Reddie AU but Richie (30) owns a dingy little record store full of old treasures. The store is a repurposed Victorian era house, split into 3 levels. At the top level above his store, we have his attic apartment.

Richie’s filled his home with his personal collection of records, tapes and CDs. The walls are covered head to toe with vintage band merch and cult movie posters. His floors are original wood, protected by mismatching area rugs, and fairy lights hang from the pointed ceiling.

Exposed radiators painted red hug the walls. It smells like patchouli and pot. The overhead lights don’t shine very brightly, but there are windows that let natural light that brighten the space, and a beautiful little wooden balcony he sits on for a beer after work.

The storefront is a little tidier than his well loved apartment, though it still has that loveable dingy feel. There’s a deep red carpet that tears up just a little at the entrance where the big wooden door slides across it.

Everywhere you look there are tables with wooden crates to hold records, (mostly) in alphabetical order. The walls are lined with milk crates filled with CDs and tapes. At the front desk Richie usually sits with a book and a shitty coffee from the local Dunks up the street.

The last level is the rec room, accessed by a creeky set of wooden stairs with chipped white paint. At one point Richie cuts up an old rug and staples the squares to each step, but all the steps are bare now but one.

Usage of the basement/rec room is split between extra store storage (milk crates upon milk crates upon milk crates) and a modest recording space. A tattered paisley carpet across the cement floor has space enough for a keyboard, a drum kit, and two guitar stands.

Richie built a wooden rack on the wall for a range of guitars. Beneath his a work bench where he fixes, restrings, and workshops guitars in general.

More fairy lights hang from the ceiling and there’s a tattered love seat and couch that don’t match. There’s a mini fridge that’s always stocked with beer, and a few tie dye pattered bean bag chairs.

Richie isn’t rich, but he’s doing ok for himself. He owns the house but he has a mortgage, and running a record store only brings in so much extra income. Foam pool noodles are strung up against every wall for noise insulation, a variety of mismatched and faded pinks and blues.

Maybe someday Richie will invest in professional noise insulation, but him and his best friends Stan, Pat and Beverly just like to jam on the weekends. It’s perfectly modest and very /them/.

One morning Bev visits Richie at work. There’s a Japan album playing in the shop and Richie’s reading The Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy.

She brings him a coffee, but it’s not his regular dunks. She says it’s from the cute new bakery and cafe across the street.

The coffee is...incredible. It’s a cappuccino, and it’s rich and warm and smooth and perfect, nothing like the lukewarm coffee he’d been nursing before.

Thank goodness there’s something so close by now. Bev insists they go together when Richie closes up shop for lunch.

Richie will realise soon enough that Beverly had ulterior motives.

This cafe really is directly across the street from Richie's shop. It's also a repurposed house, probably built in the 70's. The storefront had been empty for a while, but Richie recognises the car in the driveway which has parked here for a few years.

The house that once looked unassuming is kind of sickeningly charming. It's panelled with a pretty pale blue, and the door is painted a cheerful yellow. The front porch is wide and open, and there are a few little wicker table and chair sets.

The garden out front which was once quite barren has been filled marigolds and pink peonies. Sprouts of lavender fill little planter boxes that hug the bright large windows that reveal a glimpse at the bakery inside.

There's a single sunflower in the garden, protected by a little wire fence. It towers over the rest of the garden proudly, facing the sun.

The stairs that lead up to the entrance are wooden, and freshly painted white, alongside a newly installed accessibility ramp. beside the staircase is a window that leads to the basement unit with a little sign. "Haystack Tats-coming soon".

Looks like a tattoo parlour is moving in soon too. Maybe this will finally generate more traffic in the neighbourhood. Richie can't complain too much, he has a decent amount of traffic in the shop, but he'd like to see some new faces every once in a while.

Richie nudges Beverly as they approach the steps, and points to the basement window.

“Wanna get matching tats? I’ll get a heart with your name on it on my ass.”

“Do I have to get your name on mine?”

“Obviously not, you’d be getting your name, too.”

Bev laughs and tugs on the sleeve of Richie’s ‘Primus’ sweater and gently tugs him along while she pushes through the front door.

“Coffee now, hurry up fucko”

The first thing Richie notices is the smell. A divine mixture of of rich dark chocolate freshly ground coffee swirls through the air. Bev takes a deep breath in and smiles, her eyes crinkling up, then sighs.

“Isn’t it sweet as hell in here?”

The room is brightly lit with sunlight that pours in through the large front windows. Fancy little lightbulbs hang by golden wires from the ceiling to provide a dull, warm glow.

The walls are painted off-white, the bottom half covered with vertical wooden paneling in a deep oak colour. The floors are tiled with a pale pink, and little wooden tables for two line the wall across from the front counter, which sits currently unattended.

There’s a window display that continues as a portion of the front counter and drink bar. It stretches across the entirely of the front wall, and it’s filled with beautiful confectionaries, from lemon tarts to cannolis.

There’s another display along the wall that lies perpendicular, that one mostly filled with breads and buns of many different varieties.

A few photos are blown up and framed on the wall. One is a very close up shot of the embers of a pinkish flame. Another, a vintage 50’s car in robin’s egg blue.

Richie’s favourite is of a bright yellow sunflower whose neck drops significantly clinging on to life.

Behind the counter Richie notices an espresso machine and steamer, an ornate looking rack filled with espresso mugs, several kinds of sugary pump syrups, and an old timey cash register which looks heavy enough to do substantial damage to any target.

It’s a cosy space, precise and clean but modest and homey all the same It truly unites the modern and the antique.

