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“That sure was some fuckin’ shit you pulled with the broth,” Richie complained just loud enough for Fak to hear it over the sound of their suit jackets rustling against each other.
“Oh my god, we’re still on that? We’re still on the broth? That was, like, three hours ago!”
“Yeah, but I had to hear about it all fuckin’ night.” Richie’s voice was stern and strained, no doubt from going back into the kitchen to scream at Carmy every 20 minutes. Despite the fatigue and frustration, Richie took hold of Neil’s body with the same urgent tenderness he had the past three or five or ten times they found themselves here.
Here, in the renovated bathroom that Neil re-plumbed and Richie wallpapered. Here, up against cold porcelain with dulcet blue hues filling their peripheries. Here, behind a closed mahogany door in an otherwise empty restaurant because god forbid anybody accidentally caught the way Neil’s eyes slowly closed as Richie kissed his jaw.
“I-if I can be honest? And no offense to Carmy or anything?” Neil started, voice high, and Richie hummed in intrigue against his tattooed throat. “The broth was kind of a lame idea.” Fak’s hands found purchase on Richie’s hips, beneath Richie’s suit coat but on top of the sleek, black button-down he wore beneath. Richie sighed, kissed his way up Fak’s neck, and nosed at Fak’s bristly mustache.
“Yeah, it was kind of a jagoff course. Like, a course for jagoffs.”
Fak grinned and teased Richie’s waistband with his left index finger, to which Richie bit his own lip before biting Fak’s in kind. They wouldn’t (probably). Not at the restaurant. But Richie always got a thrill from the what if of it all.
“Aww, you’re only agreeing with me ‘cause you think I’m purdy,” Neil cooed and batted his eyelashes so much one of his eyes started to twitch.
“Nah, I’m agreein’ with you ‘cause you’re right,” Richie pulled back for a second to retort. Neil waggled his eyebrows in response. “I’m making out with you in the fuckin’ restaurant bathroom because I think you’re pretty.” Neil giggled at the compliment for a second before he easily took Richie’s upper lip between his two. Richie hated to admit it, even just to himself, but Neil was a good kisser. He supposed it was because Neil’s mouth was so big and annoying and his lips were so sweet and pink beneath his mustache and his smile was-
Richie kissed Neil harder to stop the train of thought.
Fak slid his hands up Richie’s torso to his tie, jet black just like the rest of his outfit. He fumbled with the knot for a few seconds before successfully loosening it.
“Can I come over tomorrow night?” Fak suddenly whispered, and the feeling of his breath and his voice against the shell of Richie’s ear made Richie noticeably shiver. Richie closed his eyes even harder and exhaled through his nose. “Wednesday night, right? Like usual?”
“Shit, I-”
“Nah, nah, it’s cool. It’s okay.”
“No, shut the fuck up. Stop,” Richie snapped, his hands just as rough as his words when he grabbed Neil’s face to kiss him square on the lips again. “I’m taking Eva to the aquarium on Thursday morning, so Tiff’s dropping her off tomorrow night and she’s staying the night.”
“Tiff’s staying the night?”
Richie blinked.
“Yes, Neil Geoff, my ex wife is staying the night. She’s going to sleep in my bed and make love to me ‘til fuckin’ dawn.”
“Okay, ew, jeez! I was just asking! You didn’t make it clear!”
“This is why people stop and think for half a second before they ask questions,” Richie scolded, brows raised as he stroked Neil’s cheeks with his thumbs.
“Well, you never seem to do that, so…”
“Oh, I never seem to do that?”
“No, you never seem to do that,” Fak shrugged, lips pursed in haughty self-assurance.
“Alright, I’ll make sure I stop and think before inviting you over the next time I want some tail,” Richie whispered gruffly a mere inch or two away from Neil’s lips that curved into a cheeky smile in response to Richie’s taunting.
“And I’ll make sure I stop and think before saying yes!” Neil fired back as some sort of gotcha, but Richie grinned into another open-mouth kiss, one hand braced on the sink that he pushed Neil against even harder.
“You think I’m alone?”
“Mom does.”
Richie supposed that was a fair assessment. He lived alone, he drove to work alone, he picked Eva up from Tiff and Frank’s house alone. He grocery shopped alone, he went to Eva’s school events alone, he sold his third ticket and took Eva to see Taylor Swift alone. He couldn’t blame anyone for looking at him and seeing someone who walked through life alone .
In all honesty, solitude became therapeutic at a certain point. Maybe it was all those hours spent polishing forks at Ever without anyone saying so much as two words to him. Richie lived to stoke the nearest fire with his insults and his ego, but something about putting on the suit and acting like a damn adult for once made him appreciate the moments that weren’t filled with rage or chaos or spite or whatever it was that turned nearly every conversation he had into an argument. He knew how to clean up. He knew how to take a beat and listen (...depending on who was talking).
He wondered if Mikey would be proud. He would give Richie a heaping pile of shit for the suit. Richie knew that much. Even on Richie’s wedding day, Mikey couldn’t stop himself from teasing Richie about “wearing a shirt with buttons for the first time in his life.” It was untrue, and Richie smacked him at least six different times before they were due at the altar, but Richie was still so full of love knowing that Mikey was just a few steps behind him as he married Tiff.
It was Monday morning and Neil had just left his apartment and Richie was doing the dishes from the night before and he couldn’t stop thinking about Neil and Neil’s eyes and Neil’s suit. His stupid, brown, impossibly sharp suit that he was certain Big Neil had paid to get tailored. Richie thought that if Neil had never set foot into The Bear while wearing that suit, none of this would have happened. None of the kissing, none of the secret dates, none of the fucking, none of the cigarette sharing. Sure, yes, they started doing most of that before the suit, but Richie was certain he could have put a stop to it if it weren’t for the fucking suit.
“Fuckin’ psychopath,” Richie muttered, amused, as he washed the glass that Fak had poured chocolate milk into for himself the night before. It was the chocolate milk that Richie kept around specifically for Eva, but Neil apparently “ just had to have some .”
“That’s for my kid, numbnuts.”
“So? Just tell her you drank some.”
“She knows I don’t touch that shit.”
“It’s on the top shelf of the fridge, Rich. She’s, what, two feet tall? She won’t even notice that it’s gone!”
“Okay, it’s actually a little concerning that you have no idea how tall a six year-old is.”
“I was there when she was born. I know everything about her.”
“You were not ‘there when she was born,’ you fuckin’ freak.”
“I was in the waiting room!”
