"Youuuu love me for it." He croons, a small lopsided little smile on his face as he says it.

He perks a brow at that not-quite-a-threat and can't help leaning up on one side and propping his head on his hand. "Does that mean you actually own slippers to throw in the first place?" He laughs. "You really are an old man."

The flip of the conversation to his sleeping habits has him sinking back down against the pillows, fingers laced behind his head. "Just the usge." He shrugs a little. "Nothin' special or anything." Because, somewhere along the way in all of Dad's attempts to desensitize him, this had become something like normal. Just not in the way Reginald had always hoped it would.