sasha james (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} theonebraincell) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valloic,@ 2021-01-18 16:02:00 |
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| Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2), ₴ inactive: sasha james |
Wednesday, 6th January - 7PM
Sasha James & Richie Tozier
“It was bound to happen, right?” he said sympathetically. “Every couple fights.”
“It was bound to happen, right?” he said sympathetically. “Every couple fights.”
Morningside - Richie's apartment
It was inevitable that sooner or later her and Dean would get into a fight over something, but didn’t make it feel any better, knowing that it was something that would eventually happen. In fact, Sasha hated confrontation with anyone, let alone whoever she was in a relationship with. Mainly because she was a crier when she was mad and this time was no different.
But it also made her not want to be alone and after giving herself long enough to get the tears under control and her face cleaned up well enough, she grabbed her keys and her phone and made her way out of the apartment door and to Richie’s. Luckily, same building, so the trip was easy enough.
Sasha knocked on the door quietly, though a few times, and leaned against the wall as she waited for an answer. Maybe she ought to have text first to check to see if he was even home.
Richie was, in fact, home. Home and making dinner for himself and Enola - since Eddie had moved out about as fast as he'd moved in, he didn't have to try to prepare something decent for three people. Not like he minded though - in fact, he kind of missed having Eddie around. But whatever. Things were fine (except for something about...giant bugs and he just didn't want to end up hitting one with his car like the last time) and he and Enola were actually looking at other places to move into, since she now had enough cash to wipe her ass with hundred dollar bills (or pound notes, since she was British? Not that she'd do that, but the option was there). Mostly he was just glad she still wanted him around even if she could afford to live on her own because he'd grown pretty attached to her during this crazy adventure called Vallo.
He was making stirfry, and it would turn out awesome since it was one of the things he knew how to make well (though it was difficult to fuck up stirfry, granted) and keeping busy was therapeuic for him - cutting the beef, cutting the vegetables, gathering the right spices. He was currently letting the beef sizzle in oil in the frying pan when he heard the knock, so he went to go answer.
Aaand to his surprise, that was Sasha. Looking upset, like someone grabbed her cats and threw them into the ceiling fan. Shit.
"Who do I gotta kill?" he asked, motioning for her to come inside.
Thankfully no, the cats were perfectly fine and allergy-free now, left snoozing on their cat tree in her flat when she huffed out in a bit of a frenzy. Her eyes were still damp when the door opened, but his reaction to the obvious look on her face made her laugh a little.
Except she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it yet and she made her way into his apartment, almost immediately overwhelmed with the smell of the dinner he was cooking. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I should have text before I came by, I hadn’t realized you were in the middle of getting dinner ready.” It was clear she was embarrassed by the fact that she’d just completely interrupted him and turned back toward the door, giving him an apologetic look. “I can come back later. It’s fine, I swear.”
“Nope - “ Richie interjected, closing the door and sprawling his lanky self against the back of it, in a distinct display of blocking an exit. “You can chuck the British politeness, English. I really don’t give a fuck that you didn’t text first.” Sasha was his friend and it seemed like she needed someone - so, therefore, he was gonna be there. No questions asked. Besides, she’d listened to him ramble on and on about Eddie and feelings and all that embarrassing stuff - if he needed to return the favor, he was ready.
So he shooed her back toward the kitchen, where Richie continued working his magic. He’d added the vegetables at this point, then the sauce to let it all cook - the secret to a good stir fry was coconut oil, along with keeping the temperature hot enough and hearing that sizzle. Otherwise it wilted and fell apart, and we couldn’t have that.
But he wasn’t too busy to multitask. “If you haven’t eaten you can have some of this too,” he added. “And an adult beverage. What are you feeling? Then I wanna hear about what happened.” Clearly something happened.
She’d really appreciated how quickly her and Richie had bonded when they arrived here, but she couldn’t help the quiet ‘ugh’ when he told her to chuck the British politeness because that wasn’t a thing she could do. Sasha even pouted a little before being herded away from the door and toward the kitchen. One thing about the apartments was that the layout was generally all the same, so she knew where she was going easily enough.
