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Richie is waiting on the curb for his ride to arrive. Eddie had told him to call him when he landed, but Richie hasn't yet. He's already dawdled for longer than he usually does in the airport terminal, consciously stalling the inevitable. He clutches his coffee tightly in his hand, petting it. The first thing he did when he got off the plane was to head to Dunkin, a place he genuinely savors and cherishes. Back home, he actually has to drive so the fuck far out of his way to get it, whereas here on the east coast he can't jack off without hitting a Dunkin. After that, he lingered for much too long at the bookstore, perusing every gossip magazine at the bookstore, to the point where he could feel the clerk behind the counter getting suspicious of him.
"Hey, did ya hear?" Richie had said right out loud, smacking a page with the back of his hand. The news was a little old and rehashed for this month, but it didn’t stop it from being strange to see it. “Richie Tozier is gay.”
"You're Richie Tozier," the clerk had said. "Now are you gonna buy something or not?"
Now, Richie shifts all his weight from his left to his right foot, a painful pull in his hip almost making his leg give out. It hasn't been quite right since his little tumble from mid-air to the uneven rocky ground in the cavern where they fought It. Fuck, now he has to sleep on a weird bed or worse, a fucking couch. He's going to wake up in the morning and have to be rolled out of Eddie's apartment on a stretcher.
When Eddie invited him to come visit for the next long weekend, Richie had asked if he should bring anything. Eddie said, "Nothing but yourself." Richie had a brief fleeting idea of showing up to Eddie's apartment in a trench coat with nothing underneath, saying in a husky voice, is this what you meant?
Richie almost bought some bottles of booze at duty free, but he would've had to dump the clothes out of his backpack to make room. He's regretting making clothing a priority over pre-gaming his brains out. He can buy more clothes - silly me, I completely forgot to pack anything useful - but he is completely incapable of settling his own nerves. No matter how much mindfulness he practices or how much fresh air he breathes in and out, the feelings he has will not go away.
Just call him, you fool, Richie thinks to himself. He already knows you're coming. He invited you. If you don't call him, he'll call you. And if he calls you, you’ll answer. And if you answer, you’re toast either way.
"Hey, Richie," Eddie says after maybe half a ring. "Where are you? Are you here?"
"I'm getting into my steel chariot as we speak," Richie says. His ride pulls up and he waves to the driver, throwing his backpack into the backseat and delicately climbing in after it. "Say, your building wouldn't happen to have an elevator, would it?"
"Yeah, why?" Eddie says, concern coloring his voice. "What did you bring?"
"Nothing but myself," Richie says. "I think I broke my hip standing on the sidewalk."
"Oh, okay, yeah," Eddie says. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Richie says. "Are you sure this is okay? I can book a hotel room and swing by to get you for lunch."
"No, it's totally okay," Eddie says. Richie notices there's a slight echo on his line, like maybe he's in the bathroom. "Myra doesn't mind at all. I mean, I never have house guests or anything, so it's not like it's a huge problem."
"Okay," Richie says. "I'll see you soon."
"Can't wait," Eddie says, and Richie can hear his smile in his voice before he hangs up.
Richie rolls down the window and breathes in as much fresh air as he can. It fills his lungs, trying with all its might to replace the dread sitting there. He can't believe he's so desperate to share space with Eddie he's agreed to crash at the home he shares with his wife. It's really the only time they could make it happen, this particular weekend - at least with just the two of them. Well, Richie has to force himself to mentally correct, three of them. He hasn't seen Eddie since last month, when all the losers had managed to coordinate a weekend to catch and spend time together, but it feels more like an eternity. He thinks he’d do just about anything to see him right now.
~*~
Last month.
Richie sat in Patty’s recliner in her and Stan’s living room, digesting a meal he wished he could keep in his gut forever if it meant never leaving this place or his friends. Ben, Mike, and Bev sprawled across the floor to set up a board game they invented together that became increasingly incomprehensible the more they explained the rules. Bill listened closely and took notes in a notebook.
