Richie was a comedian, okay. He had specials on Netflix. He stood up in front of huge crowds of people and made them laugh for a living. It shouldn't have always made him so ridiculously pleased when there was only one person there laughing at something he said, but it did. It always did, every fucking time. He thrived on this shit, smiled himself and felt accomplished and well liked and it was --
It was just how he was, he supposed. Everyone had something. A strength and weakness all at once.
"I left mine though," Richie said, almost thoughtful. Even though no one really left Derry fully. It haunted him still, and maybe always would. "But it doesn't sound like you did."
He chewed his bottom lip and looked at the rings, necklaces and other sparkly shit in the window display and nodded to himself. Yeah. He was gonna fucking do this. "Un-congratulations?" He asked Dick, tearing his eyes away from diamonds that just weren't fucking doing it for him in the first place. They didn't suit. They weren't right. He needed something better. They'd have to go in. "Sorry, man. I feel insensitive now, but I really fucking -- I gotta marry this fucking asshole, I literally can't do anything else."