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“Crazy stuff, huh?”
Eddie turns towards Richie. “What?” He asks, confused.
The group had found their old Clubhouse and were reminiscing about that summer–everyone but Stanley, Eddie thought.
Undisturbed, Richie continues babbling. “You know, the killer clown coming back to kill kids after 27 years in hibernation... Also the whole amnesia thing.” He flaps his hands in an etcetera motion, a mock, bored expression on his face.
How Richie could joke in a time like this, Eddie didn’t know, but he was certain that it was in character.
“Yeah, Richie. Crazy stuff.” He deadpans.
Surprisingly, Richie goes bashful, if you could call it that. “Sorry, I get kinda jokey when I feel strong emotions.” Richie shrugs, hand on the back of his neck and Eddie can tell he was blushing. Incredible.
“You’re always ‘jokey’, Richie.”
“Well, I’m a depressed, traumatized, reformed drug addict–I’m always feeling some emotions.”
Eddie ignores the bombshell Richie just dropped, maybe they would talk about it later.
“I’m surprised you’re talking about it, Mr. Deflection.” Eddie jokes.
Richie smirks, all teeth and mischief, the same smile he would make before saying the most horrendous and foul joke he could think of before saying: “I’m going to therapy, thank you very much.”
Eddie’s brows went as up as they could in surprise. “Are you?”
He couldn’t believe Richie going to therapy. It honestly sounds like the start of one of his jokes. ‘I started going to therapy and you know who was there? Your fat, abusive mother! Turns out we have a lot in common and we got married!’ Or something.
What he said, though, was probably more shocking than Richie going to therapy. “If you count my bitchy, lesbian, beard wife, then yes.”
“Is she a therapist? Wait, are you gay!?” Eddie exclaims.
He doesn’t know what’s more shocking: the fact that Richie is actually not going to therapy after all ( not shocking ), the fact that he has a lesbian wife ( quite shocking ) or the fact that, apparently, Richie is gay ( pretty shocking ).
It feels quite jarring to Eddie if he’s honest. One of his best friends, who he has known for most of his life and thought he knew everything about, is almost a stranger to Eddie. He understands, logically, that this… curse is to blame but… what else doesn’t he know of the others?
“Yes.” Richie answers in the most nonchalant way possible and the way it irritates Eddie is… familiar.
“Yes to what?!”
“Crazy day, huh?” Richie says, continuing his blasé bit, adding to it his hands on his well-fitted leather jacket and a whistle, a whistle ! He’s infuriating!
“You’ve already said that!” Eddie yells, sounding more and more unhinged. That’s the Richie Effect , he thinks.
“Golly Gee, Edward! So mean and loud. You haven’t changed a bit.” Richie coos, faking a pout and puppy eyes that, in all honesty, shouldn’t have made Eddie feel so off-kilter.
It’s the nerves, Eddie thinks when his stomach starts fluttering and his heart starts to beats faster. It has to be the nerves. He totally doesn’t think that Richie is cute. Absolutely not. He’s married, for fuck sake, they both are, apparently!
It's obvious that he has taken a little too long to answer, as Richie is looking at him oddly. Eddie can only imagine what he looks like... all bug-eyed, trembling like a chihuahua and jaw slack. So he does what he knows best: insult Richie.
“Shut the fuck up, Richie. You haven’t either! You’re still a bitch!”
Richie fakes hurt, hand flapping to his chest like an offended lady. “Youch.” He gasps. Then continues as if nothing, “And you’re still going to be my maniacal, little gerbil.”
Eddie glowers. “Fuck you.”
At that, Richie grins just like before, all teeth and mischief and says: "Gladly, Eds."