It wasn’t fair to Fak. None of this was fair to Fak. Richie knew that much, too. Fak wasn’t the closeted one, or whatever the fuck Richie was. Fak wasn’t the one who wasn’t ready to be something public, something official. He let Richie know very early on that he was game for whatever, and, unfortunately, that only made Richie’s feelings - yuck - for him stronger. This wasn’t fair, but the last few years of both of their lives hadn’t been all that fair in general. So Richie clung onto the hope that Neil had enough patience for the both of them.
Neil probably could have done better. Maybe. Richie actually wasn’t sure about that one. He never really met any of Fak’s partners, save for Lindsey Gallo “from two blocks over,” who Fak swore he was going to marry at some point in his mid-twenties. They lasted three months. Richie didn’t even know how many people Neil had dated since then. Not that Richie and Neil were dating.
They made sense, though. Richie scrubbed and rinsed the plates they had eaten Chinese takeout off of the previous night and set them in the drying rack and figured he and Neil Geoff Fak actually kind of made a tiny little smidgen of sense together. If he squinted. Two Polish motherfuckers in a sea of Italians that they - well, Richie - desperately tried to turn into family. Richie even admitted one night, after several beers and even more cigarettes, that maybe, occasionally his roughhousing with Neil was for the sake of something more than just impish amusement.
“Neener neener neener, you wanna touch my weiner!”
“I’m not telling you anything ever again, Neil Geoff. Ever.”
Richie knew he shouldn’t feel that way about Neil. It was wrong. He felt sick about it for the longest time. There was something deeply, deeply wrong with him. Who the fuck gets a crush on someone who’s practically family? Annoying, insufferable, prickish family, but family nonetheless. He had been to the Faks’ for Thanksgiving dinner. He had helped set up Easter egg hunts for the little Faklings.
He laid awake one night as Neil slept soundly next to him. They got to spend the night with each other once or twice a week, whenever Richie wasn’t pissed beyond belief after service. And sometimes when he was. Richie wasn’t entirely sure whether the sex was better when he was agitated, but it was certainly louder. They often joked that the only people who knew that Richie slept with men were Mikey, Neil, and the old lady next door.
Richie laid awake and felt his stomach tense as he thought about how long he’d known Neil, how long he’d been cousin . The Faks were family. Well, Ted and Sammy felt more like friends from summer camp than family. Francie was more of a sworn enemy ever since that one time with that one thing that Nat banned him from talking about. Their dad was certainly more of a father figure to Richie than Mr. Berzatto, but not by much. Neil, though - Neil had always been family family. Despite the arguments, despite the hazing, despite the literal tackling and multiple busted lips, Neil was family. Neil was a groomsman in his wedding, Neil drank with him after his divorce, Neil grinned and batted his eyelashes and baited him into arguments over nothing.
Neil snored next to Richie and Richie turned to look at Neil’s disheveled hair and drooling mouth. He looked down at his own hand atop the comforter, at the fading tan line from where he once wore his wedding ring. Neil had held that same hand as he drove them home - well, not home . To Richie’s subsidized apartment , as usual. Two beds, two baths, a small backyard filled with Eva’s summer toys and a busted charcoal grill. It could be home , Richie supposed, if Neil wanted.
But Richie was alone. Tiff was getting married in a matter of months and Eva barely knew what to call Frank - perfect Frank . He didn’t even want to imagine the headache of explaining to his soon-to-be first grader why he was kissing Cousin Neil . Richie needed to be alone, at least to them. It wouldn’t be fair to Eva, to Tiff, if he did this to them right now. He couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him.
Neil stirred awake for seemingly no reason, and Richie had to fight off the instinct to close his eyes and pretend to be asleep as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Wassi snorin’?” Neil slurred, and Richie let himself smile in the darkness of their - his - bedroom.
“Always, Neil Geoff.”
“Sorry, baby.”
“It’s okay, hun.”
Neil turned over, taking most of the covers with him, and promptly fell back asleep. Richie shook his head and failed to wipe the smile off his face before he drifted off.
Richie didn’t quite understand why Natalie had to go and get all pregnant and have this kid. It totally fucked everything up. The timing was shit, he didn’t get to be there for her at the hospital, and Pete forced him to get some stupid vaccine that made his arm hurt for two days before he was allowed to see the baby.
He knocked on their door with a wrapped gift under his arm just after lunchtime on Sunday, the one day of the week that The Bear wasn’t open. There was a card hastily secured to the top that included a drawing from Eva, who wasn’t allowed to visit quite yet, but Natalie FaceTimed her on Richie’s phone and promised that she and the baby would make an appearance at Eva’s 7th birthday party in a few weeks.
“Richie! So glad you could make it. Come on in, man! How’ve you been? How are things? How’ve you been? So cool that you stopped by,” Pete rambled, and Richie hesitated and blinked a few times before stepping inside. He remembered that level of sleep deprivation, worsened by Eva’s colic in her first few months.
“All good, man. Wish I coulda seen you guys sooner, but, y’know,” Richie shrugged and ignored the pile of shoes near the door. Natalie - and by proxy, Pete - knew Richie was a firm fuck you, I’m not taking my shoes off anywhere but my own house type of guy.
“Yeah, yeah! For sure. Pfft. Natalie was just, like, soooo over the hospital and all the people and the fanfare, you know?” Pete spoke as he guided Richie from the foyer to the den a few rooms over. “She just wanted some time alone with Cecilia. I don’t blame her. I mean, I can’t even imagine . It’s insane , and- and so beautiful , what the female body-”
“Alright, yeah, yeah, buddy, I know,” Richie cut him off before he was forced to picture any part of Natalie’s body that wasn’t her face.
“Neil and Ted are here, by the way. Didn’t know if you saw Ted’s new Mazda around the corner.”
“Oh, trust me, I did,” Richie replied sardonically. It was hard to miss the ugly, red sedan ever since Ted decided to go and put a fucking spoiler on it, even though he typically maxed out at 45 miles per hour because he was petrified by the highway.
“Yeah, we asked them to use their inside voices ,” Pete delivered in an exaggeratedly hushed tone as they approached the den. “Just - she’s got sensitive little ears, you know? And Nat’s still so tired.”
“I got one of my own, you know,” Richie teased and shook his head. “I’ve been there.” He clapped Pete on the shoulder with his free hand. “I’ll keep ‘em in line.” Pete mumbled something affirming before shuffling away toward the kitchen.
Richie entered the den and set the gift on a console table near the doorway. He turned toward the main seating area, where he saw a content Natalie seated on her postpartum pillow doing some online shopping on her laptop. Beyond the couch, Ted held baby Cecilia near the spacious window as Neil fussed over her impossibly tiny socks.
