100 More One Shots ✔️

Baby It's Cold Outside >> Eddie "The Eagle" Edwards X Reader

"Order up!" Petra shouted, motioning for you to serve. It was for the table of skiers who were slightly younger, preparing for when they were older, and for their own Olympic dreams. You made way to her, and stacking the plates over your arms, made time and dished it to the youngsters, who gave their thanks for their servings of schnitzel with noodles. 

You glanced over to the table Eddie was on, and couldn't help but notice that he had the professional skiers; the guys who were always making fun and picking on him. You knew it wasn't your business, and perhaps that there was no reason you had to go over and straighten things out, but there was no perhaps in that equation, you were already marching over to defend Eddie until the grave.

"Oi," you shout, quietening their table. It had been a while since you broke out your Scottish-born temper, and it showed on the young athletes who seemed taken aback by the display. "Quit harassing the staff." you stand to your full height, slighting in front of Eddie. 

"You are right, that is just what he is. Staff. Not a skier." A Swiss athlete chuckled. His friends joined in along with him. 

You cross your arms, and narrow your eyes. "If that's what you believe, so be it, but keep the beef for the slopes, Pingu." you glance to Petra behind the bar, as she serves beer in decorative beer stein mugs for the regular men on the stools. "Or I'll have you banned from in here. Clear?" 

A Norwegian young man nods, "Crystal." 

It's getting dark out when you make it to the top of the hill. Dark means cold, in the wintertime here, and that's why you're kitted out in all your gear to keep warm for the trek to the top. Most people retreat to the indoors in winter, but you like the brisk chill, you like feeling that the whole world is still and frozen, and you are breathing icicles. But as you make it to the top of the hill you often inhabit, there is another figure.

It is Eddie.

He looks to you, and underneath his knitted hat, his eyes are sad; they are red, and teary, lips quivering as he holds a piece of paper between his gloves. How he managed to open the letter without freezing his fingers from his palms, you are not sure, but at this moment, your cold heart softens at the sad appearance of the quirky, dream-driven skier before you. 

"Oh gosh, sorry,"  you stammer, "I didn't mean to - I mean this is where I come -," you pause, reaching a hand toward him. "Do you need, uh, a hug or something?" He nods, and at that, you trudge toward him, the heavy steps the snow boots give you seeming full of purpose for once. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Eddie nods, then shakes his head. "It's just family stuff, ________. I just miss 'em." 

You snort, looking into the abyss of the winter sky. It was as black a night as ever, the stars beaming down as much as they could through the oncoming snow clouds. "What's it like?" you wonder, glancing to Eddie. "Missing your family." 

He frowns, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I miss my Mum, and how she always told me I could do whatever I wanted, as long as I really wanted to. She's the reason I'm here, right now, _______." his smile is wan, as he adds, "and I miss Dad, even if he's never really thought of me as anything more than a plasterer, and a waste of time with all the sports." he sighs, folding the letter up, and tucking it in his jacket. "Wait, don't you miss your family?" He wonders.

You don't respond right away. Instead, you take a deep breath, and do your best not to run away from the topic. "I ran away from home three years ago. I'm probably listed as missing back in Scotland, but my Ma wouldn't care." you shrug. "She was hooked onto bad things when I was little, and took so many men in her home she didn't know which one sired me, and let them...abuse me. Anyways. I grew some balls and ran to Germany." you smile at Eddie. "And now I wait on tables and wish my life away." 

Eddie frowns. "That can't be your story, though, ________," he sighs, "You're not wishing your life away. What're...what're you working for?" 

You lean against his shoulder, head fitting perfectly against his side. "Do you mean, like, a goal for what to do after I finish working for Petra?" you wonder, and hearing his hum of affirmation, you add, in a sheepish voice, "I've always wanted to open a little cafe in a small town. It doesn't matter where, it doesn't matter when, but it'll have two tables out the front, and my latte art will win awards," you mumble. "I can cook pastries and pretty things, you know." 

He beams. "Maybe I'll have to visit this cafe of yours," he suggests, glancing to you. There's frost on the rims of his glasses, and some snowflakes have nestled in his facial scruff, but at that moment, the imperfect Eddie Edwards was as perfect as he could be. "You know, in the future." 

"And I'll come watch your Olympics," you add, glancing up.

"Deal."