Eddie used Richie’s knee to leverage himself up off the couch. Richie grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“Another beer?” Richie said. “Be a lamb?”
“Can I piss in the toilet?” Eddie asked.
“I wish you would,” Stan said.
Richie turned his attention back to the board game, trying to add rules of his own while Bill almost cried at the contradictions of every addition. Eddie snuck up behind Richie and put the ice cold bottle against his neck. Richie let out a small scream, and Eddie laughed at him. He took a sip from the open bottle then gave it to Richie. Richie made a show of not wiping the lip of the bottle, of putting his mouth all over it.
Eddie settled down on the floor next to Mike. After a few minutes, he unfurled his legs out in front of him and stretched. The back of his shirt rode up and Richie couldn’t help but stare at the skin on him. Then, Eddie moved so his back pressed against Richie’s legs. He wriggled insistently until Richie opened his knees, making room for Eddie to fit between them. Richie sat tense and unmoving, until Eddie rested his head on Richie’s knee and dozed off. He just wanted to be comfortable, and he felt like he could with Richie.
“Comfy?” Richie asked.
“I am now,” Eddie said.
~*~
This month.
By the time Richie gets to Eddie's apartment, his hip feels better and he's thinking of taking the stairs just to give himself a little more time. But he's caught and pinned to the ground outside by a harsh line of eyebrow, a pair of eyes he'd die looking into if given the choice.
"Hey," Eddie says, the crossed arms over his chest unfurling and falling to his sides as soon as Richie looks at him.
"Hey, do you know which apartment is Eddie Kaspbrak's?" Richie says, taking care to speak loud enough for anyone who walks by to hear. "I'm the male stripper he ordered?"
"What kind of a male stripper are you?" Eddie says, gesturing harshly at Richie from head to toe. "What's the theme?"
"My sexy firefighter outfit is dirty," Richie says. "I'm stripping as a disheveled guy who wants a hug and a big lunch."
"Okay," Eddie says, finally moving from where he stands.
Richie drops his backpack to the ground, perhaps a bit to dramatically, and wraps his arms around Eddie fiercely. He digs his fingers into Eddie's shirt, feeling the muscle underneath it, the raised scarring on his skin. Eddie holds onto him with just as much force, turning his head to bury it in Richie's chest and breathing in loudly and with no hesitation. He wonders why Eddie met him outside like this instead of just waiting to greet him at the door, if he didn't want his wife to see this for some reason, if it would make her uncomfortable to look at Richie being held onto by Eddie, if she could see in his face that Richie belonged to Eddie in a way.
They go up to the apartment so Richie can change his clothes and settle in for a bit before they grab something to eat. Richie gets chills with how nervous he is, to be entering the home of Eddie and his wife, as if this is a place he should be at all.
He's never even met the woman, not in person. He had a conversation with her over the phone, once, when Eddie was in the hospital in Maine and Beverly got fed up with trying to talk to her, so she passed the phone to the nearest person, which unfortunately happened to be Richie. He doesn't even remember what he said to her, or what she said to him. He feels like he's about to meet someone who hates him already, like he's stepping onto a stage in front of an audience of people who have heard of him and decidedly do not like him.
In a way, it's freeing. He doesn't have to impress. He can be polite. This woman - Eddie's wife - she has a name, he should learn how to use it - Myra, after all, is letting him stay in her home so he can hang out with Eddie. She can't be all that bad.
When Richie walks in, Myra is on the couch crying. The urge to flee that shoots up Richie's spine makes him almost dizzy.
"So this is who you're kicking me out of my own bed for," Myra says to Eddie. She cuts her reddened eyes to Richie. "Nice to meet you."
Richie glances around the room, his eyes feeling like they're coming out of the sockets with how hard he's trying to find something to say.
"Hey, yeah, thanks for letting me crash," Richie says, not making eye contact with Myra. He picks up a little figure on the fireplace mantle. "Cool, um, bunnies."
