beavertrap | open rp

❪ his mathematics work goes near ignored throughout those twenty minutes as eddie, ever unsure of everything, finds himself stealing glances of the other as he moves about to the other tables in the area. he isn't sure just why well, no, he has an idea that goes beyond that weird sense of feeling like he should know him.

he manages all of one equation by the time he returns, eddie sighing and glancing to his empty cup with a weak nod. ❫

Gonna need it at this rate.

[ Rich gives him another smile, ]

Sure thing.

[ And he comes back with the pot, new coffee brewed in it already. After he fills the other's cup again he waits long enough to ask, keeping his tone light: ]

Feel like ordering anything now while I'm here?

❪ eddie can't help feeling this sudden urge to slam his face against the table. already, he can feel his heart beating awkwardly in his chest and wonders for a moment if he's dying. that would make sense, right?

he's going to die in this diner doing math homework. that's it. that'll be his legacy.

thankfully the question distracts him and eddie looks up, blinking once before shuffling some of his papers around to find where he had laid the menu down. shit, um, he hadn't thought about anything. um... ❫

How about you surprise me? As long as the surprise isn't a plate of cashews.

[ Rich tries not to laugh at that because he could definitely choose something greasy and a veritable "gut-bomb" but he likes this guy. He's pretty cute so he won't do that to him. He just keeps grinning and gives a nod. ]

No cashews. Gotcha.

[ He leaves again and writes down an order for the man before placing it up on the line. He even asks the cook to make sure there's no cashews in the sauce. He doesn't want this guy to have some kind of allergic reaction after he told him point-blank no nuts.

He goes back to his other tables and sits a few new people while another waiter comes out from the back to pick up some of the slack. It's a few minutes more until he comes back with a plate for Eddie. Nothing super fancy: a cheeseburger with fries, ketchup on the side. But the Thousand Island dressing on the burger is "homemade" here and is pretty bombin' in Richie's opinion. ]

Try that out. Tell me what you think.

[ from here. ]

[ In Eddie's defence, it's a cold morning, and he hardly slept in Derry.

Well, it's also that surreal thing, isn't it — falling asleep somewhere new and waking up groggy, blearily trying to take in the world around you. At first, he presses himself more firmly against Richie, tightening the arm thrown across his chest in the night and resisting the pull to wake. Moments later, however, his thoughts start whirring faintly. He and Myra don't really cuddle these days, and if they do, it's her head on his shoulder, their fingers trapped hand-in-hand, so he registers the warm weight around his shoulders with some surprise. Brows knitting together, he forces his eyes open, tracing the line of his arm with mild interest.

Not home, no, either in Derry or with Myra, but somewhere in-between, with Richie. The reality of yesterday comes back to him in fragments (the stand-off with the clerk, the almost-admission of something). His heartbeat quickens again, zipping ahead of his brain, as his eyes zero in on the line of Richie's neck like a goddamn vampire and skim up to his sleep-soft hair. You did this, you needy motherfucker. Flattening his palm against Richie's chest, he tips his head back, trying to untangle himself gently, which is manageable from the waist up — it's the legs that are the problem. How the fuck does Richie have that much leg, like, it's far too much leg. An amount of leg that should be illegal in most states or at least kept at a safe distance away from normal-sized legs to prevent situations such as this, with Eddie's own crooked between them. Better to do this like ripping off a band-aid, huh. On the mental count of three, he just pulls right out — ]

Shi — fuck!

[ — and falls onto the fucking floor. ]

I'm fine! [ Squawked as he quickly pushes himself up and rushes to the bathroom, grabbing his bag on the way. ] Morning!

[ Nice save, my guy. ]

[ It was probably one of the best sleeps Rich has had in a long time. Even better than when he passes out from booze and doesn't have any dreams, just heavy sleep. This was different. Comforting and warm. No dreams of clowns this night, thankfully.

Just... soft light in summer, green grass and zooming down the streets with his bike. His friends around him on their bikes. Laughing and yelling. It was something he hadn't seen in so many years and he knew deep down he would never stop wanting to see it. He had them all back again.