“Guys, I think that’s enough sun for her, you can bring her back over,” Natalie warned in her softest voice, but Richie heard the edge in it. The same sleeplessness that filled Pete’s mouth with empty words strained Natalie’s voice to an almost unfamiliar tone. She turned her head toward an approaching Richie. “Oh, hi, my love.”
“Hey, sunshine,” Richie greeted and stood awkwardly near the unlit fireplace. The A/C was positively cranked , but it undoubtedly contributed to the glow on Natalie’s face. He’d never seen her like this. She looked tired, she looked worn out, she looked uncomfortable, but she was beautiful . Richie took a second to get acquainted with the New Sugar, then looked back at the gift. “I don’t know why I wrapped that. She doesn’t know what presents are and you have extra garbage now.”
“Our entire trash bin is filled with diapers. It’ll be nice to throw something away that doesn’t smell like literal shit,” Natalie smiled, and it almost reached her eyes.
“Hey, Richie!” Neil whisper-yelled from ten feet away.
“Richie! Look! I’m holdin’ a baby!” Ted whisper-yelled, tilting Cecilia toward him.
“Hey, yeah, I see that, buddy.” Richie sat on the couch next to Sugar and put his hand on her knee, which she covered with her own and squeezed.
“It’s my turn to hold her, Ted,” Neil informed his brother. “Your ten minutes are up.” Ted furrowed his brows and looked down at the serene bundle in his arms. He sighed, then nodded in agreement.
“Alright. I gotta go piss anyway.”
“Language!”
“She’s, like, two weeks old, Neil!”
“Hi, hi, hi, my angels,” Natalie gently called over to them, arm outstretched and fingers threatening to snap. “Inside voices, okay? Remember the rules?” Richie watched on in amusement, almost certain that the ‘inside voices’ rule was more for Nat’s sake than the baby’s.
“Yes, sorry,” they grumbled in unison.
“‘Kay. Thank you, boys.”
Richie watched as Ted handed the baby over to Neil in a manner as comical as it was sweet, whispering instructions to one another as if they were diffusing a bomb. Nat focused back on Richie and briefly looked past him at the box covered in obnoxious, pink unicorn wrapping paper.
“What’d you get us? I’ll have Pete open it later,” she inquired with a sly, lopsided grin. Richie let himself gaze at Neil for half a second longer as he re-situated the baby in his arms, her head supported in the crook of his elbow, before giving Nat his attention again.
“Diapers and burp cloths,” Richie shrugged, and nodded at Nat’s relieved expression.
“Thank god. If I get one more dancing, singing, stupid, light-flashing stuffed animal I may actually kill someone. She can’t see more than a-”
“Foot in front of her face,” Richie finished her sentence, and Nat gestured at him as if to say “Thank you!” “That’s fuckin’ bullshit. Do people know anything about babies? Are people fuckin’ stupid?”
“Probably.”
“Yeah, probably. Oh, and there’s an outfit that Eva picked out for her in there, too,” Richie mentioned as Neil walked closer to them, taking slow, cautious steps as if Cecilia was at any risk of tumbling out of his arms.
“That’s so sweet,” Nat smiled graciously, “Thank you, Richie.” He waved her off, and she squeezed his hand again before focusing back on her laptop. Richie could see she was perusing a jewelry website, and he blanched and looked away when he saw the price on a single pair of earrings.
“Richie!” Fak whispered, chock full of enthusiasm like he somehow always was. Richie looked up and swallowed around the immediate lump in his throat at the sight of Neil carrying the little baby in her little green blanket with her little white socks and little yellow onesie and little blue and pink striped hat that was clearly from the hospital. Fucking bullshit.
Richie forgot how tiny newborns were, and Cecilia looked especially small against the backdrop of Neil’s broad torso and shoulders. She was even smaller than Eva, and he remembered how completely terrified he was of breaking Eva every time he held her the first few weeks. Neil seemed to be a natural, though. Of course he was. Neil was at least decent at nearly everything he tried. Not pouring broth, but most everything else.
“Come here, come look.”
Neil flicked his head up over and over again until Richie slowly rose from the couch. Despite the blast of the air conditioning, Richie felt hot and clammy and nervous. He always hoped that it’d be Mikey’s baby he’d meet first, but Sugar’s daughter nestling comfortably against Fak’s soft chest and arms already had Richie worked up in a way that he hoped no one noticed.
Cecilia wiggled slightly, grunted, cooed, and threatened to open her eyes as Richie approached. Fak remained motionless, his eyes wide as he assessed the situation and made sure this baby wasn’t about to roll out of his grasp like a can of Chef Boyardee. Richie lifted a finger to Cecilia’s hand and smiled as she reflexively grasped it. Neil’s jaw dropped but he didn’t dare make a sound. Richie met Neil’s eyes for a second, dropped his gaze to Neil’s lips, back up to his eyes, then returned to intently studying the baby.
“She’s got your brother’s schnoz,” Richie told Natalie over his shoulder. She squinted and fake-laughed for half a second.
“That’s Pete’s nose, sweetheart. She’s allllll him.”
“Nah, my money’s on the Berzatto genes,” Richie rebutted. He leaned a little closer to whisper to the baby. “You’re gonna be a perfect Italian girl, huh? And no one’s eeeever gonna make you work in a restaurant.” Sugar hummed a laugh.
“Cecilia was a name that Mikey always said he liked.”
“Yeah, I remember him saying that a few times.”
Richie wiggled his finger in Cecilia’s grasp, and Neil gasped as she cracked open her eyes and blinked slowly.
“Is she about to start crying? I don’t…know if I can handle it if she starts crying right here. My ears are- they’re very sensitive. Y’know, to certain pitches,” Neil explained, unprompted. Cecilia grunted and kicked one of her socked feet.
“Really? ‘Cause you whine like a baby all the time,” Richie teased. Neil pouted, sticking out his bottom lip as far as he could, and it was really unfair that Richie couldn’t do anything about it.
“She’s probably about to poop. It’s fine,” Sugar told them, and Cecilia suddenly opened her eyes all the way as if her mom spoke directly to her soul.
“Oh. Oh, god,” Neil began to panic. “I’ve never been pooped on. Please don’t let me get pooped on. Oh, my god, am I gonna have to change her diaper?!”
“C’mere, I got her. Uncle Richie’s got you, huh, Cecilia?” Richie cooed at the baby and effortlessly took her from Neil’s arms, one hand supporting her neck and the other cupping her bottom. He held her in front of him so he could get a proper look at her. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Neil took a few steps and collapsed on the couch like he had just finished a marathon, clearly not yet ready for unassisted babysitting duties. Cecilia squinted her eyes and wiggled some more, opened her mouth and gummed away on absolutely nothing.
