[ Shit had been great. A whirlwind of fucking terrible and awkward and hell and then just as suddenly amazing. Absolute coincidence, and fucking perfect, and for once in who the hell even knew how long Richie Tozier actually loved his fucking life, and wasn't that the miracle-est of miracles. Sure, it wasn't without low spots, he had a mini crisis about once every couple weeks about the wisdom of coming out on stage to fucking propose like a dumbass, but it was three years in and it was still amazing and he was still in one piece and making money and Netflix hadn't dropped the deal yet so...it was fine. Better than.
And then the fucking phone call came.
Some voice he only kind-of remembered, like something he'd had a dream about once, telling him to come home. Like he wasn't from fucking Milwaukee. But no, the guy talked about some podunk town in Maine, and then he just feels like he's gonna be sick. Like the worst hangover ever only with this overwhelming sense of dread. He gets off the phone as soon as he can and everything just snowballs from there. A shot to try to steady everything does absolutely fuck-all and he bombs the damn show, stumbles off the stage and out to the fire escape to spew his guts out onto the concrete below, shaking as shit starts pouring in, shit he didn't even know he'd forgotten, and woven through everything he's absolutely terrified because there's something bad underneath.
Nick follows him out, because of course he does, tries to get him to go back in like there's any chance of recovering anything now, but he just shakes his head. Demands his cell, because he needs to call Eddie. Needs to know that at least the bad feeling doesn't have anything to do with him, as absolutely stupid and pathetic as that sounds, so he wipes his mouth and washes out the taste of bile with another shot as he listens to the voicemail, which doesn't actually help anything. He curses, a loud string, followed by a hurried plea to sort this shit out because he has to go to the hospital, and he knows damn well he shouldn't be driving right now but he does it anyway. Calls Eddie back on the way because fuck rules, "I'm fine" can mean literally anything. ]
Hey. What the fuck, man? I'm on the way, but seriously. That desperate to meet the new nurses, huh? You wanted to play doctor, all you had to do was say so, I got your prostate exam right here. This rubber glove kink of yours is getting out of hand, Eds, seriously.
[ He's rambling. He knows he's rambling, but he's freaking out he can't seem to stop talking right now. ]
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And then the fucking phone call came.
Some voice he only kind-of remembered, like something he'd had a dream about once, telling him to come home. Like he wasn't from fucking Milwaukee. But no, the guy talked about some podunk town in Maine, and then he just feels like he's gonna be sick. Like the worst hangover ever only with this overwhelming sense of dread. He gets off the phone as soon as he can and everything just snowballs from there. A shot to try to steady everything does absolutely fuck-all and he bombs the damn show, stumbles off the stage and out to the fire escape to spew his guts out onto the concrete below, shaking as shit starts pouring in, shit he didn't even know he'd forgotten, and woven through everything he's absolutely terrified because there's something bad underneath.
Nick follows him out, because of course he does, tries to get him to go back in like there's any chance of recovering anything now, but he just shakes his head. Demands his cell, because he needs to call Eddie. Needs to know that at least the bad feeling doesn't have anything to do with him, as absolutely stupid and pathetic as that sounds, so he wipes his mouth and washes out the taste of bile with another shot as he listens to the voicemail, which doesn't actually help anything. He curses, a loud string, followed by a hurried plea to sort this shit out because he has to go to the hospital, and he knows damn well he shouldn't be driving right now but he does it anyway. Calls Eddie back on the way because fuck rules, "I'm fine" can mean literally anything. ]
Hey. What the fuck, man? I'm on the way, but seriously. That desperate to meet the new nurses, huh? You wanted to play doctor, all you had to do was say so, I got your prostate exam right here. This rubber glove kink of yours is getting out of hand, Eds, seriously.
[ He's rambling. He knows he's rambling, but he's freaking out he can't seem to stop talking right now. ]