Chapter Text
“So, Mr. Tozier—”
“Richie, please.”
“Mr. Tozier. Do you know why you’re in here today?”
“Not specifically, but I’m assuming I did something bad.” Tozier tightens the corners of his mouth into an exaggerated frown, making him look kind of like a turtle. Eddie is already tired.
“You said,” Eddie clicks back over to the email with the formal complaint and reads slowly, as if to a child, “‘Can I get some fries with that shake’ to a senior executive. Is that right?”
Eddie looks away from his computer and up into this guy’s—kid’s, really, he’s not much more than a kid, maybe late twenties—face and tries to parse out what kind of meeting this is going to be. Eddie’s been in his position as HR director for over fifteen years now, and he’s had experience with just about everything. This could be the kind of guy that denies anything he’s said, but judging by the proud smirk underneath his stubble and the glint in his magnified eyes, he’s not that guy. He could be one of the ones who thinks his actions are justified—a real sexist fuck. Eddie doesn’t get those vibes from looking at Tozier, as he fidgets his hands in his lap, face shiny with a light sheen of sweat. But Eddie would have to disregard his aforementioned years of experience to fully rule that one out. He won’t be able to tell if this guy is truly a dickhead until he asks him a few more questions.
Despite Tozier being the first face people would see when walking in the front door, Eddie’s never really looked at him before. Eddie isn’t in the business of noticing people. Tozier is attractive, with his long legs and sturdy build. Frizzy, curly hair that is dark enough to pass for black under the shitty fluorescent lights. He’s got big, blue eyes and strips of thick lashes that Eddie can almost count with how magnified they are under his clunky brown tortoise shell glasses. He has freckles, a slight buck in his front teeth, and a hook on the bridge of his nose that gives the impression he must have grown into his looks. So, maybe once a kid who was ugly, bullied. Now an adult man still clinging on to his defenses in the form of off-color jokes and shitty pick-up lines. This is probably his first job that even has an HR department to call him out on it.
“I did. And listen, Mr.—” Richie looks at Eddie’s enamel nametag on his expensive wooden desk for a second too long. “Hell of a last name, huh? What is that, a silent ‘p?’” Richie smiles as if he’s waiting for Eddie to laugh, which he won’t. Richie has a nice smile, though. “Oookay, listen, Mr. K. I will absolutely do my utmost best to not do it again. I didn’t even know who the person was. I was just sittin’ at the front desk, we were chatting, and I got too comfortable. I whole-heartedly apologize and accept responsibility, yada yada yada, that’s what you need, right?”
“It’s Mr. Kas-p-brak,” Eddie pronounces his last name with both the precision and deathly impact of a skilled assassin. “And not knowing whose body you’re commenting on honestly worsens your case here. Just don’t talk about anyone’s bodies at all. Or just stick to answering phones, which you have a script for, and buzzing people in. If you do that, I won’t have to see you again.”
“What a shame that would be.” Tozier winks at him. Yes, for real, winks at him. Eddie’s eyebrows lower in a movement that people at the work parties have called “scary” after they’ve made too many stops at the open bar. Relentless, this Tozier.
“I’ll let that slide this time,” Eddie says but does not mean, he’s absolutely marking that interaction in the file for sure. Eddie stands up and walks around his desk to the heavy wooden door, opens it and looks pointedly out into the hallway. “This is your first warning. It’s verbal. Next time, it will be written. You get three, then you’re fired. You’re dismissed.”
Tozier smirks, infuriating and smug, as he stands to walk past Eddie and back to his station.
Eddie wants to smack that smirk off of him.
Eddie gives Tozier maybe a month before he’s back in here. Another idiot who is gonna take way too long to fire because of bureaucracy, wasting both of their time and company’s resources. Eddie is going to have to pull in a meeting with the recruiter to figure out how this guy even got in, he’s sure Tozier didn’t behave for the entirety of the three-hour interview process. Eddie pulls up the company message system, and shoots a meeting request to Stan Uris.
Bing!
Stan messages back quicker than he ever has, usually one to ignore anyone for hours then send an overly formal email.
Richie?
Eddie types even quicker.
Yes.
I’ve known him since we were kids, go easy on him.
Accept the meeting request, Stan.
No.
Stanley Uris has ended chat. Rate the performance of your chat. 1-5 Stars.
Eddie rolls his eyes and closes the chat because he can’t rate it zero stars like he wants to. Stan doesn’t deserve a single star based on the hiring of his asshole friends. Eddie knows the stars are for connection or like internet speed or whatever, but fuck Stan right now. He’s personally delivering Eddie a headache of an employee and he knows it.
But still, Stan’s a good guy. Eddie’s worked with him for a few years now, even more so once he was promoted to HR director. Since Stan has been put in charge of hiring, to Eddie’s relief, they haven’t gotten many problem cases or repeat HR offenders. Stan is an excellent judge of character, or so Eddie thought. That thought can definitely be revisited now that he’s hiring his friends who are clearly not qualified.
Or maybe, Eddie thinks as he bites on his pencil, getting those little yellow paint chips in his mouth, maybe he should give Tozier more of a shot.
If Stan, hardass that he is, let this guy in, maybe he’s not so bad. Just young and nervous, probably. Or Stan let someone in because of sentiment and knows that he won’t get in much trouble after three years of none of his recruits getting fired. Eddie’s not inclined to believe either of his theories over the other yet, even if he’s still thinking about Tozier’s smirk. Time will tell really.
Time tells.
Eddie goes from never seeing Richie to seeing Richie twice a day.
Every morning when Eddie walks into the office with his oatmeal and his mason jar of cold brew, and Richie looks at him with his good-natured, annoying smile and says, ‘Good morning, Mr. K.’ Eddie doesn’t respond.
Then again every night when Richie leaves (always at least an hour before Eddie, who still has some catching up to do). Richie pokes his head into Eddie’s cracked door (his higher-ups told him he has to keep it cracked, instead of firmly shut like he’d like), and says, ‘Good night, Mr. K.’ To which Eddie, of course, doesn’t respond.
(Richie’s being an asshole, Eddie told him how to pronounce Kaspbrak.)
Richie says goodnight to everyone still left in the building, he must really want to fit in here. He seems to always save Eddie’s for last in some relentless bid to aggravate Eddie to death.
