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“What about that one?” Emma asked, pointing across the bar.
Erik turned to peer around the edge of the booth. She was pointing at a tall man with curly, blond hair. Erik considered him for a moment, but then the man turned around. “Too young,” Erik said. “He looks twelve, honestly.”
“Well, I think you’ve rejected every man in this bar,” Emma said. “I thought we were here to get you laid so you can get over Magda?” She took a sip of her drink before adding, “That’s not going to happen if you’re this picky about a rebound fuck.”
“Just because some of us would fuck anyone with a dick--”
“Hey!”
“--doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have standards,” Erik finished, taking a sip of his own drink and raising his eyebrows above the glass.
Emma glared at him. “Fine then, you’re on your own.” She slid sideways to get out the booth and stood, wobbling only the tiniest bit on her high heels. She picked up her drink to take a long last sip, then slammed it down on the table. “Don’t come crying to me next time.”
“Emma, wait,” Erik said, leaning out of the booth to catch her arm. She shook him off. “Hey, come on, you know I didn’t mean it!”
Emma waved at him over her shoulder, not even pausing as she headed for the door.
Erik slumped back into his seat, glaring at the table like it was the one who had just pissed off his best friend. Only friend, really. All his other friends had been Magda’s friends, which meant they were no longer Erik’s friends and hadn’t been for three weeks now. And now Erik had chased off the only person still willing to socialize with him. Great.
After finishing his own drink, Erik debated whether or not he wanted to drink what was left of Emma’s vodka and soda. That was a bit too desperate, he decided. He could get a new drink of his own. Which was how he wound up leaning against the crowded bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention.
“He’s horribly slow tonight,” the man next to him commented.
“Apparently,” Erik muttered in agreement. He glanced to the side to find himself looking into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
Blue Eyes grinned at him. “You might have to wait until he comes back with my order to get your own in. Fair warning though, that was going on ten minutes ago so I’m starting to think my drink is never going to show up.”
“There goes his tip then,” Erik said, finding that he was smiling back in spite of himself.
“Oh no,” Blue Eyes said. “You can’t do that. I’m sure he’s doing his best, it’s not fair not to pay him at all.”
Erik raised an eyebrow, turning a bit to face Blue Eyes and leaning his elbow on the bar. “A tip is for good service,” Erik insisted. “Waiting this long to even take an order isn’t good service.”
That launched Blue Eyes into a monologue about fair wages, during which the bartender did actually show up and deliver drinks, and Erik found himself sitting next to Blue Eyes in a seat that had apparently been being saved for the Tinder date Blue Eyes was waiting on. Fair wages segued into economics which led to politics and Erik was just getting going on his rant about student loans ensuring that no one had any chance of success anymore, Blue Eyes nodding in agreement, when they were interrupted by a loud voice asking, “Charles?”
Blue Eyes turned to the interruptor. “Oh! Yes, hello. You must be Victor.” He smiled and held out a hand to shake.
“Yeah,” Victor said. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was awful. You know how it is.”
Charles -- since that must be Blue Eyes’ name -- hmmed in agreement. “Of course, don’t worry about it.” He turned to Erik, smiling again, before his expression shifted into surprise. “Oh no, I didn’t get your name,” he said to Erik.
“Erik.”
“Yes, Erik.” Charles patted Erik’s arm. “Erik here was nice enough to keep me company. It was lovely talking with you.”
Erik slid off the barstool, surrendering it to Charles’ actual date. “Anytime,” he said, giving Charles a playful grin. Erik lifted his drink towards Charles in a mock toast as he said, “I’ll see you around, Charles.”
Charles smiled at him. “Goodbye, Erik.”
Erik wound up back at his own table, nursing his new drink, and cursing himself for not asking for Charles’ number. Or at least his last name. Or what he did for a living. Something that would make it possible to find him again later. Maybe if he just waited here a bit longer, Charles would walk past or his date would get up and leave and then Erik could ask. He would just sit here for a while longer and wait.
