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Fingers are arched over the rim of the cup, wrist rolling to rouse the fourth glass of golden whiskey. To the lips, it was aromatic. Spiced. Laden with the faintest kiss of cinnamon flavor.
There's a subtle step against the concrete flooring. Eddie sets his glass down, letting it hit the counter shining with its lacquer wood finish.
“...Is it just you?”
The person from the hall is now basked in the nearly infrared light, quickly discerning themselves with the way they have their hand curved along the temple of their head, not particularly picking at any skin yet still tentatively ghosting their gloved fingers near the frames of their glasses.
“Uh…” Eddie glances around in a haphazard manner. Sharp memory dulled in a liquor ridden daze. “I think the bartender clocked out recently… I don't know.”
She stands there. Verifying. And takes the barstool farthest away from him.
“...The bartender isn't going to be back for a while.”
“I'm not here to drink, Edwyn.”
Eddie stares. Forgetting about his glass that's now dampening the wood without a coaster. Vega’s elbow is propped up on the surface of the countertop, hand positioned over their mouth. He pays attention to their darting eyes, more attention to the way their thumb absentmindedly traces over their bottom lip.
“Don't tell me you're thinking of going back into the morgue.” Cuts through the silence.
Vega immediately snaps her head, her voice shrill and high from sudden fluster. “What? No, why would I think about that?”
“You were guarding it the entire time earlier…”
“...” A prominent frown is on their face. “...I considered it.
--But I think looking more into it would be advantageous, wouldn't it? We uncover and expose dark truths about this set, we win favors from curious audiences. Of course, I wouldn't want to go in there myself… that’d pose so many things that could go wrong...”
Vega retracts from her passionate frenzy and goes back to nervously shifting around on the barstool.
“You say that, yet you made Poppy and me go in there…”
“Which you agreed to.”
Eddie merely huffs and slumps over the counter, resting his head in his arms.
Despite not coming here for drinks or for discreet investigation–which the more Eddie dwelled on, the more he realized they were terrible at inconspicuity–Vega remains, still repeating the same, skittish and spasmodic gestures. And Eddie is still staring, from the little sliver of vision over his arms and hair that block most of his sight.
“Why are you here?”
The question lingers in the air along with the fragrant aromas of fruit mixes and chardonnay.
“Is it because of those two…?”
Vega stirs.
“Why would I feel anything? It's not like I had any involvement–” Light tracing over the lip goes to chewing on the knuckle of faux leather, “It's just how it works!”
“We both did it.”
Eddie sees himself reflected in the lenses of Vega's glasses. Again, there's a long moment of stillness.
“I'm better than that…” he chokes.
“...You're really bad at hiding how you actually feel.”
“Go look in a mirror, Edwyn.”
“You're deflecting.”
“Ungh, fine!” Vega removes her hand from the corner of her face, now buried between her body and arm as she tightly hugs herself in recoil. “I… wanted to see you.”
“...What?”
“Yes, for obvious reasons…”
‘No, what the hell are you talking about’ is what Eddie could've said, though he chose to refrain from ruffling them up any further than they already made themselves.
So he takes his glass off the ringlet of condensation it made instead, sips and mutters, “Uh, keep looking then.”
Vega does. And suddenly Eddie doesn't want to be drinking in front of an audience.
“...”
“...”
“...Do you feel like forgetting, too?” He finally asks. It's a travesty of small talk, but he makes the effort regardless.
They tilt their head, seemingly peering at the multitude of drunken shots at the counter.
“If you're insinuating what I think you're insinuating, then the answer is no,” he continues, “I think you know by now that I don't enjoy the flavor of poison.”
“I don't think anyone is poisoning the drinks. And, uh, if they are, then this poison tastes really good.”
“Hm, haha, how clever.”
Vega scoffs, then taps her fingers briefly in rumination.
“A cosmopolitan.”
“A… what?”
“You asked if I wanted a drink. I'm answering you.”
“...Oh.”
Eddie gets up and circles around the counter.
“Wait! I'd like to see you make it. I'm not leaving any room for potential scheming…”
“You could help yourself.”
“No, I… I'm testing your knowledge right now.”
“You don't know what's in it, do you.”
Vega finds herself sheepishly turning away.
He sighs, but still bothers to gather the bare bones of cocktail ingredients and sets them in front of their sight.
“I'm surprised you're asking for this then.” Cranberry and lime juices muffle his words as he sloshes them around in the shaker with moderate force. “You don't strike me as the type who likes to try new things.”
“I do?” They mumble, “I suppose you'd be half right…”
“Thrills have been my calling as of late… Perhaps you could even say they're part of the reason why I'm here in the first place.”
She fiddles with the cuffs of her sleeves, adding on, “Still, I favor stability. It's reliable, steadfast, like the star sign of the Taurus. It's something unchanging and hard to find in people.
...Almost like you.”
Eddie pauses.
“...Your drink is ready.”
“Wait! How do you know the rim of the cup isn't laced with poison!”
“Do you want me to lick the glass to safe-test it, too?”
Vega pipes down right after that, hesitantly reaches for the stem, and curls their fingers around it.
Eddie watches him bring it to his lips for an infinitesimal sip. “Is it to your liking?”
“...Mm.”
It's not long before they finish their drink. Martini glasses can only be so lasting.
“Eddie, I… meant what I said earlier,” their voice is hushed despite the lack of a crowd. “I find you to be dependable, trustworthy if I'm pushing it.”
“...”
“For once, I want to put my faith into someone.”
They stand up abruptly and head back to the hallway, leaving three chips on the counter in the process. No longer can Eddie keep his focus off the hanging bar decor. In his peripheral, it aligns with his neck, straight ahead, with Vega’s.
“Don't prove me wrong.”