Stan | Richie
"Why wouldn't I have a lawn?" Richie asked, frowning. "I own a house." He paused, considering that statement. "Owned a house. I had a house." A house, a life, a Netflix special. Nothing he could live without, he supposed. Not when there were things here he couldn't live without.
His two very dead best friends, for instance.
Even if Richie had a choice in being here or not, he'd still be here, with them.
And he wasn't really worried about Eddie going all Food Safety and shutting anything down. It was just easier to joke, even now, than it was to talk about everything that might be weighing them all down. Jokes were a lot easier than emotions. They always had been. Richie really had gotten into the best profession, considering.
"You say that," Richie said, "and I almost believe you, if I didn't think you'd say the exact same thing to Bill or Mike or literally any of the Losers, too." Which was fair. It wasn't even really a call-out, because Richie would have done the same. The other four -- they had things. Real lives to explore, people to go home to, Florida to visit. Richie should be happy they still had that, and each other. But he missed them anyway, and was selfish enough to kind of hope they'd show up here.