open post;; yeah why's it so fuckin' funny dickwad?

[hypochondrias]

text/call/action ; open to losers and cross-canon! ; drop a starter or send me a prompt! ; specify era/age if you please

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[hypochondrias]

[ in truth, eddie’s life is a series of decisions that he can no longer remember the logic of. there was a line of thinking, surely, but years and a near-fatal injury later, it’s almost foreign to him. like someone else’s brain was making these choices for him, like eddie’s just woken up from a thirty year long dream.

what richie is for him now eddie hasn’t fully wrapped his mind around. but his counsel, such as it is, has quickly become invaluable. and in a case like this where he’s evaluating his life as a whole, richie's ear is beyond that - it’s needed. ]

No I don’t think any of us were
What’s success in life if unhappiness follows you everywhere you go?

I don’t want you to be unhappy Rich
That thought really fucks with me

[trashmouthing]

[ there's a world out there where richie tells him to do something about it, then. richie's whole life has been a question with only one answer. ]

worry about yourself spagedward
you're not the one about to get their flippers into three pairs of cowboy boots

[hypochondrias]

Worrying is quite literally my job

[trashmouthing]

false
worrying isn't boring
your job is boring

[hypochondrias]

What are you even talking about dude
Besides you can’t force me not to worry about you
Fuckin make me

[trashmouthing]

i'm fine eds
come on

[hypochondrias]

It’s funny you’re saying that like I have a choice

[trashmouthing]

you have lots of choices
that's kind of the whole point

[ of what, he doesn't say. he knows he isn't being especially clear or helpful, or doing anything to particularly assuage eddie's concerns. but richie's always been selfish and he's always known it. the point of every minute they've spent apart since derry is richie trying to will someone with his brain from across state lines to want him back, worry about him only, choose him every time.

to soften up this whole talk, though, he sends a picture of another store. this time it's cowboy hats. ]

i think i can build a whole new brand out here

[hypochondrias]

[ eddie doesn’t need to know the man as well as he does to sense that there’s a lot more richie isn’t saying. and that whatever it is richie’s talking about is, at best, running in a parallel line to whatever point eddie had been trying to make. whether the two lines of thought shall meet is besides the point now; eddie zeroes in on the first thought and latches on even through the change of topic. ]

You really need a new writing staff if you’re gonna make it in the south dude
And if you’re gonna try and distract me from asking follow up questions you have to at least send me pictures of your face
What’s the whole point you mean?
You can tell me if you want me to stop asking

[trashmouthing]

[ no text, just a quick looping image of richie in a twinkling light-up cowboy hat ]

[hypochondrias]

Yeah yeah okay I get it

[trashmouthing]

does that mean you want one

[hypochondrias]

No man
No I do not

[trashmouthing]

the souvenir hunt continues

[hypochondrias]

Whatever makes you happy

[trashmouthing]

the thought of you in a cowboy hat makes me very happy

[hypochondrias]

Fuck you too

[trashmouthing]

eddie

[hypochondrias]

I don’t know what you want from me right now
You just like messing with me so you can fuck off

[trashmouthing]

you got a chill pill in your rx list there kaspbrak?
if you wanna take two and call me in the morning i mean

[ there's a little light in richie's head that goes off whenever he knows he's being unhelpful, but he can't help it sometimes. most of the time, actually. ]

[hypochondrias]

[ the nerve of this guy.

eddie should probably stop responding, he knows. but his hands, shaking with emotion, do all the work for him. ]

I can’t fucking believe I give a shit about your happiness
Or that you think I would call you later like I have to apologize
Fuck me for even caring
Enjoy your working vacation
I’m sure you need it

[trashmouthing]

[ jesus christ. in real time richie is on a bench on a goddamn crowded nashville sidewalk, each subsequent text doing the simultaneous work of squeezing the air out of his lungs and making that passive white-noise unhappiness in the back of his head churn even more loudly.

he puts his phone away, swallows hard, feels the distant sting of irritation that even this kind of shit makes him want to cry. he's forty, for god's sake. he pushes his fingertips up under his glasses to scrub at his eyes, sucks in a good, long sniffle.

he stays on the bench for awhile until his phone buzzes again, telling him to head back to the studio. (voiceover work: anything for a buck, even now.) that much he can do, and after that recording session lets out at night he's pretty sure nashville isn't the worst place to get hammered, so. there he goes. ]

[hypochondrias]

[ eddie rarely feels good about his anger. most of the time after the fire’s gone, he’s left with a guilt that still smokes for a long time after, that permeates everything else. he does, however, feel righteous. but even when it’s this, when eddie’s doing the best he can, when he stands up for what he feels, there’s that lingering doubt: was he in the right? is he ever? was he too harsh? does richie deserve what he’s said?

those are questions eddie can’t and won’t answer, not tonight. when he summons his composure again, he’s almost grateful he has this shitty job to distract him, at least long enough that thoughts of longing and regret can stay buried in that shallow grave until the clock lets all the lemmings know they're free to go.

at home, eddie contemplates letting out the basest part of his nature that needs comfort, relenting finally when myra, highly attuned to reading eddie’s emotional state, instinctively knows to cook one of his favorite meals for dinner. for a blissful half hour, eddie lives in a state of deep gratitude that there's still one person who knows him, but once myra serves him dinner with two fingers of scotch like a dutiful 50s housewife, eddie feels something cold and horrible drip into his stomach. he is a horrible husband.

that night, eddie barely rests, relegating himself to the couch with his tossing and turning. at 3am, when a fitful sleep finally takes him, it’s with thoughts of young richie tozier in his mind, pressing eddie’s inhaler into his hand with wide, terrified eyes. ]

[trashmouthing]

[ the day that follows is the longest richie has gone without messaging him since derry.

the night that follows, though, is a saturday night, where richie has both recording and a gig and then afterwards a non-negligible amount of bourbon in his system. the hour is late and honestly, richie has never really had that much to lose. had even less the second he walked into that chinese restaurant and saw a ring on eddie's finger.

also, he's very good at being annoying ]

how can you not know what i want from you do i need to fucking spell it out
OH WAIT
I DID
ON A BRIDGE
AND ALSI OTHER PLACES???
IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE I AM PRETTY SUR E???
but ok spaghetti you cracked it i am just fucking with you im not at all the fuck down here in hoedown cowboy town usa like WOW i am MUCH CLOSER to new york city than usual as if there isnt an entire
fucking seaboard
f
ck

[hypochondrias]

[ it is within Eddie’s nature to have foreseen these texts of Richie’s as one of many possibilities. it is, however, also within Eddie’s nature to have softened over the day and a half where they do not text, so starved for the attention Richie usually showers him with that he’s elated to open the notifications.

he should hate the hope he feels swelling in his chest upon reading them, but he doesn’t. confused though he is at their content. ]

Hope you hydrated before passing out