Richie'd worried a bit about that when he'd shown up, too. Nothing in this world was free -- but this wasn't the world, whatever the fuck that meant. And he'd been too withdrawn to do anything beyond wander around, insult people's mothers until they hit him, and then have people take pity on the idiot just sitting around bleeding and covered in someone else's blood. He'd spent the first nights in someone's guest room, too afraid to sleep and too exhausted to do anything but lay there anyway.
"I know," he said, like duh. Of course she was right there. Richie pointedly did not think about the last time she'd called him honey. "I'm just here for the free show." But even as he said it, he was pointedly, politely, turning away a little as Beverly stripped to the least sexy noises of wet clothing against skin. "Two months, about," he admitted, and it felt weird because he hadn't quantified it before. "Yeah, just about. It's -- fucking weird, Bev. Weird, and kind of great, most of the time. Everyone's mostly friendly, give or take. And it's small as shit. Like, there's nothing here, but kind of everything, too, so it's --" He paused, cutting himself off as he realized he was going too fucking fast and not offering enough substance. What else was new?