Still, every day it’s the same routine, for months, and Eddie grows very tentatively used to it. He still doesn’t entertain Richie’s stupid attempts to irk him. He’ll only call him Richie in his head, won’t give him the satisfaction yet. He’ll give an inch and Richie will take four football field lengths and an extra acre just because.
Eddie has to pull Richie in about his comments or jokes frustratingly often. Richie always says things that aren’t incriminating enough to get written up, but enough that he has to call him in to address a complaint and make sure Richie knows to “never say it again.” Eddie wishes Richie would just control his stupid mouth, or do something to get an actual written warning this time. Eddie wants to see Richie’s face transform into foolish shock instead of the infuriating arrogance that always rests across his features. God, he eats up so much of Eddie’s time these days.
Eddie doesn’t like Richie. He’s always in trouble with someone, definitely unprofessional, and he’s just kind of nasty.
But.
Eddie would fuck him. He’s thought about it, he’s an adult.
If they met at a bar in Chelsea and not at work, Eddie would go for it. Sorry Freud, years of being controlled by his mother did not make him want to fuck her. It made him want to control and fuck someone else.
Tozier’s whole… immature-asshole-who-needs-to-be-taught-a-lesson thing just works for Eddie.
(Strictly sexually speaking.)
Sometimes Eddie walks through the main lobby in the morning, when he’s got his work phone to his ear already listening to his boss complain about something or another, he’ll look towards Richie briefly, purely out of habit. Richie can hear the tinny sounds of the animated one-sided conversation over Eddie's line and will give Eddie a sarcastic smile or a funny little thumbs up.
Today, Eddie sees Richie leaning over his desk. The desk is long and low, meant to make the receptionist appear welcoming to guests. But Richie is looking a little too welcoming with what appears to be someone in the entry-level training class, if the guest pass she has pinned to her blouse is any indication. She’s leaning in, too, and Eddie is looking right at Tozier’s face as he grins salaciously and winks at this girl who has her hand pressed to his forearm.
Eddie feels a burning in his gut, which is probably heartburn, and looks at his coffee offensively. He’ll have to look into a less acidic brew. He pushes it down and and pushes his eyes away from the frankly disgusting display of workplace harassment and stomps to his office.
Meeting request to Richard Tozier— Sent.
Eddie’s not usually one to preemptively warn subordinates about their behavior. And he’ll swear up and down he’s not uptight.
But.
Why would he, or anyone for that matter, want to see Richie and some random person two playful swats away from making out at eight in the morning?! He’s expected to put up with this before he’s even eaten?!
Eddie could have sworn he worked at an office and not a zoo, or a fucking— a high school cafeteria or something.
He doesn’t like Richie flirting with women at the front desk for anyone to see—
Because… Well, because he doesn’t. It’s fucking distasteful.
Eddie just wants Richie to get fired so his days can go back to normal. He can’t fire Richie himself, not without all the proper steps taken, but he can wish. He’d rather just field all his calls directly to his own office phone.
Or hire a monkey. A monkey would do a better job without being so insufferable.
Eddie would rather have to get used to a whole new person (something anyone close to him could ensure is one of his least favorite activities) than keep Richie around. He’d rather let people just walk into his office unannounced because of the open (cracked) door policy.
Richie getting fired is much easier.
So, Eddie calls the meeting, prepared to lay into Richie about being gross. Nothing to do with how the corner of Richie’s jaw looked when he was grinning at whatever the woman said, which was probably not interesting enough for all that fanfare. If Richie was his friend, he would tell him not to make a fool of himself in public trying to flirt with someone so shamelessly. But Richie is not his friend.
Bing!
Meeting request with Richard Tozier— Accepted. 11 AM.
Eddie’s not great at discipline no matter how much he loves to give it. Well, he’s the HR director so he kind of is good at it. But punishments as an HR director are made for him to give out. Someone does this stupid thing? Eddie has a script and a clear course of action that he’s supposed to take. It's a routine. Eddie likes routine.
But, does he?
After a particularly interesting dream where he had Richie over his own expensive desk, face pushed into his enamel name plate so that the engraving embellished itself deep into Richie’s face as a sick stamp of ownership, Eddie’s not that sure if he knows what he’s doing.
Eddie’s silently fuming about the upcoming meeting. Anticipation brews in the way it always does when he does something impulsive. It’s been a while since Eddie’s felt that way. He’s got little bubbles moving around the walls of his skull, perpetually floating and rolling around without bursting. He sits in his chair and wiggles his shoulders to try and dispel the energy to no avail.
It might be stupid to call a meeting to essentially say something he could have just told Richie at his desk. But having Richie alone in the room again feels different. Better. More in control.
Eddie wants Richie alone in rooms. He wants to see how Richie will react to Eddie catching him, and calling him out directly on his own accord.
Eddie thinks… he does have access to the names and pictures of the training classes. He could figure out who she— no. that's stupid. That would make him look jealous, instead of righteously uncomfortable. He has to be professional.
Bing!
Richard Tozier sent you a gif.
Eddie looks around the office before he realizes that no one is in here to see him, so he opens it.
…
It’s fucking Garfield dancing. With animated glitter and clip art text.
Eddie leaves it on read and waits patiently (ish) til 11 AM.
Bing!
Meeting Reminder: With Richard Tozier in 10 minutes.
Eddie stops examining his pen to press ‘enter’ on the keyboard, halting the alert noise. It wouldn't be so bad if Richie was early, he thinks.
“Alright, who complained this time?” Richie says jovially as his long legs carry him into Eddie’s office. Eddie needs to remember to try and come off as adept as possible. He wants Richie to feel like an idiot.
“I saw you earlier. At the desk with the trainee.” Okay, Eddie needs to remember to do that starting next time he speaks. Richie’s eyebrows climb up, turning his forehead into an accordion before realization seems to dawn.
“Oh, Bev? Did she say something?” Richie bites the corner of his lip nervously. “Really? She was way more coming on to me you know, I was just being polite, I swear.” Eddie thinks about Richie’s stupid wink, his easy laugh. Sure, polite.
“Well, it looked entirely too cozy for work. You can't do that,” Eddie says with finality. That should be the end of it, but when he looks up from the tacky carpet at Richie’s face, he finds hubris.
“So… I can’t talk to a fellow employee at my desk?”
“You were touching each other. You can’t do that,” Eddie snips, folding his arms so that he can stop them from gesturing. Duh, Eddie thinks, how could he even make this simpler?
“Did she complain?” Richie’s arrogant voice is grating to Eddie’s ears, as he tightens his fingers into his sleeves at the elbows.
