Richie considered that a moment, possibly with more weight than most people would usually give him credit for -- his fingers tapping restless non-beats on his knees. He'd never been great at sitting completely still.
"That's the most boring way to process something ever," he decided, but not really in a teasing way (Stan wasn't Eddie, after all). More thoughtful than anything. Richie sort of wished that he could have dreams that were as mundane as all that, even if it was still a little stressful sounding, maybe. It'd beat out reruns of his own very worst hits in Neibolt or the arcade. Or the Deadlights.
"Christmas is coming up soon. Sorry, Hanukkah, too. I know, I know." What actual holiday it was wasn't the point so much as the general meaning of togetherness behind it, Richie figured. "And I can't help thinking. You know. I'm really fucking lucky. I've got the both of you back and I love you both so damn much I don't even know what to do with it some days. So this is probably -- no. It's definitely gonna be maybe the best whatever fucking winter holiday of my life." That wasn't even an exaggeration - Richie and holidays had never been good friends before this. Not even as a kid. Maybe especially not as a kid.
He looked away for a moment, smoothed his palms over his jeans, like maybe his hands were a little sweaty. "But I keep thinking -- fuck. I keep thinking about how you're here now which makes me think about you were both gone and it's --"