Erik waited, pretending to pay attention to the football game on the television above the bar but really keeping an eye on Charles. He told himself that he was not at all pleased that Charles' date seemed to be going poorly. Certainly, Charles had seemed much more engaged when Erik had been talking to him. When Erik was talking to him, Charles had been really interesting, and funny, and cute when he got excited about a topic and starting talking with his hands. And sexy, with muscles that were clear even through his button-down shirt and hair that kept flopping forward over his eyes.
Erik was glad that Emma had left, so that she couldn't give him any shit for acting like a teenager with their first crush.
Erik thought he saw his chance about twenty minutes later, when Charles slid off his bar stool, patted his date on the arm, and started making his way across the room. Unfortunately, he was going in the opposite direction of Erik, heading towards the back and the restrooms. Erik sighed, and settled for glaring at the back of Charles’ date's head. Really, Erik should just go over and interrupt once Charles got back, ask for his number, and to hell with being polite. This other guy was way too old for Charles anyway. And he wasn't very attractive.
And he was currently dropping something into Charles' drink.
Erik watched, eyes wide, trying to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Charles' date had definitely just dropped something into Charles' drink and was currently stirring it with a straw.
Before Erik could quite register what he was doing, he was already at the bar, one hand landing heavily on the other man's arm. "What are you doing?" he asked.
The man startled, and shook off Erik's hand. "What do you want?"
"What did you put in his drink?" Erik asked.
The man crossed his arms. "Nothing. Who the fuck are you?"
Erik ignored the question. "I saw you put something in his drink."
The man raised an eyebrow at him. "Even if I did, what do you think you're going to do about it?"
This, Erik thought, before he pulled back and punched the asshole right across the face.
His next thought was, Holy shit, because that had hurt. Asshole went flying off his barstool, landing on the ground in a heap. Erik looked down at him as he tried to shake the pain out of his hand.
"What the fuck?" Asshole demanded, getting up to his knees and cradling his jaw with one hand. "You fucking psychopath!"
"You drugged his drink!" Erik yelled.
Asshole was back on his feet now, and lunged at Erik, tackling him around the waist.
Erik's shoulder slammed into the edge of a table on his way down and he narrowly missed cracking the back of his head on the floor. He was still so surprised at finding himself lying on the sticky floor that he didn’t have a chance to block the punch that Asshole threw at him. It was strong enough to knock Erik’s head around to bang off the floor as well, leaving him momentarily stunned.
Asshole kept punching him as Erik tried to fend him off. All around them people were yelling and then, finally, someone was trying to pull Asshole off of Erik.
It turned out that the someone was Charles, helped by the bartender, and once they’d pulled Asshole off him, Erik rolled over, getting his arms and legs under him and struggling to his feet. He made it up onto his knees, leaning heavily against a nearby chair, and decided that, actually, staying crouched on the floor seemed like a good idea. The room spun a lot less at this level.
“What is going on?” Charles was demanding to know. “Victor, what did you…” He turned to Erik, finally seeming to realize who Victor -- that was his name, right; Asshole suited him better -- had been beating up. “Erik?” Charles asked, leaving Victor in the firm grip of the bartender. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Erik’s nose was bleeding. And quite possibly his mouth as well; it felt like his lip had been split, or the inside of his cheek. He wiped some of the blood away with the back of his hand and spit out a bit as well. “He drugged your drink,” Erik answered, gesturing at Victor.
“What?” Charles asked.
Erik narrowed his eyes at Victor. “Ask him.”
Charles was looking between them, expression confused and bewildered. “I don’t… Is that true?”
“He’s lying,” Victor said.
“I am not!” Erik tried to get his feet again, but failed rather miserably and wound up clinging to a nearby tabletop. Charles came over to help him, getting a shoulder under Erik’s arm and helping him stand.
“You can't seriously believe this idiot,” Victor said to Charles. “I told you, he’s lying.”
Charles looked torn. “Why would he lie about that?”
“I wouldn't,” Erik insisted again. “I saw him put something in your drink. I swear.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake--” Victor shook off the hold the bartender had on him, glaring at the other man vehemently before rounding on Charles and getting in his face to yell. “If you want to believe this loser, then by all means! I could have anyone in this bar that I wanted. It's your loss.”
