Author's note: This chapter contains some homophobic language in the second half (the first half of the chapter until the break is safe). If you'd like to avoid it altogether, I've included a summary of that portion of the chapter at the end. Please tread carefully!

Brave
Chapter 25 – Stand Up

When Richie walked into his empty hotel room in Reno, he came to the conclusion that there were two things wrong with this; Richie was really beginning to hate his stupid stand-up shows more and more, and Eddie wasn't even with him.

Richie still enjoyed making people laugh and the cheers and applause he got for the most part. That had never changed, but the fact that his on-stage persona was nothing but a sham was beginning to eat him up. His manager, Jason wanted Richie to do some of his old shows just to make sure there was still an interest in his comedy and to spread the word that he was back. Richie had now done a dozen or so shows over the past month in LA and Reno, and they had all gone fairly well.

Richie had felt like he was going to puke the very first time he stepped out on stage again, but as it turned out, his fans were apparently just happy to have him back. He was welcomed onto the stage with raucous applause, the fact that he had completely blown his last routine nothing but a blip on the screen for them. Jason had told him that every comedian fell apart on stage at least once in their lives, and it was like a rite of passage that Richie had survived.

It still didn't quite feel that way. It still seemed like a huge, dark storm cloud hanging over his career that he would forever be trying to escape from. At least until he came out anyway. Richie supposed that once he did that, a lot of what he had done in the past would well and truly be forgotten, lost in the void of some of his worst jokes and routines.

Richie dropped his keys on his dresser before shrugging out his blazer and tossing it on the foot of the bed. He quickly withdrew his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and found Eddie's name in his contacts before dropping onto the mattress. When it really hit home that Richie wanted to come out more and more, there was only ever one person who made him feel better.

Given the fact that Eddie had started his new job at an insurance firm in Santa Monica, he couldn't quite take the time off to be able to join Richie on the road, and Richie hated it. He hated not getting a good luck kiss from Eddie before he went on. He hated not seeing Eddie in the audience during his sets. He hated not being able to hug him afterwards. He hated not having Eddie's physical presence right now to calm his frazzled nerves, but a phone call would have to do.

"Rich," Eddie answered after the second ring. The smile was evident in his voice.

"Hey," Richie said, rolling onto his back and staring up the ceiling. He kicked his shoes off and let them drop to the floor as he said, "I just got back to my hotel. What are you doing?"

"Just lying on the couch and watching TV with Michelangelo," Eddie replied. "Wishing it was you."

Richie hummed in response and said, "Me too." He grinned at the ridiculously cute image of Eddie curled up on the couch, cuddling his stuffed turtle. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Rich!" Eddie cried into the phone. "We are not having phone sex, if that's what you're asking!"

"Just trying to set the scene!" Richie exclaimed, holding his free up even though Eddie couldn't see it. "Are you wearing something red?"

"Mm," Eddie mumbled. "My grey sweatpants and one of your stupid red t-shirts."

Richie loved the image of Eddie wearing one of Richie's baggy shirts, three sizes too big for him. Eddie never did so when Richie was home, but he seemed to wear Richie's clothes more and more whenever Richie was away. Because they smelled like Richie and comforted him, Eddie said. It honestly just made Richie want to wrap his hands in the front of the baggy fabric and pull Eddie in for a kiss, and he wished to god he could.

"Which shirt?" Richie asked instead.

"The one with the cat holding a bone that says, 'I found this humerus'."

"That's not stupid. It's humorous."

"So fucking stupid."

"Bet it looks sexy on you. Pictures or it didn't happen."

"Fuck off."

Richie found himself smiling again, letting himself relax farther back into the mattress. Even if his career wasn't quite where he wanted it to be just yet, at least things with Eddie were okay. Better than okay actually, because despite the fact that they were nearly five hundred miles apart, Richie had never felt closer to him.

"How'd your show go?" Eddie asked after a moment of silence.

"Okay," Richie said around a sigh. "My fans enjoyed it at any rate. They laughed."

Eddie was quiet for a moment before he said, "But you didn't. Enjoy it, I mean."

"You know," Richie said, because Eddie did know by now. Richie bit at his bottom lip and hesitated for a while before he added, "The longer I'm with you…the harder it is for me to pretend to be something I'm not." A part of Richie was afraid that his words might hurt Eddie's feelings, so he quickly added, "I'm not some fucking ladies' man, and I hate acting like I am. I'm gay, and I've only ever wanted one guy."

