Bill lived in a McMansion that Audra had helped him purchase after the unmitigated success of his film adaptation for The Glittering. Mike was still traveling the world, but he was doing it on Bill Denbourough's dime, so he was staying for months at a time in the nicest AirBnBs money could rent. Ben lived in a mansion that he had designed himself. Beverly was living with him, but she only took up, like, two feet, and that was after she'd had a big meal.
Richie's apartment was small, not because he couldn't afford more space, but because his square-footage seemed to be directly proportional to his loneliness.
So why the fuck did Eddie decide to stay with him?
"I can take the couch."
Eddie looked at him like crazy, which was fair. "Your couch is inflatable."
"More space!" said Richie. "It deflates during the day!"
"Because clearly space is your priority," said Eddie. "I thought you were, like, famous. Just how bad is your manager?"
"It's not that..." Richie shrugged, so he wouldn't have to finish that sentence, but Eddie just nodded.
"Well, we've shared a hammock. This should be fine."
Richie laughed, and it was only a little hysterical.
At least his apartment was in order (if you didn't count the hole he had punched in the bathroom door). For as long as he could afford it, Richie had employed a cleaning service, even though the only visitors he ever had were from the cleaning service.
Eddie led him to his own bedroom. (To be fair, the kitchen was part of the living room, and the bathroom had a picture of Jack Nicholson taped over the hole.)
"So what happened to the bathroom door?"
"Toy boating accident," said Richie. "Don't you want dinner or something first?"
"We're not sleeping together, Tozier."
"I kn— I just— I know you didn't eat on the plane."
"Actually I did. Most East Asian airlines have surprisingly healthy in-flight food, and Phuket just expanded to the continental U.S. after achieving great commercial success in Thailand."
"Phuket?"
"Yeah," said Eddie. "I don't think they'll do so great here."
Richie showered while Eddie put his own sheets on the bed, and then Eddie showered while Richie had a panic attack.
"No More Tears? Seriously, Richie?"
"Yeah, I know. Johnson & Johnson are liars. Both of them."
"We'll go shopping for adult hygiene products tomorrow," said Eddie. "Don't worry. I already have a list."
"I'm not," Richie lied. He wasn't worried about Eddie completely overhauling his shower caddy and/or life. They both needed it. He was more worried about what would happen when Eddie found out there wasn't much point in overhauling either. Not when—
"...be conditioning. A two-in-one is like a Playstation. It plays games and DVDs, but it doesn't do either well. Richie? ...Richie!"
"Sorry." Somehow they had ended up in bed. Richie would have hoped he hadn't done anything too embarrassing during his little dissociative episode, but his head was already on Eddie's shoulder. "I was just— Just talk to me."
"I was," said Eddie.
"I mean— So your firm has an LA branch?"
"I'm not falling for that one again."
"No! I really wanna' know."
So Eddie hesitantly began describing his transfer, growing more confident after Richie didn't fake snore through the first few sentences.
Maybe he could keep it a secret. Eddie was a nosy little bastard, but Richie had kept his deepest, darkest secret for almost forty years. Of course, he hadn't known Eddie for twenty-seven of those years, but—
"….are always spamming the office with their bake sales and ball sports, but I send one lousy email about Mr. Ratburn's wedding, and they call a meeting. They were trying to be so PC about it, but the Ops Manager kept calling it 'about the gay rat thing' and I know she's born-again Christian, so I guess… So I guess it's not working?"
Richie blinked. "Huh?"
"Wasn't it supposed to put you to sleep?"
"Oh," said Richie. "Yeah."
"What's wrong, Richie?" Eddie's brow furrowed even more than usual. It was adorable. It was definitely giving him wrinkles. Adorable wrinkles. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"No! No. I mean…Obviously not." Richie laughed. His head was still on Eddie's shoulder, and their legs were now tangled together.
"So what's wrong?"
"I'm dying."
Shit.