The way Eddie pulls himself away from Rich is something he barely processes. His brain only catches the thump on the floor and Eddie no longer in the bed. He lifts his head up, squinting through the blurriness of his own bad eyesight, only for Eds to shoot up and rush to the bathroom. That's not... unlike him. So Rich just blinks in his wake before flopping back down on the bed, this time sprawling out to cover all of it while he hugs a pillow under him. ]

Too early.

[ Whatever time it is, it's too damn early. ]

[ It's fine, Richie's fine, they're fine. If it's weird, Eddie is the one making it weird, so he needs to fucking stop and breathe. Right, okay, get into the shower and calm down, you freak.

The water helps, even if Eddie's eyes keep darting to a dark spot in the corner of the shower. When he re-emerges, hair floppy and damp with a towel tight around his waist, the sight of Richie clutching the pillow and fucking starfishing across their bed makes him relax. Easy, Eds. Nothing new here, even up close, when he grabs his watch from the side table. Same old-new Richie. ]

Hey, Rich, [ Before he knows what he's doing, he reaches out to squeeze Richie's shoulder. ] I'm gonna duck out to see if there's coffee and food here.

[ and, just to be a shit, he pats Richie's cheek to ensure he wakes the fuck up. ]

We gotta be on the road by 11 to make good time, so that's your one-hour warning, asshole.

[ He vaguely hears the shower go on in the bathroom and it takes a lot to keep his mind from... well, going down into some clown-free gutter. Keeping his head turned away is fine. He can do that. Keeping his mind from wandering about Eddie in the shower? Not as easy and it almost makes him mad.

It's way too early to feel bad about perving on your best friend. God.

He turns his head into the pillow and almost succeeds in going back to sleep. Until Eddie is there patting his cheek with a damp hand and after giving a grumble-whine, his first response is the best one he can come up with on the spot: ]

Eat my ass.

[ Doesn't even open his eyes and sounds as grumpy as he feels. ]

You fuckin' wish.

[ Haha what the fuck, why did he say that, can he throw himself out the window or — no, cool, just gonna get dressed in his usual fare and get the hell out as promised. He returns within half an hour, armed with two coffees, a greasy looking bag containing one (1) breakfast sandwich for his live-in idiot and a half-eaten spinach, egg-white thing in his hand. The time outside has brightened his complexion and cooled his nerves considerably. ]

Andale, Rich.

[ Richie snorts into the pillow, having not expected Eddie to respond like that. But a part of him was pleased (even a little proud by it). He continues to keep his face hidden as Eddie dresses, determined not to catch any glimpse of him naked (or wet). He waits until he's left the room to roll onto his back with a groan.

What possessed him to think he'd be able to act totally cool with all this? Oh yeah, he's an idiot.

He gets up to take a shower, knowing he only has so much time before the other comes back and uses that time to "take care of" himself so he's not struggling with it the rest of the morning. By the time Ed is back, he's cleaned up, dressed and at least mostly awake. He comes out of the bathroom, ]

Keep your pants on, Bossy McGee. Not all of us are early bird specials.

[ But then any time before noon is considered "too early" for Richie. He takes the coffee and sandwich, downing the sandwich in three bites and the coffee is almost gone in a few gulps. He then looks to the empty bag. ]

That's really it?

[ He's still hungry 8( ]

[ At the quips, Eddie beams, pleased to be the annoying one for a change (and that Richie listened, despite his whining). Still, Richie scarfing down the food and drink earns a mixture of mild fascination and horror that only breaks with a laugh.

God, it was stupid to worry. Even if they've changed, the togetherness is the same. ]

Jesus, I'll treat you to a drive-through, Scoob. I promise. [ with a bro-y pat on the shoulder. ] You mind taking one of my bags to the car and kicking up the aircon? [ casually, ] I'll check us out at the front desk.

[ Just in case. He doesn't want Richie to face that bullshit again, and Eddie's planning on making a stink, no matter who he sees in the office. It was one thing to feel that hurt himself, but to see it in Richie's features last night — he can't stomach it. ]

[ He tries not to pout at the lack of more because drive-thru is promising. He nods and is already getting up to grab one of Ed's bags only to pause at the mention of checking out. He looks over at Eddie and shrugs, ]

Alright. Don't get arrested with that filthy fucking mouth of yours.

[ He says it over his shoulder as he leaves the room with his bag and Eddie's. Because while he doesn't really want anyone fighting his "battles", he doesn't really want to see that woman again. The feelings from last night still feeling to raw despite how well Eddie had managed to calm him down, soothe him pretty much.

