sloppybitch | dumpsterfire boi.

dumpsterfire boi.

[He hit the height of his fame when he was 32 and with a fresh face and a new industry he did just about everything he could to ride the acclaim as far as it would take him. There were interviews, talk show hosts applauded his creativity, even though it wasn't his at all, to begin with. LA couldn't get enough of him, and they dressed him, toted him around, threw him on stage with a drink in his hand to do their bidding.

For the first time in a long time, Richie felt heard. Sure, they weren't his words. Not entirely, and it wasn't always his fashion but he was successful, he was appreciated and respected. His life was taking off and the shift from Maine to California was finally made worth it. The financial expenses balanced out.

Then came the partying, the cocaine, the drinking and the countless bodies around him. He stayed out all night, up with energy his body couldn't naturally supply and then bottomed out somewhere around late morning and was out for the rest of the day until the next gig, and unless he didn't show his business manager didn't even really care.

Richie was quickly making a name for himself as Hollywood's life of the party and pictures of him drinking from four different bottles of alcohol and standing on tables were soon thereafter published in whatever magazines and papers would take them. There were some in which he looked strung out, taken by the paparazzi when he was mostly sober. Of course, they exaggerated everything but in this case, it wasn't far from the truth. Pictures of him almost unconscious on club sofas, the things of media acclaim and someone watching you wherever you went. Richie was chasing a feeling of exhilaration and belonging that he didn't know he'd ever had.

The bad press played directly into the attendance of his shows and when he moved from clubs to amphitheaters his problems got worse. He moved from psychotropics to cocaine, mixed medicine, and so more photos surfaced and the slew of Trashmouth fanatics and naysayers grew and doubled with each unfortunate event.]

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(This was probably one of the stupidest decisions he'd ever made. Sonia had certainly made it clear that he must of lost his marbles when he came home one day after work and exclaimed he had to take a trip to the opposite side of the country. Oh how she had wailed. Eddie nearly had been guilted into staying, but another glance at the tabloid he'd picked up at the grocery store was enough to convince him to go.

He'd recognized Richie on a Netflix special, but then he recognized him more when he saw his face attached to some trashy People magazine article one of his workers had been reading between shifts. He tried to discourage that sort of thing given their careers, but some of his best workers were up to date on all the celeb gossip and it wasn't always useless.

Richie Tozier.

The name had brought back a lot of warmth, a lot of affection, and a lot of quiet somethings Eddie didn't want to think too hard about. Least of all when it was clear Richie had gone down the drain in a real bad way. Last he knew him Richie didn't do more than smoke cigarettes and occasionally drink at a party they had sneaked into once or twice as teenagers but then the memories got fuzzy after that.

He shows up in California and has enough connections to hunt Richie down like a bloodhound on a mission. Working alongside celebrities had its benefits. Helped that Richie was a celebrity but not quite A-list level. Helped make him easier to find, easier to ask about. Judging from his sweater vest and tie most people probably thought he was an agent or a publicist. God knows Richie could use the latter.

He finds Richie out cold at a pool side, completely abandoned by some pool, and it's three in the morning and all Eddie wanted to do was go to sleep. But he was staring at this long drink of a man that had filled out over the years and he felt a quiet pang that he swiftly ignored. It was evident there was really nothing but potential heartache if he bothered with that, so Eddie stiffens himself up, grabs a cup of water (a clean one) and wanders over to Richie.

Without much ado he proceeds to splash the water right onto Richie's face. Wake up, sunshine, it's your childhood best friend.)

[Richie didn't have the benefit of tabloids and badly written jokes to remember Eddie. Of course, he lived life looking for what was missing but searching for the unknown and actually knowing were two totally different things.

The water shocks him, but not enough to get him sitting upright yet. No, he curls up in the lawn chair and slaps his chest until he finds his glasses. There are crunched up cans, bottles, solo cups. The place had been loaded just hours before. Packed with bodies, booze, and music.