“It’s not important if she complained. Other people who see something like that can complain. Or,” Eddie’s hand flies out and gestures wildly before he pins it back down beneath his bicep, “worse, feel uncomfortable.”
“Okay, did someone else see and complain or feel uncomfortable?”
Eddie hesitates. Well, he saw and was uncomfortable and is now complaining. So…
“Yes,” Eddie says stuffily.
“Huh, interesting. Cause I could have sworn the only person that walked by us for the five minutes she was at my desk was you.”
The bubbles in Eddie’s brain turn to lead.
“Well, I can't disclose who filed a complaint.”
“Uh huh.”
Eddie wants to wipe the smirk off of Tozier's face with his dick.
The silence stretches on for a few uncomfortable seconds with Richie looking at him like he’s in on some stupid secret before Eddie prompts, “What?”
Richie speaks up, face transforming into a shit-eating grin, “Oh, nothing, nothing. While I’m in here, I was wondering… are we allowed to ask coworkers out? If there's no conflict of interest and we aren't even in the same department, would that be allowed?”
Eddie grinds his molars in the back of his mouth before forcing his jaw to relax.
“It is… frowned upon.”
“But I could,” Richie says quickly with the aura of someone who has won something.
“I don't see why you’d have to,” Eddie grits out, the thought descending upon him that he has lost all control of this meeting.
Richie’s eyes crinkle and he laughs. He laughs right in Eddie’s face.
“What?!”
“It’s just kind of a little warm here, under your skin.” Richie pretends to air out the collar of his shirt and positively leers, so fucking pleased with himself. Eddie’s head recoils like he was smacked. He’s not going to lose his complete mind and get into a fucking fist fight in his office. He is not.
Richie continues, “Well, I don't know how to explain to you that sometimes you ask people out without ‘having’ to.” His eyebrows go up and his mouth tightens into that little mock frown again. He claps his big hands on his big thighs as if it’s the punctuation to end his sentence, and begins to rise out of the chair. “So, no one complained, except maybe… you?” The way Richie’s voice goes high in question has Eddie wishing he could shoot the lead bubbles in his brain at him like bullets. “Are you jealous, Eds? You want me to only flirt with you?”
“No,” Eddie says quickly, with a lot more venom than is probably normal.
“Oh, of course. God forbid,” Richie taunts.
Eddie looks down at Richie's seated body like he’s a cockroach. He snaps his eyes back up to Richie’s, finding a barely noticeable blush and wide eyes which Eddie zeroes in on while he pictures the lead in his brain transforming back into sparkling translucent air pockets.
Distantly, from the very back of his mind, Eddie sees a flash of his hands spreading open a tight ass over his desk.
“You’re right, this is stupid. I hope you get fired.” Eddie stands up, brushes his palms down his thighs for something to do with them, walks over to the door and opens it. “You’re dismissed.”
Richie doesn’t immediately move, instead he keeps looking at Eddie. Eddie isn’t sure if his own blush is apparent on his face, but hopes not. His mind still in a transient state, he needs to get Richie out before Eddie decides he wants to actually fucking do something. Eddie jerks his head towards the open door for emphasis, not making eye contact.
Richie stands up, stops, and looks briefly like he’s going to say something. He walks over to the door, right in front of Eddie and stops again. Eddie peeks up at him through his lashes, observes as Richie nods to himself and walks out of the office.
Eddie closes the door and locks it. At his desk, he stares straight ahead and tries to think of nothing to get the buoyant sensation to stop and get his heat rate back to normal. He crosses his arms on his desk and burrows his head into them and breathes. Fuck. He wonders if using his sick time for the first time in five years would be too dramatic for this.
Bing!
Message from Richard Tozier. Click to open.
Eddie eyes the little pre-alert message box in the lower right corner of his screen suspiciously. He looks at the red X in the corner of the box, but ultimately clicks ‘open.’
i’m sorry for saying that, it just slipped out. you were being really intense, dude :p
Eddie thinks ‘intense’ might be a dangerous understatement for how he just behaved. He doesn’t want to admit to his own weird behavior, though. He’s more than happy to pin it all on Richie. Eddie nibbles on the hangnail on his thumb, puts his hand back down on the desk, realizes he got spit on his desk, wipes it off. He starts two aborted motions towards the keyboard before finally typing out a response.
Fuck off.
Richard Tozier is typing…
Eddie waits. Absurdly, Eddie thinks maybe that was too much—
Richard Tozier is typing…
:)
And seriously, fuck Richie.
Eddie tries his best not to bring work home. He stays late most days, so once he's clocked out, he just wants to be done.
But Eddie is only a man, and he can only be so strong.
So, when he gets home that night, he pops open his merlot with the electric wine opener he got for Christmas from Mike. Pours it to the brim into his fancy oversized wine glass, and opens his laptop.
He’s been trying to steer clear of doing this for a while now, but he has to. Eddie is a nosy man by nature. He grew up listening to his mom gossip day in and day out, and it’s one of the only things they have in common.
He pulls up Facebook and types in Richard Tozier. After just a few seconds of scrolling, there he is. Luckily he has a weird last name. Eddie clicks his profile and to his mirrored delight and horror, nothing is set to private. He can see everything. Distantly Eddie thinks about how stupid that is and that he should warn Richie about employers doing exactly what Eddie is doing. But Eddie trying to warn Richie didn’t go great last time, he thinks as he downs about half of the wine in his glass.
Curiously, Eddie rolls over the irony in the thought that he keeps warning Richie of things that Eddie finds himself doing.
Eddie opens the photos section and holds the spacebar down to get to the oldest. It looks like Richie has had this profile since high school. Eddie was right, he was unfortunate to look at then. He had a pizza face that looked painful, braces, a nose way too big for his face and limbs way too long for his torso.
Eddie moves on to get to what appears to be the college years. So, only a couple years ago. There’s at least two hundred shots of Richie tagged in the background of house parties and with groups of people at bars. Keg stands, beer funnels, pretending to motorboat someone’s tits. Eddie looks on feeling warm under the collar of his polo, from wine and from indignation alike. Richie needs to be more careful. This is why he should have a private fucking profile. He never would have gotten past recruitment if it wasn’t for Stan. Who, actually... huh… surprisingly is also in some of these party shots. Right next to Richie. Interesting.
