[No, he certainly is not. The pain that captures Eridanus' heart is earth-shattering, and yet, it is precisely because of the connection they share that Eridanus does not feel as if he's on the precipice of death. Any other circumstance would've had him imbibing wildly, clawing at his own flesh as sorrow grips his heart, and smearing his own blood across the floor as life slowly left him. Lucius, of all people, is the one who currently grounds him. Eridanus didn't care enough to think if it came from a place of selfishness or affection, all that mattered in this moment is that there was someone who gave enough of a shit about him to not see him succumb to depression.

When Lucius pulls away, Eridanus' skin tingles with the haunting ghost of his touch, as cool air swaths him in the absence of bodily warmth. He sits patiently, obediently, as told, and hooks his clawed fingers into the band that tied his hair into a messy plait. Opalite combs through the thin, ashy blond tresses, raking the length over one shoulder by the time Lucius has returned.

Eridanus' tired visage splits with a small smile, and he pulls the glasses that sat upon his nose away. He leans forwards and sets his glasses on the coffee table, before sliding across the couch to give Lucius a place to sit. Despite his viridescent gaze being clouded with the overcast of pain, the way his eyes fix on Lucius as he stares up at him, is nothing less than familiar adoration.] A bottle and wine glasses? If I didn't know any better I would think you were trying to seduce me. [Not that he had to try.]

I should tell you now, I prefer dry reds, though anything will do in a pinch.