Charles was too busy blinking at Victor in surprise at the abrupt change in attitude, so Erik was the one who said, “Go find one of them then.”
Victor looked ready to punch Erik again. Charles moved between them, taking a deep breath and telling Victor, “It’s probably best if you leave, honestly. Whether you tried to drug my drink or not, I think we’re done here.”
Victor shook his head. “Whatever, you fucking tease,” he said, before spinning on his heel and shoving his way through the crowd to get to the door.
Charles was frowning after him. “I wasn't trying to be a tease…”
Erik reached for a glass of ice water on the table and pressed it against his cheek. The pain from getting the shit beat out of him was making itself known, now that the immediate threat had passed. “Don't worry about what that asshole thinks of you,” he told Charles.
Charles was still biting his lip when he turned back to look at Erik -- which was kind of adorable, Erik thought. “Oh no! You're bleeding,” Charles said, reaching for the glass Erik was holding. He set it aside and touched Erik’s face gently.
Erik couldn't stop himself from wincing. He was probably going to have a black eye, at the least. “I’m okay,” he said.
“No, you’re not,” Charles said. “Come on, at least let me help get you cleaned up. I don't live far, if you don't mind coming to my place.”
Under no circumstances did Erik mind going to Charles’ place. “Okay,” he said. He tried to let go of the table and take a step forward, but realized that the world was still tilting dizzily. He clutched the table again and said, “I think I might be concussed.”
Charles’ eyes widened in alarm -- also adorable, Erik thought -- and he wrapped an arm around Erik’s back. “Here, lean on me. Maybe we should take you to a hospital.”
“No, no hospital,” Erik insisted, as he and Charles made their way out of the bar. The cool, crisp air outside served to wake Erik up a bit. “I’ll be fine, I just need to sleep it off.”
“Oh, well,” Charles said, “do you want me to take you back to your own place then? Where do you live?”
“No, no, your place is fine,” Erik said. “That is, if it's okay with you. If you don't want me there then we can go to my place. Or I can just get a cab, honestly. You probably don't want--”
“Erik,” Charles interrupted. He was smiling a bit, which was also adorable. Really everything about Charles was adorable. Charles was laughing now and that was cute too.
“I'm glad you think I'm adorable,” Charles said.
“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Erik asked.
Charles nodded, still smiling. “It's alright. Let’s go to my place and get you patched up.”
Charles lived just a couple blocks from the bar, in a building with a doorman and elevator and fancy lobby.
“This is nice,” Erik said, looking around. His left eye was starting to swell shut and he probably looked like the last person that belonged in this nice of an apartment building. Charles’ apartment itself was equally nice. It had big windows with a view over the park.
“Come on, bathroom’s down here,” Charles said, leading Erik down a hallway and into a large bathroom. Erik sat down on the closed toilet lid while Charles started wetting a washcloth. “You've got a cut, just here,” Charles said, prodding at a spot along Erik’s hairline.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry, it looks like it's stopped bleeding at least, and I don't think you need stitches.”
The first swipe of the cloth over Erik’s face made him wince as it pulled at the dried blood. “Sorry,” Charles said again, wincing in sympathy. He was staring intently at Erik’s swollen cheek as he worked, and this close Erik could count every freckle on his nose.
Charles tilted Erik’s head to get a better angle, fingers gentle against his jaw. His eyes darted down to meet Erik’s, before focusing back on cleaning the blood away. “You didn't have to get into a fight with him,” he said, voice carefully neutral.
“He was trying to drug you.”
“Even so,” Charles said, with a small shrug. “Most people wouldn't get involved.”
“I'm not most people,” Erik said.
Charles’ lips quirked a bit and he glanced down to Erik’s eyes again. “Thank you, by the way. I don't think I’ve said that yet.”
It was Erik’s turn to shrug, uncomfortable with the praise.
Charles finished cleaning Erik’s face and dug through the cabinet to find a bandage for his forehead. “Let me find you some ice too. It might help with the swelling,” he said, already halfway out the door. “Are you sure you don't need a hospital for the concussion?”