Eddie spends the next few minutes idly scrolling, not so sure what he was looking for to begin with. He just wants some background info on the guy who has been driving him crazy for weeks. That’s definitely the only reason.
But something catches his eye, a few pictures in a row with a lot of skin.
Richie is on a beach.
He is on a beach and he is in a Borat bathing suit, lime green, thong, decently sized bulge on display and all. Eddie clicks one of the photos, Richie is stomach down on the sand, looking over his shoulder at the camera coyly. Eddie pours more wine in his glass as he takes in how Richie’s entire ass is presented. It's hairy, not big by any means, but it looks tight with little dimples on each cheek, like someone took a bite out of them and left the dents. He looks heavier than he does now, thighs a little beefier, more solid. Not like he used to work out, more like he was eating better. He was probably living with his parents, getting home-cooked meals.
In any case, Eddie’s eyes are locked on that ass. He has tan lines right under the crease, as if he spent all summer in tiny shorts wearing absolutely no sunscreen. The line goes from shockingly pale to lobster red. Eddie wants to grab it, dig each of his thumbs into the twin spots right underneath Richie’s ass cheeks and pull them apart. He wants to impress his fingerprints into that sunburn so they leave pale spots and streaks where he’s kneaded the skin, making Richie whine from the abuse on the sensitive surface before burying his face and tongue in the open space he created.
Eddie’s cock is getting hard and with a ferocity he’s not sure that can last, he is not going to jerk off while looking at someone's Facebook. He is not that much of a creep.
But.
As he gulps down some more wine, letting it wash down his dry throat, he tears his gaze away from the screen and eyes the stairs up to his second-level bedroom. He could go upstairs to his room and think about spanking Richie’s sunburned ass as he jerks off. That he can do. There's no crime against thinking about someone you know when you jerk off. It's not as weird as long as he doesn’t look at the pictures during, or something. Mind readers don't exist, Eddie thinks happily as he tops off his glass of wine, and starts his ascent upstairs.
Eddie mourns the time before he knew who Richie Tozier was, but now he sees him everywhere in the office.
Eddie sees Richie walking around sometimes or in the break rooms, and he’s always with that trainee, “Bev.” They don't seem to be flirting anymore, but they’re companionable, real buddy-buddy. They eat lunch together, Eddie thinks bitterly.
Eddie was up too late last night watching trash TV and he forgot to get his cold brew set up in time to steep for the allotted twelve hours, so he’s heading to the small break room off the main hallway that holds the coffee machines since they won’t let him keep one in his office. They said no because then he’d never leave and people need to think the HR director is “approachable.” Which Eddie thinks is a lost cause due to who he is as a person.
So now he needs to drink the shitty hot coffee and get it from the shitty tiny break room like everyone else. Eddie twists his shoes a little harder than he needs to, squeaking them across the linoleum floor and making scuff marks on purpose, which is how he didn’t immediately see someone already using the break room. He stops just outside the door when he senses another presence from the room.
And of course, that’s Richie’s back facing him as he makes his own coffee.
Eddie is about to back up and walk right out to get to the bigger, more communal break room that is like fifty feet away when Richie turns around and now they’re looking at each other.
Richie’s big blue eyes peer at Eddie like he's shocked into place, which maybe he is. But, Eddie’s forty and he can be alone in a six by six space with the guy he’s angrily jerked off about three times. It doesn't have to be a big deal, he thinks and clears his throat.
Richie seems to break out of whatever trance he was in, sending a tentative smile Eddie’s way. (What the fuck is he playing it now?!) Eddie nods stiffly before looking over Richie’s shoulder at the glossy white cabinets. He has a mug in this cabinet for the days he has to slum it in here. Richie goes back to fussing with the powdered cream (disgusting), and Eddie moves slowly around his huge fucking body (what does he have to be so big for?) to open the cabinet and look for his mug.
Eddie’s ears burn as he realizes that Richie isn’t going to move. He’s seemingly done making his coffee, but he’s still monopolizing almost the entire space in front of the cabinet clearly out of spite. Eddie squeezes into the space left between Richie and the wall. They’re so close that Eddie can smell Richie; he smells like fabric softener, cheap cologne and a little bit of smoke. Their sides are almost touching.
Eddie huffs as he has to contort his torso around Richie like a question mark, and opens the cabinet to get this over with just to find that someone moved his fucking mug. He’s going to burn down the office, he thinks resolutely, as he also sees that they put it on the top shelf, all the way in the back, and now he can’t fucking reach it.
He could just back up, retreat to his office in submission, but Richie would know. He would know that Eddie came in here for a purpose and then abandoned that purpose because of Richie. Suddenly, that feels like too much power to give to him.
Eddie gets on his tip toes and hopes beyond hope that he can reach it, but his useless fingertips barely brush the handle of the mug. He sighs, ready to just accept defeat and scurry off when he feels a warmth along his side, followed by pressure.
The long slab of Richie’s torso is fitted against the right side of Eddie's back, as Richie plucks the mug from its elusive resting place. The domesticity turns the bubbles to magma, bobbing around in his brain like the globs in a lava lamp, burning holes where they touch, but Richie gives him no time to recover. He follows up whatever that was with resting his big, square palm on Eddie’s forearm.
He leaves it there for one, two, three beats as he places the mug right on the Keurig platform and presses the button for Eddie. Eddie stares between his own mug and how Richie’s hand almost completely engulfs his wrist.
Eddie tilts his head up nervously and Richie is so close. This is beyond inappropriate and Eddie’s logical thoughts are having trouble catching up with the lust he feels pooling in his gut. Richie’s eyes hold a question that he seemingly gets an answer to in Eddie’s own because his expression transforms into something self-satisfied before he’s gone.
Eddie stands alone in the break room, heart hammering. He listens to the steamy-splat noises of his coffee being made and decides to think about this interaction for as little time as possible, meaning the rest of the day and possibly the week. He’s gotten half hard in his slacks without noticing and pivots to press his cock against the counter. He hisses at the contact but applies more pressure so it's more painful, and waits for it to fully soften.
As Eddie’s heart and cock calm down, his anger grows. Who the fuck does Richie think he is? Eddie just had a meeting with him to tell him he can’t touch people. Sure, Eddie meant other people, but whatever. He should pull Richie into another disciplinary meeting, what the fuck. He could easily get Richie fired over this one and he’d never have to deal with him again. Eddie knows he won’t do that, but he likes to imagine he’s the kind of guy who would. Instead of the kind of guy who gets hard over his twenty-something-year-old subordinate touching his fucking arm.