“Wine if you have any, whiskey if you don’t. I should’ve grabbed some from my flat but I’ve just spent the last twenty minutes rage crying,” Sasha said with a vague gesture towards her eyes and their general red puffiness, “so I didn’t think about it.”
She was quiet for a moment as she watched Richie cook and settled herself against the adjacent countertop, leaning back against it and resting her head against the cupboard that was behind her. “Dean and I got into our first fight, and honestly I’m rubbish at confrontation so I already don’t handle it well, but…” Dealing with it with someone she cared about as much as she cared about Dean was ten times worse.
“Gotcha,” Richie nodded, abandoning the spicy ‘come hither’ allure of stir fry to find a bottle of wine to open. It was a Pinot Noir, dark red and scented of loam, the earth, and various fruits - he took a whiff when he popped the cork and decided this would go well with dinner too. He poured a glass for Sasha and a glass for himself to sip on while he finished up with the cooking.
Cooking and alcohol was always a great combo anyway. Hiccup. “It was bound to happen, right?” he said sympathetically. “Every couple fights.” He and Max hadn’t really gotten into any big ones yet but he was sure it’d occur eventually - that didn’t mean it was time to throw in the towel, but he assumed fighting was kind of a part of all relationships.
“So you did a timeout, you both can cool off, then sit down and talk and do the listening thing,” he went on, giving the sizzling stir fry another pass with the wooden spoon. “What’d you fight about?”
“Thank you,” she said quietly as he poured and handed her a glass of wine. It wasn’t her favorite but she also wasn’t in any mood to be picky about what alcohol she consumed. She took a sip and swallowed it, looking down at the dark liquid as he talked. Sasha sighed a little then before speaking. “I know every couple fights, it just… sucks. I don’t do well with it.” She didn’t like being angry, it made her feel awful.
At least the sound of the stirfry cooking filled in the quiet between them speaking, something about it was soothing, anyway. “He doesn’t like his brother’s girlfriend. Honestly, I’d go so far as to say he hates her, but apparently there’s bad blood there from the past.”
She took another sip. “But it started to get kind of heated and I just can’t understand the reason for holding onto that sort of loathing for someone if she makes his brother happy, you know? I thought I was being careful with my words, but whatever I said pissed him off and he said something rather dickish and I just, I told him I wasn’t going to fight with him. Still didn’t stop me from being upset though, clearly.”
Richie sipped at the fermented grape juice - he had whiskey somewhere too, the apartment was pretty well-stocked with booze, but this would do for now. He couldn’t even remember where he got the Pinot anyway - maybe picked it up at the grocery store because there was a sale, or he liked the bottle. Honestly, he was no sommelier and would pick a bottle just for the aesthetics. But he took another drink and listened to Sasha’s tale of woe, beginning to plate the stir fry over fresh fluffy rice - he’d share with her, because sharing was caring.
“I’m sure he has his reasons. Like, I know it feels as if you guys have been dating forever - “ And they were technically still married, Richie thought? That was wild. “But you’re still learning shit about each other. There’s bound to be some topics that are touchy and he might not change his mind about that easily.”
The brother’s girlfriend being one of them, probably. “Still, if he was being a dick he oughta apologize - you want some of this, by the way?” he asked, holding up a plate of delicious yum-yums. Comfort food - it helped. Science.
The remark about it feeling like they’d been dating forever made her snort quietly, amused because that was a yes and no. Realistically they’d only been in a relationship of any sort for a couple of months and not even married - yes, still - for a month yet. Though that ‘anniversary’ (or whatever you wanted to call it) was coming up real soon.
“I know his reasons for disliking her so much and while I understand it, because what she did was really messed up to say the least, I just… don’t think it’s healthy for him to hold onto that sort of anger, I guess? But it’s not my place to tell him how to feel, and I would never try to tell him how to feel, at least not intentionally and especially with something that happened way before I was ever in the picture.”