“You’re lookin’ at the blowout king of Chicago, baby girl,” Richie whispered and nodded at the newborn. “Never met a diaper I couldn’t change.” Richie situated her sideways once more so she was parallel to his body while he held her with one arm. He took his phone out of his pocket with his free hand and snapped a selfie before pocketing it once more and just looking at the little miracle in his arm.
“We could have used you yesterday, then,” Nat commented monotonously, but Richie could tell she felt some type of ease not having to tend to the baby constantly with a few extra hands around. “She ruined three outfits. We just threw them away. We didn’t want to put our washing machine through that.”
“Yeah? That right?” Richie asked Cecilia, and Neil giggled from the sofa as he watched Cecilia continue to kick her feet. Richie gave her his finger to grab once more. “Atta girl.” He focused his attention on Nat again. “I wanted to come over sooner, but Pete kept buggin’ me about that fuckin’... PFLAG shot or whatever.” Natalie nearly choked on her water and raised the back of her hand to her mouth as she regained composure.
“PFLAG? Like… Like, the gay rights group, honey?” Nat asked in that overly saccharine voice that lent itself to her nickname. Richie’s face went blank before he went on the defensive.
“What? What the fuck? No, of course not! Just- whatever the fuckin’ stupid shot was!”
“Inside voices!” Ted reminded him as he re-entered the room. “What are we talking about?”
“Richie was just telling us that he got a PFLAG vaccine,” Nat caught him up to speed.
“Huh? A what?”
“That’s not-”
“Richie, have you been enjoying some new extracurriculars?” Natalie teased, head tilted. Ted laughed despite clearly having no idea what was going on. Neil stared straight ahead at the fireplace, unblinking. Richie regretted ever typing “gay” into Wikipedia.
“Go to hell, Sugar.”
“Love you too, Richie.” Nat made a kissy face at him, then the room fell into a lull with only baby Cecilia making any noise at all. Neil couldn’t take his eyes off of Richie’s face as Richie stared at Cecilia’s tiny fingers still wrapped around his index finger.
“...I’m gonna be honest with you, even if it is awful and fucking terrible for you, I’d still like you to come.”
Tiff got in the habit of forwarding the RSVP link to him every morning at 8am. He opened the email every day, considered it, and swiped out of his email app, leaving the message open but unanswered in his inbox. He did click on the link exactly once, and had to fight the urge to retch at the fancy lettering on the website asking him for his name and whether or not he’d make it to the wedding. Richie knew he could get the night off. Talking about Tiff made Carmy so uncomfortable that he’d agree to nearly anything.
It wasn’t the wedding itself that made Richie hesitate. Not anymore. It wasn’t even Frank at this point. It was the fact that Richie would show up alone to the event celebrating two people who were decidedly not , and everyone was expecting Richie to show up alone if he showed up at all, and then Tiff would be right and Richie would have to nod and smile and affirm, “Yep, still single,” for god knows how many hours. And Eva would be there, of course, which was always an incredible thing, but Eva would see him alone. And her mom would be right. And Eva would be right. And they would all be right about him.
He was sick and fucking tired of being “Richie Bad News.” Half of Tiff’s friends saw him as nothing but a deadbeat. If he showed up to the wedding, he’d have to watch them snicker behind his back all night. If he didn’t show up, he knew exactly what they’d be saying about his absence. Richie had cleaned up his act - stopped selling drugs in the alley, stopped smoking around Eva, started wearing suits to work. None of them gave a fuck.
Richie watched from the bed as Neil brushed his teeth in the en suite bathroom in nothing but his boxer briefs. His gaze wandered. He liked Neil’s thighs. He liked most everything about Neil. Neil spat into the sink and bared his teeth at himself in the mirror.
“Hey, come here,” Richie told him, propped up on his elbows, and Neil looked over at him before speed-rinsing his mouth. Fak tossed his toothbrush back in the ceramic cup near the sink that also held Richie’s, then padded out to the bedroom. Richie shook his head and smiled at his phone. Tiff emailed him the RSVP link at her usual time, but this time, she included an attachment.
“What’s up?” Neil asked with one knee on the bed. Richie beckoned him closer, and Neil flopped into a lying position next to Richie.
“Tiff’s using bribery to get me to come to this fuckin’ wedding now,” Richie grinned and showed Neil the picture Tiff had sent of Eva in her flower girl dress. Fak took the phone out of Richie’s hand and fawned over the picture. He pointed to her shoes.
“She gonna wear those slippers at the wedding?”
“Those are pretty cool, right?” Richie asked smugly as they both examined the bright green frog slippers Eva apparently insisted on wearing in the picture.
“They’re fuckin’ badass.”
“Yeah. Guess who got ‘em for her.”
“Dude, fuckin’- good for you, man,” Neil congratulated him, and Richie blushed for some reason. “She’s adorable.”
“She is, huh?” Richie mused as he took his phone back. “She started, um, doing this thing. Like, I’ll just be talkin’ to her, and she’ll go ‘ yeeeaahhh .’”
“ Yeeeaaaahhhhh ,” Fak mimicked, voice pitched high, with a toothy grin.
“ Yeeeaaaahhhhh ,” Richie repeated and sank lower on the bed so he was lying face to face with Neil again. “Christ. Kid spends way too much time around you.” Neil hummed and reached over to stroke Richie’s forearm.
“I dunno,” Neil shrugged, “I think she should spend more time around me. I have a lot to teach.”
“Yeah?”
“ Yeeeaaaahhhhh .”
“Alright, alright. Jesus.” Richie rolled his eyes, but gave in when Neil pulled him in to kiss him. They made out like that for a while, with Richie sliding closer and closer to Neil until he was halfway on top of him, one leg slotted between Neil’s.
“So you’re really not gonna go to the wedding?” Neil inquired a few minutes later as Richie’s kisses got more off-center and distracted. “I know you don’t wear your ring anymore. I thought that was, like, you being over it.”
“I am over it,” Richie immediately responded. He ground his teeth as he clocked the caution in Fak’s eyes. There were stakes for him, too. This wasn’t just about Richie, but Richie had been in fight or flight mode for so long after the divorce that he started to forget what it meant to have someone care for him the way Neil did - the way Neil chose to, even when Richie was positively certain he didn’t deserve it. “It’s not about me being over it or not. It’s about me showing up to my ex-wife’s wedding like some fuckin’ stronzo .”
“I dunno, it seems like she really wants you there,” Neil shrugged, and did his best to hide his frustration when Richie completely recoiled.
