Yeah. Richie'd blown this one and not at all in a fun way. But it'd just spilled out of him and christ he was just a wreck. And absolute disaster and he didn't know how to fix it, not even a little bit. He should have felt sorry for ruining the mood and for unloading on a virtual stranger and that'd probably come later but --
But he was sort of glad for that touch to the knee, at the comfort that he was being given. It wasn't like he could ask for the same from Eddie, not when he was so obviously suffering with the information that Richie had not quite given him in the first place.
He lifted his glasses in order to rub at his eyes, clearly stressed but not quite in a place where he was going to go full water works or anything yet and that was something of a relief, at least. "Fuck. Sorry. This place is so fucked," he said, tight. But it was good too, wasn't it? Because Eddie was here, right before he went and did something stupid like save Richie's life only to have it taken away again some few seconds later. "Does that do just what it sounds like?" He asked, and his voice had never felt so small before, not in his forty years of living. The idea of not waking up screaming, or cramming his limbs into the bathtub to camp out the rest of the night against cold porcelain did have some appeal.