She stares at him until he puts the bunny down. There are unscented candles burning next to the bunnies, and also in several sconces on the walls, giving an ambience like maybe they don't have electricity here. Richie knows they're unscented because all he can smell is the leftover lemony fragrance of cleaning products and his own sweat. He wishes they were scented so he could cover up the stench of his stress.
"Sweetheart," Eddie says, and Richie's heart constricts so hard for one second it nearly turns into a supernova that could envelop the inner planets, when he thinks Eddie is talking to him. But he continues, "Myra, I told you Richie has physical ailments that would be exacerbated by sleeping on a couch, and you know my back problems, so it just makes sense for you to sleep out here."
"What?" Richie says, absolutely not understanding what the tension in the room is being caused by here.
"Myra is just a little upset because I asked if you and I could share our bed while you're staying," Eddie says, not meeting Richie’s eyes.
"Oh," Richie says, in shock. He's suddenly a little upset by this too, if he's being honest, but he can't say how.”Eds, that’s not necessary like, at all.”
“Eds?” Myra says. “That’s not his name.”
“It’s fine,” Eddie says, holding his hands up to Myra. “It’s just a nickname.”
Richie’s mouth hangs open. What the fuck is going on here? Eddie turns to Richie with the same hands up, trying to clear up something completely different.
“I just told Myra, you know, it would make more sense, you know, for us to have the bed,” Eddie says, the ‘us’ apparently being himself and Richie.
"I understand you both have problems," Myra says, and Richie almost laughs out loud at how right she is. "It's fine. I agreed to it. I just don't like being kicked out of my own bed for - for - "
Richie can't even begin to fill in that blank for her. For a strange man she's never met, for this weirdo who told her over the phone that her husband survived a life-threatening injury while he and a group of friends he'd never mentioned before in his life were goofing off at an abandoned house from their childhood, for a C-list comedian who made a medium-sized splash in the gossip rags for being a late in life gay guy, for this man who radiates such want for Eddie it has to be visible as a physical manifestation, like a shadow.
“Eddie, you know what, this is why,” Myra says. “Stuff like this.”
"It's just for a couple of days," Eddie says, clearly annoyed, like he's had to go over this more than once. “I’m sorry, I tried to talk to you about this more last night, but - “
Richie thinks he should protest, because perhaps it is very strange to stay at a friend's house and sleep in their marital bed while their spouse has to sleep in the living room, for no good reason. He could easily stay at a hotel, in fact - he could get adjoining hotel rooms for himself and Eddie, and hell, he could get one for Myra if she wanted. He imagines them all going down to the hotel spa and getting facials together, and blanches violently at the thought. He'll suggest that to Patty and Stanley next time he visits them - that would be much more pleasant.
Eddie takes Myra aside and whispers something to her, and she whispers back, and Richie can’t quite hear it but he thinks he hears her say, “having an affair?”
“No,” Eddie says at a normal volume. “It wasn’t like that.”
They whisper back and forth again, Eddie making it clear he won’t back down by how many gestures he makes with his hands.
“If you’re that mad about it, why don’t you go stay at your sister’s place?” Eddie whispers too loudly for Richie not to hear.
“This is my frigging house,” Myra whispers just as loudly back.
“And um,” Richie says, picking up a weird twig decoration. “Cool twig.”
~*~
Eddie takes Richie out for lunch, and they go for a much needed walk, at least on Richie's part. He has so much insane energy inside, like if his body allowed it, he would be able to do cartwheels down the street. Instead, he walks as fast as possible and makes fun of Eddie for not being able to keep up with his short little legs.
"My legs are proportionate to my body," Eddie says when Richie pauses to let him catch up.
"Oh, unlike me?" Richie says. "Is that what you're saying? Is that what you're trying to say?"
"Yeah," Eddie says. "You look like a damn giraffe with no neck."
"Have you ever seen how giraffes drink?" Richie says. He stops walking suddenly, Eddie getting ahead of him until he turns around to watch. Richie bends over, spreading his legs and arms out as far as he can until he's crouched so close to the ground he could stick his tongue out and lick the pavement. He pokes his tongue out and acts like he's about to do it.