Erik stood up, being careful to move slowly, and found that the room stayed at the angle it was supposed to. “I think I was just a bit dizzy,” he called after Charles. “It's probably not actually a concussion.”
He followed the direction Charles had disappeared toward, and found him in the kitchen wrapping a bag of ice in a tea towel. “Here,” Charles said, when he turned around to find Erik standing on the threshold. He stepped closer and reached up to place the ice pack against Erik’s eye, holding it in place until Erik covered Charles’ hand with his own.
“Thanks,” Erik said, voice strangely hoarse. Charles was close enough now that there were only a couple of scant inches between them. Erik’s gaze flicked from Charles eyes to lips, then back up. He could just lean down a bit and kiss him.
Charles stepped back, pulling his hand out from under Erik’s and rubbing it against his other arm nervously. “Right well,” he said, “if you’re not feeling too woozy or nauseous or anything, then I can call a car for you. Or you can wait here for a bit, if you're not feeling well still. Are you sure it isn't a concussion? You can't be too careful with those. Do you have someone to wake you up and check on you?”
Erik couldn't help smiling at Charles’ rambling worry. “I'll be alright,” Erik said. “You're a good doctor.”
Charles scoffed. “Hardly.”
Erik adjusted the ice pack, forcing himself not to wince -- he was definitely going to have an impressive black eye from this -- and said, “I should probably head home.” As much as he didn't want to leave, Charles had finished patching him up and Erik didn't want to overstay his welcome. He was fairly certain that his earlier dizziness had been a result of the head wound and blood loss, and he was already feeling much more steady on his feet.
“Oh, um, okay,” Charles said. “Just let me call that car for you then, so you don’t have to walk or take the the subway or anything.”
Erik didn't protest the car, since he really didn't feel up to a subway ride after all this, and Charles walked him back down to the fancy lobby to wait for the driver to arrive.
They didn't talk much while they waited, but the silence didn't feel as awkward as Erik was afraid it would. After the car pulled up, Charles walked Erik out to the sidewalk and said, “I really can’t thank you enough, Erik. You--” He cut himself off. “Just, thank you.”
Erik smiled, even though it pulled at his cheek and hurt. “Anytime,” he said, then thought better of it and added, “Not that I want people to keep drugging your drinks so that I can fight them. You should really stay away from people who would do that.”
“No more online dating for me,” Charles agreed. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and rocked on his heels awkwardly. “I wouldn't mind-- I mean…” He squared his shoulders a bit, looking up at Erik with a small smile. “Would you want to go out sometime though? I at least owe you dinner for all this.”
Erik, whose heart had stuttered a bit at being asked out, tried to keep his expression even. “You don't owe me anything,” he said. Charles’ smile faltered, so Erik added, “But I would like to go out to dinner. As a date?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.
Charles’ smile grew. “I’d like that.”
Erik finally had the presence of mind to ask for Charles phone number and they agreed to meet up the next night for dinner. Erik had just climbed into the car when Charles leaned down to kiss him, his lips closed against Erik’s slightly parted ones. He pulled back with a smile. “I'll see you tomorrow, Erik,” he said. Erik didn't have a chance to reply before Charles closed the car door and the driver pulled away from the curb.
He sat in the back of the car smiling to himself, ignoring the throbbing pain from his face. His phone buzzed against his hip, reminding him that he hadn't so much as glanced at it since meeting Charles. He had two texts from Emma, the first telling him he was an asshole and the second asking if he’d gotten laid or not.
No, but I have a black eye and a date for tomorrow, Erik texted her back.
A minute later Emma texted, I don't want to know about whatever kinky shit you get up to.
Erik was typing a reply when a new text notification popped up. It was from Charles, and said, i hope ur feeling better and home safe, followed by an emoji with a bandage wrapped around its head and a frowning one with eyebrows. Erik had no clue what the frowning emoji meant, but the bandaged one was clear enough.
I’m fine. Almost home, he sent back. Then asked, Do you like Italian?
Charles replied back with an emoji of a plate of spaghetti, a thumbs up, and the word yes.