When Eridan two-stepped over Eddie's hand, he didn't stiffen. He didn't flinch, so familiar with physical pain was he. But then the other man pushed those words, those insinuations so intentional with venom, and he jerked electrical.

"I'd rather not," he said, his eyes wide. Muted rage and vocal fear sung from his pupils. "It's my bed, after all. My room. Who's to say you're even staying?"

Threatening to abandon Eridan, when they only just reunited properly. No harsh run-ins down dankstrewn brick alleyways, but an authentic bonding. A meeting of minds. A collapsing of hearts behind callous smiles.

"I didn't mean that," he murmured after a pause. Eddie was no less a cruel man than he had been, years ago, but now his cruelty discriminated. Eridan, who had suffered like he did. Eridan, who had made the wrong decisions and knew it. Eridan Ampora didn't deserve such cruelty.

Eddie's anger flooded back into its mental reserve. He would save it for a worthier recipient.

"And don't step on me," he added. He had meant to say that earlier.