It was a strange thing to experience. But sitting in the car, getting it started and putting the music on again, Richie thinks he can remember a few times when he helped calm Eddie down from his own panic attacks as a kid. Like the serious ones. That ache returned in his chest at the memory of it but it wasn't bad. ]

[ Just because you don't need someone to fight your battles, doesn't mean that you should have to fight them all the time. Richie has taken care of Eddie countless times, after panics and falls (breaking his arm and fearing the descent). When somebody really sees you, they learn how to care for you; that's all.

And they know what you're up to, even when you're playing it cool. The comment about his mouth stills him, hand clasped on the doorframe, and he sneaks a smile over his shoulder. There's not really a way to say thanks for letting me take care of you and rip some bigot a new asshole, so he settles for the equally sincere, ]

Your mom never had any complaints about my mouth.

[ Eddie returns winded but lighter all the same, after unloading a breathless rant on Ms Blythe and her manager both. It puts him in good enough spirits that when they finally reach fast-food, he indulges alongside Richie, polishing off enough fries to make Myra shudder. The rest of the trip goes smoother, apart from a shouting match with a long-haul trucker (and another motel clerk at the sight of a bed bug, god forbid, and an older gentlemen in a Toyota riding their tail, and a barman who snorts when he asks for wine at what is clearly a Cool, Hard-drinking Establishment). And if their next few overnight stops have separate rooms or beds, that's fine. Eddie still lingers in Richie's room whenever he can, using any of his trashy TV favourites as an excuse for his presence.

It goes by surprisingly fast, with blips only when he has to call Myra and his lawyer (holed up in his room or leaning against Richie's sportscar). As they finally cross the border into California, Rich takes the wheel. Not long now before their manic decision becomes a reality. ]

Edited 2019-11-11 20:10 (UTC)

[ The retort was enough to get Richie to laugh, too impressed and taken aback but the familiarity of it to do anything else. It's that same familiarity that colors the rest of their trip, eating drive-thru, jamming out to songs, witnessing yelling matches (or partaking in them along with Eddie), and trying not to listen in on those calls to his wife, Marsha.

He doesn't mind Eddie staying in his room. They end up sharing the bed a few more times along the way and each time it gets easier, more... natural. Other times they have separate beds or separate rooms entirely. Each time, they try to find the same shows to watch or Rich manages to find some trashy 80s movie that he says "tickles his pickle" just to be a shit.

It's only when they enter California that he really starts to feel nervous about things. It's only when the ocean air really hits them and his Starship favorites come up on the playlist again that he relaxes. It'll be fine. Eddie's never been on this side of the country before (that he knows of). It's a brave new world and shit.

Granted the L.A. traffic earns the reaction he had anticipated but the sunset isn't bad by the time they get to his building. A higher-end one compared to the one-bedroom one he started out in. The building more New York-like in it's structure, as were the apartments inside but the neighborhood around it was busy and noisy. At least during the days. Nights kinda were too but it was still better than a few of the other places he's lived. ]

Here it is. Home sweet home.

[ He leads Eddie through the lobby and they get the elevator to themselves on the way up, fifth floor. The hallways are wide and long, carpeted floors with white and burgundy coloring along the walls. His is on the corner of the building, rounded and giving a pretty good view of the streets and intersection as well as the skyline depending on which room you're in. He goes in first, hitting the lights and tossing his bags down as gracelessly as ever. He holds his arms out for Eddie to take a look at all before closing the door behind them.

Due to where it is on the building, the foyer is an open and rounded space, the different rooms all branching off into different directions like a maze. Richie points at each of them, going clockwise from the door: ]

That's the laundry nook. That's the guest room - I've been using it for a game room but it's yours now. Um, bathroom, my room, living room, kitchen.

[ The ceiling is high up and the noise outside doesn't register as loud. The foyer has some discarded shoes and a table with junk mail piled onto it but nothing overtly offensive. ]

Whadya think?

