Oh. There it was. Stan was having an existential crisis on him. Richie felt -- well. Somewhere between sympathetic and also maybe a little annoyed -- no. Mad. A little mad about it. Because between Stan offing himself and Eddie dying back home, Richie wouldn't have ever been able to get back to any kind of plan in life. Everything would have been a void. And it wouldn't have been the kind of void that opened up to new, exciting places either.
Fuck, even if they weren't talking about Richie, it was hard to focus on the fact that like ... Stan wouldn't have been alive to keep up with his life goals or whatever the fuck back home, either.
He tapped at his knee, fingers bouncing, and then his knee bouncing and he let out a little huff of a breath. "Better here than back home," he said eventually, because that was true. Because at least here he had the people he'd lost, and he had Bev even if all the Losers weren't here. And sure he didn't have his career anymore, or his house with the pool or even the opportunity to just get in his car and drive, or a place to go to shop aimlessly or whatever when he was having a bad day. But he felt like the reward was bigger than the sacrifice. "I mean, shit. I'm getting married, dude. So I guess, no. I don't feel all that lost." And then, because he was Richie, and he had no fucking filter at all, he narrowed his eyes at Stan. "Do I need to put the sharp objects away again?"