No, it wasn't a fair threat at all, considering it had been something that had been actively bothering Richie for the past several days. Like maybe he'd just been some kind of fucking placeholder until someone he liked better came along. Or like one mistake was enough to unravel the whole of them, and Stan -- good, gentle Stan -- was, perhaps, the better choice. So. He didn't like the threat particular much, no. Luckily, Richie was good at being on his own shit, at focusing on things that weren't quite the main point, and he tilted his head up enough to squint blearily at --red. And then a long strip of what could only be leg no matter that Eddie was snatching up the covers to hide himself. "What," he asked, clearly trying to pull himself up and out of his own sad ass in order to see this very nice thing in front of him for what it was. Tiny red shorts and Eddie straddling him. The possibility that he was dreaming was worrying.
"You look cute," he said after a moment, because one compliment deserved another and yeah, Richie probably did look like shit. But Eddie didn't. He looked hot even, from what Richie could make out without his glasses. Like a daydream all grown up.
He wasn't pushing away, or going back to sleep, even if his brain kinda wanted to do that last bit, but Richie knew better than to trust his own head most of the time so he just -- listened. He wasn't sure, exactly, what to make of the apology. Like, sure, he appreciated it, and even got the feeling that it'd taken some courage to show up here with those words, in those shorts. "You're supposed to yell," he murmured, fingers reaching up to touch Eddie's thigh -- cautious but curious. "You can't just -- ignore me." Because that was the shit that fucked Richie up best, and Eddie knew that, had always known that. And it felt -- shitty. But he didn't want to focus on it either. "There's nothing to be jealous of, dipshit."