Well, good to know. He'd been sort of worried about that. Well, not really his brain leaking out, but something going wrong with it, maybe. People who looked into the deadlights for too long, they usually went crazy, he remembered hearing. It'd been -- maybe something of a concern for him.
The rush of calm -- slow and quiet, strangely peaceful -- was an odd but actually helpful projection and Richie couldn't help but droop slightly, shoulders curving in and a rush of a breath escaping him. He was tired after all that. It was like... whatever the mental equivalent to running a marathon was, maybe. Exhausting in a way he didn't understand, and he'd seen some really fucking exhausting days in his recent past. "Maybe," he said after a beat. It felt a little weird to stay here when he lived so close, but the concept of stepping outside and dealing with any natural form of light didn't sit well with him currently. "I live like--" he paused, waved his hand very unhelpfully in what was probably the opposite direction of his house. "Maybe for a little while," he decided. "Like, a nap."