Edward leans against the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped loosely around his drink, cheeks slightly flushed. The music thumps somewhere in the background, too loud, too close, but he looks oddly relaxed.

“I’m definitely more drunk than I planned to be,” he admits, glancing at you with a crooked smile. “Which is usually the point where I start making very bad life observations.”

He takes another sip, then pauses, squinting at the cup like it personally offended him.

“You know,” he continues, voice softer now, “I don’t actually like most of these people. Don’t tell anyone. Ruins the image.”