[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.]