whoa, baby! | reddie

- one

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❝ this is no longer a vacation. it's a quest.
it's a quest for fun. ❞

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"Ah, shit!"

Richie slammed his head against the counter in front of him, phone clattering onto the surface beside him.

"Jesus! If you're not gonna sit still, this is never gonna get done," an attitude-filled voice huffed.

"Let me sulk!" Richie complained, pounding a fist weakly against the table. He lifted his head and looked in the mirror, mouth set in a deep scowl. Sylvia, the makeup artist, raised her eyebrows, glowering back at him.

"I would let you sulk, but you're on in five minutes, and now you've got a fat welt on your forehead!" She snapped, smearing a bit more of whatever creams and powders she held in her drawers all over his forehead. "What's got you so pissed, anyways?"

"It's my anniversary in three days," he grumbled. "We've been married a year. I still haven't gotten a present, and they just booked me in a bonus show tomorrow. I wanted to be home a few days before so I could set something up— but now I'm not going to get home until the day before."

"Just tell them you can't make it," she suggested, combing his hair with her fingers and studying him in the mirror with what Richie called her 'Focus Face'. Despite her attitude, she was his favorite artist to work with— she covered almost all of his L.A. shows.

"It's already sold out," he groaned, exasperated. "They decided to wait to tell me until after the tickets were gone. Can you believe them?"

"Management." She rolled her eyes. "I'd just stand them all up. Your girl is worth more than your career."

Richie laughed sharply, picking up his phone. It lit up with a notification, and his heart fluttered a little bit in his chest.

Will u b home for dinner? -e

He smiled fondly, typing out a quick confirmation and then holding the device to his chest— he felt like a giddy teenage girl.

"I don't have a girl," he sighed contentedly. "But my man, on the other hand— he's definitely something."

Sylvia suddenly paused her movements, smile growing. She met his eyes in the mirror, and grasped his shoulder, squeezing it gently. There was a knock on the door, and he glanced back as the stage manager poked his head in, waving him out.

"Rich, you ready? We're walking thirty seconds ago. You're on in one minute."

Sylvia stepped back, folding her arms over her chest, and smirked. Richie got to his feet and cast one last hopeless look at her as he stood in the doorway. She winked.

"Go get 'em, tiger."

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Richie didn't end up making it home in time for dinner, contrary to what he had told his scary husband.

The press had been rough after the show that night, and he was late getting out. He felt guilty— and his stomach felt hungry. He walked through the door of his shared home. The lights were off in the entrance hall, but as he shrugged off his jacket, hung it up, and entered the kitchen, his eyes adjusted— and the lights flicked on.