Collective amnesia? What is that like - mass hysteria?
[Jokes, jokes always ease the pressure. Richie mimes Eddie by taking a sip of his own coffee, and he spreads his legs out under the table close enough that he knocks his knee into Eddie's.]
Me too. It's pretty weird, I mean, those are some serious years to forget. Formative stuff.
I don't know about hysteria but it's just - it's just weird like you said. I mean it's one thing to forget things from your childhood but how could I just forget someone that I went and married right out of high school?
( It's said with another frown and he moves to take another sip of his coffee before Richie's knee knocking into his seems to jostle him a little. More than that Eddie notices something else, something that gets him reaching out and taking Richie's hand into his own. )
Oh, wow. ( And it's clear just what has caught his eye when he turns Richie's hand over to show the scar on his palm. A scar just like the one that Eddie ultimately shows on the palm of his own hand. ) It's just like mine.
Beats me. I mean, for all we know - we could be the result of one or two exceptional drunken nights.
[Never mind that he's not out yet, never been out, definitely not confident enough with himself to marry someone. He shifts in his seat and taps his left hand against the surface of the wood, to shake that thought off. Just in time for Eddie to grab his hand, and his blue eyes meet Eddie's face, not for the first time, with a look of familiarity. There's a desperate ache in his chest he doesn't understand, an underlying panic that flutters behind his ribcage.]
Yeah, I- I figured it was from a bike wreck or something. I've had it for as long as I can remember.
This is getting weird, Eds. Like some bizarre superhero origin story, except I clam up when I'm nervous so there's no way I'm some kind of hero.
You would drive all the way to Canada to marry a drunken hook-up?
( Eddie can't help shooting a glance as he asks, blinking curiously but ultimately offering a small smile as his look returns to their similar scars. It's honestly something of a shock but he tries not to let it show on his face as he traces his finger along Richie's own scar before realizing that might just be a fucking weird thing to do and pulling back with a hard swallow. )
Something that happened when I was a kid, you know? I never really thought about it even though when I do sometimes— when I think about my childhood too much, it hurts.
( And then without missing a beat: ) Don't call me that.
( Which almost knocks the fucking air out of his lungs as he reels back slightly and blinks before shaking his head. ) Fucking tell me about. I just angry and yell and just keep fucking chattering my head off.
That's a question for eighteen-year-old Richie, which I am not. I can only guess I had all the charisma of a bull in china shop. What I do remember, I don't remember with any, pride, but uh- it worked for you, right?
[It's an indirect jab at the inherent comedy of their whole situation. Richie's not sure why but he's compelled to hold onto the side of his glasses, to keep them fixed on his face.
Yeah... too much thought about his childhood felt the same, in a sick twisted churning sort of way that felt like it could gobble him up. Fear, and nausea, and so much more blended into a lot of confusion. He'd considered hypnotherapy briefly in his late twenties but he gave that idea up the minute he realized exactly how much he might say.]
Why? Not a fan of nicknames? [That's peculiar, the familiarity of it and how easily he slips into the crooked smile on his face now.] Yeah, I could see that. You seem like a bossy bottom, I guess.
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respirations) wrote2020-02-13 09:47 pm
no subject
[Jokes, jokes always ease the pressure. Richie mimes Eddie by taking a sip of his own coffee, and he spreads his legs out under the table close enough that he knocks his knee into Eddie's.]
Me too. It's pretty weird, I mean, those are some serious years to forget. Formative stuff.
no subject
( It's said with another frown and he moves to take another sip of his coffee before Richie's knee knocking into his seems to jostle him a little. More than that Eddie notices something else, something that gets him reaching out and taking Richie's hand into his own. )
Oh, wow. ( And it's clear just what has caught his eye when he turns Richie's hand over to show the scar on his palm. A scar just like the one that Eddie ultimately shows on the palm of his own hand. ) It's just like mine.
no subject
[Never mind that he's not out yet, never been out, definitely not confident enough with himself to marry someone. He shifts in his seat and taps his left hand against the surface of the wood, to shake that thought off. Just in time for Eddie to grab his hand, and his blue eyes meet Eddie's face, not for the first time, with a look of familiarity. There's a desperate ache in his chest he doesn't understand, an underlying panic that flutters behind his ribcage.]
Yeah, I- I figured it was from a bike wreck or something. I've had it for as long as I can remember.
This is getting weird, Eds. Like some bizarre superhero origin story, except I clam up when I'm nervous so there's no way I'm some kind of hero.
no subject
( Eddie can't help shooting a glance as he asks, blinking curiously but ultimately offering a small smile as his look returns to their similar scars. It's honestly something of a shock but he tries not to let it show on his face as he traces his finger along Richie's own scar before realizing that might just be a fucking weird thing to do and pulling back with a hard swallow. )
Something that happened when I was a kid, you know? I never really thought about it even though when I do sometimes— when I think about my childhood too much, it hurts.
( And then without missing a beat: ) Don't call me that.
( Which almost knocks the fucking air out of his lungs as he reels back slightly and blinks before shaking his head. ) Fucking tell me about. I just angry and yell and just keep fucking chattering my head off.
no subject
[It's an indirect jab at the inherent comedy of their whole situation. Richie's not sure why but he's compelled to hold onto the side of his glasses, to keep them fixed on his face.
Yeah... too much thought about his childhood felt the same, in a sick twisted churning sort of way that felt like it could gobble him up. Fear, and nausea, and so much more blended into a lot of confusion. He'd considered hypnotherapy briefly in his late twenties but he gave that idea up the minute he realized exactly how much he might say.]
Why? Not a fan of nicknames? [That's peculiar, the familiarity of it and how easily he slips into the crooked smile on his face now.] Yeah, I could see that. You seem like a bossy bottom, I guess.