With red-rimmed eyes, he squints through the frames at the guy in front of him once he has his glasses back on his face.]

Can I fucking help you?

Uh yeah. Get your ass up.

(Some part of Eddie wasn't really expecting Richie to remember. Not with his current lifestyle, not with how complicated things had gotten. He was slamming down on a whole lot of feelings for his own good, and it makes him a little icier than he might of preferred to be.)

You reek and need a shower. And probably a proper bed.

(He hesitates, realizing that he probably should tell Richie who he was at the very least.)

You probably don't remember me. We used to go to school together in Derry. I'm Eddie Kaspbrak.

Eddie Kaspbrak?

[Oh, he knew he needed a shower. The proper bed part was relative and all those things earn him is an incredulous look and a roll of his shoulder. The name though, that's familiar and rolls off his tongue in a nice way. Like he spent a lifetime saying it.]

Kaspbrak - Kaspbrat. Oh, Eddie, Eds.

[It clicks into place for him and since he's still very much not sober, it's nothing for Richie to pull him into a quick hug. He knows enough to free-associate him to some kind of happiness, comfort. The slightly grumpy disposition leaves him completely, and Richie wavers for a minute, stumbles in finding his footing after pulling away from his arms.]

Yeah. Yeah. You were this cute little thing. In the knee-high socks and the fannypacks. God, you- [Actually, he looks a lot of the same. Grown into the boyish looks like a charm.] you look great.

Yes.

(Eddie's taken aback by Richie knowing his name, or more importantly that nickname, and it leaves Eddie blushing just a little. He instantly hates himself for it because apparently the habit of his mother wasn't the only habit he'd never dropped. He rocks his feet a bit, clearing his throat.

He's about to move forward and ignore the whole thing, but Richie's pulling him into a hug and well. Eddie was only human. And God knows he hadn't come out all this way to not care for Richie. Kind of the opposite. His arms latch around him and he squeezes Richie tightly. He presses his face against his shoulder, Richie still taller than him, and although he smelled like a bad college party, there was still some undercurrent that was distinctly Richie. It was kind of a relief.

When Richie stumbles, Eddie frowns a bit, but is quick to hold his arms and make sure he didn't actually fall.)

Careful. I really don't want you splitting your head open.

(His blush worsens a hell of a lot worse when-.)

Jesus. You were-. Always doing that. (He sighs, and has to ignore those boyish feelings that still housed strong in his gut.)

Calling me shit like 'cute' and 'Eds'. (He glances down at himself, before looking back at Richie.)

...Thanks. (Part of him wants to return the compliment because it's true. Richie looked amazing as an adult, filled out in the best ways, but his career had made him look...Not so great. So Eddie carefully says nothing at all.)

You don't have any hot dates for the rest of the night do you? Was hoping you'd join me out.

Dates? I don't think -oh you mean like some chicks or something? No. No. Looks like the soul train left.

[Richie looks around and blinks against the clear change in time, he realizes a bit wistfully he has no idea what time it is. He pulls back a sleeve of the sweater he's wearing and his watch isn't there and he so he sighs haplessly.]

What um- what day is it?

[Something fond would have found his face if it hadn't been for the fact that he was absolutely wasted. Not just drunk, but riding the coattails of something else thrumming under his skin like a thousand angry ants.]

I should, I could probably call a car.

[Richie roots around for his cell phone, and isn't surprised so much as irritated when it's gone. He sighs in an uncomfortable sort of way.] Shit. My phone's gone.

[That's the second one in so many months and he drags a tired hand over his face. Of course, he wants to hang out with Eddie like old times, but he's not so sure he's in the right sort of space.]

Sorry, I- why'd you - were you at the party?

(That's not entirely shocking. Richie had always talked about girls in some sort of way back when he remembered him. It was one of those disappointing things, but Eddie just rolls his eyes.)

More like the chlamydia train...(Muttered lowly under his breath.

He stares at Richie for a few seconds, brows raised.)

Tuesday. Which by the way I didn't think they even threw parties on Tuesdays.

