Eddie | Richie
Rich had gone totally red now -- flushed from top to bottom and he felt hot like, overly warm in a way that no amount of air conditioning or cold water could ever fix. But he didn't really want to fix it, either. Because it was -- it was kind of nice, even with all the butterflies in his stomach and the way that his vision had sort of locked on to Eddie -- half blurred because he was peeking though the top bit of his glasses. But it didn't matter, because it was Eddie and Richie knew what he looked like without even needing to see and he always would.
This felt Big. Important. Too important for jokes or voices and Richie was, admittedly, really bad at turning that part of himself off. Or any part really, because ever since he could remember he was too loud, too fast, too fidgety and sometimes his parents made him take stuff for that but most of the time he didn't because he hated how it made him feel slow and Off and like nothing mattered at all. But right now everything felt too slow and too fast all at once, and Richie was feeling everything. Eddie's fingers on his face were grounding and Rich reached up to circle his free hand around his wrist gently, like he didn't want him to take it away. "I'm right here," he said, and he didn't really know what it meant, except that it was as much of a reassurance as it was a plea. He wasn't going anywhere, he never was going to go anywhere and he'd keep giving or trying and wearing ties and really actually learn how to tie them properly or whatever it was but god, jesus he just wanted this attention so badly.