Eddie might not have understood it as such, but it was a favor - or, perhaps more appropriately, a gift. In as much as some of his kin hoarded jewels or gold or dominion, J'mon hoarded stories. Humans lived such short lives, so full of wonderful and terrible things. But it was in the act of sharing that J'mon found the fuel that fed the fire inside of them. It was always the goal to find individuals they could exalt to immortality through the simple act of documenting their tales. But what they received in turn was pretty good too.
They continued to softly brush their fingers through Eddie's hair, the very faint edge of their nails soothing across his scalp with each lazy motion. "Listening is what I do best," they teased, leaning in to give Eddie a playful nudge. "The word loquatious gets thrown around a lot with my specific kind, but I like to think that I am just as good at letting others speak." And it was a talent, to be sure. One that many people did not possess.
Glancing back to the book as well, J'mon gave a small shrug and a hum of acknowledgment. "I am in no rush," they said. "It is just paper and ink. It has no schedule. All it can do is wait until such a time it is given purpose. You, on the other hand, are vastly more important. And more interesting. But if you would like quiet, you are more than welcome to sit here with me." They paused, then, and turned to give Eddie a bit of a smirk. "I would read it to you," they said, voice lowering to a whisper. "But it is highly inappropriate."