhood."

"Oh, hush it, Copperhead," his habit of rolling his eyes coming into view. "Besides, who would've kissed you anyway, everyone hates you."

"That's beside the point, Tozier."

"Wait," he re-evaluated the situation before him as he carefully asked, "the kiss is why you loathe the ground I walk upon."

I nodded. "That, and your pigheadedness."

"I wish I could say that's the same reason I hate you."

"What's your reasoning then?" I pressed.

He shrugged his shoulders, letting out a heavy exhale of air. "You know, I don't really know, I guess you've always just been a little pain in the ass, Copperhead."

His gaze planted itself back on the tv before I could ponder him further.

Just as I dropped my spoon to scoop up another ounce of cereal, the door swung open, a middle-aged women's swaying torso plummeting to the hardwood floor.

"Mom?" Richie muttered, hues of crimson painted upon his features.

Animalistic noises spilled from her lips as Richie helped her steady herself upon his shoulder. His mother wasn't very large, but Richie was still much smaller than her, causing him to grunt at the heaving force he balanced upon his boney shoulder blades.

I felt as though I was violating a part of Richie that was out of my territory. I knew how it felt to have a mother who was a drug-addict and to what it appeared to be, his mother was beyond intoxicated.

He exited her room, joining me back in the living room with a frown denting his expression. "Sorry about that."

"No uh—it's fine, really."

"My mothers a bitch, so she gets high or drunk or whatever the fuck she can get her hands on because of my unpleasant father," Richie explained shamelessly.

"Does your dad live here too?"

"Yeah, but he's screwing one of his bitches tonight, that's why my moms passed out."

"That's refreshing," I sarcastically noted.

He nodded silently, the couch dipping as he joined me once again.

The atmosphere wasn't as comfortable as it had once settled to be, so for once in my life I kept my nagging comments at bay, my perspectives upon the raven-haired boy broadening.

Richie Tozier and I hated each other, but for once, I think, I understood him a little better.

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—A/N

Oof, sad bb's are always my aesthetic

I don't think I mention the fact that I love Finn Wolfhard with my entire existence??¿¿
💓🍯💞💕💝💗💫💖💘💜😫 anyways,,,,

ps if you listen to Corduroy Dreams by Rex Orange County while reading this you'll um?? Die?? teehee xd