Chapter 19

Eugene has sat through some pretty awkward meals before. That list includes his first night in the castle where none of the royal family knew how to talk to each other, the dinner where he and the Stabbington brothers tried to plan their crown stealing heist while also trying to out drink and out grimace each other, the first (and only) time he tried to have breakfast with a girl the morning after, and the lunch when the orphanage cook was carted off to the asylum for attacking the headmaster and left them with just the groundskeeper to try to fix a meal for three dozen hysterical children.

This dinner is worse than all of those.

When the soup is served there's a round of compliments directed at no one in particular, as whoever made the soup or even planned to make the soup isn't in the room. That lasts about thirty seconds, and then they fall into a thick silence.

Eugene decides that he should go ahead and eat his soup despite the tension, but Wesley doesn't seem to want to eat unless someone is talking and sits with his spoon hovering over his bowl. Every now and then he lifts it almost to his mouth before thinking better of it and lowering it again, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. Every now and then he twitches, blinking a few too many times in a row. Eugene thinks about kicking him, but decides against it. They're not that close.

The queen maintains her poise as if nothing's wrong, but she keeps shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye as if he ought to be doing something. For the life of him he can't figure out what.

Lady Sophia is still ignoring him completely, but she sits ram rod straight and after every bite she aims a glare at her son so fierce that it's shocking the kid hasn't burst into flames.

Pascal gives him a wide eyed look from his pocket, then buries himself deeper, staying out of it and trying to hide.

But Rapunzel's handling it the worst. Like Wesley, she doesn't eat anything, deciding instead to stare at everyone around the table in turn, trying to figure out why everyone's so upset. Her eyes dart from her mother, to Lady Sophia, to Wesley, to her mother, to Eugene, to Wesley, to Lady Sophia. She must be getting a headache, and the creases on her forehead grow more and more pronounced and her anxiety grows until her head starts to duck and her shoulders start to slouch as she draws into herself in fear.

Eugene stretches out his leg to press his foot reassuringly against her own, and she jumps and squeaks at the contact, dropping her spoon with a clatter.

Everyone's heads snap up to her, the queen holding her breath in concern, Wesley looking like a traumatized rabbit, Lady Sophia looking thoroughly unamused.

"Sorry," Rapunzel mutters, and after a moment everyone returns to their soup.

She looks up at Eugene and he offers her an apologetic cringe. She gives him a hesitant twinge of her lips and finds his leg with her toes. She's apparently slipped out of her shoes under the table. The arch of her foot finds his calf and rubs steadily back and forth, trying to draw confidence from his warmth and his presence and soak it up into her fluttering stomach.

With a deep, silent breath, her shoulders relax and she takes a delicate sip of her soup. He watches the muscles in her neck move as she swallows, and when their eyes meet again he's able to give her a confident smirk that makes her toes curl against him before they both look away again.

He decides that he doesn't care for all this, and he's thus going to ignore it. He has everything he needs with his meal (which really is pretty good) and with playing footsie with his girl.

The soup turns into salmon, and the salmon turns into chocolate cake, and through it all there is silence except for the clinking of cutlery and Wesley's few tragic attempts at conversation. When the queen apologizes by saying that they're all tired from their journey and suggests that they retire, Rapunzel jumps to her feet so fast she almost forgets her shoes.

"That was horrible," she groans once she's collapsed onto the sofa in Eugene's room, dropping her head into his lap. "What's wrong with everyone?"

"Don't worry about it too much," he says, stroking her hair. "Miss. Priss just doesn't like me."

"Why is it no one likes you? I like you."

"Thanks, Goldie."

"I'm serious. It's not fair."

"I don't mind. You like me. Your folks like me. Pascal… is also here." The frog glares up at him and sticks out his tongue. "That's all that matters."

"Really?"

"Really. You just enjoy yourself and don't let it get to you. It's not your problem, it's hers."

"Hmm." She narrows her eyes up at the ceiling in thought, absently tracing the lines across the palm of his free hand, sending tingling ripples through the bones in his arm.

