“Heyyy, handsome,~” Eddie hears from behind him. If anyone else said that, he’d bristle and tell them to fuck off. But he recognizes your voice (even when you’re drunk). So, with a scoff and a roll of his eyes, he sets down the glass he was washing and turns around.
There you are. You’re beaming at him, eyes bright. You’ve practically draped yourself across the bar, almost the entire upper half of your body resting atop it. Your elbows sit on the wood, and you’re propping your chin up in your hands. It’s adorable. You’re adorable. Eddie has to look away and clear his throat to compose himself. He can’t let you see how much you make him feel. Not until he’s ready to tell you. He wants to, it’s just…he needs time. He sighs and crosses his arms, meeting your gaze.
“Didn’t realize you were that drunk,” he nods his head toward the rest of the club. “Volt’s on the other side of the room. I think you might have us mixed up.” He watches as you immediately frown and straighten up, an intense focus in your eyes, brows furrowed. He prepares himself for inebriated anger. You don’t seem the type to get yourself kicked out, but then again he’s never seen you this drunk before. He anticipates, at the very least, some defensiveness. It probably wasn’t the best choice for him to yet again insist that you like Volt more; you always refute that. But when you speak again, your voice comes out far softer than Eddie expected.
“You don’t think you’re handsome?” Your frown has morphed into more of a pout. Ah, fuck. Of all the things Eddie was bracing himself for, sympathy wasn’t one of them.
“I don’t think. I know,” he replies, not having enough time to think better of it. He has to hold back from muttering curses the second the words leave his lips. He’s about to speak again, to tell you to go back to having fun with Volt and forget he ever said anything, but he doesn’t get to. You respond before he can.
“Eddie, what? You’re beautiful.” The sincerity in your tone is so strong it makes you sound sober. There’s a sort of heartbreak in your eyes as you look at him, holding his gaze uninterrupted in a way that a drunk person can’t usually pull off. Eddie doesn’t know what to make of that, especially not now, when your words have his face flushing. He can feel the blush reach the tips of his ears. You really got him. And the worst part is you’re not even trying to!
“You’re drunk,” he mutters, casting his silver eyes toward the floorboards. You’re saying things you don’t mean, he thinks.
“First of all, I’m tipsy,” you retort. “And second of all, being tipsy doesn’t make me a liar!” You take one hand from under your chin, reaching out to gently touch his arm. Eddie stiffens, but he doesn’t stop you. He feels his skin overheating the longer you look at him.
“I’ve never lied to you, Eddie,” you say, giving his forearm a light squeeze. “And I never will. I mean it when I say you’re handsome, or beautiful, or capable, or smart, or-”
“Stooop,” Eddie says, in that usual way he does when you fluster him. “That’s enough. I get it.” He tries to ignore the way your lips curl into a smirk; even drunk, you can recognize his tells. Your grin will be his undoing one of these days, and he knows it.
“I-...Thank you,” he murmurs, barely audible, but you catch it. Your expression softens into a smile. You lift your hand from his arm, returning your elbow to the counter.
“There’s no reason to thank me for just being honest.” There isn’t a hint of flirtation in your voice, and that makes it worse somehow.
“Yeah, yeah,” he begins to turn away to get back to his work. “Go have fun.” It’s only then that you finally relent, but not before sticking your tongue out at him.
Eddie spends the rest of the night sneaking glances and thinking to himself that, when you’ve sobered up, maybe…maybe it’s finally time to tell you.