"Don't!" Eddie laughs and runs up on him, helping him get back all the way upright. "God, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep bending like that."
Richie thinks his bones should hurt more, but the high of getting Eddie to watch him, to amuse Eddie, is more powerful than any physical pain. And then Eddie loops his arm through Richie's, right there on the sidewalk for everyone to see, and they walk together like that. Richie thinks the euphoria of being arm-in-arm with Eddie will never wear off, he will never feel bad again.
"I'm so glad you're here," Eddie says. "Even though you're a pain in my ass. Maybe because you're a pain in my ass, I don't know."
"You want it, you got it," Richie says. He enjoys the way their skin sticks together where they're touching, the sweat of their bodies clinging together.
"I like it, when it's everyone," Eddie says, his words coming out carefully. "But I like it, when it's just me and you."
Richie wants to kiss him so bad he can taste it. He knows what Eddie had for lunch and he wants a bite of it now, right out of his mouth.
"You won't be saying that when I'm farting in bed and kicking you in the face," Richie says.
"The face?" Eddie says. "Are we gonna sleep head to toe?"
"Oh, uh, I thought," Richie says. "I just assumed."
"No, unless that's what you - "
"No, that's not what - "
"We never did that when we were kids, is all," Eddie says. "We just stayed up and talked and fell asleep like that."
"I missed it," Richie says, surprised with the ferocity of the missing, his eyes watering.
"We have it back," Eddie says, and he squeezes Richie's arm.
~*~
By the time they get back, Richie is exhausted from jet lag, his adrenaline going up and down, and being outside for more than 15 minutes. It's a bit early, but he's ready to go to sleep. Myra is already lying on the couch, under a blanket with the TV on as she looks at her phone and ignores them when they come in.
"Is it okay if I shower?" Richie asks.
"Yes, of course," Eddie says. "I'd prefer if you did."
"Okay, well now I'm not going to," Richie says. He lifts his arm up and grabs Eddie by the neck, holding him close to his side so Eddie can get a big whiff of Richie's armpit.
"I'll kill you," Eddie screams, shoving Richie so hard he falls back into a dining room chair that crashes to the floor.
"Can you boys keep it down?" Myra says, muting the TV. "I have a headache."
Richie has such a sudden sense of deja vu, of living this exact thing before, that he has to cover his mouth to stop his hysterical laughter.
"Just like when we were kids," Eddie says, grinning, like he's remembering the same things. Richie's mom's footsteps pounding down up the stairs, Richie's bedroom door slamming open as she shouted at them to shut the fuck up for the tenth time.
"Yeah, just like," Richie says. He lifts his hand to touch Eddie's face, wanting to touch him and knowing Eddie won't mind. He ends up smacking his hand down hard, a slap of a caress to hide his want, leaving Eddie frowning so he can go shower and get ready for bed.
~*~
Richie did not bring pajamas with him - he generally sleeps nude, just in case somebody breaks into his home and he has to fight a burglar, dick out, so he will have an incredible story to tell - but he knew he'd need to be somewhat clothed if he's staying at someone else's house. He puts on a pair of clean underwear and a clean t-shirt and brushes his teeth. Eddie comes into the bathroom just as Richie is leaving, and they brush by each other. Richie turns back and stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed while he watches. Eddie doesn't tell him to stop or make him go away. He just brushes his teeth, with his electric toothbrush, the power of which makes Richie's toothbrush look like a rag on a stick. Eddie also flosses, then Waterpiks his teeth, then finally finishes with a long gargle of mouthwash.
"You do that every night?" Richie asks, trying to remember if he's ever seen Eddie get ready for bed, at any of their other weekend trips with their friends. He doesn't think so. It feels so intimate, the most vulnerable part of Eddie's night, where he is shedding the day and preparing to sleep, and Richie is here allowed to witness it. He could get used to it.