(Eddie watches him hunt around and he winds up groaning lowly.)

Dude. Seriously? Give me your number and I can try to call it if you want.

(He watches Richie closely, shaking his head.)

...No. I came here for you. I...Shit, it's not worth explaining when you're like this. Just. I can take care of calling us a car.

I don't have the clap. Who had the clap?

[Yeah, no, he caught that. Richie wouldn't remember it after sobering up though, the dazed look in his blue eyes makes it more than evident that he's not all there.]

This is LA, Eddie. There's always something.

[A party, a place to go when you're feeling low. The city itself always had something going on.]

Uh, it's 323 875-4781 but there's no telling where it is now. I just get TracPhones. It's fine.

Really? It's been like seventeen years, right? Y'know, I didn't know until like just now. Right now, but I missed you. I really missed you, man.

[That much he's sure of and since Richie has no sense of boundaries or what's socially acceptable while so deeply under the influence, he admits all of it with Eddie's cheek in one of his palms.]

If you call the car I'll pay the fare. S'the least I can do.

Mmmkay.

(Eddie would buy it when he saw the proof. As of right now he wasn't completely trusting of Richie's awareness. Not with that look in his eyes.

He tries to call Richie's phone, but he's not wrong, it's pointless and Eddie's soon dialing for a car instead. Had half his business out in LA, unsurprisingly, and he got a car within a minute or two.)

Yeah, yeah, seventeen years or something. (He gently pushes Richie's hand away, assuming that the gesture is purely from him being drunk.)

Dude. I own a limousine company with headquarters out here. They're not going to charge their own CEO. You're fine. Can you walk fine?

[When his hand is slapped away Richie lets it fall down to his side and just puts it in the pocket of his sweater. He's too out of sorts to really think anything about it and so he lingers close to Eddie's personal space, just for the sake of being next of him.]

I can walk. This isn't even - [Well, that bad in retrospect. His stomach wasn't sick, well, not yet. He's happily buzzed and dealing with the euphoria and elation that comes with that.]

You have a whole business? Look at you. I always knew you'd be successful. You had the right kind of stuff. I'm really glad you got out from under your mom and got out there. I knew you'd take off right away if you did that.

Yeah, well, you're...successful too, I suppose.

(Not healthy, no, but successful by the average person's definition? Yeah. Eddie's silent, and he feels a rush of shame hit his gut and he looks away from Richie quickly. He supposed that Richie wasn't the only one who had fallen short.)

I never...I still live with my mom. (It's borderline humiliating to admit, and he mumbles it more than anything. He wasn't a happy person. Financially stable and that was about it.)

I knew you'd make it onto the stage. Although your jokes have gotten worse over the years.

You should just stay down here. Really piss off Mrs. K. You said it yourself that headquarters is here.

[It's a gentle admission, but also one made entirely out of selfishness. All he had to do was look at Eddie and his heart hung out in his ears, pounding away until nothing else made sense in his brain.]

That's because I have an auditor. Stuff starts mine and by the time it gets released to the act it's not anymore. Part of the job, I guess. I mean, when you're thirteen and desperate just about anything's funny.

[Desperate to get away, desperate to be noticed for anything other than what reputation you have that Derry decided to designate.]

Sure, Richie. I'll be staying for a while.

(Which was true. He planned to stay for...for as long as he needed to maybe. He wasn't sure. All he knew was that Richie...needed him. Maybe not him specifically but someone. And clearly no one else had bothered stepping up.)

Oh. (That made sense he supposed, though it felt odd to hear. It felt very off for Richie specifically.)

I can take you back to my hotel if you like. If it'll be easier for uh- your orientation in the morning. Or whatever.

Cool. I know you won't regret it.

[Of course what Richie means has everything to do with independence and nothing to do with his abject cry for help. He's still oblivious, but he's close, siphoning off the feeling that only standing so close to Eddie can give him.]

I don't mind.

