068

The shrill blare of Eddie’s alarm tears through the quiet, yanking you out of a deep, heavy sleep. You groan, rolling onto your stomach, face burying into the pillow as you blindly reach out, slapping your hand toward the nightstand, fumbling until you find the button to shut it off.

Silence settles again, thick and heavy.

You roll onto your back, stretching with a groggy whimper before turning toward his side of the bed again, voice muffled against his pillow, eyes still closed. "Why didn’t you wake me up when you got home?", you mumble sleepily, "I was waiting for you, baby". You rub your eyes, fingers grasping at the sheets where Eddie should be.

But your hand meets nothing but empty, cool fabric.

"Eds?" 

You frown, cracking one eye open, your sleepy brain trying to make sense of it. The fog slowly starts to clear.You blink. Sit up. Stare at the empty bed next to you. And realize.

You’re alone.

Your stomach clenches.

Where the hell is he?

Memories of last night come rushing back. The way you ached for him, how you’d rushed home from work, showered, shaved, slipped into your nicest underwear, anticipation thrumming in your veins as you curled up in his bed and waited for him to come home from rehearsal.

You waited. And waited. And waited.

But he never came.

You’d fought to keep your eyes open, body thrumming with impatience, excitement.

But exhaustion won in the end, pulling you under.

He’s not here.

Eddie always comes home. Always.

You push the blankets off and stand, shivering slightly from the cool morning air against your bare skin. Rubbing your arms, you step out of the bedroom, hoping, praying, he just crashed on the couch.

Maybe he was too exhausted.

But the second you head into the living room, your hopes are being killed. The couch is empty. A blanket draped over the armrest, untouched.

Your stomach twists as you glance at the side table by the door.

His keys aren’t there. His sneakers, his leather jacket - gone.

Your breath catches in your throat. You turn toward Wayne’s room. The door is closed, soft snores seeping through the thin walls. At least one Munson made it home last night. But Eddie surely won't be in there.

You take a slow step toward the front door, peeking through the window.

No van.

Your heart plummets. The last time you saw him was yesterday afternoon. A quick kiss before your shift. He was supposed to rehearse with the band. Supposed to come home to you. But he didn’t.

Something is wrong.

Should you check Gareth’s? That’s where they usually rehearse. Maybe something happened. Maybe they just stayed out late. Maybe... No. Eddie always comes home. Even if he was out late, even if he was exhausted, even if it was four in the damn morning, he’d crawl into bed with you.

Memories of him lying in a hospital bed pop up in your mind, how pale he was when you stumbled into his room, lying there, hooked to an IV, looking almost dead.

It happened months ago.

But the memories are still fresh. The worries.

Your brain starts to spiral.

An accident, his van crashed, his body hanging through the broken windshield, bloody hands lying on a fuming hood.

You shake your head.

Calm down. Get ready. Think.

Your hands are still shaking as you pull on your jeans, grab one of Eddie’s hoodies and pull it over your head. The fabric smells like him, like cigarettes and cheap cologne, and it does nothing to stop the gnawing panic clawing at your ribs.

You rush through your morning routine.

Bathroom, brushing your teeth, splashing cold water on your face, anything to wake yourself up from this nightmare. You grab your backpack, then his, because if you do find him, he’ll need it for school. You don’t even know if you’re going there yet. You just need to move. Your fingers fumble with your keys as you stumble outside into the freezing November morning, your breath curling in front of you in frantic clouds.

Your car is covered in frost.

"Fucking great," you mutter under your breath, tossing your bags onto the passenger seat and grabbing the plastic scraper from the dashboard. You get to work, the icy crunch beneath your hands and the rhythmic scrape-scrape-scrape the only things keeping you from spiraling.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you.You can feel your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, your breathing shallow, fast.

He’s fine. He’s just... What?

You don’t know.

You don’t fucking know, and that’s the problem.

You let yourself spiral too far last time. You let yourself believe you’d lose him.

And now, the second he’s gone, the second he’s not where he should be, you’re right back there, drowning in it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath.

Just as you go to jump into the driver’s seat, the sound of gravel crunching makes your stomach leap. You turn so fast your neck twinges, expecting the familiar rattle of Eddie’s van, ready to breathe, ready to live again, but it’s not his van.

Your stomach plummets.

Billy’s Camaro rolls to a slow stop across the street, right in front of his house.

For a second, you hold on to the tiny hope that he won’t notice you, that he’ll just get out and go inside, hungover and too tired to be a dick.

