𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐘! 🥃
━ an eddie munson audio blurb imagine (?)
The Hideout is slow these nights.
There’s chatter, still, somewhere between the rumble of conversations in booths and the clatter of pool balls. Onstage, Old Judith introduces the next performer for the night, and you listen idly as an old crooner’s tune begins to ring across the room.
It’s not bad— Just.. horrifically mellow. If anything, the songs simply slow your world and drags the hours of your shift even longer. You settle on making small talk with other patrons, go through the motions of pouring drinks and polishing glasses to keep yourself occupied.
Your eyes slide over to the end of the bar. It’s Eddie.
His face is relaxed, and the beer he’s nursing in hand have warmed his cheeks into a flush. He looks.. soft, despite the all-black outfit and studded leather he has on. It’s surprisingly endearing.
“Where’s Gareth and the rest of the boys?” you ask, moving over to his end as you dry your hands off a tablecloth. You’d met the band not too long ago— they’d barged in during one of your shifts, with flyers in hand and the glorious hope of performing during one of the open mic nights. After you’d shrugged and sent them over to your manager, they’d simply been given a once-over and a vague huff of assent.
You see them weekly, now. You’d all grown to be fast friends.
“Out back with Wes,” he says, rolling the edge of his beer bottle around. You snort. Eddie narrows his eyes when he catches your eyeroll.
“There’s no paradise, dipshit,” you scoff from behind the counter. “He’s just been pissing me off lately. It’s whatever.”
“Stupid jokes and whatnot. I mean, you already know the kind of guy he is.”
“Yeah, he’s an asshole.” Eddie raps his knuckles against the oak wood of the bar, the glint of his rings catching the dim overhead lights. You try not to stare too long.
“Want me to beat him up for you?” he offers jokingly, knowing full well he couldn’t last in a fight for his life if he truly had to— but if you did say yes, he’d have figured a way out anyway.
(He’d do a lot of things, for you.)
You bark out a laugh at his offer, bright and musical.
(Okay, scratch that— he’d do anything, for you.)
Eddie’s skin buzzes at the sound of your laugh; catches himself hanging onto the way you’d looked as you break into that dizzying smile you always do on the rare occasions he got to talk to you. “I’m serious!” he insists, “I can like, go egg his house or something. Just get me an address and consider it done.”
“That’s not exactly a fight, Munson,” you smile, shaking your head.
“Well, there has to be something I can do.”
A pause. You cock your head to the side, leaning back from behind the counter with crossed arms. “Well, Wes is supposed to be working tomorrow night, but he’s bailing last minute and I have to cover his shift. Tomorrow’s a Wednesday, which is usually the slowest day of the bar, so I’ll need company.”
“Company, huh? You know, if you wanted to ask me out you could’ve just said so, I mean you didn’t have to make an excuse….”
“You are such an ass,” you scoff, though without heat, tossing a napkin his way. “Forget I asked, then. Your band’s up next.”
“No, hey! C’mon,” you hear, just as you turn away. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Scout’s honor!”
When you turn back to look at him, he has his hand up in salute, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the sight. “You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.”
“Yeah, well. Yours truly,” he bows.
“See you onstage,” you roll your eyes, just as he downs the last bit of his bottle and slides off his seat with a wink.