(Since I deleted it before to make an edit-this is some beautiful art Kat did for me the other day for my birthday.) https://twitter.com/moonbafoon/status/1238870211866091521

(This thread is just a self indulgent little thing that might turn into a real fic some day, but mostly for now it’s mostly just. Mini world building exercise? I appreciate you listening in on my day dreaming)

“Awww shit. You were right Bev, this is fucking charming. I’m gonna get a dozen empire cookies for lunch.”

“They have sandwiches. Look you can even choose healthy bread. With seeds.”

Richie is just about to reply with “FUCK healthy bread with seeds,” before he hears someone shout from another room.

“THE SIGN IS GONE AGAIN. NO IT’S GONE SOME TEENAGERS OR SOMETHING FUCKING STOLE IT AGAIN!! WHY THE FUCK WOULD SOMEONE STEAL MY SIGN.”

Richie and Bev share an amused look.

“I don’t want to relax Mike!!!! We haven’t even had our grand opening and someone is out to get us. NO-WAIT HOLD ON MIKE, FUCKING BALLS SHIT COCK I FUCKED UP THE MACAROONS”

Richie feels a little terribly then, as the laughter involuntarily bubbles from his chest, and loudly. You have to admit, the contrast between this peaceful, slightly grandma-vibes cafe and an angry man cursing like a sailor about his macaroons being destroyed is perfect comedy.

The cursing voice freezes in the other room, and Bev looks at Richie like he TPed the principals car and he’s just been buzzed down to the office to accept his punishment. Richie gives her a crooked smile.

Then they hear a defeated “Oh fuck, I have to go,” and the tentative shuffle of feet as the mystery angry baker man makes his way to the front of his shop.

The man who appears before them then is nothing like Richie could have anticipated. He’s at least a head shorter than Richie, with big brown eyes that are fucking /charming/ even with his brow furrowed in anger and his mouth a tight line.

He’s wearing a proper pair of white slacks and a soft grey button up, with a green apron overtop which has been utterly /coated/ in a pink frosting of some kind (maybe the remnants of his macaroons, Richie thinks). His name tag reads “Eddie”.

“Hey, I’m sorry about the wait. Welcome to the shop,” he begins, and though and he tries his best to be come across chipper and hospitable, he’s clearly fighting the urge to explode in fury at any moment.

A few beats pass and as Eddie’s expression grows more irritated, Richie realises his face is aching from smiling.

Oh shit, he really has to say something to keep this guy from murdering him on the spot-he can’t afford to get banned from the only decent shop in the area, not when he hasn’t even tasted these infamous macaroons yet.

But this guy, he’s so fucking /adorable/. The way he purses his lips, the way he folds his arms petulantly across his lean chest which his button up fits VERY well by the way, not too loose-maybe a little too tight.

Richie opens his mouth to speak and feels his brain short circuit as he notices Eddie’s left hip pop out in annoyance.

Richie is absolutely blowing this. Thank God for Beverly Marsh, who will Certainly be teasing Richie about this for weeks, if not months to come.

“Sorry, my friend here hasn’t had his fill of caffeine yet today, he’s usually quite good with using his big boy words.” She reaches up to pat his arm sympathetically.

That makes Eddie smile a little bit (understandable, Bev can make everyone smile) and he seems to relax his shoulders a little bit.

“You know, it’s been a chaotic day, I need a goddamn triple shot myself,” and he uncrosses his arms and leans just a bit against the counter.

Beverly laughs and orders her coffee, then she turns to Richie. Ah. It’s his turn to order now. He’s going to have to speak to this unbelievably gorgeous man. When was the last time Richie was lost for words?

“Uhhh, hey yeah, um. Bev brought me a cappuccino from here, it was awesome. I work at the record store across the street. Well, I live there.”

Eddie smiles. He looks very entertained.

“Does that mean you’d like...another...cappuccino?” Eddie asks, and Bev barks a laugh. She gives Richie’s shoulder another reassuring pat, says “Don’t worry big guy, you’ll figure it out,” and wanders away to look at the healthy bread with seeds.

Richie scratches the back of his neck nervously, then sighs.

“Yeah man, fuck. I’ll take one of those.”

Eddie looks up at Richie for a beat. His eyes crinkle with a smile, and he laughs.

“You want an extra shot of espresso with that? It’s on the house. You seem like you need it.”

Finally, Richie laughs, and then he sighs.

“Thanks, I think I do need it. Can I get like, a dozen cannolis too?”

“Isn’t this supposed to be lunch, Richard?” Bev laughs.

“Don’t Richard me, Marsh, you know I can’t help myself at ye olde confectionary.”

Eddie replies, “I can’t say I approve of 12 cannolis for lunch, but I run a business here and I’ll gladly take your lunch money.”

This guy is fucking great. Richie almost adds a dozen empire cookies, but he holds back when he’ll be needing a reason to come back later.

They settle up. Richie covers Bev’s order (she got him earlier, and he owes her for saving his life in front of hot baker Eddie). He also digs a fistful of dollar bills from his wallet and shoves them in the tip jar.

Bev takes a seat at one of the little wooden tables. Richie wanders toward the photographs on the wall. He looks at the sunflower. It’s quite a sad looking sunflower. He’s looking for a signature or a nameplate when Eddie calls his name.

“Cappuccino with an extra shot for Richard?“

“Who the fuck is Richard?” Richie replies, smiling as he gathers up their horde of goodies.

“You I assume, from your friend who can speak English properly.”

“I go by Dick, actually.” Richie wiggles his eyebrows, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Hahaha! Noooo but it would have been real funny if I did. You can call me Richie.”

“Nice to meet you Richie...I think.”

“Nice to meet you too, Eds.”

“It’s Eddie,” he corrects.

(I’ll be back with a little bit more tomorrow )