Sasha shook her head a little at the offer and held up her glass. “Thank you though, I already ate and my stomach is a bit queasy as it is. Obviously wine will absolutely help that.” Then she took a sip. “I’d like him to apologize but I’m not sure it’s going to happen? We’ll need to talk about it, I just needed to vent and cry out my frustration.”
“Right, you’re like - still learning the quirks. And he better fucking apologize. No one gets to be a dick to my Sashaface, not even her husbando,” Richie said, saving the second plate for Enola - she’d come out and eat it whenever she felt like. Sometimes she got caught up in her mad science lab or whatever (doing actual mad science or homework, he didn’t really try to be very nosy) sometimes they ate dinner together at the table or in front of the television. It just depended.
But regarding his favorite English teacake, one half of the most bizarre marriage he’d ever seen (but if it worked for them, it worked for them?), in most instances it took two to tango - and he was pretty sure they’d work it out. Probably. If you gave up after one fight then maybe that person wasn’t the right one for you. “Letting go of anger is hard. He probably needs therapy but who doesn’t around here?” A rhetorical question because everyone needed some goddamn therapy. Even him. And he was getting it.
He sat at the kitchen table, pushing out a chair for Sasha too. “You can vent anytime though. I’m here for ya.”
“Well, don’t hold it against him if you find out he didn’t apologize, yeah?” Sasha frowned for a moment and then took another drink from her glass, swishing it in her mouth for a moment as she thought. But then she snorted again and rolled her eyes, playfully. “I can’t imagine how much money therapists around here are making on just the group of Outlanders alone. Though I haven’t gone to see one yet and I don’t think the Congratulations, You’re Dead meeting every week really counts.”
She paused for a moment, her eyes having sort of drifted to stare at nothing in particular along with her thoughts before she pulled her focus back up to look at Richie. “What do you think of us, anyway?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Dean and I. I mean… we’re both well aware the whole wedding thing was rushed,” thank you magical outside forces, “but we also weren’t keen to get it annulled, obviously. I just… I don’t know. I’m happy with him? But I’m curious what your feelings are.”
“The ‘Cool, You Died’ group is nice for the communal support,” Richie mused. “Because it’s good to hear other people’s stories or whatever. But if you feel like you need one-on-one time then definitely look into it.” It was free healthcare, and actually accessible here, so why not?
He took a few bites of food, mixing that up with wine - and his eyebrows did a poke to the north when Sasha asked her question. “Does it matter what I think?” he asked rhetorically. But he’d answer her query anyway. Diplomatically - sometimes his Trashmouth didn’t let it all rip; he wanted to be good to his friends. “I mean, I dunno - if you’re happy with him, that’s good? I want you to be happy.”
Though if someone didn’t even have the balls to apologize when they were wrong, he’d take it as a red flag, personally. Maybe he was wrong and Dean would say he was sorry for hurting Sasha’s feelings. Stranger things had happened. “I guess I just don’t understand why you - I mean both of you, you - are afraid to not be married? Like it was something you were influenced to do during an emotions spike, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t...still date, even if the marriage part was annulled?”
Sometimes she wondered just how much she might actually need therapy, but a part of her was worried that maybe she wasn’t messed up quite enough for it to really be worth doing. Which was a ridiculous thing to think, but other than her experiences with the Institute, she felt fine.
Her shoulders lifted and dropped in a half-shrug when he asked if it mattered what he thought, but she wanted his thoughts anyway. Would they change her mind? No, but she hadn’t really sat and talked about this with anyone except for Dean and even then the extent of their discussion happened mostly in the immediate aftermath of their decision to elope.