[Going back to the hotel, and one arm finds purchase in Eddie's shoulders. The way used to pose for pictures so long ago. The orientation part gets only a mild thought, where his eyebrows crease into the bridge of his nose. It's been so long, and Richie falls into old habits with Eddie a whole lot better thanks to the lack of inhibitions.]

But I have a place too.

Ooh- shit. Okay.

(Eddie wobbles in surprise under the sudden weight of Richie's arm. He looks up at him, hyper aware of how close he was, and he carefully rests his hand against Richie's stomach.)

We can go to your place.

(Eddie had put himself up at a hotel for a week. It had seemed like a reasonable start. He walks Richie out to the front of the venue where a tinted Mercedes was already waiting. The driver gets out to open up the door quickly for them, and Eddie's unsurprised. Who wanted to be the personal driver for their literal CEO? He thanks the man gently, not wanting the guy to feel too pressured, and winds up in the backseat with Richie.)

Just give him your address, Rich.

[Richie doesn't get into the car so much as he rolls into it. Still a mess of too many years, long slacks, and sneakers like he was young. No sense of fashion or decorum whatsoever.

It's easy to follow directions, and the driver gets the address like he's had a half time of rehearsing it.

He's spent the last several weeks of his life taking drunken cab rides home and he knows enough to shut his eyes, not look out the window or try to focus on anything too closely. He didn't want motion sickness to set in and when they arrive at his place he thanks the driver and passes him a tip of whatever cash he had in his pocket.

His apartment isn't glamorous, not like one would expect for a comedian that was somewhat successful in today's social climate. He waits up only for a second to make sure Eddie's still with him and fumbles with his keys at the door. There's no deadbolt system, no way to chain the door off so when he does get it open it swings inward and reflects the way he'd been as a kid. There are some framed band posters, vintage, on the wall.

Everything has a place, except for the rolled-up bills on the coffee table and it's clear to anyone semi-aware of Hollywood and its lifestyle what it had been for. There's really no smell either, it's all dark tones mixed with bright bold colors and out of habit, he takes his shoes off on the way inside.

Richie pulls off the sweater and his t-shirt in one fell swoop. His hair is stuck from the static, standing out at different ends. Richie's still pretty blown, but no longer stumbling.]

M'Gonna get in the shower. Make yourself at home.

Edited 2019-11-13 17:38 (UTC)

(Eddie thanks the driver personally as well when they get out, giving a tip too, and he makes a note to thank the driver later on more professionally since it was not exactly fun carting around drunk celebrities. Eddie knew that plenty from personal experience.

Eddie takes a glance around in the apartment once they head in, and he's mostly just glad that it didn't look like it was falling apart. Eddie slips his own shoes off behind Richie, feeling only marginally awkward. He watches Richie take off his shirt and sweater with a cursory glance before he's looking away.

It was a little endearing and Eddie hated Richie for it a bit. He wanted to fix his hair, but instead he just winds up putting his hands in his pocket.)

Sure, all right.

(He would do his best. While Richie showers he does snoop around. It doesn't feel so bad to do given their past relationship, and he gets some water out and finds Richie's room, setting it onto the bedside table. He decides to wait out in the living room for Richie, easing himself down onto the couch, feeling a little antsy, but it was fine, just fine. Or it would be anyway.)

[Richie's only in the shower for about fifteen minutes, he takes care of his hair and his body relatively quickly and brushes his teeth before coming out. He was just on the other side of drunk, but still under the influence. With a towel tied around his waist, Richie moves into the bedroom to pull some clothes on. It's nothing extravagant, a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt.

For a minute he considers lying down, and almost does but the glass of water on his bedside table makes him pause.]

Eddie?

[That's right, Eddie came all the way from Maine to see him and their first night was a drunken car ride home.]

You still here, man?

(Eddie had been scrolling through his phone when he heard Richie's voice. He perks up considerably and moves to his feet, drifting towards the bedroom where Richie called from. He stops in the doorway and gives a faint smile at the sight of Richie fresh out of the shower. He really did grow up well.)

