"Only the best kind of help," Beverly grinned, though it wasn't starshine and confetti - more like a bend in the River Styx, devious, because spending some time getting stoned was always more fun in a pair. Besides, maybe if Richie had his guard down a little, all loose-limbed and uncaring, he'd finally open up about some things he probably needed to get off his chest.
A shame that Bev had to involve weed and munchie snacks in the equation to do it, but her soulmates were a bunch of stubborn assholes who liked to sweep trauma under the rug and pretend there wasn't a dust bunny the size of Andre the Giant underneath. Sometimes she was guilty of the same, but less than them, Jesus.
Stuffing the bag of Cheetos under one arm, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the baggie. "I need you to help me smoke this. We can go to my room if you want. Or outside." If Richie smoked a joint in this bedroom, Eddie would complain about the smell until their Golden anniversary. Bev was just looking out, thanks.