"Yeah, I take care of my mouth," Eddie says, glancing at Richie through his eyelashes. Richie flushes hotly, an uncontrollable reaction to the thought of Eddie's mouth and the care being put into it, though he knows Eddie doesn't mean anything real by it.
They go to Eddie's bedroom, the TV in the living room still flickering. Richie should feel guilty. It's not exactly normal to kick your wife out of her own bedroom to have a slumber party with your best friend, not that Richie has ever had a wife or ever will, but from what he's gathered. He’s in here playing house with Eddie right under her nose, and it’s not really right. But Eddie has insisted so strongly that Richie share his bed with him, like it would make him the happiest person on earth to relive his childhood with Richie, and who is Richie to deny him that?
"What side of the bed do you sleep on?" Eddie asks. He takes off the t-shirt he's wearing and it shocks Richie into silence.
The scars on his body are harsh and intricate, and Richie wants to touch them, to revere them as proof of Eddie's survival. He's so mouth-wateringly attractive to Richie - Richie is pretty sure he could circle Eddie's waist with just his hands and pick him up like that, like Eddie is a sexy little hamburger.
"Uh," Richie says. "The side closest to the door."
"Okay, get in," Eddie says, sliding underneath the covers on the side closest to the wall.
Richie is suddenly aware of how much space he takes up, how long his toenails are, how badly he wants to press Eddie down into the mattress, any mattress, even this mattress he picked out with the woman he's married to, and kiss him.
He turns the light off and sits stiffly on the edge of the bed, then swings the rest of the way in. When he lies down, he's actually truly grateful Myra is allowing this, because his back aches as he settles. The couch would have destroyed him.
"Why closest to the door?" Eddie asks. His head is on the pillow, his expression soft and curious as Richie's eyes adjust. The room isn't pitch dark, a lot of light still coming in from the street through the windows, and Richie is glad. He keeps his glasses on - a dangerous game in bed - he wants to see Eddie as much as possible.
"I dunno, it just always feels safer," Richie says. He turns over, resting his head on his hands.
"Aw, you protecting me?" Eddie says, yawning through a small smile.
"Maybe," Richie says. "You never know what could come in and - get ya!"
Richie snakes his hands across the bed and turns it into a puppet, biting at Eddie's sides with the tips of his fingers. Eddie bucks and kicks out, shrieking angry laughter.
"Don't tickle me!" Eddie says. "It's not fair! I remember - you're not ticklish."
"You can always try," Richie says. He flushes again, his body heating up like a warning. Something about being in the dark always makes him less afraid of what he wants.
"Hmm," is all Eddie says.
They talk about simple things, like where they'll go for breakfast in the morning, and what places they want to go to, if any, and how Richie wishes there was a Dunkin next to his house instead of 45 minutes away, and how Eddie thinks Dunkin is disgusting and if anything prefers Tim Hortons.
"Oh, you're out of your fucking mind," Richie says. "Canadian coffee?"
"It's good," Eddie argues. "You haven't even tried it."
"And I never will," Richie says.
They move on to how they think the others are doing, if Beverly is okay, if Mike is okay, if they'll ever release an official version of their and Ben’s board game, and if they did how it would be a hit for nerds and jocks alike. Eddie asks if Richie is seeing anyone.
"No," Richie says plainly.
"Nobody?" Eddie asks. "Even after you came out and everything?"
"People of all genders are still equally repulsed by me," Richie says.
"Hey, cut that shit out," Eddie says. Richie tries to laugh it off but Eddie stops him. "I mean it. Who exactly is repulsed by you? If you have a name I'll kick their ass."
"It's okay," Richie says, strangely moved and teary-eyed by Eddie threatening to beat up people who don't want to date Richie. "It's just me. Don't kick my ass."
"I'll kick your ass whether you want me to or not," Eddie says.
"What about you?" Richie says. He wishes they were on equal playing ground - they can't really lay here and talk about boys when Eddie is married and his wife is down the hall. "Where'd you meet the missus?"
