open rp

[beavertrap]

i'm reddie trash so the more the better | all about that deep platonic love with the other losers | text | action | pics | prose | go wild, bitches

Comments

[beavertrap]

And I don't believe that.

[ He says it with a laugh, finding the idea of anyone wanting him for more than his dick - because it's a good dick, okay? - pretty laughable after everything he's been through. But he still keeps Eddie close to his side, letting the other man snuggle against him with no qualms about it. He knows, deep down, he shouldn't be doing this. He knows how selfish this all is on his part but considering everything Richie has wanted to say to Eds since they first saw each other again, he thinks he's shown pretty considerable restraint. At least for him.

But his latter statement really strikes a cord, Richie trying to rest his head on top of the other's, ]

Yeah? I think I did, too. Like I was looking for you without realizing it.

[ Because there had been plenty of mouthy brunettes that had been shorter than him walking in and out that door. Same with his previous place. But none of them ever felt worth chasing. None of their eyes had ever been the big brown ones he had been unknowingly trying to find this whole time. ]

[descriptive]

[ Oh. It’s the same as it was the first night on the road, huddled close, trading half-confessions. Eddie doesn’t have any right to this, but Richie’s giving it freely, isn’t he — had grabbed his hand that night and keeps his arm around Eddie now.

If they’ve been missing and looking for each other all this time, this togetherness, undefined and unexplained, should be allowed. Missed sounds passive in comparison — looking does the ache justice. ]

Well, you’ve got me now. [ Eddie fidgets, shimmying slightly to settle in and grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa to tug over their legs, head still tucked under Richie’s chin. ] And I’m not going anywhere.

[ Now or in general. And while he hadn’t thought Richie needed or wanted this as much as him when he’d first made the offer, Eddie suspects that he might now, if only a little. ]

[beavertrap]

[ His eyes are on the screen but, like that first night, he's barely seeing what's there. He's turning those words over in his drunk ass brain and wondering if he really can take them at face value... ]

Easy, Eds. I'll hold you to it...

[ After all these years of being without the other, he wasn't looking forward to parting ways or letting him go be with someone else. ]

[descriptive]

[ His thoughts blur, hazy with alcohol. Hold me to it, hold me, please please please keep me right here. If Eddie turned his head, he could kiss Richie Tozier — an idea that sparks and fizzles, doused by ever present, sensible part of his brain that assures him they’re recovering from shared trauma, of nearly losing the other and themselves. And Eddie has just ruined his longest relationship outside the losers — without much family to speak of, that makes him alone in this world.

At least outside the group. Maybe outside this room. Don’t put that on Richie. Being drunk and lonely isn’t cute, at his age. And he’s never — it’s always been women, besides. Except for when it wasn’t. Twice. Men he let get too close, tall and grinning, with enough curls to slide his hand into, before his nerves got the better of him. You can’t afford that: The risk or the loss. Eddie’s so busy talking himself off the ledge that he forgets to reply, belatedly offering a contextless and quiet, ]

Thanks, Rich.

[ It’s a shame, but he misses most of the movie, spending half of it working himself into knots and the other half asleep, nose turned into the crook of Richie’s neck. ]

[beavertrap]

[ Richie goes in and out of the movie, dozing and then waking up at moments he's already seen a dozen times (if not more). He checks a few times if Eddie is still awake, usually finding his eyes closed when he does so. Oh well. He won't ruin his sleep.

And by the time they reach the end, he can hear Eddie's rhythmic breathing enough to not even care about saying aloud: ]

I want a man to give me flowers and a dog in a bow. Ugh.

[ But life isn't fair and he isn't a sexy dancer working as a welder. (What a weird way to remember his mom told him she had wished he was a girl more than a few times. Good grief.) He lets the movie play out and reaches over to the side of the couch to pull the lever, pushing the end into reclining back. The other end did it, too, just not the middle. His legs go up and his top goes back, moving Eddie down to his chest if he doesn't wake up again.

Richie falls back asleep and the tv eventually turns off on its own thanks to the energy saver setting after a few hours of no activity. More hours will pass and sunlight will come flitting in through the gaps in the curtains, dimming the lights still on in the room. Richie is just gonna keep on snoring softly where he is. ]

[descriptive]

[ This time, he doesn’t sleep well, the potent mix of alcohol and anxiety pulling his dreams to Derry, underground, blood on Richie’s glasses and dirt on his skin — but each time he wakes, Richie’s still there, arm still around him. Between his pounding head and heart, he stays. It’s only after his last stretch of uninterrupted sleep that he pushes himself upright, palm flat against Richie’s chest. The panic of the first time has been dulled by familiarity of waking up beside Richie in motels and cars in their travels, so he takes his time extricating himself.

Finally, he sits up with a groan, one hand gripped on Richie’s thigh for balance and the other pressing against his temple in search of relief. ]

We cannot fucking do that, man. [ hoarse with sleep and dehydration. He pats Richie’s leg to ensure he’s awake. No point in whining without an audience. ] Shove my sad ass on the ground next time. Everything hurts.