“Alright, how ‘bout you go instead of me, then, since you know what she wants.”
“Richie.”
“Nah, it’s honestly none of your fuckin’ business, Neil Geoff. You have no idea what it feels like to be the fuckin’ deadbeat baby daddy in someone else’s life.”
“Okay, I hear your point, and-”
“Oh, great, you hear my point . Thank you, Mother Teresa.”
“Yeah, I do, I do hear your point!”
“Fuck off.”
“I will not fuck off!”
“No? Not gonna fuck off?” Richie stoked the flames even more.
“No, actually, I checked my schedule, and funnily enough-”
“My god, ‘ funnily enough ,’” Richie mocked, but his hand wandered and rubbed at Neil’s bare side and belly.
“Funnily enough, I’ve got no time to fuck off today!”
“Can’t pencil it in?”
“No, I cannot pencil you in, Richard Lawrence,” Neil stated definitively. Richie made eye contact and blinked twice.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I need to go to the wedding.”
“You need to go to the wedding,” Fak affirmed. Richie sighed and laid his head on Neil’s chest. He closed his eyes and contemplated falling asleep just to get out of this conversation. Neil’s fingernails against his scalp made his chest hurt, though. There was no possible way Richie deserved to be touched like this, held like this.
“Tiff thinks I’m lonely,” Richie admitted. Neil frowned and looked up at the ceiling.
“What?” Fak asked, and Richie momentarily clung to the slight rasp in Neil’s soft voice. He nodded against Fak’s chest, and he both heard and felt Fak swallow. “I mean… Are you?”
“Hm?”
“Lonely? Are you lonely? Do you think?”
Richie smiled, then, always a fan of the way Neil’s voice got higher the longer he spoke. He absentmindedly nuzzled his beard against the hair on Neil’s chest.
“No. I don’t know. No?” Richie rambled, “Not when I’m- no…No, I’m not.”
“Okay, so? There you go, right? Who gives a fuck what Tiff thinks? Not that she’s not in my top 8 people on Earth right now, but- fuck it, right?”
“Yeah. Who else is in your top 8? What is this, MySpace?”
“Fuck, I’m thinking in MySpace terms again.”
“Dammit, Neil Geoff.”
“I know! I know…”
“We told you to knock that shit off.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he apologized with a wide grin on his face and rubbed his feet together under the covers bunched below his knees. He could argue in bed with Richie all day. “Do you still want to hear the rest of the top 8?”
“Of course I still want to hear the rest.”
“Okay, number 7, Carmy Berzatto.”
“Jesus, he’s your boss.”
“I thought you were my boss?”
“I am not your boss, Jesus Christ, Neil.”
“Okay. Number 6, Oprah Winfrey. Number 5, all of my siblings and closest relatives.” Neil put his hand up with all five fingers spread out.
“What the fuck? No! That’s, like, sixty people!”
“It’s my list so it’s my rules!” Neil all but shrieked, then calmly put one finger down. “Number 4, little baby Cecilia.”
“Oh, of course. I love that fuckin’ baby already.”
“ Love that baby. Number 3, Eva Jerimovich.” Richie exhaled forcefully at that and shook his head.
“That’s a tough break. She’s gonna be crushed. That kid’s competitive as fuck.”
“Dude, I know. It’s actually a little scary. Good for her.” Neil cleared his throat before continuing. “Number 2, Richard Lawrence Jerimovich.” Richie rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, okay, you fuckin’ creep.” Neil laughed and Richie closed his eyes as his own body shook along with Neil’s. “Well who the fuck’s number one, then?”
“My third grade teacher, Mrs. Rafferty.”
“What?”
“On the last day of school, I told her she was number one forever and ever-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake , Neil!”
“And I don’t go back on my word, Richie!”
“You were, like, 9 years old!”
“I never go back on my word!”
“Whatever, you sentimental son of a bitch,” Richie griped and continued caressing Fak’s belly. “Hey, come to this wedding with me.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. Come with me. It doesn’t- it can’t be a whole thing. Not…not yet. But, yeah. I know Tiff would love to see you.” Richie wasn’t sure if that was the full truth, but out of all the Faks, Neil was always undoubtedly her favorite. “Eva would love to see you.” That was the full truth.
“You’re serious?”
“Fuckin’... yeah. I dunno. Why? Is that weird?”
“No! No, no-”
“You can tell me if that’s weird.”
Neil cupped Richie’s chin and tilted his head up so they could look at each other.
“Not weird. Hell fuckin’ yeah, I’ll go. I love weddings, are you kidding me?” Neil smiled at him, and Richie felt a warmth that he thought left his life for good a long time ago.
Richie leaned against the driver’s side door of his sedan, legs crossed at the ankles, and flicked his lighter near the cigarette in his mouth. He shielded the flame from the wind until the cigarette was lit. Neil came around to Richie’s side of the car, high-stepping to “preserve” the condition of his loafers. He pulled open one side of his suit coat and grabbed his own pack of smokes from the inner pocket. He popped one between his lips and started to reach for the lighter on the other side of his coat, but Richie gently hit him on the arm and held his lighter out.
Neil leaned in toward Richie, guided by his cig, and Richie sparked the lighter once more. His hand came up to cup the flame just as Neil’s did, Neil’s palm grazing and settling on the back of Richie’s hand, but neither retracted. Neil looked up through his eyelashes at Richie, who was staring intently at their hands with those impossibly blue eyes until Neil stood fully upright again with his now-lit cigarette.
“Thank you, Richard,” Neil nodded, all too formal but Richie wasn’t about to give him shit for it. At least Neil understood that he couldn’t call Richie any of the disgusting names he liked to use behind closed doors.
“‘Welcome, Neil Geoff.” They hung out across the street from Tiff and Frank’s house, almost certainly among the last to arrive but in no rush to head inside and face the cavalcade of old, annoying friends and new, shitty strangers.
“That’s not fair, I don’t have a long businessman name like you do.”
“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Richie, Rich, Richard,” Neil counted on his fingers, but dropped that hand when he couldn’t think of any more examples. “I don’t have that. It’s just Neil .”
“That’s why I call you Neil Geoff, like you’re in trouble.” Fak shook his head and pouted a little. “What, you want me to call you Cornelius?”
“Could you?”
“No!” Richie chuckled into another drag of his cigarette. “Motherfucker. Absolutely not. We’re going to a wedding , I don’t need you cosplaying as a British prime minister or whatever the fuck.” Neil smiled, something small and private, and blushed just the slightest bit. “What? What’s that face for?”
“We’re going to a wedding,” Neil repeated with the same smirk and raised his eyebrows at Richie.
