#[ 🐘 ] ── V * ? { ᵀʰᶦˢ ᶦˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃ ˢᶦᵗᶜᵒᵐ—ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ'ˢ ᵃˡˡ ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ }

[toezeer]

@fearinfected from here

A slight uptick of the corner of his mouth, knowing this soft insistence wouldn't be enough to spill his guts out for the losers to listen to, let alone the main source of his fears to know. No no, he's not nearly drunk enough to reach the point of fuck it. Why should he tell Eddie any horrible thing that will change how he views him?

"Loads of things. How much of a freak I am." There's a little glimpse of the depths of his self hatred with how much accidental venom he puts on freak. "Socks are the first thing I put on after a shower."

He's lying, of course. They're the second thing. "Nah....Underwear, right sock left sock, under shirt gets tucked into pants, a tee... ugly second shirt or sweatshirt, then left shoe then right shoe. Pause to wash hands. Contacts." He smiles sadly, looking over at him as he carefully swirls his newest two fingers of bourbon. "Maybe someday I'll let you in Dude, but for now that door's staying unfortunately locked, Bud. And I know fuck all about where I left the key for it since your mom doesn't live here anymore."

Bev reaches over and gives his thigh a squeeze and he finishes his drink with a grimace, his larger hand covering hers with a little squeeze back. "Now now, Miss Marsh, buy me dinner first." He waggles his brows and laughs when she jabs him in the side with a chopstick.

"It's nothing important anyway Eds, 'sides you know all the good about me. Why'd you ever need to learn the bad?" Head is propped up on laced fingers, grinning at him. "If you guess right the shitty prize is the mortifying horror of seeing me for the nasty fuck your mom loves... My sweet sweet Sonia."

He grimaces again and pours himself another glass. "Why's it matter, anyway dude? I know fuck all about this new you too. 'Sides that you married a woman named Myra and that you need to stay off web MD for your mental health. Also that your face is still about ninety percent soul stealing peepers."

[toezeer]

If anyone asked him what he hated about himself, he'd ask what is there to like? It's an endless well of inadequacies that he does his best to make up for with the handful of things he's good at. He doesn't give the negatives of himself, only focusing on what he can offer. How can he make things better for someone else is where he tends to thrive.

"The socks are clean Edward. Why the fuck would I put on anything dirty after a shower, Dipshit? I washed my hands because of the shoes. You can call the cops for the shoes part, but clean socks is a little silly."

There's always been a wall between them that only Richie is aware of, but Eddie is taking it down a brick at a time. His words are like a punch to the gut, and Richie finishes his glass. Doesn't even bother hiding the shakes in his hands as he pours another drink avoiding looking at the other man.

"Not everything." He admits barely loud enough for him to catch it. Fuck it. They might not live long enough for Eddie to learn anything new. He downs the drink, setting the glass by the bottle, then twists in his chair to face Eddie. "Fuck it." Sliding into the empty chair, Stan's chair, he drags the bourbon closer.

"I'm drunk enough for the wall I keep up to be tore down, I guess. You knew what was safe to know. Ask me something and if I don't want to answer I'll just sip a drink."

Freak. The word, the ugliness of it, earned a raised brow in response, the classic Richie rendition of a joke having followed an almost serious moment. He shouldn't be surprised -- Eddie knew that he struggled with shit like that, but he still couldn't quite figure out if he wanted to laugh or not, fingers tapping absently on the glass in his grasp.

"At least you wash your hands," he shrugged, taking a quick sip of the drink, not the best wine he's ever had by a long shot but decent enough that he'll use it as a hand-occupier for the night. As long as he doesn't wake up with a headache in the morning -- Maybe that was the true test of getting old after all. "'Cause if you put your contacts in directly after touching your socks, I'd call the fucking police."

The entire drive up here, Eddie had been trying to remember these people: What they liked, what they did together, how they made him feel. It was all hazy, as though they were distant relatives that he met when he was five and was being forced to interact with again. But now, seeing them all, he wanted to know everything. Everything, about all of them.

And Richie... he especially wanted to know about Richie.

Why's it matter? The question caught him off guard, brows furrowing as he swallowed another gulp of the scathing liquid -- No, on second thoughts it was actually pretty terrible tasting. "Oh, I don't know, 'cause I used to know everything about you?" came the swift response, lacking any sort of malice but still with the fierce directness he seemed to save for Richie's dumb questions. "Dude, I'll tell you whatever you want, but its seriously not that interesting my side of the fence."