[ His back, his stomach, his head. He feels frightfully old and, fortunately, too shitty to unpack any part of last beyond the obvious. ]

[beavertrap]

[ The minute Eddie starts breaking through Rich's fog of sleep, he's groaning and pulling the blanket up to cover his face and head, leaving his long legs uncovered. He even lazily shifts and squirms over onto his side on the recliner, giving Eddie his back. ]

No. Nope. Not awake. No. Fuck off.

[ He's not getting up early here. Not when he's also hungover as fuck. He's back at his place, back on his couch. He isn't getting up!!! ]

[descriptive]

[ Too much talking, too loud. Eddie looses another groan. ]

Ugh, beep beep, Rich.

[ For a long moment, he sits, head in his hands. Then, he’s up and at ‘em without another word, slow going but still, y’know, going. Splashing cool water on his face helps, as does popping several aspirin. Of course, what he really needs is food — pottering about in the kitchen, opening cupboards and peering into the freezer.

He finds: Hard liquor, beers, ramen, stale Oreos, and out of date milk in the fridge. ]

Oh, for fuck’s sake. How the hell — who lives like —

[ For the first time, he misses his home with Myra, kitted out as it is with healthy snackbars and gluten free cereal. He stomps back into the living room, enlivened by his frustration though still unchanged from his rumpled shirt and shorts. When clearing his throat fails to win Richie’s attention, he picks up a stray pillow and chucks it at his head. ]

Richard, where are your keys?

[beavertrap]

[ Rich grumbles softly into the blanket, still refusing to get up before falling silent. He's almost back to sleep when that damn pillow hits his head and he gurgles out something like a grown that gets muffled into the blanket. ]

Ugh. Up your ass. Where else.

[ They are actually on the table where the leftover containers are, not that Richie remembers that. ]

[descriptive]

[ oh my god?? ]

Hysterical, Rich. Really funny shit. Thought I already had a stick up there.

[ An initial glance proves useless for locating the keys, and he starts investigating the room further, checking under the furniture before checking the table. God, he needs to get his shit together ‘cause this college shit is not gonna work for him long-term.

And because he can, he swats at Richie’s absurdly long legs as he passes. Ah, there it is. ]

I’m getting food. [ with a snort. ] Don’t do anything too strenuous while I’m out.

[beavertrap]

[ The swat gets a muffled whine with Richie blindly (and weakly) kicking his leg out. Nowhere close to Eddie but the attempt was made. ]

Come back with that kale shit and we're gonna have Words.

[descriptive]

[ ROLLING HIS EYES (albeit fondly) ]

I’ll come back with whatever I want.

[ Funny how much an evening changes things, from grateful guest to making himself right at home. With a quick trip into his room, he tugs on proper clothes, buttoning the neck of his polo when he pokes his head in once more. ]

Text me if you want anything, dickwad.

[ and Eddie does, in fact, return with so many actual groceries (including kale, fuck off) that it takes two trips to bring everything up. On the second, one of Richie’s neighbors (a young guy doing his Masters at USC, who sheepishly admitted he was a trashmouth fan when Eddie mentioned his generous host) ends up helping him carry the lot and exchanging smalltalk en route to the kitchen. Incidentally, outside Myra, it’s the longest conversation he’s had with someone who didn’t nearly die in a sewer alongside him, which is — a lot, honestly. Maybe in a good way.

If Richie has roused by then, he might catch snippets of their idle chatter (about health food pointers, gym recommendations, Eddie’s work and the indefinite length of his stay), wrapping naturally when the job is done. ]

Thanks, man — let me know if you ever need a hand, and maybe I’ll see you at, uh —

[ “Equinox,” he supplies. God, LA is embarrassing.

The door closes with a click, and from then on, Eddie will be spending his first day in paradise 1. Making coffee, 2 Cooking an omelette, and 3. Re-organising the entire kitchen. ]

[beavertrap]

[ Richie can't even be bothered to move his hand from under the blanket to flip Eddie as he goes. He sleeps the whole time Eddie is gone, jerking awake only when the door opens again and he hears things being set down in the kitchen. He drags his ass to the bathroom in the time between the two trips, needing to use the john as well as wash his face and mouth out.

He comes out after the front door closes, a confused expression on his face, ]

Was there someone else here?

[ He didn't imagine that? His hangover makes everything pretty foggy and overly loud. ]

[descriptive]

[ Eddie shrugs, still looking rougher than he’d like, with his wrinkled polo and unstyled hair. ]

Some guy from, like, two floors down or something. Andy? [ Not unsure of the name, but of whether Richie knows him. A beat, as Eddie debates mentioning that “Andy from downstairs” thinks Richie is funny and decides against it. No need to encourage his trashmouthing. ]

I would’ve warned you, but — [ scrunching his nose. ] — my hands were already full when he offered to help carry everything that I bought to restock your desolate kitchen, dude.