“Yeah. Separately, though.”
“I mean, we’re going in together,” Neil shrugged, demeanor still coy. “Sitting together.”
“Yeah, but separately,” Richie reiterated, “As two single guys.”
“I know. I just thought, y’know… After what I did for you this morning…”
“Jesus fucking Christ, okay, goodbye, I’m going inside,” Richie responded suddenly, and Neil cackled as Richie threw his cigarette on the ground. Richie shook his head as he jaywalked across the street without checking for cars first, and, naturally, Neil followed shortly after.
“Richie!” Neil called from a few feet behind him as Richie approached the front door. Richie turned around in front of the steps with his hands out in front of him, palms upturned. “Sunglasses!” Neil pointed frantically at his jacket pocket, then promptly pulled a pair of shades out of it.
“Pfft,” Richie scoffed, “I’m not wearing my sunglasses inside, Neil Geoff.” He spun back around and knocked on the front door.
“It’s your funeral!”
Richie looked over his shoulder briefly and rolled his eyes upon seeing Neil with his sunglasses on and hands clasped in front of him. The door opened and it took Richie a few seconds to recognize the woman on the other side of the threshold as one of Tiff’s old friends.
“Oh, hey, Richie,” she greeted as she opened the door all the way. She looked over Richie’s shoulder and stood on her tiptoes. “Hey…Secret Service…?” Richie pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Hey, good to see you, Joslyn,” Richie mustered, “He’s with me, unfortunately.” The woman motioned for them to come inside.
“Neil Fak. I’m with him,” Neil repeated politely with a nod as he passed by the woman. He kept his sunglasses on as they walked through the foyer, down the hall, and into the open living room and kitchen space. There were a few people mingling in there, but Richie could see - through the windows in the dining area - that most everyone was out in the backyard.
“Ceremony’s supposed to start in, like, 15 minutes,” the woman informed them, “There’s some champagne out there and stuff, help yourself.” Richie nodded and made a beeline for the open back door.
“Hey, Jos, do you know if Eva’s-”
“DAD!!!” Eva shrieked outside and came running to meet him on the deck outside the door. Richie instinctively lunged low and scooped her up into his arms and spun around with her, beaming.
“Hi, zabka . You look so beautiful, sweetheart.” He set Eva down and they proceeded to give each other three high fives and a fist bump, a truncated version of the secret handshake they workshopped when Eva stayed over the previous weekend.
“Auntie DD is here. She gave me ten dollars.”
“Auntie DD is here and she gave you ten dollars?” Richie asked, keeping his tone pleasant despite his confusion. “Wow, that’s so nice, did you say thank you?” Eva nodded as she held onto Richie’s hand and swung it back and forth.
“Cousin Neil ?” Eva beamed up at the man in question once she finally noticed him standing next to them. She let go of Richie’s hand and launched herself at Fak, wrapping her arms around his belly and laughing against him.
“Eva Louise ?” Neil responded with the same inflection and hugged her back. “Hey, kid. You excited for your special day?” Eva took half a step back and looked at him incredulously.
“ Myyyy special day?”
“Well, yeah,” Neil shrugged, brows furrowed. He then spoke quietly as if to keep a secret away from prying ears. “Flower girl is, like, the most important job at a wedding.” Eva twirled with excitement and struck a pose.
After Eva got whisked away by someone Richie figured had to be Frank’s mother, they each grabbed a flute of champagne from a table on the deck, and made their way down a few steps to the grass yard. To Tiff’s credit, it did look like a small wedding. Richie figured there were maybe 30-something chairs in front of a wooden altar lightly decorated with orange flowers.
They said hi to Donna and each gave her a kiss on the cheek, and Richie introduced himself to a few of Frank’s friends that very clearly knew a lot about him despite never meeting him before. Fak tried not to act too attached at the hip to Richie, but he kept finding himself jumping into the same conversations with him until the ceremony started.
Richie sat in an aisle seat in the second to last row of chairs. Having Neil Geoff Fak by his side at his ex-wife’s wedding to her perfect fiance was not something Richie ever saw happening in a million years. As the two bridesmaids and two groomsmen walked down the makeshift aisle, Richie briefly thought of Mikey and had to contain his snort-laugh.
Richie managed to hold back his tears as Eva walked down the aisle, but just barely. She threw petals along the path and stopped briefly to directly hand Richie one singular petal, which pulled chuckles from the rest of the guests. Richie couldn’t help himself when it was Tiff’s turn to walk down the aisle, though. He managed to hold the tears in until Tiff made eye contact with him as she passed. Neil was quick to hold out his pocket square for Richie, who took it without question.
It was smaller than his and Tiff’s wedding. Nicer, though. Richie and Tiff got married in the church that Cicero went to, and despite neither of them having contact with their families, the pews were full of Berzattos and Faks and Kalinowskis and nearly all of Tiff’s coworkers. Mikey threatened people with disinvitation if they didn’t bring a plus-one. The afterparty at the Berzatto house lasted until seven in the morning.
Richie mostly tuned out during the ceremony, save for the 90 seconds he had to mouth words to Eva and make threats with his eyes to get her to stop making faces at him during Frank’s vows. Richie stood when it was time to stand, clapped when it was time to clap, and handed Fak his handkerchief back when he was finally done using it. Tiff and Frank went off to the side to take pictures with their wedding party and Eva. Richie and Neil followed the sound of a champagne cork.
Neil didn’t question him when Richie clung to the perimeter of the party, even though Neil had never not seen Richie eager to mingle at any social gathering. They talked politely and familiarly to a few of Frank’s relatives who came up to them first, but Richie was relieved when some of Tiff’s friends started moving chairs and setting up folding tables in the yard. Helping out other people was always his favorite distraction.
They set up the tables all in one long row, which Richie figured had to be some shit Tiff got off of Pinterest. Richie gawked when Tiff made him and - whether she liked it or not - Neil come sit toward the head of the table, next to Eva on Tiff’s side and across from Frank’s brothers on the other. Dinner was catered, because of course it was, and Richie ate slowly and bounced between conversations with Eva and Neil. Richie tried to pay more attention during the speeches and cake cutting and first dance but he found it difficult to get over the fact that this was so different from who he and Tiff were together.
It was nice. That was undeniable. There were lights on strings and pretty tablecloths covering the tables and a makeshift dance floor back toward the deck. Neil took Eva over to dance once the first Taylor Swift song of the night came on. Richie fought the urge to make his way out to the sidewalk for another cigarette. Instead, he sat, watched. Gave Donna another kiss on the cheek when she came by.
