There isn't a lot to be said after that and Eddie casually tosses the phone into his passenger seat. The drive home isn't exactly one that he cares for (traffic doesn't make it any better) and once he reaches their home. He sits in the driveway for a long minute and considers his phone before gathering his stuff to head inside with a tired sound. This entire day had been one shit show after another and a fight with Richie isn't exactly something he wants to deal with either.

So after lingering at the door, he pushes his way inside and quietly shuts it behind him. The house is oddly quiet but he imagines that Richie is probably holed up somewhere. Still it's weird to not immediately be greeted at the doorway and, once more, he lingers before dropping his things off in their usual places. A part of him wants to call out and make it known that he's home but simply makes his way into their living space before collapsing onto the couch. The stress of the work day (and now the stress at home) is doing a number on his chest.

Already he can feel that awkward, stuttered wheeze that is just his breathing now but also somewhere in there is the old way of doing things- of wanting to fall into a panic attack. He got rid of his inhaler ages ago but now, more than ever, he wants to reach into his pocket and find it. Now without it he can only cover his face and level his breathing, count to ten and try to find something good to grasp onto.