"What are you two doing?"

Blondie pushes herself up on her elbows and they both look up to see the queen standing in the doorway, her face set in an expression somewhere between disappointment and amusement. It's a look that Eugene is being familiar with.

"We're hiding," the princess tells her in a stage whisper.

"I found you easily enough, so you're not doing a very good job."

"You don't count."

In such a motherly gesture that he almost laughs, the queen announces, "Bed. Now. Both of you."

"My bed?" Rapunzel asked, her nose wrinkling in a way that would be cute if Eugene's heart hadn't just jerked to a stop.

The queen blinks at her, then closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and rubs her forehead with the tips of her fingers before drawing them back through her hair. Then she turns on her heel and leaves without further comment.

Rapunzel tilts her head back and grins up at him.

He can't think of anything cohesive to say except, "You two seem to be getting along."

Her grin grows. "We're friends," she declares.

"Just when I think you can't get weirder."

"My manners tutor says that it's called quirky."

"Alright, Quirky," he says, pushing her into sitting up with his elbow. "Time for you to go to bed."

Her face slips into a pout as he guides her to her feet, then across to the door. He fishes Pascal out of his pocket and plops him onto her shoulder.

"Goodnight."

She digs in her heels before she's all the way out of his room, and turns to peer at him. "That's it? Just goodnight?"

"Uh… Sweet dreams?"

She ducks her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, her green eyes bright and intoxicating. And where did she learn that?

She reaches out to thread her fingers through his before whispering, "No kiss?"

Oh, she's going to be the end of him. Again.

She drapes an arm over his shoulder, pressing her body fully against him to get leverage, to pull herself up onto her toes, to hold him tight, to turn him on. She runs her hand up his spine, sending shivers through his chest, to reach the back of his neck and draw him down, down into her and her green eyes and her parted lips.

This must be what it feels like in the moment before drowning. When his mind relents and relaxes along with every tendon, every muscle, every worry. When his body is encircled in a thick and muggy warmth. When the air rushes from his lungs, too excited to hold breath, leaving behind only dizziness and bliss. When little shocks of pleasure burst along his skin where she touches him.

"Oh! Sorry! I didn't… sorry."

Eugene pulls himself free, feeling a bit like a plunger coming unstoppered and a bit like a man who's going to murder the next person to interrupt him.

Lord Wesley's eyes are so wide they might fall out of his head at any moment, and his face is warring with itself, unsure if it should turn red or white.

"Sorry," he repeats, dropping his eyes to the floor and looking sheepish.

Eugene manages to untangle himself, which is more difficult than it really ought to be. "What can we do for you?"

"I was just… I…" Wesley coughs, and glances up at Eugene with that look in his eyes that he's had nearly every time they've spoken. And suddenly Eugene is able to give it a name.

Hero worship.

The revelation hits him like a wall of water. Wesley couldn't be that much younger than him, maybe only a few years. And the kid had everything, right? It was crazy. Absolutely crazy.

Eugene's demeanor softens as he asks, "What's up, buddy?"

"I just came to… ah…" Eugene raises an eyebrow, and Wesley sighs. "I wanted to apologize for my mother. She's being unreasonable."

Eugene shrugs. "I can see her point, I guess."

"Yeah. I guess I didn't really think this through."

"Yep. You sure dropped the ball on this one."

"Eugene!" Blondie hisses.

"What? It's true. I mean I get it, you want to hang out so you can learn to be as great as I am. There's no shame in that. But look, kid, there are better ways to go about it."

Wesley gives him a look of awe inspired by Eugene's amazing mind reading powers. "There is?"

"Sure!"

"How?"

"You need to go get in trouble."

He looks unsure for a moment. "Like how?"

"Like…" Eugene pauses. Then looks down at Rapunzel, back at Wesley, then down the hall to see if they have any more unexpected guests. "You know what, let's just show you. How'd you like to go get drunk?"