Half an hour later, Richie was sitting in the back of a cop car, trying to convince Eddie that he didn't need a doctor. He was mostly sure Eddie meant a medical doctor.

"Richie, if you have a concussion—"

"I'll not sleep it off. You act like this is the first time I've been hit in the head."

Eddie pursed his lips in a way that much more kissable than probably intended.

Someone rapped on the windshield, and Detective Willoughby lowered the window.

"What?"

"It's uh… Richie Tozier's manager?" Officer… Doyon didn't look old enough to know who Richie Tozier was. "On the… phone?"

"What did I tell you to say if anyone other than the Sarge called?"

"I'm sorry, sir. He wouldn't take fuck off for an answer."

Richie could have told them that.

Officer Doyon was still talking. "Apparently, they panicked at the awards show and played a DVD from his dressing room labelled 'Compilation.' It was… not what they thought it was."

"Oh, well, I guess I'm out now," said Richie, and there was the panic attack.

"Breathe," Eddie told him. To Officer Doyon, he said, "You, stop talking."

Officer Doyon nodded emphatically and left to process the fake-girlfriend-nappers. It turned out Eddie had been right about the MO, but wrong about the Grand Theft Auto. The cab wasn't stolen. Its owners were just really feeling Uber's effect on the taxi industry. They had apologized to Eddie, who they considered one of their own.

Willoughby rubbed his forehead. "If you aren't going to the hospital, I think you should go home. This is about to become a circus. We're going to take your vehicle, but Officer Billows will give you a Property/Evidence Receipt and a ride home."

Officer Billows was older than Officer Doyon. He obviously didn't give a fuck that his passenger was a recently-outed (but still In Style) comedian and his… Eddie.

"Are you okay?" asked Eddie. This time, instead of putting his hand on Richie's chest, he picked up Richie's hand and put it on his own chest. Richie was pretty sure it was about synchronizing breaths, but mostly it was just distracting. Either way, it helped with the anxiety.

That was a trick Richie's fourth shrink had taught him. A grounding technique. Find five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.

He wondered what Eddie tasted like.

"I'm fine," he said. "It's not like this is the first time someone has tried to kill me. I mean, I make a lot of bad jokes."

"Yeah, and that was one of them."

"See?" said Richie.

"I texted my wife," said Eddie.

Richie was surprised by the non-sequitur, even though non-sequiturs were his first language. "You didn't divorce her by text, did you?

Eddie rolled his eyes. "No, asshole. I'll tell her tomorrow morning. So it won't really matter if she's mad about tonight."

"Oh," Richie hadn't actually expected him to…

"Idiot," Eddie said fondly. Then he held up a warning finger. "But no sex. You have a concussion, and I'm still married."

Richie shook it. "Done."

"If you talk about this in your next Netflix special, can you mention me?" asked Officer Billows, so maybe he gave a little fuck.

"Okay," he said again. "In exchange for a full pardon for the Pool Noodle Incident."

"Done," said Officer Billows.

"I don't want to know," said Eddie.

They shook on it, but Eddie made them wait till the car was parked, and he wouldn't let them spit on their hands first.

Richie's apartment was cheap, not because he couldn't afford better, but because he didn't have standards At least it was clean. Despite… everything about him, Richie had always kept his space clean. For some reason.

"I can take the couch."

Eddie looked at him like crazy, which was fair. "There isn't a couch."

"Oh, yeah."

"Tell me the bed is at least a double."

"Queen," said Richie.

"Well, we've shared a hammock," said Eddie. "I think I can live with a queen."

"Promise?"

"God." Eddie huffed a laugh. "You can finally tell gay jokes. You're going to be such a pain in the a— No, don't! Don't you fucking dare!"

Richie just smiled. He couldn't remember ever smiling this much, except that he finally could.

Eddie set an alarm on his phone to wake them up every two hours for a concussion check. Richie guessed his passcode and changed the alarm to play, "Anaconda."

Eddie began removing his black pants and white button-up shirt, surprisingly unselfconscious for, well, him. Richie followed his lead (he always had, he always would) and they climbed into bed together wearing only their boxers. They rolled over to face each other.

"How the fuck are you so ripped?" Richie whispered. "Oh, my god, you're like Captain America if he got the serum, but just stayed really tiny."

"I guess we know who the nerd in this relationship is," said Eddie, and Richie felt like he was high on cocaine without the… everything about cocaine.

"That's what the hets want to know," said Richie. "Who's the nerd in the relationship and who's the jock."

"I'm not a jock," said Eddie.

"Yes, you are." Richie made his voice solemn. "Just like Harry Potter."

"You fucking nerd."

"See? Now you're a bully too."

Eddie's voice was actually solemn when he said. "Do you feel like we're still forgetting something? About... bullies?"

"Bowers?"

"Not Bowers." Eddie shook his head against the pillow. "Worse."

Richie couldn't imagine a bully worse than Bowers. "I feel like we're forgetting something. Someone? I don't know."

"We'll figure it out. We can… talk to your parents, or go through our old stuff, or something."

"I get the feeling we won't need to."

"What do you mean?"

When Richie didn't answer, Eddie reached for him. His arm. Shoulder. Back. Stomach. The touches were light, hesitant in a way Little Eddie's touches had never been, but then again Little Eddie had never touched his nipples. He didn't take it any further than that, and that was accompanied by a blush so bright Richie thought he would start a fire. Eddie linked their hands, and Richie looked for sparks.

Between the concussion and the proximity to Eddie, something had gotten knocked loose in Richie's skull. He just hoped it wasn't part of his actual skull.

"I love you," he said, and before he could take it back, make it a joke, even breathe, Eddie said, "I love you too."