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]

[ 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.

[trashmouthing]

I can say it sober too. I'm sick of— [ being afraid. keeping secret the only good thing about him. love as something he can only experience furtively, in the spaces between words, in the yearning twitches of his fingers. ] I'm sick of this.

[ he pulls his jeans off, with effort. lies down on the bed and tosses his glasses aside, letting them skitter on the nightstand, and then he rubs his face with his hand. ]

You want to know what I want. I want ... I want payback. For everything I missed out on that had to do with you. I want the rest of your life. I want you to live a thousand fucking years and I want all of them. I don't want anyone else to have them. [ his voice is low, deadly flat. ] And I don't want to fucking ask, I want you to want it, I want you to give it to me, I want you to want to give it to me like it was even ten percent your fucking idea, but if asking is the only way I get it then yeah, I'm thinking I'm going to fucking ask.

[hypochondrias]

[ In the time between saying what he's said and Richie's answer, Eddie makes a plan. He's not going to beg, but he's going to have to be firm. We can't do this now. Tomorrow, when you're sober. And then he's going to tell Richie he's hanging up, and end the call. He knows, already, this is the hardest thing he will have to do, but he has to.

That resolve nearly crumbles as soon as Richie starts talking. Because what he says is everything that makes Eddie yearn, that sets his whole body alight with longing and pain and frustration and elation. It's everything Eddie wants to hear, needs to, pulling a sound from him that's more of a sob than a gasp, hand clasped firmly over his eyes.

God. ]

What difference does it make whose idea it is if I want the same thing. We want the same thing.

[ Get it together, Eds. He takes a long breath, which quakes audibly on the inhale. ]

I know you're gonna hate me for saying this, and it's not a test, it's just. But you have to say it sober. For me. I'm begging you, man, if I gotta beg, I will, I'll get on my knees and I don't care if you're hungover and miserable, I need it. I don't wanna have to do this now, like it doesn't mean anything when this is my whole life.

[ Emotion is steadily creeping further into his voice. He slides his hand under his coat for warmth. ]

You have no idea how much I wanna talk to you right now. I missed you so bad yesterday, Rich. I hate not talking to you.

[trashmouthing]

[ a kind of pained noise wrenches out of his throat, mostly the frustration of knowing eddie is right. that he can blabber all he wants when he's drunk, but if he's going to ask for eddie's time, ask for him to do—something, anything to bridge the gap between them—he needs to do it right. ]

Fuck.

[ the word an audible grimace. he makes a cursory attempt to sober up, fails, sniffs. ]

Okay. —okay, okay. [ he swallows hard, sniffs again, and oh, he thought he was too dehydrated to cry. ] I get it. I swear. In the ... I'll call in the morning. If you don't wanna talk now. [ no, that's too soft, too wounded, when he gets it, he really does— ] I mean, we can talk about other stuff but I get it, you need—and I need to, it's late. [ and then, with a slight strained helplessness: ] I love your voice.

[hypochondrias]

[ With the way things had been going for them the past few days, Eddie's prepared for the worst reaction. That would follow the general theme of Eddie's life, really, to somehow always elicit anger even if he's managed to wrestle his own anger down. But instead, Richie trips into a territory Eddie doesn't expect. Something that almost sounds pained or defeated. It's almost as unexpected as what comes tacked onto the end. ]

Oh, god. Really? [ He can't help the sound that emerges from him, small and a little breathless. Eddie grips his phone, squeezes his arm tighter around his knees that are drawn up against his chest, a kind of sympathy hug he wants to give Richie instead. ] I don't - I don't wanna hang up. I mean. If you wanna listen to me a little longer. Talk to me. I just need to know you're still serious in the morning. [ A pause, listening for an answer. ] You know?

[trashmouthing]

Yeah.

[ he does know. one way or another. he shifts onto his side, then onto his back again, swallows the lump in his throat until it disappears. he wishes he wasn't drunk, but at least he knows it isn't cowardice holding him back anymore, the threat of the world and its rules leaning in. it's just regular things, adult things. a wedding ring, a separate coast.

he stares at the hotel ceiling for a few more seconds. the only light in the room is the slight glow of the phone against his face. ]

What'd you do yesterday.

[ he didn't check in, so irresponsible. he wants to know everything about eddie, the way he used to, the way some part of him is gravely convinced he still does. ]

[hypochondrias]

[ Eddie doesn’t really like the truthful answer to this question. There are a lot of truths he’s not fond of, and some he’s even ashamed of, but there’s a kind of pull in him to shake them loose, lay them at Richie’s feet. As if to say, here’s all I’ve got

For his part, Richie never seems to judge him. It’d been something new to get used to, but now Eddie craves it. ]

I, uh. Tried the hardest I’ve ever tried not to check my phone every thirty fucking seconds. I went to the gym. Might’ve gone a little too hard, I think I fucked up my shoulder a little. Good distraction, you know? God, I had so many texts I typed out in my head that I never sent you. You ever do that?

[trashmouthing]

When I can't text you everyone else's inbox is a Twitter feed waiting to happen and I let it all hang out till people block my number.

[ he puts the phone on speaker and rests it squarely on his sternum, then folds his hands behind his head. without his glasses the room is just a blanket of relative darkness, with the brightness of the phone screen idling after just a few seconds. ]

What's up with your shoulder.

[hypochondrias]

So text me instead, [ comes the immediate answer in a low pitched voice, and Eddie’s not even a little self-conscious about it, a little ashamed at how it sounds almost greedy. ] So you can tell me what an asshole I’m being and maybe I won’t go work out pretending like I’m still as capable as I was before I was in the hospital. I can’t do any of the same shit I used to anymore. Not in the same way.

[ And that’s another truth Eddie doesn’t like, that as much as he’s prepared himself his whole life for illness and injury of any kind, actually working with his body’s new limitations is scary. Reminded of his own mortality, how close he’d been to losing his life. The new aches and pains, the way the scarred flesh at his back feels when he stretches a muscle.

Eddie goes quiet, contemplating. ]

Hey, Richie? Don’t call me tomorrow, not for that. Come to New York instead.