A/N: Short, simple, and hopefully sweet! Fluff. :)

All it took was a call, and Cullen was at Evelyn's apartment in less than ten minutes. He parked at the street outside her complex, and sprinted up the three flights of stairs to her door.

He knocked. She didn't answer, so he fumbled for her spare key in his pocket – she had a tendency to lock herself out, and Cullen, who conveniently lived the closest of her friends, seemed the most practical candidate. That, and he was the most absurdly responsible person anybody has ever met.

He threw open the door, only to find Evelyn sitting on her couch with a big tub of ice cream, a repeat of Swords and Shields playing on her flat screen. He locked the door behind him.

"Cullen."

"Evie, Maker's breath! What happened?" He sighed as he sat next to her on the messy couch. The coffee table was littered with packets of half-eaten food and unopened food, and an empty bottle of Aqua Magus. Her house was always messy. He hated it, hated how the furniture never matched in the worse possible way, hated how the picture frames on the wall never seemed to be aligned properly and exactly. He thumbed his temples for patience.

"I'm tired of being single." Evelyn leant forward, her hand carelessly around a wine glass, which Cullen carefully pried away and set on the coffee table.

"There's nothing wrong with being single." Cullen flushed slightly as he eyed his best friend carefully. He, on the other hand, had been perfectly content with his status as singleton for the past few years.

"I'm 29, damn it. I don't know about you, but my eggs are going bad."

"Your eggs are going –" Cullen groaned. Evelyn Trevelyan had never been one for subtlety. "And I don't have eggs."

"Course you don't. You don't even have a girlfriend."

"That – that doesn't even make sense. Evie, you should sleep. You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk." She shook her head drunkenly, wagging an unsteady finger. "Bernice from downstairs just had a child. She's 29. My age!"

"Evie, please. You're 29. You're young. You have plenty of time."

"I can't do this, Cullen. I'm afraid. What if I grow to be an old hag, childless and alone?"

Cullen rubbed his temples. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with being old, childless, and alone. Many people do that out of choice."

"You say that because you haven't had a proper girlfriend in years. Years, Cullen!"

He sighed, and she blinked. "Drink with me."

He shook his head, although his lips twitched up in a slight smile.

"Come on, it's Antivan. You know you want it."

"Antivan Sip-Sip?" He raised an eyebrow.

"The one and only." Evelyn stumbled up, quickly waving away Cullen's concern at her unsteady gait as she made her way to the fridge where she retrieved the bottle of wine.

"You'll get a terrible headache tomorrow, Evie." Cullen reminded her gently as he took a wine glass from her kitchen counter, and quickly grabbed the wine bottle from her to preempt any accidents.

She followed him back to the couch and leant back. He eyed her carefully, and then poured some of the Antivan concoction into his own wine glass, and grabbed a bottle of sweetened tea from the floor and poured that into her wine glass.

"Cullen, I want wine. Not tea."

"You've drunk enough," Cullen observed as he took a delightful sip of her Antivan Sip-Sip. True to its namesake, a sip was enough, as the liquid burned in his throat, sent tingles through his stomach – as if his stomach wasn't churning enough already.

"Cullen, please." Evelyn leant close and poured her tea into an empty cup lying on her table, and poured wine into the glass.

"Evie."

"I'm a grown adult."

"I – very well. Just saying you'll feel terrible tomorrow morning. Head-splitting terrible."

"I think that's a risk I'm willing to take." Evelyn took a sip, threw back her head, and laughed. Cullen simply shook his head and chuckled.

They spent the next hour drinking, glass after glass emptied as they prattled on about everything and nothing. Evelyn suddenly sat up straight and faced Cullen, and he felt his face turn pink at the sight of her rosy cheeks, the strands of blond hair hanging free from her messy braid, her t-shirt loose on her slender frame.

"Let's make a bet." She burped, interrupting his thoughts. "We each go on five dates. Whoever finishes five dates first gets a prize from the other."

Cullen shook his head quickly. "No, Evie. I'm drunk, but not that drunk."

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"Fun?"

"Winner gets anything from the other."

"No."

"Anything, Cullen." Evelyn leant close, and Cullen could smell – Maker, could very nearly taste – the heady mixture of Aqua Magus and Antivan Sip-Sip on her breath. He cleared his throat slightly.

"Anything?" He raised a curious eyebrow.

"Anything." She assured him.

"You know, there was this Nevarri I caught speeding down the road the other day. Think it's a new model," Cullen trailed off mischievously.

"Realistically speaking." Evelyn amended. "Please, Cullen. It'll be fun."

Cullen sighed, but his mind whirred. It would be an interesting experience, definitely, and Maker knows when his last date was. He doesn't, for he can't remember, and he hoped that he was not making the wrong decision by telling her yes.