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[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

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Shit.

[ Right about now is when Normal Richie would be sniping at him for wearing an old school watch, let alone worrying over it like a sitcom dad, or maybe he’d have started in on Eddie’s “booty shorts” again. The fact that he isn’t gets filed away as evidence, even as Eddie falters, taking the opportunity to stare at Richie while his gaze is averted. What the hell are you doing, man? Surely Richie wouldn’t have invited him here if he — unless he only just figured it out, as Eddie is beginning to — Richie looks soft and inviting and this is fucking stupid.

Eddie clears his throat. ]

[ mildly, ] You okay in there, Rich?

[ Genuine question before he decides how best to retreat. ]

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[ Richie can feel those stupidly beautiful brown eyes on him and he could swear he's sweating down his back. He feels like he's two steps away from tripping out of the metaphorical "closet" while simultaneously feeling like he's going to pass out from how hard his heart is going at such a prospect.

His voice cracks noticeably as he tries hard to calm down in every way: ]

Yeah.

[ He then clears his throat, staring at his phone as if he could will it to do something. And then it does and he breathes out a "oh thank god" as he takes it and uses that as an excuse to almost throwing himself off the couch. Totally smooth, yep.

It's his agent, though, and he walks into the foyer area asking "yeah what did they say?". And then, just like that, he has something else entirely to worry about: he actually got the part. In his first movie. ]

...Holy shit. I'm really gonna be in a movie?

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[ In the yawning gap between when he asks the question and Rich finally replies, Eddie stands on the verge of bolting, becoming a dust outline, Roadrunner-style. Then, Richie's voice cracks, and, oh, Eddie feels something hot spike down his spine. What does that mean, huh?

No time to decipher and act, with Richie rushing past him. Eddie catches the door on his arm, debating whether to make a run for the bathroom, when he overhears the conversation, and gasps — ]

Holy shit, Rich!

[ Oh, fuck, he's still on the line. Eddie's hands fly to his mouth, and the door swings into his shoulder, which feels, uh, not great. He's not even thinking about it, though, because Richie got the job he's been quietly worrying over all week. If Richie turns to look at him, he mouths fuck yeah you are which here means "congratulations." ]

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[ Richie does him one better, rushing over and wrapping his arms around Eddie in a bear hug that twirls them both around, and yes, lifting up the smaller man in the process!!! ]

Shiiiiit, dude!

[ Oh wait, his agent is still on the phone. And Eddie smells like an armpit. He lets the other go and shoves him towards the bathroom while bringing the phone back up to his ear, ]

Fuck, man, you're soaking wet. Yeah, I'm still here. Sorry. I had to celebrate for a minute there. A party? Really?

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[ Fuck, fuck, he did not plan for this. This was a looking and no touching situation because, yes, he is sweaty. And only hot from a distance, ugh. Why the hell is Richie strong enough to whirl him around and shove him, anyway? That's bullshit, when he never goes to the gym. This is worse than losing their arm-wrestling match at the Jade.

Eddie flips Richie off 'cause he may be annoyed, but he's not gonna screw up anything with this job. Also, he needs a shower to deal with, like, so many of his problems, including but not limited to: Getting horned up thinking about Richie maybe thinking about him, being annoyed by slash very into Richie swinging him around, and also the whole post-gym grossness, which is really settling in now that he has no reason to prolong their conversation.

If it takes him longer than usual, put it down to the talking to that he gives himself in the mirror (which boils down to don't pull that shit again). After dressing himself in clean sweatpants and a t-shirt (much more forgiving, loose and soft) as they are, he leans out the door of his room. ]

[ loud enough for Richie to hear, wherever he is. ] So, are you going to the Oscars?

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[ Richie is in his room, the door open as he goes through his "better" clothes. Ugh, why is he so nervous now? He should just be himself, right? But he isn't. He wants to make a good impression since the rest of the cast is made up of... actual actors. ]

No.

[ He calls from his room, ]

It's a party for cast and crew. Everyone gets to meet and all that shit. They also want me to cut my hair.