But the moment he steps out, his sharp blue eyes land right on you.

Then, they flick to the empty driveway.

No van.

No Eddie.

You’re alone.

And Billy knows it.

His lips curve into that smug, infuriating smirk, the one that always means trouble. "Mornin’, pretty," he drawls, slamming his car door shut. He glances around, then back at you, "No Munson?"

You grip your car keys tighter, your pulse spiking. "Walk away, Billy."

He does the opposite.

Slowly, he crosses the street, all casual arrogance, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets like he’s got all the time in the world.

You plant your feet, squaring your shoulders, refusing to let him see the nerves crawling up your spine.

"Relax," he says, voice smooth, like you’re the one overreacting. "Just making conversation. No need to get your panties in a twist, unless, of course, you’re still not wearing any."

Your stomach turns.

You hate that he still thinks he can talk to you like that.

"Fuck. Off."

Billy grins. "Now, now, is that any way to treat an old friend?" He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Especially when I’ve got news you might wanna hear."

You glare at him, "I don’t wanna hear a single fucking thing from you. Leave me the fuck alone".

"Oh, I think you do." His smirk widens, "See, I spent the night at Lauren’s."

Your gut twists at the mention of your ex-roommate.

Billy sees it. Thrives on it. "Yeah," he hums, tapping his fingers against his thigh, "Right next to that little room I used to fuck you in. Remember that?"

Your jaw clenches. You will not let him get to you.

Billy laughs, low and mean. "God, you were such a needy little thing back then." He leans in just slightly, "Bet you still are, huh? Or does Munson actually know how to keep you satisfied?"

That’s it.

Your fist tightens around your keys, the sharp metal biting into your palm. "Stay the fuck away from me."

Billy just shakes his head, clicking his tongue like he’s disappointed in you. "Tsk, tsk. And here I was, about to warn you."

Your breath hitches.

No.

He sees it, sees the flicker of doubt, and that’s when he moves closer, so close you can see the smug glint in his eyes."You know," he murmurs, "word’s gotten around about Munson’s little win at Battle of the Bands. Big deal, huh?" He tilts his head. "Might actually make it outta this shithole. Maybe even take you with him, huh?"

Your stomach drops.

Billy grins, eating up your silence, "Would be a real shame if someone fucked that up for him."

Your breathing stops.

"A little police report, maybe?" His voice is so mocking, so full of fake sympathy. "For assault? You know, breaking someone's nose?" He taps the bridge of his nose for emphasis.

Your world tilts.

Billy laughs. "What do you think, Sam, mh? Think a criminal record might fuck with Munson’s little rockstar dreams?"

He’s threatening him. Threatening Eddie. Over you.

Your blood boils.

Billy leans in closer, voice dropping into something sickeningly sweet. "And, y'know, it ain't just assault that might be a problem for your little boyfriend." He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. "He’s got a bit of a reputation, doesn’t he? What was it they used to call him?" He pretends to think, then snaps his fingers. "The Freak".

Your nails dig into your palms.

Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Billy grins. "Gotta imagine the cops might be real interested in what else Munson gets up to. All that time spent dealin’ in the school parking lot, slinging to little freshmen, sittin’ in the woods with his little druggie customers." He clicks his tongue. "Kinda paints a picture, don’t it?"

Your stomach tightens,  "Shut up."

But he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t.

Billy steps in just a little closer, close enough that you can smell the stale cigarette smoke on his jacket, the cheap aftershave he always doused himself in. "Wouldn’t take much," he murmurs, voice all mock sympathy, "One phone call, one anonymous tip on top of that report - and poof." He makes an explosion motion with his hands, "No more sweet little music career."

Your breathing is ragged now, but Billy isn’t done.

"And let’s not forget about Daddy Dearest," he adds, shaking his head with a smirk. "Shame about that whole situation, huh? Family’s got a record like that".He lets out a low whistle. "Good luck getting a label to touch him. Hell, every sad little job he'll apply to will think twice about hire to a guy who comes from that kind of stock."

A lump forms in your throat.

Billy watches you, his smirk stretching. "You don’t want that for him, do you, pretty?"

You can’t breathe.

"You love him, don’t you?" he presses, mockingly soft, "So much?"

You grit your teeth. "Fuck you."

Billy just laughs, "Such a dirty mouth. No wonder Munson likes you so much." Then his voice lowers, turns venomous, "But here’s the thing, babe. This town? It eats guys like him alive. And me?" He grins, all teeth, "I’ve got the power to make sure it swallows him whole."

