Chapter Text
"What are you doing?"
Edge freezes. “What?”
You squint at him. “With...you know what? Never mind.” You wave a hand through the air in a wave that is the complete opposite of dismissive. Sheepishly, you add, “forget I said anything.”
Which is, of course, not something Edge can do. Now that something’s been half-brought to his attention, he needs to know what it was. Especially considering this is the first time you’ve been in his apartment.
(He even had Red leave for the day which is...maybe not the feat it used to be, back when they first got to the surface, but still! It took a fair bit of haggling with his brother to ensure that there would be no surprise guests mid-way through, with some inane story about something stupid Edge may-or-may-not have actually done in the past)
He takes quick stock of things. A glance at the door, but it’s still closed. So are the windows. Doomfanger has not managed to knock anything off the shelf in the kitchenette and the television is set to the Discovery channel, which has proven to consistently be a very safe bet when it comes to topics.
But...you’re fidgeting. Oh, you’re trying not too. He can tell. You’ve very pointedly gone back to eating, plate held up under your chin so you don’t spill crumbs onto the couch. You take a bite, and then you glance at him, and then quickly back to your own food.
The food!
Jagged frown cutting over his face, Edge asks, “what’s wrong with your dinner?”
“Nothing!” You answer too quickly, realize your mistake, and flounder, “no, no, really. The food’s great. You made it, right?”
“I did,” says Edge, carefully. “But that doesn’t mean you have to eat it. Red has plenty of microwaveable garbage you can get. It won’t hurt my feelings.”
It won’t. Edge has come a very long way in the ‘kitchen skills’ department, but he knows he’s not a chef by any stretch of the word.
You shake your head harder. “Really, that’s not it. This is great. I’ve never had anyone cook for me on a date before.”
“...I thought that was par for the course?”
“I – don’t know?”
“I’m not good at this,” says Edge, bluntly. “Was making it too formal? We can just go out again next time, if you want.”
It takes you a moment to parse that through. When you do, you frown. “Edge, it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you made the food. Honestly? I think that’s super sweet of you. It shows you were thinking about this.”
“Of course I was. I’m the one who asked you out. Why the Hell wouldn’t I put thought into it?”
“Still not the point,” you tell him, but your flush-faced when you do it.
Edge drawls, “enlighten me then. What’s the point?”
There’s a long pause. For a moment, Edge thinks you’re really just not going to tell him. But then you admit, “I was just wondering...what are you doing with your burger?”
Edge blinks. He looks down at his plate and can practically feel the way that heat floods to his skull; ruddy red magic that sits strange on his sharp cheekbones. He was so busy talking to you that he hadn’t been paying attention to his actual meal, absently picking it apart into sections and spreading it out on his plate despite the fact that he’s the one who put it together not even ten minutes prior.
Absolutely mortified at himself, Edge gives a gruff, “nothing.” He snags the tomato slice with two claw tips, quickly trying to piece the burger back together. “What were you saying about that asshole at work?”
You reach out, curling soft fingers around his wrist. “Edge?”
“It’s – nothing. Ignore it.”
“Okay.”
“...okay?”
“Sure. I can ignore it. I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot or anything.” You give his wrist a gentle, reassuring squeeze and then settle back down on your side of the couch. There’s so much warmth packed into the curl of your smile it makes Edge’s Soul skip a beat. “It was kind of rude for me to just ask like that.”
Edge stares at you. He’s not sure how it’s rude to ask when he’s the one playing in his food like a toddler. When he tells you as much, it just makes you snort.
“I don’t think it looks like you’re playing in it, hon. I think – well, I don’t know what you’re doing, really, but that’s fine? I’ve just never seen you do that before, at the diner or anything.”
That’s because Edge makes a conscious effort not to do it in public. In fact, he doesn’t really do it when anyone but Red’s around.
Except for you, it seems.
You make him feel comfortable. Even now, Edge is embarrassed...but not because of you. Just that he didn't catch himself before you pointed it out.
Haltingly, Edge admits, “I don’t like when it touches.”
You return, “really? Huh. That must make eating casseroles a pain in the ass.”
Edge lets out a bark of startled, half-relieved laughter. He smiles at you, all teeth, the set of his shoulders already creeping back towards relaxed.
He puts the tomato back down on the plate and eats his burger plain. It’s a good date.