"Oh, after college," Eddie says like oh, not important.
"Long time," Richie says, unsure how to comment on Eddie's marriage aside from the length of it.
"You know," Eddie says, but he trails off. His skin in the dim light is blue, and Richie has a painful flashback, to just last year when Eddie nearly died. He trailed off then too - Richie could've sworn, he thought Eddie was going to say something else, and before that, he thought foolishly Eddie was going to kiss him. Instead he only made a mother-fucking joke and nearly bled to death.
"What?" Richie says. "Don't leave me hanging here, Eds."
"Not to like - steal your thunder or anything, but I did kiss a guy in college," Eddie says, shyly, half his face hidden in his pillow.
Richie wants to turn into a ghost and fly around the room. Looks like they can talk about boys after all. He clears his throat and even after that his voice squeaks when he says, “Oh?”
“It’s stupid,” Eddie says. “It was just like, at a party. It was the ‘90s.”
It's more than Richie ever did back then. It's more than Richie could ask for from Eddie. Eddie has never been his, but Richie can’t help but think of all the ways Eddie has been taken from him.
“It’s not stupid,” Richie says. “Very progressive of you. How was your little experiment?”
“Experiment?” Eddie says.
“Yeah, did you like it?” Richie says. “Kissing a guy?”
“Oh,” Eddie says, sounding like his breathing is taking a lot of effort all of a sudden. His forehead is shiny with sweat, and the color of his skin has changed in the blue light. “Yeah. It was good. I liked it a lot.”
“Cool,” Richie says. He wants to do something with his hands, like touch Eddie all over his body or smash them with a hammer. He settles for frantically cracking his knuckles, the popping muffled under the blanket. “What did you like about it?”
Eddie props his head up on his hand and looks down at Richie. His eyes flit in the dark, from Richie’s eyes and downward and back.
“It was, um,” Eddie says. “It was just what I wanted. He was - it was just - “
Richie decides he no longer wants to hear how Eddie’s first gay kiss without him went. He covers what he’s feeling by laughing. Eddie sits up and frowns, his eyes flashing hurt. Richie sits up too, wanting to be at the same level as Eddie. They’ve reached the part of the sleepover where it stops being fun and starts getting real. He wonders if he should call his mom to come pick him up.
"Sorry, it's not funny," Richie says.
"I didn't think it was," Eddie says.
"It's cute," Richie says. "Does the wife know?"
"She's not - it doesn't matter what she knows," Eddie says, words tinged with frustration.
"Okay," Richie says. If he could flatten himself like a pancake he would.
"She's divorcing me," Eddie says. "She told me last night. So it's okay."
"Oh, sorry," Richie says automatically. He's taking in too much information on too little sleep and every new piece of it is overwhelming. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do.
"So it's okay," Eddie says again, and cups Richie's jaw and pushes him back down into the mattress and kisses him.
Richie responds monstrously, gripping Eddie's hip and his neck hard enough that it probably hurts him and opening his mouth for Eddie's tongue to slide into it, sloppy and frenzied. He arches his back, pressing into Eddie's body on top of him all of a sudden, kissing him like Richie's been waiting for.
Eddie puts his hand underneath Richie’s knee and hitches it up, guiding it to wrap around his back. Richie hisses as their hips collide, Eddie’s arousal meeting his.
“Sorry,” Eddie gasps out. “Is your hip okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it,” Richie breathes into Eddie’s mouth.
They're interrupted by a floorboard creak out in the hall. Eddie's heart is beating so hard Richie can feel it through his own chest, their hearts hammering against each other through their skin and muscle and bones.
"I wanted to kiss you," Eddie whispers. He kisses Richie's cheek, the hinge of his jaw, Richie's head tilting back against the pillow to let him. "After, remember, when I thought I killed It, and I didn't. I didn't get the chance."
"I remember," Richie says, as if it's not the only thing he remembers at most times. "I wanted to be kissed.”