[ If living with Richie is anything like travelling with Richie, Eddie thinks they'll manage for as long as necessary (though he still doesn't plan to overstay his welcome). At the sights (the trees, the ocean air), Eddie lowers his window, first just a crack and then all the way down, bravery increasing by increments. The world feels different already, after days with Richie and hours here. I'm really doing this. On his own, for the first time in a long time — well, with Richie — but doing it for himself. No mother, my girlfriend, no Myra. It feels like running so fast the devil can't catch them.

Once inside, his jaw drops. Putting his body on autopilot, he leaves his bags by the door, wandering after Richie and glancing around the foyer. But it's yours makes his stomach flutter. Don't. For now, he reminds himself. All of this is temporary. ]

[ after a beat, ] I think people pay you way too much for your chucks. [ He knows LA and New York both charge through the nose, and this is — upmarket, definitely. God knows if he can even afford half the rent. Is Richie really rich and famous? Like, Eddie's seen clips on YouTube, and he knows there was a filmed special or two, but this is no joke. ] Holy shit, Rich.

[ Eddie claps Richie on the back, half to steady himself but also to sort of congratulate him, y'know, on being a successful motherfucker. He doesn't remove his hand. ]

[ Rich snorts and gives Ed a good-natured shove, ]

Hey, I told you that Pixar money is good. Plus I do a lot of shows, a lot of clubs, royalties from Netflix. Some private birthdays on the side.

[ There's a reason he doesn't get up most mornings and his rooms look neglected, after all. ]

My agent wants me to look at a few movie scripts but I don't know. Comedian doesn't mean "good actor".

[ And there's only a handful, in his opinion, that actually made the transition work like fucking gold. ]

Edited 2019-11-11 22:02 (UTC)

I'll send the Mouse a thank you card, Jesus.

[ He follows the momentum of the shove onward, stumbling forward and peaking into the laundry nook (nice), bathroom (could use some bleach) — ]

You should do it. [ a bit distracted by the space, though he sounds confident. ] You won't know until you try it, man. How different are characters from your shitty Voices, anyway.

[ — he skips Richie's room 'cause he may be nosy, but the man opening his doors deserves some privacy and opens the game room (which needs an overhaul, oof), kitchen (no molding dishes, at least, though it seems suspiciously empty) and the living room, cluttered enough that he can feel his muscles tensing. ]

Dude, [ nose scrunching. ] why is your closet all over the living room floor? It looks like someone nuked a Ron Jon Surf Shop.

[ so many Hawaiian prints... ]

[ There's an indignant "Hey!" at the way Eddie calls his voices shitty but he knows the other man has a point. But he walks over to the living room to look at it before flipping another switch and turning the lamps and overhead colored string lights that serve as the lighting for his fairly impressive flat screen and movie collection.

And the couch he sleeps on more than his own bed.

The rest really is piles of clothes everywhere. Even the vacuum cleaner alongside the wall is covered in a pile. ]

Says the guy with like eighteen polo shirts.

[ He leans against the doorframe with a shrug, ]

I was in a rush to pack and didn't know what to bring.

[ At the jibe about the polo shirts, he opens and closes his mouth. They suit his frame, according to Vogue, but to admit that is to invite short-jokes. Richie turning on the lights is permission for him to snoop further, running a finger over his film collection. His thirteen-year-old self would be in awe of this, in particular, and certainly more impressed by Richie's lifestyle than his own. ]

What? Were you worried Big Bill was gonna outdo you with a plaid number?

[ Is Bev the only fashionable one? Maybe. (Stan always dressed nice, too, or so Eddie thought). On his way back, he starts picking up Richie's shirts, draping them over his arm. ]

[ When he notices Richie watching him, he offers a simple, ] If I'm washing my shit, we might as well throw everything in. And I can't watch your crime shows and have all of this [ waving a hand. ] lurking in the background.

[ A man can only take so many stressors. ]

Edited (belatedly typos) 2019-11-11 23:16 (UTC)

[ He remains where he is against the doorframe, watching Eddie like he keeps doing everywhere they go lately. ]

I didn't even remember Bill, actually. Not until I got into Derry.

[ But then he snorts at Eddie's words, ]

Shirts don't "lurk", man.

[ He finally leaves the doorway, ]

You hungry?

[ Richie's words remind him how fragile all of this is, remembering each other and being together. In the gap, Eddie even bought a few pieces from the Beverly Marsh collection without thinking twice. ]

Me either.

