Reddie
Richie was pretty hilarious normally, okay? But that didn't mean everything he did was a jokes. This definitely was not a joke -- and that was clearly becoming more obvious to Eddie the longer time went on because Richie was a stupid wreck and even if he wasn't doing this right, he was being serious. Mostly. There were a few jokes he couldn't help in there, that was just the way of things and something Eddie had to know that he'd signed up for, at this point.
"You're a little short," Richie said quietly, but it was a cursory response at best. Because, okay yeah, he'd known Eddie would say yes: they'd talked about this more than a few times now, had joked about last names and fake kids and whatever else. Just. He didn't know. He'd still been nervous, maybe just on account of having never done this before, never having wanted to. But now he did, sort of ridiculously and desperately.
"Yeah?" He asked, clearly elated, leaning in closer. "You didn't even look at it. It might be a ringpop." It was not candy. It was a very sensibly sized diamond ring in a tension set because Richie didn't know shit about jewelry but he did know that Eddie was practical and might want to put his hand in his pocket without anything getting caught, or like, have to worry about the thing falling out or. Whatever. And there was an inscription on the inside that matched that comically low spot on their front door, initials carved into it by a lovesick child who didn't know how to be brave enough to say things out loud, but wanted to tell the world regardless.