bittenichtstoren:
Alice’s eyes widen, her signature wide smile returning in an instant. She’s surprised – a little embarrassed, very amused. She wonders if Eli can pick out her natural blush from the one she’d manually applied an hour ago. She hopes not.
“That’s a very forward thing to say,” Alice teases, taking a sip of wine for no other reason than to allow herself to naturally break eye contact. It’s just for a moment. Just a breather while she smooths down her frazzled nerves.
When she dares to look at him again, she doesn’t look much different. Her smile is more relaxed, less… toothy, but her nerves are clear as day. She knows it’s obvious. She pretends it isn’t.
“I guess you could say I’m a masochist, too, in a way,” she continues carefully, rubbing her fingertip against the stem of her glass. “Like I said: sometimes it’s fun to be terrified.”
“Have you seen… Hereditary? I hear it’s good, but I’m scared to watch it alone.”
The brief moment of awkwardness from his ‘confession’ segues into something of a chemistry - at least that’s what Eli feels, and deep inside he senses a ripple of attraction. Alice’s tone, her blush, her shining eyes. Anxiety becomes electricity. Maybe he’s gone a little fast with the wine - but he’s pouring more despite himself. It’s going straight to his head, his meal is almost finished, and he’s quietly losing his iron grip on his own decorum. Not that it’ll manifest in anything remarkable, but he feels it.
When she namechecks one of the best horror movies in the past decade, he’s elated. And rather animated, in discussing it.
“…Oh… yes, it’s good. Really not my type of subgenre, if you could assign it any subgenre in particular… but I was surprised… it’s maybe not a repeat watch, at least not regularly…” He’s starting to ramble. He clears his throat. “It’s worth watching, definitely. Though I suppose not for the faint of heart, in some ways.”
Against his better judgment once again, he takes a larger sip of wine than he should.
“…I have a copy. You could always come over and watch.” A pause, and he revises, almost with a panic.
“—I mean, not now—” (Yes, now. he’d love her to come over and watch it now).
That's enough, Alice tells herself, gently coaxing the glass out of her hand and back onto the table. She pointedly places it just a little too far from herself -- and away from the bottle. It's a jarring change, abandoning the crutch of the evening at her most critical moment.
The loss is palpable. It gnaws at her, threatens to eat away at everything she is until she's nothing but a husk. And she swears she doesn't have an issue. It's just nerves, and a means to soothe them. She can stop when she chooses. It's not a problem.
She realizes that she's spaced out, leaving him to nervously ramble to save them both from dead air. She checks back in just in time to hear an invitation -- or, at least, an implied invitation in the absence of one.
"Mm, no, you're right. Not now. We're on a date," she daintily presses her fingers to her cheek, tilting her head just so. "But... what about after?"
