[ it'd be the cosmic joke of eddie's life if, after forty years on this great damned earth, he ends up relying on richie tozier's internal clock for anything at all.
apart from sex, which said internal clock demands at frequent and blissfully exhausting intervals, richie could hardly be relied on any kind of schedule or routine. if richie was paying attention to anything eddie ever said to him, he'd know by now having a set routine was the best method for easing any number of life's stressors, and though psychologytoday.com didn't expressly name lycanthropy in the body of its article, eddie would wager that would be one of them.
so that's the first order of business. and though richie might not take it more seriously than buying a fucking novelty calendar and circling the date with a cartoonish red circle, eddie does. there is research, lunar tracking apps, reminders set on laptops and phones, not that they're needed. eddie's anxiety builds for the couple of days before regardless of incessant notifications, and on the night of, they're both restless enough that neither gets much sleep until the main event.
eddie's seen the transformation over the years. it should worry him that the stomach churning reaction from the first handful of times is nothing but a distant memory. now, when richie begins transforming, it's almost a relief - the proverbial other shoe dropping, the drugs finally hitting. it means eddie can finally relax, because really, richie's still rather docile as a giant wolfperson, and maybe, ironically, more easygoing than his human counterpart.
when he lets richie out into the yard, eddie takes his usual position of standing on the back porch until richie disappears into the darkness. that's the point where the edge finally dissipates, and sleepiness finally takes over. when eddie crawls into bed, he's bone-tired, so wrung out from hours of worry that he knocks right out, hard enough that hours later, he sleeps through at least two or three mournful howls from his own backyard.
he sits up suddenly, knuckles rubbing his eyes even as he gets to his feet, practically on autopilot as he makes his way back down to the enormous glass doors that separate the living room from the porch. on the deck, a familiar form sits almost patiently by the doors, eyes glinting from the hallway light. throwing open the door, eddie leans against it, effectively blocking richie's way. ]
Hey there, handsome. What's a guy like you doing in a place like this? [ eddie's not sure what's gotten into him besides the sleepless insanity that comes with managing your boyfriend's fucking werewolf curse. ] Wanna come in, stay awhile?
WOOF WOOF WOOF
apart from sex, which said internal clock demands at frequent and blissfully exhausting intervals, richie could hardly be relied on any kind of schedule or routine. if richie was paying attention to anything eddie ever said to him, he'd know by now having a set routine was the best method for easing any number of life's stressors, and though psychologytoday.com didn't expressly name lycanthropy in the body of its article, eddie would wager that would be one of them.
so that's the first order of business. and though richie might not take it more seriously than buying a fucking novelty calendar and circling the date with a cartoonish red circle, eddie does. there is research, lunar tracking apps, reminders set on laptops and phones, not that they're needed. eddie's anxiety builds for the couple of days before regardless of incessant notifications, and on the night of, they're both restless enough that neither gets much sleep until the main event.
eddie's seen the transformation over the years. it should worry him that the stomach churning reaction from the first handful of times is nothing but a distant memory. now, when richie begins transforming, it's almost a relief - the proverbial other shoe dropping, the drugs finally hitting. it means eddie can finally relax, because really, richie's still rather docile as a giant wolfperson, and maybe, ironically, more easygoing than his human counterpart.
when he lets richie out into the yard, eddie takes his usual position of standing on the back porch until richie disappears into the darkness. that's the point where the edge finally dissipates, and sleepiness finally takes over. when eddie crawls into bed, he's bone-tired, so wrung out from hours of worry that he knocks right out, hard enough that hours later, he sleeps through at least two or three mournful howls from his own backyard.
he sits up suddenly, knuckles rubbing his eyes even as he gets to his feet, practically on autopilot as he makes his way back down to the enormous glass doors that separate the living room from the porch. on the deck, a familiar form sits almost patiently by the doors, eyes glinting from the hallway light. throwing open the door, eddie leans against it, effectively blocking richie's way. ]
Hey there, handsome. What's a guy like you doing in a place like this? [ eddie's not sure what's gotten into him besides the sleepless insanity that comes with managing your boyfriend's fucking werewolf curse. ] Wanna come in, stay awhile?