Slowly, Eddie walks across the hall back to his office. He looks to his left and sees the back of Richie’s curly hair at his desk and wonders what it would feel like to pull it. How good would it feel to pull Richie down to his height so he couldn’t look so fucking superior next time he reaches to get something for Eddie.
(Next time? Fuck that. If he tries it again, Eddie’s just going to have to kick his stupid long legs, the only logical conclusion—)
The rest of the day goes by without anything interesting happening in comparison. Eddie thinks about the hard line of Richie's body against his, but how it wasn’t pressed against him for long enough to really feel anything except warmth. His mind wanders about what it would have felt like if Richie stayed longer... if he grinded against Eddie so Eddie could feel every piece of Richie against every piece of himself.
God, he’s fucking horny.
He needs to get laid. That’s all this is.
The problem is, it looks like his most interesting and greatest prospect is his shit show of a receptionist. Well... technically the whole office’s receptionist. With a shock to his gut, Eddie notes that his horny brain does not like the thought of Richie being the whole office’s anything. Or being anyone’s anything except his. His what, Eddie doesn’t know yet.
But he definitely knows that Richie Tozier is his something.
A week after the Mug Incident, as Eddie refers to it, things have only gotten more hostile. Eddie’s been extremely busy in the office and is trying his hardest not to think about or look at Richie, but when he does… It’s with a glare or a side-eye. He’s still trying to decide what to make of their interaction. Either Richie is even more of an asshole because he crossed a line and is basically daring Eddie to do something about it...
...Or Richie just really wants to fuck Eddie, too.
The confusion is ballooning in Eddie’s brain, growing and growing until no other thoughts will fit. This headspace is where Eddie finds himself when he looks up at movement in his doorway to see Richie peek his head through the frame for the first time in weeks. Eddie swallows as he looks at the casual line of Richie's body in his doorway, his hairy arms showing beneath his rolled-up button-down, his thick neck dotted in the middle with a prominent adam's apple all covered in stubble. Like Richie shaves every morning but he can’t help some hair growing back by 6 o’clock, like he’s a real man. The kind of impressively visibly masculine man Sonia wanted Eddie to be. God, fuck him.
Eddie takes in the way Richie’s tits fill out his matching chest pockets and says, “What?”
Richie smiles, with almost all of his very nice teeth, even the front one that's a little crooked.
Richie looks keen, and raps his two knuckles on Eddie's doorway with a bob of his head that makes his curls bounce.
Richie says, “Do you want to get drinks or something if you’ll be done soon? I can wait.”
The shock Eddie feels is akin to being dunked in an ice bath. What signs could he have possibly been giving Richie that would make him think Eddie would want to get drinks with him?
But…
It’s winter, it will be dark out soon and Richie wants to ‘get drinks.’ Richie touched Eddie's bare arm and pressed his tits into Eddie's shoulder to get Eddie's mug and now he wants to get drinks at night. So, Richie wants to fuck him, too, then.
Eddie could do that. He could have Richie leave first, wait a block away, then meet Richie there so no one would suspect. They could get on the train together and go somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen, likely arguing the whole way. They could even start early and make out on the train so they wouldn't have to talk to each other. No one would know who they were, the city is so big. Maybe the train would be so packed from the after-work commuters that Richie would have to stand pressed into Eddie's side like he did in the break room.
They could skip the bar entirely and Eddie could fuck the life out of him in Eddie’s Brooklyn walk-up. They wouldn’t talk about it or do it again after that to minimize the chances of either one of them getting into too much trouble.
But.
“No, that’s not a good idea,” Eddie forces out. He almost hopes there’s a God, because he deserves to get into Heaven for how much of a good person he’s being right now.
Richie looks confused, like he’s just been given a bone but then told to wait while it balances on his nose. Like he thinks he’s going to get in trouble. It’s cute (???)—dumb.
“You said it’s only frowned upon, though.”
Something pulsates in Eddie’s chest as he realizes that maybe Richie wasn’t asking about the trainee after all. “I’m still very technically your boss. And head of HR. It’s more frowned upon for me than it would be for you or a trainee. Neither of you are very professional anyways. I have more of a reputation,” Eddie thinks of how he sometimes hears Richie and Bev talk to each other, how he sees them touch each other, still.
“Yeah…” Richie jitters around a bit, and looks up at Eddie from under his springy bangs. “Isn’t that, like, kind of hot, though?”
“Listen,” Eddie speaks, the impatient strain in his voice evident, “I really don’t think—”
Richie sighs, loud and dramatic, “Yeah, I know, I know. Okay, I’ll get out of your hair, boss.”
Richie turns and leaves.
Eddie ends up staying late for another forty-five minutes. He’s closing up his office, dreading the train commute to come. He would have only needed another ten or so from when he rejected Richie and sent him away, but he couldn't focus.
All he could do was replay the interaction in his mind. He keeps waffling on his response. He even considered going up to the front to see if Richie hadn’t left yet, maybe taking him up on his offer to leave with him. He talks himself off that ledge three times before he finally finishes what he was working on and is able to leave.
He can’t fuck Richie. It’s a stupid, horrible idea no matter what way he spins it in his mind.
But, fuck, he wants to.
Eddie’s brain is still spinning with the possibility as he walks to the bathroom on autopilot. His commute home is always long and draining, and from experience he knows he has to piss before he leaves.
He stops dead when he enters the room, the heavy door thudding shut behind him with finality.
Because it’s Richie, again. Just like in the breakroom, Richie’s back is to him. But this time it’s because he’s at a urinal.
Eddie’s gut swoops low with nerves, but he walks forward. He can feel how hot his face is, and frankly, it’s embarrassing. Which just makes him blush more.
Before he even realizes he’s doing it, he’s at the urinal directly next to Richie’s. He curses himself in his head, because that’s completely against fucking urinal etiquette. Let alone office urinal etiquette. The only people who piss in the urinal directly next to someone else are either fucking perverts or people cruising for a quick fuck.
Eddie panics, fumbles with his fly while opening it. He can’t just move to the other one now, he’d look even more deranged. He plants his feet and tries to get it over with as fast as possible.
Richie, next to him, hasn’t really moved or acknowledged that he knows Eddie is there at all. Eddie can hear his stream hitting the porcelain, and wishes he’d just hurry the fuck up and get out so they can both stop suffering this horrible interaction.