[ He’s not over the lack of emergency cereal. ]

[beavertrap]

[ Richie frowns at that, ]

You let a stranger into our apartment? Dude.

[ No, he did not know this Andy guy. He barely knew any of his neighbors with the weird hours he kept. But he doesn't really say any more about it than that. At least Eddie managed to talk to someone else in L.A. already. That's not a bad thing.

He walks into the kitchen and starts digging through the bag, ]

Did you get any poptarts?

[descriptive]

[ Oh, shit, was that — overstepping? Stupid? For all that Eddie worries about his health and safety, he doesn’t extend the same anxiety to other people. Even after all these years, he’s the same guy who let someone write LOSER on his cast.

The our apartment of it all takes the edge off. Does Richie really think of it that way, when Eddie has just elbowed his way into the other’s life? ]

He seemed — [ Nice? Not murdery? ] I didn’t think about it. Sorry.

[ a quiet admission, offered as he follows Richie into the kitchen. When Richie asks about the poptarts, his mouth quirks. ]

Try the 4th bag from the sink.

[ Eddie puts the coffee on before he starts on bag one, unearthing all manner of standard ingredients (Dairy-free milk! Eggs! Vegetables!) and attempting to institute order in the kitchen. ]

[beavertrap]

Just watch out for anyone sketchy, man. Stalkers and shit. It's L.A. Can never rule them out.

[ He's been in this city long enough to know it isn't just something "dramatic" they make up for the movies. While he's had luck with not being followed like others, he has had his share of less than savory run-ins when he was finally starting to get some attention. And with Eddie here, now, he doesn't want anything else to happen to him after they almost died in the fucking Derry sewers.

He goes about locating the box of poptarts and opens them up. He moves out of the way for Eddie to start putting the food up, watching as he opens one of the packets up and starts eating. ]

Looks like you bought out a whole section.

[descriptive]

[ A little nod of acknowledgment, at the first part. People hadn’t even bothered being friendly in New York, so it’s a steep learning curve.

Eddie focuses on arranging dried and canned foods with the labels facing out. Tidy as hell. ]

Fuck off. [ but he doesn’t sound bothered. ] You didn’t have anything, and there’s two of us now, so we’ll eat more than you think.

[ Cooking for two with Eddie and Myra is likely different from the average, of course, but he also bought a lot to say thank you and do his part. ]

And I can cook tonight, if you want. [ a beat. ] Add in non-poptart food groups.

[ He leans up on his toes to reach the topmost shelf in Richie’s outsized home. ]

[beavertrap]

Whatever you say, shortstack.

[ Munch munch on the poptart, not even bothered. There was a reason he kept so many menus around. He usually ate out and couldn't really cook that well. He could do basic shit like eggs, hot dogs, sticking something in the microwave. But an actual meal from scratch? Count him out.

Speaking of: ]

When did you learn how to cook?

[descriptive]

I'm a statistically average height.

[ He shoots Rich a dirty look, but otherwise remains focused on the task at hand. At the question, he only shrugs. ]

Ages ago, dude, we're fuckin' forty. [ soften, then. ] Ma couldn't really manage it herself — at the end, y'know, so I guess around then.

[ After he graduated and moved back in with her. ]

[beavertrap]

[ He repeats the word "statistically" in his best Dan Rather impression before he's rolling his eyes at that first bit but waits for Eddie to finish before asserting he's not that bad off. ]

Yeah, well, I can do basic shit. I'm not that lazy. It's just easier to order out.

[ Especially when he was waiting tables and he could get a lot of leftovers that way. ]

[descriptive]

[ Richie's assertion that he's not that lazy earns a scoff, though Eddie eases up by the end of it, brow creased in thought. ]

Yeah, yeah. You probably work nights a lot, right? [ he grabs his mug of coffee, leaning back against the counter. ] Or, like, weekends?

[ and will have to go back to work, after fucking off to Derry, presumably. ]

What's a normal week for you, anyway?

[beavertrap]

[ Richie shrugs, balling the wrapping up, no empty and tossing it into the trash. He then moves over to get some coffee for himself. ]

Depends on how much is booked. Usually, nights but I've worked days and then nights. Sometimes six days straight and then get a few days off. What about you? I bet you were a workaholic.

[descriptive]

[ Six-day week, huh. Jesus. He lets out a low whistle before taking a sip. ]

Hey, I work hard.

[ He pauses. ]

Sometimes that means late, but s'not like I've been rushing to get home to — to Myra.

[ which sort of implies things might be different here, doesn't it? It's strange for him to admit as much, but Richie already knows. And it's true, besides. ]

[beavertrap]

[ His work schedule was even worse when he was younger. He gets exhausted just thinking back on it now. He sips at his own coffee before asking something else that's been on his mind. ]

Did you start working out... because of that? Or was that just something else?

[ He knows his mom hadn't let him be as active as he wanted to be so Rich could easily believe it carrying over from that. ]