[ Just a quiet assurance that they're still on the same page. He visibly perks up at the next bit, glancing up from his compulsive tidying. ]

Starving. What are you thinking?

[ Rich holds up a finger and walks out to the kitchen. He comes back with a small stack of menus. He holds them out to Eddie, spreading them out like a deck of cards. ]

Pick your poison.

[ Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Indian, Italian, Mexican, and good 'ol fashion burgers. Richie knows them all well and can vouch all of them can make a good meal. ]

[ That is way too many takeout menus, fucking hell, man. Given his line of work, Eddie supposes Rich is busy, especially in the evenings, but it does make him wonder, dimly, just how often Richie comes back home, exhausted and alone.

Still, it's kinda exciting, at least right now, when there's no way Myra would have supported any of these options. Mouth quirked, he plucks the Japanese menu from Rich's hand. ]

I wanna eat my weight in fried rice. [ and scanning the menu. ] Oh-ho shit, split the gyoza with me, dude.

[ They shared all sorts of things on the road. Food, beds, not-quite-secrets. No need to stop now that they've reached their destination (every reason to stop, comes the same voice that warned him on that first night). ]

Call that in and whatever else you like, no nuts, especially cashews — [ He jerks his head back to the movie collection. ] — and pick a movie. [ Looking up at Richie again (still so stupidly tall and suddenly close), he beams and presses the menu back against his chest. ] We went to hell and back, man.

[ They made it together, all in one piece, so it's time to fuckin' celebrate already. Well, after Eddie clears the floor, loads the laundry, moves his stuff into the guest room, showers and assesses the state of the bathroom, y'know. The rest can wait until tomorrow. ]

[ Exhausted, alone and drunk. Sometimes there's a tag-along but they never stay the night. They fool around, get off, and the other man leaves. Richie showers and passes out and then goes about his day. Or week. He doesn't hook up as much as he used to, the older he gets, the more he realizes he wants something more. Which he never feels he can admit out loud. Richie Tozier wanting romance? Sounds like the setup for one of his jokes.

But the way Eddie seems to be all for ordering out has Rich grinning down at him, ]

This place serves mochi, too. And sake. We're getting all of it and eating like kings, okay.

[ And he doesn't have to think about which movie. He strolls right over and gives a quick look before pulling out one BluRay and tossing it out to Eddie to catch. ]

That's some of the best trash.

[ Because it's that or Flashdance. Which they will still most likely watch anyway because they can do whatever they want now. ]

Edited 2019-11-12 01:33 (UTC)

[ Thanks to his sporty spice reflexes, he catches the box even with an armful of clothes. God, he should’ve known letting Richie pick the movie would fucking backfire. ]

There is something, like, fundamentally wrong with your brain. [ The smile as he says it, head ducked in a failed attempt to hide away his true feelings on the matter, indicates otherwise. He sets the box on the nearest surface in the room before wandering out. Doesn’t even mind that there’s a veritable laundry mountain in the nook by the time he collects everything (but he does squawk at the state of the filter: You could’ve burned the whole fucking building down, man!). It only really hits him that he’s here, at the end of the bumpiest stretch of road, when he’s alone in the shower.

You’re getting divorced, you moved to LA, you live with your childhood friend turned famous comedian. And that friend has gone out of his way to welcome and care for you since you both almost died together inside the hellmouth. It makes his stomach flip and his heart beat fast. How the fuck is he ever gonna repay Richie for this? How can he even communicate what it means to him to be here?

The sound of the doorbell jolts him out of his not-quite-crisis, and he quickly towels off, dressing in the same sort of sleep clothes he always does and bounding into the living room, hair damp and skin still suffused with warmth. At the sight of their feast being laid out on the coffee table, his mouth curves helplessly. ]

I fucking love you, holy shit.

[ Out of his mouth before he has time to think about it — and it shouldn’t matter, anyway. They all love each other. It’s just — true, fuck off. Blame his pink cheeks on the shower.

With an entire couch’s worth of real estate and chairs to spare, Eddie budges up right next to Richie, cracking chopsticks to lean across him and snatch some gyoza. ]

I’m leaving you a 4 star review, no question: [ munching happily, with a bump of their shoulders. ] “Cluttered as shit, near-deadly health and safety violations, but the man knows his takeout.”

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