He winced as he watched Neil twirl Eva round and round during the slow ballad that came on a few songs into the playlist. After Eva refused to touch more than two bites of her dinner, they all were briefed that she snuck and ate three cupcakes before the ceremony and was probably a few sudden movements away from throwing up. She looked happy and relaxed with Fak, though - no signs of green on her face.
“Hey,” Tiff said as she came up behind Richie. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he jumped involuntarily, then cleared his throat to try to cover it somehow. Tiff sat down in the seat Eva had previously occupied, now wearing a shorter, more casual white dress than before.
“Oh, hey,” Richie turned away from the rest of the party to give his attention to Tiff. “Hey, sweetheart. You did it.”
“Yeah,” Tiff shrugged one shoulder. She looked at her left ring finger, smiling contently at the new addition in the form of a diamond-lined wedding band. “Thank you for coming.” Richie scoffed.
“Come on, you kidding?” Richie put aside his hangups, his unease, his hesitation. This wasn’t about him. “Missing you and Waldo tying the knot wasn’t even an option for me.” It was, and they both knew it, but weddings were about pleasantries and love and togetherness and Richie had no choice but to believe that Tiff wanted him here for a reason.
“ Waldo , god,” Tiff chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t know how I feel about the inevitable ‘Where’s Waldo?’ phase, but-”
“Fuck, I didn’t even think about that.” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah. Thanks, for that, Richie,” Tiff thanked him sarcastically, but there was only calm in her eyes. “It means a lot to me. Because you’re f-”
“Family, yeah, I know,” Richie finished for her with a nod. “You…You and Frank. You’ll always be…family.” He kept nodding, as if to set that notion in stone for the both of them. “Anything you need. I’ll always be here.” Tiff rested her hand atop Richie’s on the table, then rolled her eyes fondly.
“I mean, I can’t really get rid of you, can I?” she teased and nodded toward Eva across the yard. Richie scoffed another laugh.
“Not more than you already have. Y’know, legally,” he shrugged, showing off his bare ring finger, and they devolved into a fit of giggles. They didn’t work, Richie and Tiff, but Richie was still glad he got to have her in his life in some capacity. “Eh. Well, an ex-wife is always better than an estranged ex-wife, right?” Jimmy had asked him, unprompted, when Richie walked through the door at the first Berzatto Thanksgiving he attended without her.
“Hey, don’t take this as me complaining, because I promised myself I wouldn’t be a bridezilla, but…” Tiff started and looked past Richie again. She pursed her lips and Richie could see the gears turning in her head. “Why is Neil Fak at my wedding?” Richie raised his eyebrows and sighed to buy his brain a few seconds.
“The invite just said I could bring a plus-one,” Richie reasoned. Tiff still looked a little confused. “You really wanted me to show up to your wedding alone?”
“No, no, it’s not that,” she insisted. A disbelieving smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She put two fingers up to her lips in thought and shook her head. “It’s just, like… Like, was Carmy bu- don’t answer that.”
“Was Carmy busy? Oh, huh, I dunno, Tiff-”
“I said don’t answer that!” she laughed and swatted at his forearm.
“Nah, I’m off the apps now. Plus, I didn’t think it was exactly kosher to bring a random to your wedding,” Richie explained. “I totally could have found some strange, though.” Tiff drew her brows together and nodded seriously.
“Oh, I know. You work at Chicago’s hottest new restaurant. ” Richie threw his head back and cackled at that. “Of course you could have found ‘some strange. ’” Tiff’s gaze wandered to the dance floor again, and Richie twisted in his seat to see what she was looking at. “How is she still going? I swear she’s been dancing for thirty minutes straight.”
“It’s probably those cupcakes,” Richie sighed, “You know how she is with chocolate. She turns into a fuckin’ sugar demon.”
“I told Frank we needed to do vanilla, but he insisted,” Tiff spoke forlornly. “How many more songs ‘til she throws a fit then passes out?” Richie tilted his head side to side, weighing his odds.
“Eh, it’s hard to say. Neil’s pretty good at keeping a dance-off going.” They looked on as Neil did the cabbage patch for a few beats of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” then pointed at Eva who repeated the move before doing her best attempt at a pirouette. They went back and forth like that until another wedding guest came over and distracted Eva with more spinning for the rest of the song.
“Neil’s good,” Tiff agreed. Richie was slow to turn back around to her. Tiff eyed the reddish tint to his cheeks, his neck. “He’s really good with her.” She nodded at him until Richie nodded back in agreement. “She talks about him a lot.” That gave Richie pause, but Tiff gave him a small smile.
“He’s good, yeah,” Richie shrugged and messed with his cufflinks.
“He’s family.” Richie rubbed at his bottom lip with his thumb and raised his eyebrows at that, not meeting Tiff’s eyes. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Richie affirmed. He didn’t care to continue this conversation and whatever shape it was taking any further. “Come on. It’s your wedding, Grace Kelly. Let’s go dance.”
Richie put out his cigarette on the street, right near where he put out the one he smoked half of before the wedding. Neil slung his suit coat over his shoulder, his button-down slightly damp with sweat, and limped over to the other side of the car. Neil had managed to roll his ankle in the eight second window the whole night where Richie wasn’t looking at him, and Neil knew he’d never hear the end of it.
Neil sighed and immediately leaned his seat back halfway once he was in the car. Richie got in, closed his door, and loosened his tie. He looked over at Neil and smiled something lopsided and smug.
“You have a good time?” Richie asked. Neil grinned back and slipped his suspenders off of his shoulders. Richie tried not to stare. Neil’s smile widened when he saw Richie doing it anyway.
“Of course I did! Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah, it was alright,” Richie shrugged. “It was good. Y’know. Weddings. It’s- how good can a wedding be, right?”
“It was a great wedding, Richie,” Neil nodded at him encouragingly, then looked ahead out the windshield. “Now, if you’ll be a doll and just drive me to the nearest emergency r-”
“Oh, you’re fine , Neil Geoff,” Richie retorted and shook his head in exasperation. Neil grinned and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. He put his hand up in the space between them and Richie wordlessly threaded their fingers together.
It was quiet, with less than a handful of cars passing by as they sat in comfortable silence. Richie stroked his thumb across the back of Neil’s hand, then brought it up to his lips to press a kiss in the middle of one of his tattoos.
“Are you seducing me?” Fak teased. “Am I, like, the bridesmaid you’re taking home after the wedding that you’re never gonna call again?” He raised his eyebrows up and down.
“You think kissing your hand is seduction? How easy are you?”
