[ Dressed in deep blue trousers and a sharp button down (tucked in, because of course it is), Eddie takes charge. He bends to fix the sloppy laces of Richie’s dress shoes, drives his sportscar through the evening traffic, and babbles throughout the ride. Mostly about his day and new job, the type of boring thing he assumes puts Richie to sleep, and so is inherently calming. At least until he ducks his head out the window to take aim at a tank of a car that illegally passed them.

On arrival, Eddie goes stiff enough in his co-star’s arms that the guy fucking notices and gives him an extra bro-y, slightly destabilising clap on the back. “You loosen up before the end of the night, okay?” No thank you, but he gives an abrupt nod anyway, not wanting to embarrass Richie. The thing is, Eddie’s driving, so — big no — and he’s, uh, not really here as a date, just as a... support unit, maybe. With a sideways glance and crooked smile, he slips his hand to the small of Richie’s back, palm open, guiding him toward the bar. ]

Luckily, I’m the yuppie who wants to buy you one for old time’s sake, big shot.

[ Two women are talking off to the side of the bar, engrossed in conversation — they could be interrupted or wait a moment. Regardless, Eddie leans up on his toes to whisper in Richie’s ear. ]

That’s Devon, your producer. And she’s talking to Nina, one of the actors.

[ ‘Cause Eddie started cramming the first day Richie asked him to come. Boy Scout. ]