Eridan hadn't given Eddie the pleasure of visual displeasure when he'd been grasped before, but now — well, now he couldn't help it. Narrowing eyes, locking jaw on a cigarette yet to be lit.

That's what irritated him most, out of the whole thing. Friends he could go without, but he'd gotten so used to people doing what they were told.

"You think they love you? Eddie." Chiding, almost scornful. He moved to brush past the man in favor of his stove, the nicotine craving after that mild brush with death suddenly pressing. He flipped a burner on, waited impatiently for it to heat up. "They only give a shit about you because you can win the war for 'em. You're a tool. A, ah —" inspiration striking, pulling the kettle off its burner and kissing the unlit end of his smoke to the hot metal. "— bottle of someone else's Xanax stashed away in the back of the medicine cabinet."

He clicked the burner off, drug in deep. Finally looked back to Eddie again over his shoulder, words smoky.

"You're nice to have on the rough days, but they don't need you. Not really." A quirk of his lips. "Once you're all used up, they're gonna move on to the next best thing. Maybe something even better."