That was just how Richie had always operated -- the scarier or more serious it got, the funnier he got. Or, well, tried to be. He'd never been very good at knowing how to feel things without covering things up in blankets of bad jokes and humor. Everyone coped in different ways, and it wasn't like Richie was the only one doing it poorly. None of the Losers had grown up completely happy, healthy and well-balanced. Even if some had managed better than others.
He tugged at Stan's elbow when he settled his hand on his shoulder. "Come down here," he said, a pleading sort of demand. Eddie wasn't the only person around here who liked to snuggle with Stan -- even if he did make the biggest deal out of it.
"I want to tell you it's okay," Rich said after a beat of a thought. "And I mean -- I'm. I know why you did it. And I can't be mad about that?" He posed it as a question though, because Richie wasn't sure if it was true or not. "But maybe I am a little, anyway. I love you. And I fucking missed you, Stan. All of you, obviously. Even when I didn't remember, it felt like a piece of me was missing. You were my friend first. And - god. Sorry. That's not even fair of me." Christ, he wasn't even sure what he was talking about anymore. It was just this pity party with no point.
"It's gonna be a good Jew Christmas," he said, trying to steer things back to -- somewhere. "I just need to figure out how to take you both for granted instead of worrying about not having you anymore."