“I don’t think it’s so much a matter of being afraid to not be married, but I think we both just kind of feel like… annulling it would have been more trouble than it’s worth? Of course, if this doesn’t work out and we end up having to get a divorce for whatever reason, that’s definitely going to be a pain in the ass, but I guess -- at least for me -- it was more like the whole emotions thing kind of did the work for us, if that makes sense? We’re still dating and getting to know each other, but legally we’re also married, which I know is just weird.” She paused then, scrunching her nose. “Am I talking in circles? I sort of feel like I am.” And then there was a quiet sigh. “Honestly, if there’s any fear associated with it, it’s because we’re both… well, dead back home now.”
The emotionfucking did the work for them - after a month of vague dating. Well. Richie wasn’t convinced but this wasn’t his life. And the gods knew he wasn’t the best person to judge when it came to decision-making, since he’d certainly had his fair share of ones that probably would elicit side-eye. Still. If Sasha wanted to talk about it and asked for his opinion then he’d definitely be honest with her, like any decent chum would do.
“It doesn’t really make sense, but that’s okay,” he grinned crookedly, a crinkly-eyed sort of thing. “Like - it sucks being dead, and I get that you wanna grab life by the balls, but. I dunno.” Still didn’t seem like a good idea if you were trying to date someone but also were married to them - like added a lot of confusion and he imagined an annulment really wouldn’t take that long. “Maybe there’s some benefits to being married only on paper.”
Like tax breaks? Did that even matter in Vallo? He didn’t think so, but he guessed he’d find out when tax season rolled around, if it ever did.
Okay, maybe she could have phrased that better than she did, but in a sense that’s sort of what it had done. Would they have eventually gotten married? Who knows, but neither of them really seemed bothered by the fact that they were.
Sasha’s eyebrows knit together a little and she took another sip of her wine, listening to him and worrying that there was more he wanted to say that he was withholding. Or perhaps not so much worry as it was just wishing he’d be fully honest. Of course, that was just a broad assumption and she shook her head a little. “I don’t think it’s just being married on paper for us, though? I suppose it’s an absolutely untraditional sort of marriage, but…” She shrugged a little then. “It’s difficult to explain, and even though I showed up here pissed off at him because of a stupid fight, he makes me happy.”
Dean’s brother had even asked her not that long ago if she loved him and she hadn’t hesitated in her response when she said yes. Or at least it was some form of love.
“How’s your dinner?”
“I’m a pretty good chef. Alton Brown should be jealous,” Richie stated proudly - oh yeah, it was true. He made amazing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with smiley faces on the inside for Enola. And pizza rolls. Stir fry too - but in addition to that, he knew how to make other real food, a few dishes that were tried and true.
That wasn’t the point, however. The point was that - well, as long as Sasha was happy, then he was happy. Was it like she wanted confirmation that she did the right thing by marrying the dude she fell in love with after a month of dating? Maybe. Was Richie going to say she did the right thing? Uh, no. Probably not.
“Anyway, look - it’s not something I would do, but I’m not you. With the whole marriage thing, I mean,” he clarified. “If you love him though, fuck the police. And the rest of the world. Be happy. And even if you fight - which, yeah, everyone does - then you’re always welcome here to cool down.”
“What about Gordon Ramsay though?” she asked with an arch of a brow. Because Alton and Gordon were two very different chefs and well, maybe Alton was just the nicer one of the two. But the idea of it amused her all the same and she snorted quietly as she took another drink of the wine in her glass.
Sasha shifted a little, her nose scrunching momentarily in thought before she gave a small nod. “Marriage definitely isn’t for everyone.” Hell, she was still feeling out if it was for her when it came down to it, and yet. Maybe it was only something that would make sense to her and Dean, ultimately.
“Thank you though, yeah? I know you think that I’m kind of crazy for all of it, I probably would too if I were in your shoes, but I appreciate the fact that you’re not judging me and let me vent and just… thank you. It means a lot to know I have you here willing to listen and give me your honest opinion.”
D’aaaw. So sweet. Richie shrugged, all bashful-like. He was sometimes a bit emotionally constipated, sure, but he meant well and he was trying to be better about it, especially considering emotional constipation had gotten him pretty much nowhere in life (and may have even made things worse) - having friends that encouraged him to use his big boy words helped too. And were willing to listen to him when he needed to word vomit, so he was plenty willing to return the favor.
