It feels good to yell — over the top of Richie, in fact, "You don't fucking know what's up with me, you always fucking do this, you get these ideas of what I'm supposed to — what's good for me." Like being told to eat his vegetables. He doesn't fucking want to. He's been hung up on Richie just as long as Claire.

Richie de-escalates, though, soft and sad, and Carmy runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Has to walk in a stompy little circle, all his lake-chill gone. "God!" he expresses, jams a pointed finger into Richie's chest. "Asshole! No, shut the fuck up, you are. Shut the fuck up." Pulls him roughly down into a kiss, to stop Richie from continuing to say stupid shit when Carmy is trying to tell him something. He doesn't care if people notice. Bites Richie's lower lip. Pulls back to keep scowling up at him, one hand in a fist pressed up against his sternum. He taps his knuckles there. "Don't you want it to be both of us?"