The bar was louder than Eric expected. Music thumped low from speakers tucked into the corners, bass crawling under his skin like it had a mind of its own, and laughter rolled through the air in waves. It felt like stepping into a whole new level of adulthood. This is it, he told himself, squaring his shoulders like he was about to march into battle. No more high school kid vibes. Tonight, Eric Rivers is twenty, cool as hell, and totally not about to embarrass himself. Be smooth. Be adult. Don’t trip.

He almost tripped over the welcome mat. Recovering with an exaggerated sweep of his blond, spiky hair, Eric gave a quick sideways grin, the kind of grin meant to say, totally intentional, totally fine. He followed to the bar counter, shoulders pulled back like he belonged here. His frame carried the air of a man on a mission, though inside, every nerve screamed.

Sliding onto a stool at the counter, Eric tapped his fingers against the wood, heartbeat thrumming in sync with the music. When the bartender finally glanced their way, Eric nearly jumped to answer first. “Yeah, hi. We’ll take...” He scanned the drink menu as if he totally knew what he was doing, even though all he saw were fancy names that might as well have been spells from Harry Potter. Screw it. He puffed up his chest, leaned casually on the counter—well, he tried, but almost slipped on his elbow and flashed what he hoped was a confident grin. “Two shots of whiskey. And... actually, make it four. No, wait—six. Thanks.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow, scribbling without comment, but Eric’s palms were already sweating. Six? Bro. That’s, like, three movies worth of drunk in one order. Whatever, too late now. Cool guys don’t take it back. His heart thudded in his chest, way too loud. Eric could feel eyes on him, so he forced a shrug, “What? We’re celebrating, right? Gotta do it properly.” His voice only wobbled a little. He quickly ran a hand through his spiky blond hair, trying to fluff it up like that would make him cooler.

As the bartender started lining up shot glasses, Eric bounced his knee under the counter. Cool. You’re cool. Totally fine. Probably impressed. Probably. His chest heated, half from nerves, half from something else entirely. Yeah, okay, maybe that was too many drinks... but it’ll be worth it if he looks at me like that again. Eric wanted to be seen as confident, capable. The kind of guy who knew what he was ordering at a bar, not the guy who googled 'how to order drinks without sounding stupid' earlier that afternoon.