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

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

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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[ Eddie starts, his eyes narrowing. ]

Midnight? You’re gonna — you wanna drive here? Don’t, here. I can book you a flight right now. And you don’t have to spend all that time in the car.

Oh yeah. You can do that, huh. I can, uh, I'll pay you back. My wallet's in my pants and I don't ... don't know where I put 'em.

[ he can feel slight exhaustion pulling at his limbs, but eddie's voice lulls him from the edge of sleep, sinks its hooks in and doesn't let go.

he wishes he knew where eddie was, what room in his house he's in while richie tries so hard to say what he needs to say, make this count just as much as any other time. he can imagine his face in near-perfect detail, the perennial concerned furrow between his eyebrows, the slight unhappy moue of his mouth. ]

Something after 11. I'll—um. [ he rubs his face with his hand again. ] Get dinner with me. It'll be ... [ a wet huff of a laugh. ] I don't know what it'll be. Just wanna see you.

No, don’t. Don’t. Don’t worry about it, man. I’m happy to. Means I get to see you, you know?

[ For the first time in two days, Eddie actually smiles. Not that their shared awkwardness is funny, per se — it is, considering everything they’ve been through already — but it’s ironic. The only other person that knows Eddie this well, and they’re each reduced to blushing idiots. ]

Good thing it’s Friday tomorrow, huh? I get off early, I can get to you right after. Have dinner. And spend some time with you.

I want that.

[ he shuts his eyes. ]

I miss you so damn bad.

God, I missed you so much. Can we just - can we promise we won’t do that again? Fuck radio silence, man.

[ And to that end, Eddie fights down the guilt that tries to crop up, like his brain can’t help but undermine his own choices. Bad habit. ]

Can I - you know why I was mad, right? I’m not trying to beat a dead horse, I promise. I just, when you’re... when we’re talking, I want you to be honest with me. Just tell me to fuck off if you need to, I can take it. We’re both grown ups. I don’t wanna guess what you’re feeling. I don’t wanna do that with you. Okay?

Yeah. Promise. Wanna talk to you every day, whatever way you want, I want ... I want to tell you everything, you know?

[ his voice too sounds tired, but there's an earnestness in that kind of exhaustion too. ]

And--and I wanna hear everything too. I like, want you to move into my fucking brain. Get a mortgage in there.

Yeah? Okay. Hope you know what you’re getting into, putting my name on the mortgage. I’m gonna be cleaning shit up while I’m in there.

[ Something about Richie’s word choice makes Eddie press his face to his knee, feeling his cheeks warm. He’s pathetic. ]

You got a place to stay when you’re here?

Better watch out, babe. Bats in the attic.

[ that thought makes him open his eyes, though it's only slightly and in the dark of the suite. he runs through his options briefly. ]

Shit. You can't really book an Airbnb same-day, can ya. Hotels are cheap if you just walk in ... [ he lets out a long huff that blows his hair back from his cheek. ] Tina Fey owes me a favor.

[ Unsurprisingly, Richie has not thought this whole thing through, but in his defense, he’s drunk and Eddie just sprung this impulse on him sixty seconds ago. A little more surprising is the near immediate reaction inside Eddie at the thought that Richie might be making arrangements outside of the ones Eddie’s making for him.

He can feel the boldness building in him again, throwing out something else before he can second- and third-guess his own motivations. ]

Stay with me. I can get an Airbnb, and. I can stay with you.

[ richie pictures it in abrupt and dizzying technicolor: the man whose very sight froze the fucking blood in his veins standing across from him in someone's house, a house with a bed, sleeping in the same space and near enough to touch. he is aware, suddenly, of a churning heat in his stomach; it takes a forced languid calm for him not to reach down for his dick right then, fucking fifteen all over again and hard just from the sound of eddie's voice in the dark.

his voice comes out darker than he expects, thankfully just two words, bourbon-rough. ]

You sure?

[ It's not like Eddie isn't aware of what he's saying. Offering a room with Richie, alone, sequestered - comes with heavy implication. And it seems to have registered with Richie too. Eddie can feel the breath leave his lungs, the lower pitch of Richie's voice warming him somewhere low in his stomach.

He swallows, flushing, his own voice rough. ]

Yeah. Are you?

Hundred percent.

[ he flexes a hand in the bedsheet because jerking off to an ostensibly casual conversation doesn't seem like the move. but he's tempted. he really does love that voice, the way it slides between excited registers and something coal-dark. ]

Well, then, my darling spaghetti. [ so calm, mock imperious even. just guys being dudes. ] If you could kindly forward me the reservations I guess I'll see you tomorrow.

Good. Me too.

[ Which nearly surprises Eddie in the same way he's surprised at the entire direction this call's taken. He's not sure where this confidence is coming from, but it's certainly something powerful to wield. He draws in a breath, nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips. ]

I'll book those right now. See you tomorrow. Get some sleep.

[ When Eddie ends the call, he stares out into the street for a moment, head spinning. Did he just summon Richie all the way to New York? For who knew what? And he accepted? When Eddie collapses on the couch, this time when he can't sleep, it's for decidedly better reasons than the night before, heart fluttering every time he replays the conversation in his head. ]

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