Work Text:
Richie had always been a little strange. A bit wayward, as it were.
He didn’t always know why the things he did. Why he had to respond to Officer Nell in his own Irish accent. Why he jerked and squeaked. Why, once he had said something once, he was compelled to repeat it (he would scream into silent classrooms ‘welcome to the losers club, asshole’ for months after their time in the sewers). It felt like he was a marionette-strings in the hands of some sadistic puppetmaster who tried his level best to make Richie look like the biggest idiot in Derry.
Richie Tozier hated himself in a casual way.
I hate myself because my eyes look massive in my glasses.
I hate myself because I’m too damn skinny.
I hate myself because I like boys.
He went on with his life, cracking jokes and doing his Voices, but most of the time it was to distract people from his neverending parade of self-loathing.
So when he started ticcing, he just added it to the list.
I hate myself because I say stupid things I can’t control.
Eddie thought Richie was indelibly charming. He loved how his eyes were dark like chestnuts and looked striking behind his glasses. He loved how he was tall enough that he could always reach the stuff on the highest shelf. He loved how he wasn’t afraid to be himself. And most of all, he loved Richie’s tics.
He loved how you could tell how he was feeling based on how often he squeaked. How they waxed and waned, almost as if with the phases of the moon. He loved how he would repeat things-it was almost like his brain didn’t want himself or anyone else to forget (he especially loved how he would say ‘cute, cute, cute’ and then blush as though he meant it).
He wished Richie could see just how strong everyone thought he was. How his outbursts brought levity to even the darkest situations. And, god, how much he fucking loved him.