It shouldn't have been an unexpected reaction — or, in other words, it shouldn't have caught Eridan by so much surprise. He knew that. Should've known that. Shouldn't have ended up pinned under Eddie, dull and long since manicured nails biting desperately at the soft parts of his assailant's face, hands, tearing at brunet hair.

He took pains not to burn Eddie with the cigarette still clenched between his fingers. He wondered if the Riddler had noticed.

"Is that puh-puh-pity I hear, Nygma?" Eridan hissed back, free hand scrabbling across the linoleum for purchase. Arched back, estimating his own weight versus Eddie's, how much of a difference they had between them. "Not really your style."

Thin. Hard to breathe, with Eddie's weight on his chest.

"Not our style. Not us."