Stan | Richie
"A real house," Richie agreed mildly. "With real stuff." Some of the stuff Richie missed. Like his absurdly large record collection and the player that he'd bought at a garage sale in his early twenties for five bucks, assuming he'd never use the thing but thinking it was a cool retro thing. But he'd used it fucking plenty. "And no matter what Eddie says, it wasn't as messy as you think." Mostly because he had a cleaner - someone who came 'round while he was on tour or out of town and tidied the place. But Richie was pretty decent at having mostly contained or organized messes.
But they had here now, and there was a house too. So. Maybe they could make something of that. It'd be nice, if they could.
"I know, I know. I get it." Richie said. It was true. They all loved each other equally and there was no use in putting it to rank. But that didn't mean that Richie didn't sometimes miss some of them more than others. It wasn't him being uncharitable to any of the others when he wished like mad that Beverly was around. "Hey," he said, sniffing at Stan's hair like it was just meant to be snuffled -- a little obnoxious, and definitely on purpose. "Let's find Eddie and scram."