After a long pause, there was a soft sigh from Eddie. "I love you, Rich."

"I love you," Richie whispered back. "So much. And just…I feel like things would at least feel marginally better if we could cuddle tonight. I miss that. I miss you."

"I miss you too. Just one more show till you're back though, right?"

"One more show," Richie replied, "and I'll be home the next day. Your nurse, James is coming to tomorrow's show, you know. He got in touch with me, letting me know he'd be out here, and I hooked him up with free tickets."

"Aw, I'm sorry I'm going to miss him. Tell him I said hi if you get a chance to talk to him."

"I will."

Eddie sighed again then, although it was a much heavier sound than before. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you either. I…was anxious to get back to work, but now I'm wondering if I should have put it off until you got your career sorted out and back on track. Then I could have come on the road with you."

"No," Richie immediately said, "please don't be sorry. I would have loved for you to be here too, but believe me, you're not missing much. You've seen all this shit before, and I know you were already going a bit stir crazy from your time off. I'm just glad you were able to get a job out here so quickly. How's it going anyway?"

"Um, good," Eddie said, but Richie could detect the excitement in his voice right away. As if on cue, Eddie said, "Really good, actually. My boss…wanted to know if I feel up to taking on my first client. I'm supposed to give him my answer on Monday."

"Fuck," Richie exclaimed, "already?" He partially leaned up off the mattress, propping himself up on his elbows. "That's amazing. I told you they'd be dying to get a sexy and talented risk analyst on their payroll."

"Shut up."

Richie could practically hear Eddie rolling his eyes and fighting to contain his smirk, and that sent a warm spark running down Richie's spine into his toes. He loved that even when he wasn't with Eddie, Richie could still tell exactly what his mannerisms were just by his tone of voice. He and Eddie had spent so very much time apart, but somehow, it seemed like they had almost spent their entire lives together. Almost.

"So you think I should do it?" Eddie asked a moment later.

"Yeah, I do!" Richie cried, waving his free hand. "Why wouldn't I? More importantly, why wouldn't you?"

"Because," Eddie said around a little huff. "I…I want to be there for you too. I know you're over doing these old routines, and you want to use your own material as soon as possible, and I want to be able to be there when you do. What if I have to miss your first coming out show because I have to work? I don't think I could ever forgive myself for not being there!"

Richie found himself smiling, even as he felt a familiar sting in his eyes. His Eds was so ridiculously giving, even when he deserved to do some things for himself. Even when Richie thought Eddie had done more than enough for him already. Eddie had made every single one of Richie's dreams come true and had made him the happiest man on the face of the earth. If only his career was moving in a better direction a little faster instead of remaining so stagnant, everything would be perfect. How could Richie ever feel like Eddie shouldn't do things for himself?

"You're going to be there for me regardless," Richie said knowingly. "You're the first person I call after this shit, and you always listen to me. Even when you can't be here yourself. And besides, you're not…you're not a fucking groupie, and I don't want you to be. I want you to be your own person and not just an extension of me."

"You're amazing, Rich." He sounded a bit breathless like he did when he was having a particularly hard time comprehending the fact that Richie's love was different than what he had known before.

"Why? Because I don't put a leash on you like your mother or Myra did?"

"Yes!" Eddie cried, and Richie imagined he was waving his arms around on the other end of the phone. "You know I'm not used to this." Eddie was quiet for a while before he said, "No matter what we had going on, my mother and Myra's shit always came first. There were times when I had to call off work, because Myra demanded I come to lunch with her and her friends. It was so stupid, and it's a wonder I never got fired for that. And remember all those times when my mother made me stay home from school even when there wasn't anything wrong with me?"

"I remember," Richie told him. "She milked that fucking broken arm for all it was worth, claiming you were having arthritis. She called you off all those times, saying it was unbearably uncomfortable for you to sit at a desk and hold a pen."

"It's a wonder they never sent a truant officer to my house either."

"You know I'm not like that," Richie said firmly. "I would never want you to put your entire career on hold while I get mine sorted out. It's healthy for two people in a relationship to pursue their own interests and careers rather than making their entire lives about their partner." Richie then realized what he had said and snorted. "Not that I've been in a relationship before, but that's what I've heard."