Hey dude. Yeah, I'm still here. You doing okay?

[A smile finds his face when Richie sees him in the doorframe and he's glad that he stuck around. Most friends wouldn't have even gone so far as to get him a ride home. Richie crosses the floor in a few easy movements, height playing into his advantage and he pulls him into another hug - this one conveying just how much he really had missed him. It's impossible for him not to feel all that now.]

Thanks for- [Well, it's probably better not to say anything, Richie pulls back a wets his lips. He can still sort of taste the alcohol.] Well, you know.

Yeah, of course. I love you, man.

(Said softly, and maybe too sincerely, but it's true and it always has been. He wraps his arms around Richie in a tight hug, and he's seen enough drunk people and been drunk enough himself that he knows Richie isn't as smashed as he had been when they first caught up. He's a little more okay with being so transparent.)

I hope you realize tomorrow's gonna mean an entire lecture.

I love you too.

[That admission is easy, and he says it close into his ear so that it's still a moment just between them. As softly as Eddie had said it himself. Richie moves past him into the living room and pops a couple of unmarked pills. It's not his medication, that much is clear, but Eddie would recognize them as Xanax. Richie knew he wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise. He chases them back with some Powerade he pulls from the fridge and he sits down on the sofa and pulls out the remote.]

I know, I know. Can we just watch a movie now then? Until I can get to sleep.

[Like old times.]

(Eddie follows after Richie and when he sees Richie pop some pills it makes him realize he'd miss his own pills for the night. He almost asks for some especially recognizing them, but he doesn't. He'd taken one before he'd went to find Richie anyway.

He joins Richie on the couch, sitting close enough that their shoulders knock together on his way down.)

Sure. Do you still watch the kind of stuff?

(As when they were kids.)

You got me. I haven't changed that much.

[Of course he had movies on demand now to pick from, things provided through cable he might not have had before. Richie passes over the remote. His medicine wasn't prescribed, it went without saying that he bought them on the street, from the same person that sold him the cocaine that had left the residue all over his coffee table.]

You pick it.

I think maybe you have.

(But they wouldn't talk about that right now. He skips around on Netflix for a while, sighing loudly because Netflix was always so hard to pick anything out on. He settles for Grease just because it was easy and he liked the music.)

Please know that if you pass out on me I'm definitely not strong enough to pick you up and carry you to bed.

What do you mean?

[At his core, Richie still feels like the same guy and he doesn't think that there's so much difference between them that it's worth pointing out. Grease was an old favorite, especially the cars and he can remember singing the lyrics with Eddie in his room more than once as a kid.]

I think you're stronger than you look.

[He always was, but Richie couldn't make promises he wouldn't keep. Not to Eddie and it was a real possibility that he'd fall asleep.]

With new pistons, plugs, and shocks I can get off my rocks. Go grease lightning.

[And some things can't be helped. He still loved the songs just as much.]

Dude. The most you ever did back home was like. Smoke cigarettes and maybe score some shitty beer at some parties.

(He knew that growing up meant drinking harder things and developing different habits, but not to the extent of constantly passing out in public and other things. Most people who wound up like that usually weren't in the best mind frame.

He's blushing and looking away from Richie and towards the screen.)

You always said that. (Eddie mumbles as much.) And you're still wrong.

Yeah, and now I do everything but the kitchen sink. What's your point?

[Richie doesn't mean it to be rude, his tone is gentle, but even as a kid- he'd had friends, he'd had people he could count on and whatever feeling he was chasing, he hadn't known it'd been missing until Eddie walked through the door.

No, he didn't do heroin. Or Meth. Or anything harder than some E-tabs and Coke but that was enough and most nights passing out black was preferable to being alone all night with himself.

He's looking down, meeting the screen halfway and it's clear that while he wants to be present for the conversation he's on the road to falling asleep.]

I think you want me to be wrong, Eddie. Because you've always been so- for me you were.