Eddie’s bladder isn’t helping, his shot nerves apparently making him too tense to be able to go. He stands there and waits, thoughts flinging themselves rapidly all over his brain. He’s considering just packing it up and risking the dread of needing to piss on the train before he notices it's gotten pretty quiet.
Quiet like Richie has stopped pissing and… he’s still standing there. Hasn’t moved an inch.
Eddie’s heart throws itself against his ribcage a couple of times and he swallows.
Eddie is a gay man in New York City. He knows the social cue of being alone in a bathroom with a man and them just fucking standing there when they’re done. But Eddie’s just standing there, too, isn’t he?
Tentatively, he peeks over out of the corner of his eye. Looking from his peripheral, he sees a flash of Richie’s soft cock resting gently on his heavy balls. Eddie looks back to his own urinal quickly, biting his lip so hard he tastes metal.
Richie snorts.
And seriously, fuck him. What the fuck is he doing? Just standing there literally inviting Eddie to look and then laughing at him when he does? He said he was fucking done for the day, and—
Wait. He did say he was done, when he asked Eddie out. In Eddie’s flustered state, he didn’t even realize…
“Why are you still here?” Eddie blurts out, still looking strictly ahead. He feels fucking stupid, standing there with his button undone and his zipper down. He’s not sure he ever even had to pee.
“Uh, I was just finishing up some learning modules and surveys.”
There are not any current modules or surveys that the company has put out since the one that needed to be finished a month ago.
He was waiting for me, Eddie thinks.
Their elbows brush as Eddie shifts minimally to the side, to get a better look at what Richie is clearly presenting to him on purpose now. He wonders if Richie can feel the pounding heat that courses through his entire body where their biceps barely touch.
Eddie’s skin feels too tight, his eyes alertly tracking where Richie swallows and angles his own head towards him by a fraction of an inch. Eddie feels like a fucking predatory cat or something, the way he’s stalking Richie’s movements to see when he’ll go belly up and Eddie can tear into his throat.
He refuses to be the first one to break, he needs to know Richie wants him just as bad. If not more.
“Eddie…” His transfixed gaze is broken by how shattered Richie’s voice sounds.
Eddie’s eyes rapidly snap from Richie’s bobbing adam’s apple, to his eyes (so blue, pupils blown), back down to his cock (pink, soft—). No. Richie’s cock is filling out, going from baby pink to a deep rose color right in front of him. Richie’s getting half-hard just from Eddie looking at his cock.
Eddie’s thoughts, heart, and the heat that was spreading to the ends of his body all halt like a car crash, and he just fucking can’t take it— he needs to—
“Oh my god, fuck it,” he mumbles and within the next second he’s on Richie.
His previous thoughts all funnel into a mantra of fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, no less frantic but definitely more simple. The thudding in his heart comes back tenfold, to the point he can feel his pulse pounding in his neck—
In the time it takes him to take the final step into Richie’s space and press him bodily up against the outside of the nearest stall door, he’s gone from soft to the hardest he can remember ever being.
Richie’s big, stupid head falls back and thumps against the door. “Yes,” he says, with an amount of relief Eddie isn’t sure what to do with right now. Instead, he latches his teeth onto the space where Richie’s hulking shoulders meet his blotchy neck and bites.
Richie’s hips stutter into Eddie’s and they both gasp when their cocks brush, pants still undone. “Fuck, Eddie, oh my god—” Richie breathes out, sounding just as overwhelmed as Eddie feels.
“Knew you’d be mouthy like this.” Eddie pushes the words into Richie’s spit-wet skin. Richie tries to arch his back, and get his cock back on Eddie’s, but Eddie grips his hands around Richie’s strong hips. He squeezes hard, and fuck, he has this layer of just… soft on top of all of his big stocky pieces that drives Eddie fucking crazy. Richie’s hips convulse under his fingertips, and Eddie hopes he’ll have bruises.
Eddie pushes Richie’s hips back into the door, pinning him there while he works further on his neck, collarbone, shoulders. Richie whines and pants like a whore and all the sounds shoot straight into Eddie’s twitching dick, making him dizzy and even stupider. He starts sucking hickies and bites higher and higher up Richie’s neck, he doesn’t want him to be able to hide them, he wants everyone to see—
Eddie is stopped by a big hand encompassing the back of his head, pulling his hair and yanking his head back. The sharp pain is immediately soothed by Richie licking into his mouth, hot and wet and dirty.
The stifled sounds of their moans penetrate the silence of the room. The air around them, previously thick with want and now, slows down into a steady thrum of finally.
They kiss messy, with an urgency and passion that Eddie thought only existed in housewives’ romance novels. Their hands grip and drag over their clothes, searching desperately for skin until Richie’s hot palm runs over Eddie’s taut abs down to wrap around his cock.
Richie grips firmly and Eddie’s forehead falls down to rest on his bare chest. At some point amidst all the frantic groping, Richie’s top four buttons got undone or, more likely, ripped open. Eddie breathes warm and damp into Richie’s thick chest hair. Eddie’s precome leaks and drips slowly down his shaft, but it’s not enough—he can’t stroke right like this. Eddie huffs in frustration and is about to pull away just to get Richie’s on his knees instead when Richie’s hand vanishes from his cock. Before Eddie can even fully let out his whimper at the loss, Richie spits an impressive loogie into his square hand and puts it right back around Eddie and strokes.
Eddie’s brain is hazy with lust. His fingers dig harder into Richie’s hips as Richie jerks the length of his cock efficiently. Eddie is already so close, he lets his tongue poke out of his mouth where he’s pressed into Richie’s tits, and he savors the salty skin there. Richie tastes a little sweaty, he still has the whole fucking day on him, and thinking that kind of drives Eddie mad. He licks a broad stripe right over one of Richie’s nipples, delighting in the way his spit catches on the very edge of Richie’s open shirt. He wants— needs Richie to look as fucked as possible.
Richie groans and ups the already brutal pace on Eddie’s cock. He’s so close, his fucking knees are shaking. It’s fucking hot, fast, wrong, perfect—
Then Richie opens his mouth.
“Thought about this so much,” Richie whines. Which slows Eddie down enough to wonder how the fuck he ended up panting into Richie’s tits like he was the desperate one. When it was Richie who was basically begging to get fucked in the office bathroom, Richie who waited around for an hour just to catch Eddie walking out.