[ If he sounds flustered, it's because he is. ]

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[ This? This is a stumble, trip and fall away from the triumphant moment that Eddie abandoned for sweet, sweet vanilla suds and the sad-satisfaction of experiencing your shame privately.

He approaches slowly, slanted against Richie’s door frame with his arms crossed and brow furrowed. Dimly, Eddie thinks he recognises one of those blazers from Richie’s comedy special. ]

Your hair?

[ But I like your hair. Nope, not helpful. Wait. ]

When? [ ah. ] When is the party, I mean. Not the haircut — which seems unnecessary, by the way.

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[ Rich is still incredibly excited for this. He's read parts of the script and wanted the role when it was suggested. He's just... letting the reality of it all sink in. It's kinda overwhelming because what if he bombs this and sucks ass??? ]

Friday.

[ Which was three days away. ]

And it's because I'll be playing a cop. He's unprofessional and likes to crash house parties and shit but they have a certain way they want him to look so...

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[ Another beat, as Eddie turns over his options and weighs the risks. It’s easy math, as are most problems involving Richie (except for the Big Fucking Problem).

Whatever Eddie can do to help, he will. He does. ]

Mm, you almost lost me at cop — but unprofessional? That you can do. [ Quiet steps carry Eddie beside him, and he elbows Richie lightly. ] Sounds kinda funny.

[ Without meeting Richie’s eyes, he starts looking through Richie’s “nice” wardrobe, lifting and folding a white button-down to set aside on the bed, along with another, basic blue number (both have been relegated to the “no” pile ‘cause that boring shit is for Eddie, not Richie). ]

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[ The relief he can feel in him as Eddie comes into the room is almost palpable. He easily elbows the other man back, snorting, ]

It's a funny script. I wouldn't have tried for it otherwise. Indie movie so they don't have a lot of money but it seems like it could be really funny if they get their chance, you know?

[ But he watches Eddie sort through his clothes and he points to the button-downs, confused. ]

I thought you would've liked those.

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I think I can get that.

[ Not the way Richie does, being a film buff and long-time member of the entertainment industry, but he knows enough from casual viewing and Richie’s monologues on the industry. ]

On me, man. [ A huffed laugh. ] I don’t know why you own that shit.

[ One corner of his mouth hooks into a half-smile, and his gaze cuts up to Richie, warm brown. ]

They picked you, [ grabbing two Frightfully Loud shirts by their hangers. ] so you should look like you. [ He pauses. ] Just, y’know, with a good jacket on top. And none of those stupid comedian sneakers, Jesus.

[ Eddie likes his comedians firmly on the Mulaney and Meyers side of the style spectrum, thanks. ]

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Hey, I can wear a button-down!

[ Totally ignoring the way Eddie looks up at him like that. ]

All fancy and shit.

[ He frowns at the loud shirts (for once) and runs a hand through his hair. ]

You sure?

[ It's so surreal how he gives a shit about making good impressions now when, as a kid, he gave so few fucks about that, it's a wonder anyone gave him the time of day. ]

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[ A few equally loud button-downs make the cut, at Richie’s protest. These clothing items are just a tiny selection of things Eddie has noticed over the past few weeks, as it happens. He sets the shirts on the bed, peering into the closet in search of decent shoes. ]

I’m sure, Rich. Kinda my job to dress like I know what I’m doing. [ setting the most promising options at the foot of the bed. ] And your whole thing somehow works for you, anyway.

[ For a brief moment, he hesitates, shifting his focus to the jacket options in the closet for maximum, self-inflicted irony. ]

You look good, I mean. [ Like, generally. Eddie clears his throat. ] So. It’ll be fine.

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[ He almost misses it. Almost. Stilling and looking over at Eddie again: ]

...You think I "look good"? Seriously?

[ There's no way. ]

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[ Fuck. Does he really not know? When all Eddie does is look. ]

Oh, c’mon, why else would I say that, man.

[ That’s not an answer, Eds. Steeling himself, he glances at Richie and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. ]

I’m not writing up your sexiest man alive nomination, asshole, but — [ a nebulous gesture at Richie’s person. ] yeah, you look good. And you look best when you look like you, not some Hollywood yahoo. That’s what I think.