"You want it, you got it," Eddie says. "But maybe, you know."
"Not in the marital bed you share with your wife?" Richie says.
Eddie nods, slowly removing his hands and his entire body from Richie's, and settling back on his side of the bed. Then he seems to change his mind and coaxes Richie to move a little bit, until both their heads are on the same pillow.
"Yeah, okay," Richie says. "I can wait a little bit longer."
Richie is giddy and restless with possibility and will not be able to fall asleep at all. Eddie wanted to kiss him and kissed him and will kiss him again. He throws his leg over Eddie's to pull him in a bit closer, until all he can see with his eyes open are a blurry pair of harsh eyebrows and eyes he wants to look into when he dies.
"This is nice," Richie says. "I thought sleeping in the same bed as you would be annoying now."
"It will be annoying," Eddie says. "I snore like a fucking chainsaw."
"Do you think Bill and his wife sleep in the same bed?" Richie says.
"Well," Eddie starts, mouth shaping into a smirk that holds gossip inside it, and that takes them all the way through to the dawn.
~*~
The next morning, Eddie takes Richie to breakfast. They shuffle quietly out the door so as not to wake Myra and walk arm-in-arm to some little restaurant Eddie is excited about. Eddie sits on the same side of the table as Richie, outside on the patio in the sunshine.
“Butter?” Eddie offers. “Jam? What do you want on your toast?”
“Eddie, if I could, I would jack you off right here and spread your come on every bite,” Richie says.
Eddie gags but he turns bright red from his forehead to his neck. “The thought of that. The idea of it.”
“Delicious,” Richie says, licking his fingers.
After that they wander aimlessly, going anywhere but back to Eddie’s apartment to face Myra. Richie remembers he’s staying another night and feels sick.
“So she told you the night before last?” Richie asks. “She give a reason?”
“Just that I’m not a good husband and she’s had it,” Eddie says. “And, well.”
“Well,” Richie agrees, nodding. “I think I’ll get a hotel room tonight.”
“That’s a good idea,” Eddie says. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” Richie says. “In fact, I’d prefer it.”
Richie gets on his phone to book a room and he gets a text from Bev asking “is this you?” with a link.
~*~
Am I the Asshole?
Posted by livelaughlovemarty980928340709 23 hours ago
AITA for asking my husband for a divorce on the day his childhood friend came to visit?
My husband (40m) and I (40f) have been married for over 10 years. During these years we have had nothing but perfect wedded bliss. He waits on me hand and foot and I take care of him better than a mother. Then last year, he disappeared for a week without telling me where he was going and didn’t contact me the entire time he was gone. I was worried sick and didn’t know what to do. Then one day I received a call from a very rude friend of his (40f) whom I have NEVER met tried to tell me my husband almost died! I refused to listen to her until she passed me off to ANOTHER friend (41m) of his, whom I have also never met. He proceeded to tell me my husband was impaled by a giant spider claw when they were fighting an ancient alien clown in their hometown, really stupid idiotic stuff, and that my husband survived it and was in the hospital. I have never known my husband to do something like this! To put himself in danger and not even tell me where he was going. Then, ever since he came home, he’s been different. He jets off to see these friends, and doesn’t invite me to go along, even though I am his wife. All he does is talk about the one friend, who told me about the clown, “my friend said this” and “my friend did that” and that’s all I hear about! I was beginning to think my husband was having an affair until last night. Now I KNOW! He told me his friend was coming to visit, and he asked me (“asked” is a strong word! He practically told me!) if I would sleep on the couch so he and his friend could have the bed! Our bed! I flew off the handle and told him this was the last straw. I told him I wanted a divorce. He seemed a little surprised, and I think I know him better than anyone, so I could tell he was stressed. Maybe I should have waited for a different time when he wasn’t so busy with the prospect of hosting and entertaining. But I just couldn’t take it anymore! Is it strange for my husband to kick me out of our bed so that he can share it with his childhood best friend? AITA for telling him it’s over between us during a difficult time?