“Uh, very easy. Duh. I thought you knew that.” Richie exhaled forcefully through his nose and shook his head. He let go of Fak’s hand and wiped his clammy palm on his own dress pants.
“Thanks for coming. Eva was… Shit, you saw her out there. That kid’s nuts about you,” Richie spoke while looking straight ahead, only occasionally glancing at Fak through his peripheral vision. Fak pulled the lever on the side of his seat and sat up a tiny bit more, but still not fully upright.
“And Tiff didn’t kick me out!”
“Yeah, Tiff didn’t kick you out,” Richie nodded. “I think she… I think she likes you. Y’know.” Fak pulled the lever and finally sat all the way up.
“Whoah… That’s a little fast. She just got married.” Richie slowly turned his head toward Neil and glared at him. Neil smiled sweetly in return.
“No, you fuck. She likes you for… I dunno,” Richie looked away again as he spoke. He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering with this. Anytime he tried to do this since the divorce, it just ended in embarrassment and resentment and heavy drinking. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to do this in the first place. Tiff was the one who asked him out, for fuck’s sake.
“You don’t know what?” Neil tried to coax something, anything out of Richie. He kept his voice light, his expression open and curious. Richie under the threat of vulnerability was as fragile as a butterfly cupped in Neil’s hands.
“I’m kind of an asshole,” Richie announced to the windshield, glancing sideways at Neil once just to gauge the temperature of his reaction. Neil merely nodded like Richie was reading him the next day’s weather forecast. “I don’t know how to regulate my emotions. Like, ever. At all. At any time. And I take it out on other people.”
“Yeah,” Neil agreed, and Richie’s face remained neutral as he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to laugh or scowl.
“I got divorced five years ago and just took my wedding ring off last month.”
“Mm-hm, that’s true.”
“I lie. I hide things. I hate being confronted about the fucked up shit I do or say.”
“Who doesn’t?”
Richie drew his brows together and looked directly at Neil, who was still listening calmly, intently.
“I don’t listen. I’m loud. Like, fully fuckin’ obnoxious.” Neil snorted. “Like, sometimes people clear a room when they see me walk in.”
“Oh, I know.”
“I fuck everything up. I’m Richie Bad News.” Neil didn’t respond to that, just tilted his head minutely and drummed his fingers on his thigh. “What the fuck’s your problem, you jagoff? None of that bothers you?”
“What? Richie, you bother the shit out of me. Like, every day. But that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
The response that Richie formulated in his head halfway through Fak’s sentence left the building the second he heard that word. His mouth went dry as his eyes got wet, but he frantically blinked away the tears. Neil had seen him cry before - many times, actually - but this was different. Somehow, someway, this was different than Neil holding him after Tiff served him divorce papers, different than Neil crying with him behind the restaurant after they found all the cash Mikey had left for them.
“L- what do you mean? Love?” Richie asked as he looked out of his window, pointedly facing away from Neil. He heard Neil’s shirt shift when he shrugged.
“I mean I love you,” Neil stated like it was the easiest thing in the world. It wasn’t fair. “Until you tell me to fuck off. Not like the regular way you tell me to fuck off every day. But, like, a for-real fuck off.”
Richie nodded slowly. It didn’t really matter what Neil meant by that word, Richie supposed. He wanted it. He wanted Neil’s love and whatever that entailed, though he had a feeling he’d already been on the receiving end for quite some time. He opened his mouth to return the sentiment, but something stopped him. Something physical, something mental, something instinctive that just wouldn’t let him. Not yet.
“Okay,” Richie finally replied. And that was good enough for Neil, whose beaming smile Richie could see even as he still avoided eye contact. He smiled to himself then glanced over to Neil. “I guess I have to take you on a date now or whatever, huh?”
“FUCK YEAH!” Neil screamed. “Oh, can we go now? Can we go do something now?”
“You want to go now ?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking, like, a lounge .”
“What the fuck do you mean a lounge ?”
“Something classy. We’re already all dressed up. We can get valet service. A little whiskey cocktail, a little jazz music. Some bad guys at a poker table in the middle of everything. And we can pretend to be spies, James Bond style. We can have code names. And maybe walkie-talkies.” Richie stared at Neil with a blank, almost regretful face.
“Or?” Richie prompted.
“Or we go get ice cream or something,” Neil grinned, and Richie rolled his eyes fondly at Neil’s persistence. Richie started his car’s ignition and tried to ignore the slight tremble in his hand, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
“It’s,” Richie checked the clock on his car’s dashboard, “Almost midnight on a Thursday. None of the good places are gonna be open.” Neil grabbed the suit coat from his lap and fished for something in the inner pockets. He produced his pair of sunglasses. Richie scoffed as he put them on.
“I know a spot.”
Richie’s creamsicle looked damn near radioactive under the glow of the neon sign illuminating the liquor store’s facade. Just as it did twenty years ago, the sign read “Cold Beers ,” so that was what they called it. The store had a name, surely. Richie figured that it must. But the “Cold Beers” sign was bigger than any other signage on the store, so that was what Mikey started calling it, and Richie and Fak followed suit. Cold Beers was around the corner from Mikey’s first apartment. The three of them bought a lot of Hot Pockets there. Richie and Mikey bought Fak a lot of beer there. Richie stole a lot of Twix bars from there.
Richie stood with one hand in his pocket and had loosened his tie so that it hung lazily around his neck. Fak leaned against the car with his suspenders up and sunglasses on. They ate their ice cream in relative silence, Richie biting into his creamsicle and Fak slowly licking the vanilla ice cream from his drumstick after eating the chocolate coating.
“You eat that shit too slowly,” Richie noted. “It’s gonna melt all over the place.”
“Um, I savor it, actually. And if it melts, that’s my problem.”
“I don’t want you to get back in my car covered in ice cream, Neil Geoff.” Neil hummed at that.
“Better get me a napkin, then. I’m savorin’, baby.”
Richie took the last bite of his creamsicle and tossed the wooden stick on the ground. He would pick it up before they left. Probably. He’d seen worse left on the ground at this place over the years.
He took a step closer to Neil, grabbed both sides of his face in sure, steady hands, and kissed him in the middle of the warm glow surrounding the liquor store. Neil kissed back and balled the bottom of Richie’s suit jacket in his unoccupied fist. Richie had never kissed him in public before. Neil slipped his vanilla-coated tongue into Richie’s welcoming mouth, and grinned when he tasted the tangy orange of Richie’s creamsicle.
Ice cream melted in Neil’s cone, overflowed, and began trickling down his fingers. Neil tried to hum a warning, but Richie ignored him in favor of stroking his cheekbones and kissing the sticky corners of his mouth.