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[ Of course, he doesn't know. He doesn't even think he looks all that good compared to his friends. It actually does make his stomach flutter to hear it. But of course, he needs to play it off like a joke. Because that's safer. ]

Aw! Edward! I didn't know you cared!

[ And then there's another hug where he pats the other man on the head like an asshole. ]

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You sayin’ I’m a shitty friend, dickwad. Gah— [ he squirms in Richie’s hold, bumping that hand with his head, but it’s half-hearted enough that he ends up patting Richie’s arm (his arm! his brain screeches traitorously). God, he needs to write in a diary and burn set it alight, like every other teenager with a stupid crush. ]

Crisis averted, right? Can I go make my lunch now?

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[ Richie laughs and lets him go, ]

No, you're my best friend, asshole.

[ He reaches over to mess up his hair, ]

Yeah, yeah, your kale is waiting for you.

[ But it's true. He loves the other Losers deeply but Eddie really has always been his best friend. The one that's always been closest to his heart. ]

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[ Well, that mollifies him in a way little else can. They’re best friends, and that’s enough (it has to be). ]

You’re my shitty best friend, too.

[ ugh, his hair’s gonna dry all floppy now!! Eddie pauses by the door. ]

Let me know if you need anything else, but honestly — you’ve got this, Rich.

[ already made it this far. ]

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[ It's only when Eddie leaves the room completely that Rich takes a moment to really bask in that compliment. It gives him enough incentive to try on one of the "suits" with one of the better pairs of shoes Eddie picked out.

Hw walks into the kitchen, still adjusting the blazer on him as he does so. ]

How's this one?

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[ Sat at the breakfast nook in Richie’s kitchen, Eddie looks up from his half-eaten sandwich and second coffee of the day, grossly underestimating what he is about to witness here.

Big-eyed as he is, this might be to Eddie what the running shorts are to Richie. Oh, god, why is his mouth so dry? ]

You look, it’s really — [ what is the least thirsty way to say this. ] — sharp. You look fuckin’ sharp.

[ be helpful for once in your life loser ]

Maybe...too sharp for their indie budget? [ He leans his chin on his hand, propped on the table (his other fingers hold tight to his mug for support). This is fine. This is an excuse to look at Richie, like, objectively. Eddie will remind himself this is the worst thing he could want for either of them, when they just got each other back. ] Did they give you details on the venue and dress code?

[ to his credit, he keeps his voice controlled. ]

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[ Richie frowns at that, confused again as he looks down at himself, ]

What do you mean? It's just my clothes for a party. It's gonna be at this bar they booked at.

[ He looks back at Eds, putting his hands on his hips, ]

It's not like it's a three-piece suit, man.

[ Because this is dressing down compared to what he was originally thinking. ]

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[ IT’S A LOT FOR HIM PERSONALLY that’s what he means. ]

I’m just checking, GQ.

[ he takes another long look at Richie, gaze travelling from his loose curls all the way down to the shoes Eddie picked for him — and, oh, that actually makes his chest tight. Having a crush on Richie is one thing (feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and warm at their lifelong friendship — that’s fine, too) but being pleased at factoring into his mundane decisions is dangerous. That’s for someone else, one day. ]

It’s perfect for that. [ a hum of approval confirms it. ] I like it. Especially the blazer.

[ the part that Richie picked. ]

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[ He huffs but he seems content otherwise. He's nervous enough, going to something like this and making a decent impression with the people he'll be working with for however long this goes on. He should probably ask Bill about that kind of thing, too. ]

Good. Keep that in mind when you pick yours, Plus One.

[ He can bring someone so of course he's going to bring Eddie. ]

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[ Bad idea meet worse idea. Just make an excuse, Eds: Work thing, planned food poisoning, intentional car crash.

It certainly feels like losing control at the wheel, heart hammering and world spinning. ]

You’re supposed to phrase that as a question, dickwad.

[ It’s not a no, but — he has to check this isn’t a bit. ]