Eddie straightens up fast enough to give himself a head rush. He reaches around Richie’s torso to open the stall door and pushes and tugs at Richie until they’re both safely tucked inside. Eddie locks the door behind him and rounds on Richie, pushing him against the wall.
Eddie has one hand splayed out over the base of Richie’s throat, the other he brings to stroke his own dripping cock.
“Is this what you wanted?” Eddie spits out, staring at the way Richie’s head falls back once again, exposing his chest and throat, showing off his bites and marks.
“Yeah, you gonna teach me a lesson, Mr. Kas-p-brak?” Richie’s over-pronunciation that Eddie taught him makes Eddie see red with need. Eddie remembers who's supposed to be in charge.
He steps closer to Richie, maintaining his hold on his torso, and brings their cocks back together. The first velvety brush of their cockheads has them both hissing while bringing their mouths back together like magnets. Their cocks bounce off of each other before Eddie presses his groin in hard, and with a delicious drag, grinds them together.
Richie pulls back and spits into his hand again, lightning quick, and they’re right back at it, but Eddie likes— no, loves it so much better this time. Because instead of just taking Eddie into his broad hand, Richie’s long fingers take hold of them both. In one hand. What the fuck is he so big for?
They both look down and watch as the heads of their cocks nuzzle up against each other in Richie’s grip, peeking out of his fist as he strokes from root to tip.
Eddie gets a good look at Richie’s cock, fully hard and glistening for the first time and it’s big. Bigger than his own by at least a couple inches and thicker, too. He’s got a fucking porn star dick, a dick Eddie would fucking buy at the store just so he can ride it whenever he wants to. Eddie catches himself about to drool and licks his lips.
They surge back together, mouths fastening wildly while Richie brings them off. Eddie can feel his balls tightening, ready to shoot. It’s to the vision swimming behind his clenched-shut eyes of his come squirting over Richie’s work shirt and landing on both of their cocks simultaneously that his orgasm reaches a crescendo.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants as his cock twitches and pulsates against Richie’s bigger one. All the blood in his body feels like it’s either filling up his cock or flooding his brain. Little bubbles of light burst behind his eyelids as he rocks his hips more and more and more while the last of his come dribbles out of the head.
Eddie rests his head on Richie’s heaving chest once more as he tries to catch his breath and calm himself.
He cracks open his eyes, blinking heavily against the instantaneous laziness he feels seeping into his muscles and bones. From his angled view, he can see where his translucent come is pooled between Richie’s fisted grip and their own cocks. Eddie’s not softening yet, knows from experience it will take a few minutes for his dick to come down.
Richie still hasn’t come, he’s making these little pathetic whimpering noises as he jerks off his own fat cock with Eddie’s come, with Eddie still pressed into him. Eddie’s knees almost give out, but he uses his hand, grip gone lax, on the hollow of Richie’s neck to hold himself up.
Richie stutters out a filthy moan at the flex of Eddie’s fingers around the thick cords of his neck. Eddie looks up into Richie’s eyes, glasses completely smudged to shit, but peering back at Eddie like he’s right on the edge, too.
Eddie tightens his grip to the point that he knows Richie’s airflow is cutting off and packs as much spite into his voice as he can when he says, “Are you gonna come for me? Fucking come for me, Richie.”
Richie does.
The noise that comes out of Richie’s bruised, marked up throat is obscene, almost disgusting. It's a half-choke, half-whine that sounds like a wounded animal. Eddie darts forward and licks into Richie’s slack mouth as he chokes and comes and sputters. He pushes his own saliva into Richie’s mouth like it can replace the air he’s stealing and he mutters words like so good for me , and such a slut, Richie until Richie’s hips stop pumping and both of their previously decent work slacks are covered in dark, wet spots.
Then it’s just… quiet.
Shame hits Eddie like the train he should already be on.
They very carefully tuck their respective wet, soft cocks back into their ruined pants.
They leave the bathroom without any words and head to separate exits.
Richie calls in sick the next day.
...And the next.
Aaaaand then it’s the weekend.
Eddie sighs around his mouthful of Raisin Bran at his breakfast island while scrolling through his phone with his pinky. Little flecks of milk land on his screen, distorting the colors into windows of techno greens and purples.
He’s on Richie’s Facebook page, because of course he is. Richie has been sharing memes, publicly, despite taking two sick days. Something about the shamelessness of it is pissing Eddie off more. When he calls in sick, or even leaves early, he does NOT post on social media for anyone to see and know he was lying about whatever important reason he made up. It’s just common fucking sense.
And, yeah, Eddie’s pissed off. He keeps rolling the memory of what they did around in his mind, dissecting it, searching for any signs that Richie didn’t want him.
Otherwise, why the fuck would he call in if he’s healthy enough to share three different memes about being a Pisces in the last—Eddie looks again—hour?!
As much as it makes him horny as fuck, he’s self-aware enough to admit, he doesn’t— didn’t want to… abuse his power or whatever. Richie is the one who started this whole thing, he’s been pushing and pushing and fucking—
“Ugh,” he says for no one to hear and closes that app to immediately pull up another one.
He calls Mike.
“Eddie, hiiiiiii,” Mike says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I want to fuck my office’s receptionist. I’m a cliché,” Eddie whines.
“Again?”
“What do you mean ‘again’? I didn’t fuck Dottie, I—”
“I mean you definitely wanted to fuck Bill when he was, like, under your student council reign in high school.”
“He wasn’t my receptionist!”
“He did all your errands! You just like when they have to listen to you,” Mike laughs.
“Maybe so,” Eddie says, distractedly pinning his phone in between his shoulder and ear. He grabs the oat milk and cold brew out of the fridge, kicks the door closed and carries on. “You don’t have all the information this time, though.”
“Mm.”
“Yeah, the thing is…”
Pause.
“We already exchanged hand jobs.” Eddie sets down his fridge bounty on the counter with a flourish, as if Mike was in the room to see his dramatics.
“Okay, so fuck him, then!”
“I can’t! First of all, he’s young—”
“How young?”
“Young enough to make people talk!”
“Oh, heavens, not the people. Not them talking,” Mike teases flatly.
“Second!! Second of all,” Eddie bulldozes over Mike’s monotone voice, “he’s an asshole. He’s already so annoying. I can’t imagine how much worse it would be if I fuck him. And! Then he’d have that, like hanging over me. He could extort me! If he doesn’t want to get in trouble for something, he could be like ‘oooh, I’ll tell on you!’” Eddie’s gesturing hands miss his cold coffee concoction by a hair, and he stomps over to his couch.
