Butterflies.

There's butterflies in his stomach and they're rising up into his throat. There's a sick, almost nauseous feeling in his gut, but he didn't eat breakfast this morning so there's nothing to throw up.

He's scared. Nervous.

Nothing has ever held a significance like this before. Nothing. And now that it's actually happening, he doesn't know what to say. There's so much he could say, could do, but he doesn't want to fuck it up or sound like an idiot.

This is something totally new. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to do anything. And he hates that he's so inexperienced.

He's ready. He knows that. He's just scared he'll do something wrong and everything will be fucked. Again.

The butterflies with their cyanide wings are still fluttering around his insides, and he's hoping they'll be gone before he sees Andreas again.

Eric wants to dive in headfirst, but he doesn't want to get thrown out of the water.