[Richie joined to halves of two sentences he'd half-said in his head and sure, it made sense to him. It would. Eddie had so much power over him when he was a kid, sometimes it felt like Eddie was the one commanding the whole situation. Sometimes it was.

Riche doesn't think too hard about it, because when he tries to he gets nervous, jittery, and he doesn't want to be that. So, against his word, he does fall asleep. He's not on top of Eddie, no, but his cheek is on his shoulder. Should he decide to occupy his bed he'll find the room unreasonably clean. The bed made, and no paraphernalia insight. His bathroom is just as clean. It's clear that despite his outward appearance some things remained true of him. Inordinately neat despite the messy attitude.]

That's my point. God Richie-

(His voice climbs, but then he's stopping as soon as it does. He exhales loudly and decides that this still really wasn't the time for it. Eddie's quiet after that, and maybe even more so after Richie's comment about him not wanting to be strong. Richie wasn't wrong is the thing. Eddie was comfortable with living his willfully protected life.

Eddie lets Richie fall asleep. It's sweet, honestly, and reminds him of all the times they had done this as kids. Richie always fell asleep first, and soon, Eddie was asleep with him, his cheek resting on his head. He didn't bother getting up, and really, he wouldn't of thought to go to Richie's bedroom anyway.

Come morning though Eddie does wake before Richie and he eases out of him. He finds a new toothbrush somewhere in Richie's bathroom and uses it before wandering out to the kitchen to start making some eggs. He wasn't too sure if Richie took them the same way as he used to but he supposed he'd find out.)

[When Richie does come to it's with a churning groan and his legs are up on the couch his hands rocketing forward onto the coffee table, proportionally unaware and gravity betraying him. He'd left his glasses on too, making the headache, the spinning, and the nausea twice as bad.

It's no surprise when he falls off the sofa, but he hits his head on the table on the way down. Just a ding, and he's on his knees, finding his footing to the restroom.]

Jesus Christ.

[If you've never seen your childhood friend literally spew technicolor into a toilet, probably not the best time to come and see if they're okay. It's habit, at this point that has him forcing the rest of what he can handle into the bowl, clutching the sides of his toilet until his knuckles go white.]

Rich?

(Okay that wasn't an ideal waking up sound. He quickly sets aside the eggs and flicks off the stove and walks after the sound of Richie. When he reaches the bathroom he's not shocked by what he finds and he instantly grimaces and vanishes. He's back a second later with the glass of water he'd left by Richie's bedside and he sets it on the bathroom counter before kneeling down next to Richie.)

Jesus, dude. (Said softly, but he's rubbing a hand over Richie's back all the same. It's not like there was anything that could be done. Richie had to let it out.)

It's okay. Shh. (He can see those white knuckles and he leans over to kiss the back of Richie's head quickly. He gets back up and fetches a washcloth to run under the sink for a second. He's back down next to Richie and puts the towel against the back of his neck.)

[Get it out he did, he's not running a temp so it's not an issue of being in any real trouble just too many chemicals and not enough real people food. Richie can't remember the last time someone gave a shit and the tears that sting his eyes when he finishes the fit are less from being sick and more from something distinctly different.

When all is said and done he leans up, haplessly to flush the toilet and pushes his forehead against the seat pathetically.]

Sorry... I'm sorry. Fuck, man. I really-

[The water, his hand finds that and he sips at it with a tired grimace etched into his features. He refuses to drain it, knows better. A testament to how bad he's gotten.]

You didn't tell me you were coming down. I wish you would've said something.

[Maybe then he could have sobered up a little bit beforehand. It was unlikely but he might have been able to manage.]

(The apology is somehow worse than the vomiting. He frowns and presses his hand against the towel at the back of Richie's neck. He was definitely upset about where Richie's life had gone, but he had no interest in making him feel ashamed about anything.)

Don't apologize. It's not your fault.

(Which...It wasn't. Problems like these rarely were anyone's fault. Bad situations lead to bad habits. Eddie knew all about that himself.)