“Feelings, ugh,” he grunted, but there was a twinkle in his eye regardless. “Hey, no problem, Sashaface. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”
That sounded familiar, didn’t it? Oh, well, whatever. He meant it regardless.
But it also made her not want to be alone and after giving herself long enough to get the tears under control and her face cleaned up well enough, she grabbed her keys and her phone and made her way out of the apartment door and to Richie’s. Luckily, same building, so the trip was easy enough.
Sasha knocked on the door quietly, though a few times, and leaned against the wall as she waited for an answer. Maybe she ought to have text first to check to see if he was even home.
Richie was, in fact, home. Home and making dinner for himself and Enola - since Eddie had moved out about as fast as he'd moved in, he didn't have to try to prepare something decent for three people. Not like he minded though - in fact, he kind of missed having Eddie around. But whatever. Things were fine (except for something about...giant bugs and he just didn't want to end up hitting one with his car like the last time) and he and Enola were actually looking at other places to move into, since she now had enough cash to wipe her ass with hundred dollar bills (or pound notes, since she was British? Not that she'd do that, but the option was there). Mostly he was just glad she still wanted him around even if she could afford to live on her own because he'd grown pretty attached to her during this crazy adventure called Vallo.
He was making stirfry, and it would turn out awesome since it was one of the things he knew how to make well (though it was difficult to fuck up stirfry, granted) and keeping busy was therapeuic for him - cutting the beef, cutting the vegetables, gathering the right spices. He was currently letting the beef sizzle in oil in the frying pan when he heard the knock, so he went to go answer.
Aaand to his surprise, that was Sasha. Looking upset, like someone grabbed her cats and threw them into the ceiling fan. Shit.
"Who do I gotta kill?" he asked, motioning for her to come inside.
Thankfully no, the cats were perfectly fine and allergy-free now, left snoozing on their cat tree in her flat when she huffed out in a bit of a frenzy. Her eyes were still damp when the door opened, but his reaction to the obvious look on her face made her laugh a little.
Except she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it yet and she made her way into his apartment, almost immediately overwhelmed with the smell of the dinner he was cooking. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I should have text before I came by, I hadn’t realized you were in the middle of getting dinner ready.” It was clear she was embarrassed by the fact that she’d just completely interrupted him and turned back toward the door, giving him an apologetic look. “I can come back later. It’s fine, I swear.”
“Nope - “ Richie interjected, closing the door and sprawling his lanky self against the back of it, in a distinct display of blocking an exit. “You can chuck the British politeness, English. I really don’t give a fuck that you didn’t text first.” Sasha was his friend and it seemed like she needed someone - so, therefore, he was gonna be there. No questions asked. Besides, she’d listened to him ramble on and on about Eddie and feelings and all that embarrassing stuff - if he needed to return the favor, he was ready.
So he shooed her back toward the kitchen, where Richie continued working his magic. He’d added the vegetables at this point, then the sauce to let it all cook - the secret to a good stir fry was coconut oil, along with keeping the temperature hot enough and hearing that sizzle. Otherwise it wilted and fell apart, and we couldn’t have that.
But he wasn’t too busy to multitask. “If you haven’t eaten you can have some of this too,” he added. “And an adult beverage. What are you feeling? Then I wanna hear about what happened.” Clearly something happened.
She’d really appreciated how quickly her and Richie had bonded when they arrived here, but she couldn’t help the quiet ‘ugh’ when he told her to chuck the British politeness because that wasn’t a thing she could do. Sasha even pouted a little before being herded away from the door and toward the kitchen. One thing about the apartments was that the layout was generally all the same, so she knew where she was going easily enough.
“Wine if you have any, whiskey if you don’t. I should’ve grabbed some from my flat but I’ve just spent the last twenty minutes rage crying,” Sasha said with a vague gesture towards her eyes and their general red puffiness, “so I didn’t think about it.”
