Richie Trashmouth Tozier (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} trashmouthloser) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} snapthread, |
That was the thing, though -- Richie was positive that he hadn't chosen the wrong door. He'd left the one he'd found - shimmering beach and (improbable, unlikely) curtain store - open. When he'd stepped through, it'd been with his focus on how awesome the warm sand was going to feel on his toes, and how maybe he could gather up the courage to get Eddie actual goddamn facts naked later when they tried washing the sand out of places it didn't belong. So. Yeah. He knew he hadn't picked wrong. Unless his vision was getting a lot lot worse than it used to be. He had hit his head pretty hard back at Neibolt. But that was a long time for something like that to kick in.
He decided not to say any of that though, because Eddie was clearly doing his very best to cheer Richie up with some very nice, very sexy banter. It was the mean kind, which meant that Richie perked up, immediately more attentive. He didn't know why, not really. There was just something about the fact that Eddie could match wit with him without trying, that really just got him going. It didn't matter how mean it sounded. Or, well, it did a little. The more cutting the better, in most cases. "Maybe I chose the right door," he said, bouncing back and poking a finger at Eddie's not stabbed cheek. "An overly fussy hotel for an overly fussy you. And we're indoors, the heat is obviously going. Don't deny me, Eds. I ask for so little."