“Eddie, can’t he already do that with the hand jobs?”
“I—” Stumped at the thought, Eddie thinks. "Uh.”
“Exactly. Maybe just go with it. Worst case scenario, some awkwardness at work—”
“Well, he already called off—”
“Best case scenario,” Mike interrupts, “you get married and stop bothering me.”
“Blegh. No,” Eddie huffs.
“Do you want to hang out or something? Or did you just want to call me to try and get me to talk you into fucking your secretary?”
“Goodbye.” Eddie hangs up.
But he does text Mike what time to come over.
On Monday, Eddie walks into the office in a particularly favorable suit because he wants Richie to squirm. He knows Richie can’t call in again, because he checked his fucking time off balances, how about that, Richie. He goes to work in his best I’m-fucking-hot suit, and he knows Richie is going to be there. Finally, he'll treat Eddie with some respect.
Entering the building, there he is, casual and calm as ever. Eddie even smiles at Richie when he struts past his desk, he does his best Richie Tozier smirk. He tilts his chin down, smiles with his lips twisted in the way that pops his dimples at Richie and looks up through his eyelashes.
Richie gives him nothing. Not even a nod. Just eye contact as Eddie passes by towards the main hallway.
Okay, what the fuck.
Maybe it wasn’t as mind blowingly hot to Richie. Maybe he did want to fuck Eddie, but then was like, oh this guy sucks, and now is back to fully hating him. Again.
But Eddie is not suffering through another duration of time where he has to walk on eggshells around one of his direct reports, who is everywhere in the office apparently. So, when he gets to his office, he plans a meeting.
He can apologize, Eddie thinks. Say, ‘Richie, I’m sorry if what I did made you uncomfortable. We can literally never talk about it again if that’s what you want. Please, don’t sue me.’ He can be the bigger man here. Richie sure as fuck isn’t going to.
Eddie gets his morning work out of the way before heading over to Richie’s desk. He doesn’t want this meeting to be on file if it all goes tits up.
His brain is fizzy, effervescent syrupy liquid clinging to the inside of his temples and cheeks making his head feel light as he walks to Richie’s desk.
“Mr. Tozier, could I speak with you for a minute?”
Richie looks up like a deer in headlights and Eddie can hear the click of his throat swallowing even over all the fax machines.
“Uh, yeah,” Richie says, practically no more than a breath.
Once safely back in Eddie’s office, he drops the pretense. He sits down in the chair behind his desk, across from Richie and sighs.
“Listen, I—”
“I need to apologize.”
And, uh. “Go on…” Eddie allows.
“I’m sorry I called in, I’m sure that freaked you out and I’m sorry for,” Richie lowers his voice dramatically, “the bathroom. I shouldn’t have cornered you like that. I’m just—”
Richie lets out an aggravated little grunt and waves one hand around.
“—frustrated. I mean, this is stupid, right? We do not fucking get along, I think you’re, like, an annoying robot, you think I have, to quote Stan, the capability of a twelve-year-old. But.”
“But,” Eddie insists.
Richie levels him with an intense stare and Eddie flounders a bit. There’s so much heat in his expression.
“I want to fuck you, like, so bad, dude.”
“Oh my God, me too.” Eddie doesn’t finish the sentence before Richie is across the room climbing on top of him. He straddles Eddie in his ridiculous expensive ergonomic chair and they spin around a little just from the additional weight that is Richie’s huge body.
They make out like teenagers, or like Eddie imagines teenagers would. He had never come close to making out with anyone when he was a little spastic overactive tattle-tale of a teen.
“Can we fuck in here?” Richie says right into Eddie’s ear, causing little shivers to erupt all over his arms and neck.
“I mean, no, but I don’t fucking care,” Eddie says back. He’s got his hands firmly planted over Richie’s ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them while they dry hump each other. Richie is biting into Eddie’s earlobe following up with little kitten licks to soothe the sting. Eddie’s cock is so hard, pressed against the strain of his zipper, he just needs to pull his hands away from Richie’s ass long enough to—
Knock-knock!
Richie leaps back like he’s attached to a bungee cord and Eddie wheels his chair swiftly back under his desk so his straining erection will be hidden.
“Come in,” he calls and pretends not to notice how his voice sounds way too loud and forced.
It’s fucking Bob, because who else would knock with a tune. He’s an eighty-year-old balding fuck who is honestly the bane of Eddie’s existence. He was briefly replaced by Richie in that category, but now that Eddie can, apparently, get his hands on Richie’s cock if he wants, Bob is back to being the worst person in the building.
“Oh, sorry, guys. Didn’t realize you were having a meeting. Was just gonna remind ya of the open door thing, Ed,” Bob says, the ignorant asshole.
“Yep! Last minute meeting. Didn’t put it in, I just grabbed Mr. Tozier right from his desk.”
“Alrighty, well, remember to open it back up when y’all are done. Stay out of trouble, Rich, jeez,” Bob teases like Richie is a naughty middle schooler. Eddie internally gags.
Bob leaves and Eddie feels like he’s been doused in freezing cold water. He looks at Richie, who looks at him. There they are, two idiots who could have almost gotten fired, just looking at each other.
Richie breaks the silence, as he so often does, with a joke.
“‘Stay out of trouble, jeez.’” He’s doing a Bob voice. “If he only knew, I’m trying to get under trouble. Right, Eds?” Richie waggles his eyebrows.
Eddie lets his head fall on his desk.
“Get it, Eddie? Like, you’re ‘trouble’? Like, I’m trying to get under—”
“Ugh!” Eddie flings his head up to exclaim. “That was so stupid. This is so bad. We have got to stop.”
“But we haven’t even started! I think we just gotta be more careful,” Richie waves a hand dismissively. Eddie can not believe he was just tongue fucking this absolute moron.
“Being more careful would mean not doing this at all,” Eddie insists while rubbing his temple.
“Ha! You won’t be able to resist,” Richie grins and shrugs.
Eddie decides steadfastly that Richie is wrong and doesn’t know shit. Eddie can resist whatever the fuck he wants, he’s great at resisting. No one can deny that Eddie has impeccable self-control.
Except,
maybe,
his mom, his therapist, both of his most recent exes… and probably Mike… definitely Bill…
Okay, well, Richie still isn’t right.
Eddie can prove that.
Eddie will prove that.