She was quiet for a moment as she watched Richie cook and settled herself against the adjacent countertop, leaning back against it and resting her head against the cupboard that was behind her. “Dean and I got into our first fight, and honestly I’m rubbish at confrontation so I already don’t handle it well, but…” Dealing with it with someone she cared about as much as she cared about Dean was ten times worse.
“Gotcha,” Richie nodded, abandoning the spicy ‘come hither’ allure of stir fry to find a bottle of wine to open. It was a Pinot Noir, dark red and scented of loam, the earth, and various fruits - he took a whiff when he popped the cork and decided this would go well with dinner too. He poured a glass for Sasha and a glass for himself to sip on while he finished up with the cooking.
Cooking and alcohol was always a great combo anyway. Hiccup. “It was bound to happen, right?” he said sympathetically. “Every couple fights.” He and Max hadn’t really gotten into any big ones yet but he was sure it’d occur eventually - that didn’t mean it was time to throw in the towel, but he assumed fighting was kind of a part of all relationships.
“So you did a timeout, you both can cool off, then sit down and talk and do the listening thing,” he went on, giving the sizzling stir fry another pass with the wooden spoon. “What’d you fight about?”
“Thank you,” she said quietly as he poured and handed her a glass of wine. It wasn’t her favorite but she also wasn’t in any mood to be picky about what alcohol she consumed. She took a sip and swallowed it, looking down at the dark liquid as he talked. Sasha sighed a little then before speaking. “I know every couple fights, it just… sucks. I don’t do well with it.” She didn’t like being angry, it made her feel awful.
At least the sound of the stirfry cooking filled in the quiet between them speaking, something about it was soothing, anyway. “He doesn’t like his brother’s girlfriend. Honestly, I’d go so far as to say he hates her, but apparently there’s bad blood there from the past.”
She took another sip. “But it started to get kind of heated and I just can’t understand the reason for holding onto that sort of loathing for someone if she makes his brother happy, you know? I thought I was being careful with my words, but whatever I said pissed him off and he said something rather dickish and I just, I told him I wasn’t going to fight with him. Still didn’t stop me from being upset though, clearly.”
Richie sipped at the fermented grape juice - he had whiskey somewhere too, the apartment was pretty well-stocked with booze, but this would do for now. He couldn’t even remember where he got the Pinot anyway - maybe picked it up at the grocery store because there was a sale, or he liked the bottle. Honestly, he was no sommelier and would pick a bottle just for the aesthetics. But he took another drink and listened to Sasha’s tale of woe, beginning to plate the stir fry over fresh fluffy rice - he’d share with her, because sharing was caring.
“I’m sure he has his reasons. Like, I know it feels as if you guys have been dating forever - “ And they were technically still married, Richie thought? That was wild. “But you’re still learning shit about each other. There’s bound to be some topics that are touchy and he might not change his mind about that easily.”
The brother’s girlfriend being one of them, probably. “Still, if he was being a dick he oughta apologize - you want some of this, by the way?” he asked, holding up a plate of delicious yum-yums. Comfort food - it helped. Science.
The remark about it feeling like they’d been dating forever made her snort quietly, amused because that was a yes and no. Realistically they’d only been in a relationship of any sort for a couple of months and not even married - yes, still - for a month yet. Though that ‘anniversary’ (or whatever you wanted to call it) was coming up real soon.
“I know his reasons for disliking her so much and while I understand it, because what she did was really messed up to say the least, I just… don’t think it’s healthy for him to hold onto that sort of anger, I guess? But it’s not my place to tell him how to feel, and I would never try to tell him how to feel, at least not intentionally and especially with something that happened way before I was ever in the picture.”
Sasha shook her head a little at the offer and held up her glass. “Thank you though, I already ate and my stomach is a bit queasy as it is. Obviously wine will absolutely help that.” Then she took a sip. “I’d like him to apologize but I’m not sure it’s going to happen? We’ll need to talk about it, I just needed to vent and cry out my frustration.”
