Richie was definitely too old for this level of awkward. He wouldn't have considered himself clueless. He had had the internet back at home, after all, and he'd seen his fair share of -- well. Everything he never let himself have. Even if he usually tried balancing it out afterward with things he wasn't particularly interested in, like he was maybe trying not to be judged by the google search engine, or maybe trying to trick himself.
It never really worked.
The point was he wasn't clueless. It wasn't like he was unaware of the fact that Bill was hitting on him and inviting him on over. And there was a part of him that was genuinely interested in going over and putting himself in Bill's lap -- and not only because Richie was a tall (if not overly lanky) guy who didn't get that sort of opportunity like...ever. At least not one he'd take seriously.
But, jesus, if he wasn't good at holding himself back. At least this time, through unbroken glasses lenses free of blood, he felt like he had a reason. A better reason than usual. He glanced down at his tea, wobbling in his cup in a way that said his hands weren't being as steady as he'd like and shook his head minutely. "My best friend died last week," he blurted. Because Richie Tozier was an absolute killer of moods. Because it was on his mind. And because even if Bill was going for flirtations, Richie could at least identify the fact that he was also kind. He'd fixed his glasses and said nice shit and there was fucking tea and cookies and Richie was ruining it but he had to, he had to say it to someone, and it couldn't be Eddie. "And now he's here. But every time I close my eyes--"