Disclaimer – I do not own or profit from Ed, Edd N Eddy. They belong to the Cartoon Network, AKA Cartoon, Danny Antonucci, & basically anyone but me.
Rated PG-13 for slash, angst, sexual references; basically my norm. ('lol') This was written in a weird tense, in a weird way, by a very weird person – me, of course. It took maybe thirty minutes to write, and another thirty to fix the weird shift in tenses that came about in the original draft about five paragraphs in...
Dedicated to Angel Reid, whom I still owe an e-mail, an Edd, and much, much love. Here's the love, darling, and the rest shall be coming soon...
This was inspired by an RP between myself & Mysticlynx, though I took the basic set-up to a far different, far darker place... I hope you don't mind, luv.
Anyway, enjoy. Peace, all.
(-(-)-)
The Things Left Unsaid
by Ghost Helwig
(-(-)-)
Eddy takes him back to his room sometimes, and they do things, things they both know cannot be mentioned in polite company. Even if the world were a far different, far more accepting place, he knows that what they do still would not be spoken of.
After all – he doesn't even know what to call it.
He won't call it love, not because he doesn't think that's what it is (the verdict is still out on that) but because he knows Eddy would not approve of such a term. But he can think of no other.
Well, except "That-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named", but all that name points out to him is that he's been reading too much Harry Potter. He never used to read fantasy, but in seventh grade he'd needed to find books that might appeal to Ed so Ed could actually do their assigned book reports, and so the fantasy, science fiction (already kind of a favorite, in his more whimsical moods) and horror sections of their school library had been the places he went to get them – and ever since, he'd gotten hooked.
So he can't call it anything, really, except nothing, and while discussing 'nothing' in public might be acceptable (if a bit funny), discussing their kind of 'nothing' wasn't. So he did nothing.
And he's rather tired of that, actually.
But Eddy is who Eddy is, and that won't ever change. So he lets Eddy do things to him, sometimes with him, and if it causes him pain when he thinks about it afterwards, well, isn't it worth it, to not be alone just for a while?
But there are times, late at night usually, or in the middle of a bright, crowded classroom as he recites something-or-other, when it isn't. When the only thing that would be enough, would make everything worth it, would be for Eddy to take him in his arms, to kiss him utterly breathless...
But those times, thankfully, pass quickly, and he's back in his safe little cocoon of a world, letting his very best friend do things to him that he'll never tell anyone about. Because really, in the end, who could he tell?
So time passes, but his anxiety grows, and lately he vomits before going to see Eddy. He's taken to carrying his toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste with him wherever he goes, because dental health is important, as is making sure he neither smells nor tastes of his recently returned meals...
Though soon enough that, too, doesn't matter, as he keeps forgetting to eat...
And he collapses one day, unsurprisingly, waking up with Ed and Eddy hovering at his bedside. His parents aren't there, but really – when were they ever?
Ed tries feeding him buttered toast smothered in gravy, but just looking at it makes his skin turn a little green. Eddy sends Ed to the kitchen to get something more suitable, regular toast preferably, or if Ed just has to butter it it just can't be covered in that thick, slimy, brown...
He swallows his nausea, waits for Eddy to speak. But Eddy says nothing, waiting for him.
And it is suddenly too much, and he wants to tell Eddy so, to scream and rage at him for being so cowardly, for being so damn blind. Because anyone with eyes could see what this is doing to him, anyone could see what they really have between them, but Eddy...
...just...
...won't...
...budge.
Stubborn, as ever. And there is so much he wants to say to that, to him, but it just doesn't matter and he just can't care. So he says nothing, and Eddy says nothing, and the sick-slow dance of time wears on, a waltz he has never been particularly good at...
But after more weeks, more months of this, he can't do it anymore. Lying kills him, hiding kills him, Eddy kills him, and he's never been the type to just sit back and die. So he just...
Stops.
If Eddy understands then he just can't tell it, because Eddy keeps pestering him, acting as though he is the one who was betrayed. And he can't speak to explain to Eddy – his voice has gone away, gotten lost in all the things they've left unsaid.
For it is those words he knows his body has been vomiting up, those unexpressed things he can't even bear to think about that his body can't keep down. When he stops throwing up, it is because there are no words left in him.
Too much time has waltzed by with them doing each other, doing nothing. He can't bear it anymore, and then one day he just doesn't have to, because there is nothing left to be said. There is nothing left, at all. Nothing.
And he would care, only nothing can't care, so how can he?
And soon Eddy stops asking, stops talking. His words have dried up, too.
The things left unsaid sometimes wake him at night, though. Sometimes, as he sleeps in the arms of someone who says but he knows has never felt the words, he'll wake up and they're choking him. But if he waits, they will go away; until the next attack.
So he waits. And they leave. And though the words lay still in his mind, though he can mouth them and mutter them at the person he doesn't feel them for either, in the back of his throat bile lingers. The words are almost back, and maybe one day, maybe one day he can let them free, spill them out not as a disgusting half-liquid but pouring them over Eddy as crystal rain, beautiful and pure, cleansing them both and healing their wounds, giving them a second chance.
Yes. Maybe one day.