“Right, you’re like - still learning the quirks. And he better fucking apologize. No one gets to be a dick to my Sashaface, not even her husbando,” Richie said, saving the second plate for Enola - she’d come out and eat it whenever she felt like. Sometimes she got caught up in her mad science lab or whatever (doing actual mad science or homework, he didn’t really try to be very nosy) sometimes they ate dinner together at the table or in front of the television. It just depended.
But regarding his favorite English teacake, one half of the most bizarre marriage he’d ever seen (but if it worked for them, it worked for them?), in most instances it took two to tango - and he was pretty sure they’d work it out. Probably. If you gave up after one fight then maybe that person wasn’t the right one for you. “Letting go of anger is hard. He probably needs therapy but who doesn’t around here?” A rhetorical question because everyone needed some goddamn therapy. Even him. And he was getting it.
He sat at the kitchen table, pushing out a chair for Sasha too. “You can vent anytime though. I’m here for ya.”
“Well, don’t hold it against him if you find out he didn’t apologize, yeah?” Sasha frowned for a moment and then took another drink from her glass, swishing it in her mouth for a moment as she thought. But then she snorted again and rolled her eyes, playfully. “I can’t imagine how much money therapists around here are making on just the group of Outlanders alone. Though I haven’t gone to see one yet and I don’t think the Congratulations, You’re Dead meeting every week really counts.”
She paused for a moment, her eyes having sort of drifted to stare at nothing in particular along with her thoughts before she pulled her focus back up to look at Richie. “What do you think of us, anyway?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Dean and I. I mean… we’re both well aware the whole wedding thing was rushed,” thank you magical outside forces, “but we also weren’t keen to get it annulled, obviously. I just… I don’t know. I’m happy with him? But I’m curious what your feelings are.”
“The ‘Cool, You Died’ group is nice for the communal support,” Richie mused. “Because it’s good to hear other people’s stories or whatever. But if you feel like you need one-on-one time then definitely look into it.” It was free healthcare, and actually accessible here, so why not?
He took a few bites of food, mixing that up with wine - and his eyebrows did a poke to the north when Sasha asked her question. “Does it matter what I think?” he asked rhetorically. But he’d answer her query anyway. Diplomatically - sometimes his Trashmouth didn’t let it all rip; he wanted to be good to his friends. “I mean, I dunno - if you’re happy with him, that’s good? I want you to be happy.”
Though if someone didn’t even have the balls to apologize when they were wrong, he’d take it as a red flag, personally. Maybe he was wrong and Dean would say he was sorry for hurting Sasha’s feelings. Stranger things had happened. “I guess I just don’t understand why you - I mean both of you, you - are afraid to not be married? Like it was something you were influenced to do during an emotions spike, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t...still date, even if the marriage part was annulled?”
Sometimes she wondered just how much she might actually need therapy, but a part of her was worried that maybe she wasn’t messed up quite enough for it to really be worth doing. Which was a ridiculous thing to think, but other than her experiences with the Institute, she felt fine.
Her shoulders lifted and dropped in a half-shrug when he asked if it mattered what he thought, but she wanted his thoughts anyway. Would they change her mind? No, but she hadn’t really sat and talked about this with anyone except for Dean and even then the extent of their discussion happened mostly in the immediate aftermath of their decision to elope.
“I don’t think it’s so much a matter of being afraid to not be married, but I think we both just kind of feel like… annulling it would have been more trouble than it’s worth? Of course, if this doesn’t work out and we end up having to get a divorce for whatever reason, that’s definitely going to be a pain in the ass, but I guess -- at least for me -- it was more like the whole emotions thing kind of did the work for us, if that makes sense? We’re still dating and getting to know each other, but legally we’re also married, which I know is just weird.” She paused then, scrunching her nose. “Am I talking in circles? I sort of feel like I am.” And then there was a quiet sigh. “Honestly, if there’s any fear associated with it, it’s because we’re both… well, dead back home now.”
