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]

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

[trashmouthing]

im awake im just
fuck
fucking shit eddie
do you really not know

[hypochondrias]

[ eddie's heart hammers in his chest for reasons he can't explain. ]

I'm an idiot, okay?
I'm scared of the possibility I'm wrong
Maybe you do have to spell it out

[trashmouthing]

[ there's a long pause, and then: ]

i think about you all the fucking time

[hypochondrias]

God
I never stop thinking about you

[trashmouthing]

i keep turning down nyc shows because i know id make a fuckin scene
you dont get to tell me im fucking around kaspbrak
no one does

[hypochondrias]

What do you mean?

[trashmouthing]

what the fuck do you think i mean i mean it takes a lot of nerve telling me im fucking around
out here like
you need a vacation RICHIE
you need to be happy rICHIE
fuck you
you wanna know what i need
i need that night in derry every fucking night
i need to feel about anything else on this bitch of an earth the way i feel abot you
i need to just fucking nut up and move to manhattan

but manhattan is a SHITHOLE so if none of that shit is gonna happen i
at the VERY LEAST

need you to crawl out of my ass

[hypochondrias]

Listen not that it's a competition or anything but it's not like you weren't being an asshole either
And no offense I don't want to experience that night in Derry ever again
I don't want to repeat the experience of waking up in a strange hospital hurting in places I didn't know I had
Being told I was practically on my deathbed even if you held my hand while they said it
Not remembering what happened to me after crawling into some sewer hellhole
The only reason I didn't completely lose my mind was because you were there

I think maybe I didn't say exactly what I meant
What I meant was that I could take you on vacation
I want to
And I want to make you happy
If we can do that instead of both of us living with the panic of knowing someone almost died
Then I think we can do something better than that night in Derry

[trashmouthing]

[ another long pause ]

if i werent me maybe itd be enough to know you were out there alive and happy or whatever the fuck
FUCK that
i want the whole fucking enchilada pal

[hypochondrias]

I hope you can see the problem
That this still doesn’t tell me what you want

[trashmouthing]

i cant believe your making me do this

[hypochondrias]

Oh I’m sorry I’m asking for your honesty
I’m only looking at my entire life like I’ve made nothing but the wrong fucking choices
Second guessing everything I’ve build or acquired or planned for just because a guy I used to know wants to either move closer to see me or never see me again, I honestly can’t tell anymore
So yeah I am making you do this
I’m not just asking for your honesty Richie
I fucking deserve it
Or else I’m not sure what we’re doing here

[trashmouthing]

[ fuck it, this is not a text conversation, HE'S CALLING ]

[hypochondrias]

[ The way Eddie’s phone lights up as he’s holding it feels like a shock to the system. As soon as the text conversation began, Eddie had moved to the couch. And now, in the middle of the night, two rooms away from where his wife’s sleeping, he considers his choices — and declines the call early, shooting back a quick text, hands shaking. ]

Hold on

[ When he returns the call, Eddie’s pulled on a wool overcoat from the closet by the door, huddling on the landing of the house. It’s cold this late at night but he can’t risk Myra overhearing any part of this impending conversation. ]

Whatever you’re gonna say, say it fast and put me out of my misery, man. Wait. Are you still drunk?

[trashmouthing]

Fuck yeah I am.

[ his voice slurred, bourbon-tinted. but he's back at his hotel room, at least, kicking off his shoes. it's the middle of the night. ]

It's fine. I'm not ... [ he curses out of earshot, under his breath, as he wrestles his way out of his jacket. ] I know what I'm saying so just listen, you little turd.

[hypochondrias]

[ Eddie’s hand finds its way to his face, eyes closing. He sighs, voice leveling out to something low and sad. ]

Can we maybe... not do this now? It might be easier for you to say this shit when you’re wasted but it’s not for me.