A breath. He hesitates for a moment, almost afraid of what he'll find on the other side of that door, but — but he never told any of them his handle, he doesn't think. Hasn't even thought about it in years.

"Fuck, Karkat."

Open comes the door, Eridan standing there in his briefs — no longer those embarrassingly indulgent royal purple ones with the little seahorses wearing crowns on them, he's entirely too reliant on a shitty government stipend to spring for that kind of luxury. The magnum in his right hand catches slivers of moonlight through the blinds.

"You know how close you got to havin' your miserable head blown off your shoulders, Carcino Geneticist?"