The emotionfucking did the work for them - after a month of vague dating. Well. Richie wasn’t convinced but this wasn’t his life. And the gods knew he wasn’t the best person to judge when it came to decision-making, since he’d certainly had his fair share of ones that probably would elicit side-eye. Still. If Sasha wanted to talk about it and asked for his opinion then he’d definitely be honest with her, like any decent chum would do.
“It doesn’t really make sense, but that’s okay,” he grinned crookedly, a crinkly-eyed sort of thing. “Like - it sucks being dead, and I get that you wanna grab life by the balls, but. I dunno.” Still didn’t seem like a good idea if you were trying to date someone but also were married to them - like added a lot of confusion and he imagined an annulment really wouldn’t take that long. “Maybe there’s some benefits to being married only on paper.”
Like tax breaks? Did that even matter in Vallo? He didn’t think so, but he guessed he’d find out when tax season rolled around, if it ever did.
Okay, maybe she could have phrased that better than she did, but in a sense that’s sort of what it had done. Would they have eventually gotten married? Who knows, but neither of them really seemed bothered by the fact that they were.
Sasha’s eyebrows knit together a little and she took another sip of her wine, listening to him and worrying that there was more he wanted to say that he was withholding. Or perhaps not so much worry as it was just wishing he’d be fully honest. Of course, that was just a broad assumption and she shook her head a little. “I don’t think it’s just being married on paper for us, though? I suppose it’s an absolutely untraditional sort of marriage, but…” She shrugged a little then. “It’s difficult to explain, and even though I showed up here pissed off at him because of a stupid fight, he makes me happy.”
Dean’s brother had even asked her not that long ago if she loved him and she hadn’t hesitated in her response when she said yes. Or at least it was some form of love.
“How’s your dinner?”
“I’m a pretty good chef. Alton Brown should be jealous,” Richie stated proudly - oh yeah, it was true. He made amazing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with smiley faces on the inside for Enola. And pizza rolls. Stir fry too - but in addition to that, he knew how to make other real food, a few dishes that were tried and true.
That wasn’t the point, however. The point was that - well, as long as Sasha was happy, then he was happy. Was it like she wanted confirmation that she did the right thing by marrying the dude she fell in love with after a month of dating? Maybe. Was Richie going to say she did the right thing? Uh, no. Probably not.
“Anyway, look - it’s not something I would do, but I’m not you. With the whole marriage thing, I mean,” he clarified. “If you love him though, fuck the police. And the rest of the world. Be happy. And even if you fight - which, yeah, everyone does - then you’re always welcome here to cool down.”
“What about Gordon Ramsay though?” she asked with an arch of a brow. Because Alton and Gordon were two very different chefs and well, maybe Alton was just the nicer one of the two. But the idea of it amused her all the same and she snorted quietly as she took another drink of the wine in her glass.
Sasha shifted a little, her nose scrunching momentarily in thought before she gave a small nod. “Marriage definitely isn’t for everyone.” Hell, she was still feeling out if it was for her when it came down to it, and yet. Maybe it was only something that would make sense to her and Dean, ultimately.
“Thank you though, yeah? I know you think that I’m kind of crazy for all of it, I probably would too if I were in your shoes, but I appreciate the fact that you’re not judging me and let me vent and just… thank you. It means a lot to know I have you here willing to listen and give me your honest opinion.”
D’aaaw. So sweet. Richie shrugged, all bashful-like. He was sometimes a bit emotionally constipated, sure, but he meant well and he was trying to be better about it, especially considering emotional constipation had gotten him pretty much nowhere in life (and may have even made things worse) - having friends that encouraged him to use his big boy words helped too. And were willing to listen to him when he needed to word vomit, so he was plenty willing to return the favor.
“Feelings, ugh,” he grunted, but there was a twinkle in his eye regardless. “Hey, no problem, Sashaface. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”
That sounded familiar, didn’t it? Oh, well, whatever. He meant it regardless.