[What he ought to have done was talk to someone first. The idea had been entertained, but even so, he doesn't feel like intruding. No matter how many keys or open invitations he's given or how many he takes up, he knows they made something of a makeshift family. And he can visit all he likes, but he doesn't want to squeeze in on that bubble when it's looking stretched too thin. If they needed to grieve, they could have the time they needed. They were the ones living with her, for shit's sake. He just scooped her off and took her to parts unknown, citing the adage of Three's-a-Crowd and basking in the bliss of her company only when he could have it all to himself.
Really, her time with him and her time with the household were severed by a wall as big as Berlin's. So yes, he opts to keep to himself in his grief and save it for making shit jokes at sleeping bodies. Besides, it's not only Sandy he's lost, and he doesn't want to lay it on so thick when he's put a big enough strain on them all in the first place. What with dying a few months ago. Too much of that shit will wear out anyone's welcome. Nobody loves a drag.
But Boxer, for all his sturdiness, doesn't look half as hot as usual either. Richie goes very quiet for a moment. Not with shame, not quite. There's a thankfulness that doesn't sit comfortably with the traditional meaning of the word. Don't overthink it, you old palooka, just be grateful you still have company.
The chiding does give him pause. They hadn't said anything, didn't expect much of each other except for the relief of letting go, abandoning solitude for the brief times they had together, but that hardly meant they were perfectly discreet. He wouldn't have been shocked if someone cracked a joke about it behind their backs, but that's different than speaking of it plain.]
I'm not. I'm hoping she'll get pissed enough listening to it that she'll pop back out to bounce my skull off the pavement a few times. Unless you've got a better plan?
What a brave soul, stepping up to such daunting tasks
Really, her time with him and her time with the household were severed by a wall as big as Berlin's. So yes, he opts to keep to himself in his grief and save it for making shit jokes at sleeping bodies. Besides, it's not only Sandy he's lost, and he doesn't want to lay it on so thick when he's put a big enough strain on them all in the first place. What with dying a few months ago. Too much of that shit will wear out anyone's welcome. Nobody loves a drag.
But Boxer, for all his sturdiness, doesn't look half as hot as usual either. Richie goes very quiet for a moment. Not with shame, not quite. There's a thankfulness that doesn't sit comfortably with the traditional meaning of the word. Don't overthink it, you old palooka, just be grateful you still have company.
The chiding does give him pause. They hadn't said anything, didn't expect much of each other except for the relief of letting go, abandoning solitude for the brief times they had together, but that hardly meant they were perfectly discreet. He wouldn't have been shocked if someone cracked a joke about it behind their backs, but that's different than speaking of it plain.]
I'm not. I'm hoping she'll get pissed enough listening to it that she'll pop back out to bounce my skull off the pavement a few times. Unless you've got a better plan?