"It is," Eddie agreed. "It's only one of the reasons why my relationship with Myra was so unhealthy. Eighty percent of my life was about her. If I didn't have a job, I never would have gotten any time away from her at all. It was one of the few freedoms she allowed me, and it was stifling."

"Well, that stops now," Richie said, his tone leaving little room for argument. "I want you to have a life outside of mine. And since we share most of the same friends, you need to get your career moving too. I don't expect you to sit around all day while I work on my shit and wait for me to go on."

"Okay," Eddie said around a relieved sigh.

Richie frowned deeply, but it wasn't because of Eddie. He simply couldn't believe that Eddie was afraid of accepting more responsibilities at work, because it would take away some of his time with Richie. He and Eddie still had the rest of their lives to spend with each other, and Richie knew that Eddie enjoyed his work, as boring as it was. If Richie was allowed to go off on tour to pursue his one remaining dream, then Eddie was allowed to as well.

"Speaking of our friends," Eddie said, "I was talking to Bill earlier. With Thanksgiving coming up, he asked if we wanted to do a Friendsgiving with the rest of the Losers this year. I…I kind of thought we could host it. You know…like a housewarming…even though you've lived here for years already."

A grin overtook Richie's features again, driving away the scowl from earlier. "Why, Eds," Richie said, placing his free hand over his chest and grinning up at the ceiling. "Are you saying you actually want me to cook?"

"Oh, hell no," Eddie immediately replied. "I know better than to allow you in the kitchen. You'd burn the whole fucking building down. But I'll do a little cooking, and Bill said he and Audra would bring some stuff. I already volunteered to make the stuffing, because that's my favorite, and I know a mean gluten-free recipe so I don't get sick."

"Gluten-free shit is mean, end of story."

"Shut the fuck up. You won't even know the difference."

"I'll know," Richie insisted. "Have you asked the rest of the Losers yet?"

"No, I wanted to run it by you first. I can call them tomorrow and see if they can make it if that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes!" Richie exclaimed. "God, I miss everyone like crazy and I'd love to have them over. And…is it okay if I invite Jason? You know he wants to meet you."

"Yeah, man," Eddie said. "Invite whoever you want. Even James if he's still going to be around. I've…done so much healing since Derry, and I kind of want him to see, you know?"

"What, you're going to take off your shirt and display your scar for everyone to see?"

Eddie no longer had to wear his bandages, and outside of monitoring his scar and helping him apply vitamin E ointment to promote healing, Eddie never even let Richie see it anymore. It would be a cold day in hell before he let anyone else in the world see it. Eddie still seemed to feel bad about that, like there was something wrong with him that he was so uncomfortable with being completely shirtless with his partner. Richie did the best he could to assure Eddie that it was fine, and it was, but Richie couldn't wait for the day when Eddie felt like he could let Richie see every part of him. He hated Eddie feeling like there were parts of him that were disgusting or horrifying, because that couldn't be further from the truth.

"No, dipshit," Eddie snapped, although there was no bite behind his words. "I just…don't you think that's a nice thing for healthcare workers? To see that people they've treated are so much better because of their hard work?"

"Yeah, it is," Richie agreed. "Kind of like when my fans tell me that I was able to make them laugh when they were going through a hard time. That means a lot."

"So, yeah," Eddie agreed. "I'd like for James to see that I can actually get around without pain. Besides, I was kind of a shitty patient. I snapped at him a lot when I was in pain and still coming to terms with my injury, and I want him to know that I'm not always like that."

"Yes, you are, dude."

"Fuck off."

"See? Talk about snapping at people."

"You love it."

"I love you."

"I love you," Eddie whispered around a yawn. "Will you call me after your show tomorrow?"

"You know I will. You're the only one I want to talk to after having to carry on with this charade."

"Okay. Goodnight and good luck."

"Night."

As Richie ended the call and let his phone drop to the mattress, he had no way of knowing that his words wouldn't be entirely true by that time tomorrow. As it was, Richie was currently too tired to even get up to wash his hands or brush his teeth, which he knew Eddie would have killed him for. Instead, Richie just shuffled out of his pants and threw them to the floor before laying his glasses on the bedside table. He left his phone on the mattress next to him just in case Eddie texted him before he fell asleep, like he tended to do.

