Like any neophyte comedian, Richie had tried the tablecloth trick once in his youth and broken Maggie Tozier's favorite Fiestaware pitcher.
This time, he only broke his nose.
"What the fuck?" Eddie shouted.
"What are you complaining for?" asked Richie. "At least you had something to land on."
Technically, so had he, but it was his boner. He might have broken that too.
Richie rolled over. Eddie was on his feet, fists raised, ready to fight off whatever had woken him. It was so adorable that Richie's boner tried to set itself. He pulled the duvet into his lap.
Eddie glared at him. "Your nose is bleeding."
"Oh, that old thing," Richie said. "I've had it for years."
Eddie glared harder, and Richie adjusted his duvet.
"Richie Trashmouth Tozier," Eddie said, angry and serious, like that was Richie's real middle name. Then he sighed. "I'll get the first aid kid."
"I don't have a first aid kit," said Richie, since Eddie probably wouldn't count an industrial-sized bottle of Tylenol and three wet wipes.
Eddie was already digging through his luggage.
"Right," said Richie. "I knew that."
"Stop tilting your head back," Eddie said, without turning to face him. Now he was rummaging through his first aid kit— a big nylon bag printed with the American Red Cross logo and the words FAMILY FIRST AID KIT. "That'll just make you swallow blood. How many times have I told you that?"
"I wasn't tilting my head back," said Richie. "I'm just looking up at you. Which is still weird, by the way."
Richie shook his head, getting drops of blood all over his "Meme Daddy" T-shirt. These days, he got most of his clothes from Shifty Thrifting— a website that made T-shirts based on the weird ones found in thrift stores. His collection made a lot more sense post-amnesia. Like, "I'm probably thinking about clowns," and, "My heart says yes, but my mom says no," and, "GOBLIN." His personal retrospective favorite was, "I have to apologize for my behavior. I've had a difficult past few lives."
Eddie palpated his nose, and only for Richie would a broken nose be an erogenous zone.
"Well, it's not broken," said Eddie.
"So I guess you didn't sleep."
"Like a drunk baby," Richie assured him. "But. Not. Because I was sober."
"As a baby," Eddie reminded him.
Richie made a finger gun. "Exactly.
Eddie silenced his fingers gun. "Did you really sleep?"
"Really, really," he said, in his best/worst Shrek voice.
Eddie sighed. "So falling out of bed was just…?"
Either Eddie sighed again or he was having another psychosomatic asthma attack. He dropped to the floor so he could shove a bottle of nasal saline spray up Richie's nose. Not even that was enough to kill his boner.