The adrenaline after finishing a set is always Eddie's favorite part of performing. Of course, the set itself is invigorating on its own— the moments when it feels like he and the rest of Corroded Coffin are all in sync are unforgettable— but the feeling from putting in all his effort makes his chest thrum with energy. Even with a subpar crowd of The Hideout's usual five to seven drunks, Eddie knows it's just a matter of time before he's performing in front of thousands.

"Hey, Eddie?" Gareth calls from the drum kit while the band's packing up their gear. "Someone wants to talk to you." That draws Eddie's attention, so he carefully sets his guitar into its case and hops off the stage. Judging from where Gareth's pointing, he's looking at you tucked away in the corner of the bar as you stare back with an electric smile. `

Damn. Eddie's heart's still racing, but now it's for an entirely different reason. Eddie crosses the bar over to your spot with a water bottle, and with a quick breath, he straightens out his posture and prepares to lay on the charm.

"Heard you were hoping to chat?" he asks, sliding into the chair across from yours as he takes a long sip from his drink. You nod enthusiastically, and he lets himself settle in as you begin your shower of compliments. That you love their music, that you'd come to their last show at Rick's right before he got arrested, and that you're a fan of Corroded Coffin through and through. Eddie's never been so floored with praise from anyone before, let alone a total stranger, and he knows that his cheeks are burning red from his bashfulness.

With another sip of water, Eddie fights the grin on his face as he revels in your flattery. "You're too kind," he says with a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, really— everyone here's more than willing to write us off and label us as freaks... but you get it. You really get it."

Sighing softly, the Munson boy scrubs his face with a hand and takes you in. "Wanna get out of here?"