There's a strong temptation to finish the plate on the way past, echoes of Donna and Richie's own mom ringing in his ears, but those big baby blues have a magnetic pull of their own, not to mention the heavy swing of Carmy's dick in his sweatpants, so Richie thinks fuck it and corners the table so fast he hits it with his leg and rattles the crockery. He doesn't notice; he's ensorcelled, pulled in.

Getting his shoes and pants off between kitchen and bedroom is its own puzzle, but he manages it, hopping on one leg to try and pull his jeans down and his sock off at the same time, without looking away from Carmen. He feels like a kid on a first date, but somewhere in there the nervousness has melted away, and he's all confidence by the time he straightens up in the doorway, naked, and takes two long steps to captue Carmy's face between his hands so he can kiss him again, long and hard and hungry, just like he wants to fuck him.

"You got me," he says, pulling back to look into Carmy's eyes. Rubs his hand over his cheek a bit, tangles his fingers in his hair like he wants to shake him. "You got me, I'm not going anywhere."

Because maybe they both need to hear that right now. Because there are a lot of ghosts, and because he wants nothing more than to make those words mean something.

He bends to kiss Carmy again, hands on his face, his shoulders, trying to keep him together.