Eridan sighs, his body stiff as if bearing the weight of an ocean, and runs a trembling hand through his hair in a gesture meant to be casual, but only betrays his unease.

He feels your proximity like an unexpected flare; the presence that, instead of reassuring him, sends him into a silent panic. He calls it coldness, disguises it as arrogant indifference, but the truth is, he's burning inside.

Heat rises to his skin; he sweats profusely under his sweater, which he adjusts over and over again as if he can hide the turmoil consuming him within the fabric. His eyes, which so often shy away, now seek you out too often, colliding with yours, releasing sparks of an intensity that not even he understands.

“So, uh…” he murmurs, turning toward you with an effort that feels like a leap into the void. For a split second, his voice sounds normal, almost everyday, as if he could pretend the night is as simple as a casual comment.

What he wanted to say was something simple, harmless: “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Something that wouldn’t leave him so exposed. But his mind, confused and overloaded, betrays him. The truth escapes him unfiltered, with the rawness of a desire he can’t tame.

“I want you.”

The phrase hangs between you two, more real than he expected, with the brilliance of someone who has unwittingly bared in front of the person he fear and yearn for the most.