Curling up under the blankets, sleep had almost come to claim Richie entirely when a soft ping from his phone pulled him from his doze. Smiling softly, Richie reached out for his phone to see a picture and a text message sent from Eddie:

Eds (11:47 PM): Hurry home. I love you and I miss you.

In the photo, Eddie was lying on his back on the couch, using his stuffed turtle as a pillow. He stared up at the camera from underneath his eyelashes, and just as he had said, he was wearing Richie's oversized red humerus t-shirt. But there was something else in the picture that immediately drew Richie's eyes. Eddie had his left hand across his stomach, his engagement ring shining in the soft lamplight. The very ends of Eddie's fingers were curled around the bottom hem of the shirt, lifting it up to reveal a thin strip of skin above the waistband of his sweatpants. However, Richie's breath caught in his throat when he realized what else Eddie had revealed in the picture. The last inch or so of Eddie's scar was peeking out from underneath his shirt, still raised and pink with two rows of suture scars standing out against his pale skin.

Eddie was very careful about keeping his scar covered up at all times, and he constantly tugged at the bottom of his shirts any time he thought they might be riding up. Eddie would never let his scar show by accident, especially when he was posing for a picture, something that could be immortalized for eternity. He had entirely meant for Richie to see his scar, and that knowledge made it feel like Richie's heart was swelling up inside his chest. Dear god, Richie loved this man so fucking much, he couldn't even find the words to explain it.

Richie (11:48 PM): You're so beautiful. I love you and I can't wait to hold you and kiss you.

Eddie sent back a single heart emoji, and Richie ended up drifting off then and there, his phone still in his hand and a smile present on his face. Just as Richie had known, simply talking to Eddie had sufficiently cheered him up from the day's events, and had calmed him down enough to drift off into a pleasant slumber.

In just twenty-four hours, Richie had absolutely no idea that he'd be sitting in that same spot, wondering where in the hell he was supposed to go from that point on.


"Oh, Jesus fuck, man," Richie muttered the next night as he fidgeted around backstage just before his show. All of his routines since his return to comedy had gone fairly well, but that didn't mean Richie wasn't nervous as fuck. It also didn't mean that he had gotten any better at holding his cookies.

Richie wondered if his trauma from forgetting his routine and being booed off the stage after his phone call from Mike would ever truly fade. Hell, he wondered if his trauma from being reminded of anything associated with the clown would be with him forever.

It was a decent-sized crowd that night, if a little bit smaller than the last two he had done in Reno. That helped to quell Richie's stage fright the tiniest bit, but not much.

"You're going to be fine," Jason said, gripping Richie's shoulders from behind and giving them a sharp squeeze. "All you have to do is remember your routine this time."

"Oh, fuck off," Richie snapped. "That was one time! You keep this shit up, I'm going to fire your ass."

"I could never be so lucky."

Richie opened his mouth to retort, but just then, an announcement came over the loudspeaker: "Ladies and gentlemen, for his return to the Eldorado Resort Casino stage, please welcome back Richie Tozier!"

It always helped to calm his nerves now when his name was met with applause, and this time was no exception. Richie's legs still felt like they were full of jelly and his heart had leaped up to lodge itself in his throat, but he didn't quite feel like he was going to throw up any longer.

As he made his way out on stage and up to the microphone stand, Richie raised his hand in greeting to the audience. If anything, the microphone was a bit of a comfort to him, having held it through so many of his rather successful shows. It also sort of helped to be able to lean on the stand slightly and squeeze the microphone as he muddled his way through his performance. They were such familiar objects to him by now, it was almost like pulling on an old and broken-in pair of sneakers.

Once he had the microphone in his right hand and was holding the stand in his left, Richie said, "It's been a hot minute, but it's good to be back in Reno." This earned Richie a round of applause from his audience, which helped to calm his nerves a little bit further. He cleared his throat before he added, "Rest assured, rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I also have not been in rehab, contrary to popular belief."

Richie had written a new opening for this show, but most of what followed was recycled material. As strange as it was, Richie found the opening to be the easiest part of the show for him, considering that he was more or less offering his fans some sort of explanation for his absence. A lot of it was still lies, but not all of it, which made Richie feel slightly less like a bald-faced liar. As many times as he had repeated the rest of the show by that point, it would never feel anything but disingenuous.