It's not...like I had your number exactly. Or. Anything.

(Number, e-mail. They hadn't been in contact in years.)

Sorry I surprised you. Here. Drink some water, okay? You'll feel better for it.

[Richie's hands shake as he takes the water back up again and sips at it some more. It really isn't something he wants to do, and it burns all the way down against his throat that had been rubbed raw from purging.]

Still...

[That's all that Richie can offer him too. It was his fault, he was in charge of his own choices, and his own shitty life. The nausea was still gripping at his stomach but he didn't have anything left to give. Nothing else in his stomach to evacuate.]

This isn't how- Look, I get it if you want to go. You can just go. It's fine, really.

[It sounds a little rehearsed because it is, but he also doesn't want Eddie to see him like this and the towel well it makes him feel a lot better and he comfortably sighs whenever Eddie applies any sort of pressure there at all.]

...Richie...I'm gonna be really honest with you here? I'm here to help you through whatever shit this is that's going on with you.

(He's careful with his words, knowing very well that Richie might not want his help at all or get mad for just offering. What right did he even have? Coming back into Richie's life like this to try and fix it.)

I recognized you on this special of your on Netflix and it came back to me. But then I started seeing your face online and in other places and at first I thought, you know, just bad publicity moments but...

(He doesn't say anymore. He doesn't think he has to. Richie's lifestyle was well-documented.)

Clearly you're not helping yourself so I'm here to do that for you, dude. I'm not going. I mean. If you want me to I will but...I don't want to.

You don't think I've fuckin' tried, dude, that's all I do. I sober up for maybe three weeks before I-

[The fucking Netflix special, of course, this would pull the other losers out of the woodwork. Why'd it have to be Eddie? Richie didn't want to be seen like this by strangers, let alone him. Looking at him now, he gets it. He feels things he hasn't felt in a really long time. Nerves, panic, and just so much love too much fucking love.

That's what has him dry heaving, the onslaught of bullshit drilling its way into his brain when he meets those familiar gray eyes.]

Not like it matters.

[For as much as he fought through sobriety to almost make it to a month, he never quite did. The only good thing he had going for him was that he wasn't particularly violent, he didn't try to hurt anyone or cause any disorder when under the influence. Otherwise, he might have already been arrested like the other celebrities that went down this path.]

I'm sure you've tried, but I'm not sure you've had support while trying and that can make a huge difference, Rich.

(It wasn't like any of those tabloids showed any consistent faces. He had to wonder if Richie had any real friends in this new life of his. No, he couldn't of. If he did there would of been someone at the party already trying to help or at the very least not just leaving Richie alone.)

Hey, wow, fuck you. It absolutely matters. You matter.

(Eddie's voice got a little higher, but he's careful not to make it too high. He knew the hell of a bad hangover and he didn't want to torment him.)

I'm not really giving you a choice here, dude. I'm gonna stick around and be up your ass twenty four seven until we get your shit together. Okay? You and me. It's always been you and me.

[The friends that Richie had made were either leeches to his limelight or friends due to circumstances. True friends, real friends - he hadn't had any of those for more than a decade and the last time he'd ever seen them, he can't remember. He can't remember saying goodbye to Eddie, he just knows that he did, and that makes him feel worse.]

Eddie, what the fuck happened to-

[Richie's trying to get up, but he's not quite steady and it takes him a minute. He has nothing left to give, and he almost collapses after he's up but manages to make it to the wall for support.]

I can't remember shit. I can't remember.

[Richie doesn't get it, and he can't really blame Eddie if he gets upset with him but his hands find the rag on the back of his neck and linger there. He looks marginally wounded like a child stricken. What he knows absolutely, is that he'd fucking put it all down for him but it's all still rattled around and disorganized in his skull.]

You and me? Eddie, I'm not gonna lie to you - I'm really past the point of playing doctor, even though you're the most qualified guy I know. I don't want you to see me like this.

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dumpsterfire boi.

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