A few laughs and some more clapping rippled briefly through the crowd. When it died down, Richie said, "My friend was in the hospital." This was greeted by some "aw"s, so Richie quickly added, "But it turned out to be a good thing. See, I met this hot nurse, and my girlfriend wanted to kill me. But that wasn't the good thing."

Some more snickers met his ears, but then it all went off the rails; as prepared as Richie thought he was, he could never prepare himself enough for the sort of shit he had just walked into.

From a seat a few rows back from the stage, someone shouted, "Bullshit!"

This immediately made the audience fall silent just as it had that day after his phone call from Mike. Richie could have heard a pin drop, and his heart felt like it might beat a hole through his chest. (Then he'd be right there alongside Eddie.) He could feel the pinpricks of sweat popping up on his palms, desperately making Richie want to drop the microphone and stand so he could rub his hands on his jeans to get rid of it.

"N-no, seriously," Richie said, desperately trying to remain calm despite the fact that he thought he was going to be sick all over again. "My girlfriend said she-"

"You don't have a girlfriend!" the same man in the audience yelled. "You have a boyfriend, you fucking faggot!"

Richie had thought that the audience had already fallen silent, but it was nothing compared to this. The silence now seemed so loud, it was deafening. Richie's ears pounded with it, almost like there was loud rock music blaring in his ears. Except there wasn't. It was only the blood pulsing through his veins that now seemed so loud after the cheers and applause he had received earlier.

Swallowing hard, Richie desperately tried to think of something witty to say. He was good at that! This was why he had gotten into comedy in the first place! It was almost second nature to him to come back with snappy responses whenever someone teased him. But this was not teasing. Someone just fucking tried to out him at one of his own shows, and that was seriously crossing the line.

Squinting his eyes, Richie strained to see who had called him out, but the lights were just too bright for him to make out anything other than a basic shape in the audience.

Richie was breathing harder now, and he could feel beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. This caused his glasses to slide down his nose, but Richie did nothing to push them back up. He stood frozen to his spot, like the tiniest move might make him a target for even more ridicule. As stupid as that thought was, because he was standing in the middle of a stage in front of a thousand or so people.

At first, Richie wondered how this asshole could be so fucking confident in his words, but then Richie knew. There was little question really, because Richie and Eddie had spent that wonderful evening together at Pacific Park last month. They had held hands and kissed, and Richie didn't think that anyone had fucking cared. At the time, Richie had been naïve enough to think that an innocuous picture posted on Twitter from a fan had been the end of that. But oh no. It was now very clear that someone had cared. Someone had cared a whole fucking lot.

That made Richie angry, because that had been one of the best nights of Richie's life in recent memory. How dare someone try to sully the time that he and Eddie had shared that evening by calling Richie out on it? Richie tightened his hold on the microphone, still willing some sort of response to spring to life inside his mind like they normally would. But it was like he could hear the crickets inside his brain.

Just then, however, someone else spoke up. Another man who was sitting in the row in front of the asshole, several seats farther on towards the opposite side of the theater.

"Hey, man, shut up!" this person yelled. "Your dumb ass paid to see a show, so why don't you watch it instead of acting like you can do better?"

A chorus of nervous laughter broke out among the crowd, but something else entirely had caught Richie's attention. He knew he recognized this second man, but he couldn't quite place his voice. Not just yet. Richie tried squinting through the bright lights of the auditorium, but he still couldn't quite make out enough details to put a face with the voice.

Richie really wished he could come up with something to say too instead of standing there like an idiot. He probably looked like a fish on land, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping as he struggled to think of a response.

"He's a faggot!" the asshole yelled. "You know, a fucking fairy!"

"And you're a goddamned bigot who likes to hide fear behind aggression," the second man said. "Why don't you grow up, shut up, and let the bigger man finish his show? If you don't like it, I trust you can read the bright red exit signs."

A few people in the audience let out some "ooh"s in response, but then all at once, that was forgotten in the surge of recognition and appreciation that coursed through Richie. The man who had been defending him was Eddie's nurse, James! Richie desperately tried to think of something to say, to somehow let James know that he was grateful for his words, but still nothing came to Richie's mind. It was a horrible feeling, scrambling for a comeback, struggling to even form some words of appreciation only to feel like his mind was empty and useless.

It reminded Richie of when Henry Bowers had called him out in the Capitol Theater all those years ago. The day that Richie had ended up carving his and Eddie's initials into the Kissing Bridge. Richie tried to hold onto that thought – the fact that he was now with Eddie after all the shit he had been through – but even that didn't help to get Richie's mind working again.

Richie couldn't quite feel his body any longer. In fact, he wondered when exactly the floor underneath him had disappeared. Was he floating in an endless void somewhere instead of standing before a once-cheering audience in Reno? Nothing seemed quite real anymore, like he was having a nightmare he wanted to wake up from. Only this wasn't a nightmare and Richie knew it.

The lights of the theater began blurring in front of him, and Richie couldn't quite figure out why. At first, he thought it was because he was crying, but he didn't feel any tears in his eyes. Not to mention, Richie wouldn't give any sort of asshole the satisfaction of seeing him cry, so he pushed those emotions deep down inside himself. It then took Richie a moment to realize that he was dizzy instead, his brain feeling like it was spinning in circles inside his head. Richie's stomach clenched tightly around the mediocre dinner he'd had that evening, and he fought down the urge to begin heaving right there on stage.

Richie thought back to that day at the Kissing Bridge with Eddie. He briefly wondered how in god's name he had been able to stand up to those bullies, but now he felt like a stupid little kid being beaten down by Bowers again. In the end, Richie knew it was because he didn't have Eddie there to protect and he hadn't had an audience back then either. The crowd of people watching him and the lack of the need to keep Eddie safe apparently made Richie into a useless blob.

Closing his eyes against the swirl of sensations ripping through him, Richie tried to force those feelings away, to get himself to see and think straight. But for all the good it did, because it only made Richie even dizzier, like the stage itself was tilting back and forth like a ship at sea. Richie shook his head, weighing his options. He could either run off the stage like the fucking loser he was, or he could stay where he was and vomit up his dinner in front of the thousand people in the audience. Then again, the odds were pretty good that someone out there had whipped out their phone and had begun recording this fucking display. If that was the case, then his audience wouldn't remain at a thousand viewers for long.

So what was more embarrassing – throwing up and possibly fainting, or running away? Then again, what would staying on stage even accomplish? Richie couldn't even remotely remember what in the holy hell his routine had been about, let alone find a proper place to resume it. It was lost to him again, gone just like on the day that Mike had called him, swallowed up by the fear currently running rampant in his brain.

As it was, however, Richie was given little choice in the matter. Richie couldn't take the bright lights of the theater on him any longer, so he directed his gaze off-stage to just where Jason was waiting for him in the wings. When he did, Richie saw nothing but the kind eyes of his manager, motioning for him to walk off the stage.

Jason was waiting for him, just like Eddie would have been had he been there.

Richie's hands were shaking when he tried to replace the microphone in its stand, and as he did so, a burning sensation erupted somewhere in his esophagus. His mouth was watering, and not in any way that was good. If Richie didn't get off the stage and soon, the entire audience (and then some, probably) would be seeing the remains of Richie's dinner splatter across the shiny floor in front of him.

Richie just managed to get the microphone back into the stand before he lurched for the side of the stage. It wasn't until that moment that it occurred to Richie that he was still light-headed, and it wasn't just the theater's lights that were making him feel that way. Even as he diverted his gaze towards the darkened and safe area behind the curtain, the floor began rocking back and forth again.

Then, Richie thought the theater lights had been turned off, because it had gotten so much darker, he could barely see in front of him. Jason was now nothing more than a fuzzy blue shape, his brightly-colored blazer standing out in Richie's mostly black field of vision.

But no, there was nothing wrong with the lights, and absolutely everything was wrong with Richie himself. The darkness in his vision was pulsing and fading in and out like little stars. This made Richie hunch forward, placing his hands on his knees as he heaved. However, he wasn't quite sturdy enough on his feet to lean so far forward, and a moment later, Richie knew he was lurching forward more than he had wanted.

His last thought was of the highly-polished floor, wondering if it would hurt his head as much as he thought it might, and then he knew no more.

To be continued…

Author's note: An asshole in the crowd at Richie's show calls him out his sexuality, leaving Richie wondering how his secret got out, but James comes to his defense. Richie, however, fails to recover and faints before he gets off stage.