Your blood runs cold.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "So, be a good girl, and do what I tell you".

Your fists clench at your sides as you force yourself to breathe. To think. To not let him see how hard he’s getting to you. But inside, there’s a war raging, a violent storm of rage and panic colliding in your chest. Your heartbeat pounds so loud in your ears you can barely hear yourself when you finally manage to speak.

"What do you want?"

Billy leans back and glances at you with that smug, lazy grin. Like he’s been waiting for you to ask. "Oh, great" he drawls, tilting his head, "Now you’re thinking."

You swallow hard, keeping your feet planted even though every instinct in you is screaming to run, to get away from him before he can sink his claws any deeper.

Billy leans forward again, slow, deliberate, like a predator closing in on wounded prey. "What I want," he muses, pretending to think, "is pretty simple." His eyes rake over you, and you feel disgusting under his gaze, "I want what you took from me."

Your stomach twists. "I didn’t take anything from you."

Billy lets out a short laugh. "Oh, but you did." His smile fades, eyes turning cold. "You embarrassed me. You humiliated me. You threw me away like trash for that fucking freak", he spits the word like venom, "and you think I’m just gonna let that go?"

You clench your jaw, "It’s been months, Billy. Move the fuck on."

"Oh, I have," he smirks, "Trust me, I have. But see, what I haven’t done? Is get even".

You stare at him, your neck so tensed its seconds from starting to shake.

Billy steps even closer, so close you have to tilt your chin up to hold his gaze. "So, here’s how this is gonna work, baby." His voice drops to a murmur, but it’s no less dangerous. "You? You’re gonna make sure Munson stays out of my way. No more fights. No more trying to be the fucking hero. He keeps his head down, and I keep my mouth shut."

Your jaw clenches, you think he's done, but he keeps going.

His eyes glint with something dangerous.  He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Oh, and - I want you back in my bed."

Disgust churns in your gut, but he keeps going, unfazed.

"I wanna make Munson feel exactly how I did when he took you from me. The way it burned. The way it fucking ate me alive." He chuckles darkly, "Bet it’d tear him apart, huh? Seeing you crawling back to me."

That’s it. The final straw.

Something inside you snaps.

"Nobody took me," you bite out, stepping forward, voice like a knife, "I dumped you. Because you’re a fucking asshole, Billy. Because I didn’t want you anymore."

His jaw twitches. But you don’t stop.

"I wouldn’t touch you again if you were the last piece of shit on this planet," you spit, "I wouldn’t fuck you, I wouldn’t hold your fucking hand, I wouldn’t even let you fucking breathe near me."

His smirk falters for half a second. Just half a second.

But you see it. And it fuels you.

"Go fuck Lauren," you snap, shoving past him toward your car, "Or whoever else is desperate enough to deal with you. But I’m not." You yank the driver’s side door open, ready to get the fuck out of here, but-

"That your final answer?"

The casual, smug tone in his voice makes your stomach drop. You don’t turn around.

"Because I like this bitchy side of you, you’ve got a week to reconsider," he drawls, "I’ve got witnesses, y’know. People willing to sign their names when I report how Munson broke my nose. I got fucking hospital documents. Proof. And they'll all say he’s got a history of shit like that."

Your breath catches. You're frozen.

"He’ll be convicted, pretty." His voice is calm, almost amused. "A record like that? Not great for a guy with a future, huh?"

Your knuckles whiten around your car door handle.

"Choose wisely," Billy murmurs. "Clock’s ticking."

You can barely breathe when he finally turns and walks away, leaving you alone. Your chest is tight with a panic that's been building since you first woke up alone this morning when you hectically climb into your seat and close the door, locking it.

His words echo in your head, each one more suffocating than the last.

You need Eddie, more than anything, but now you're more afraid of the consequences than ever.

You can’t tell him.

If you do, it’ll break him.

It will destroy everything.

Still, you need to find him. You're worried sick. All you want is to have him around. To have him close. To feel safe again after Billy used his first chance of seeing you alone to make you feel so vulnerable and exposed it makes you sick. He makes you sick. But you can't even allow yourself to actually process the fact he's trying to blackmail you.

First, you need to find Eddie. And make sure he's okay.

With trembling hands, you shove your keys into the ignition and slam the gearshift, not caring about anything but finding him. The cold November air feels like it’s biting into your skin as you speed through Forest Hills, down the country road leading to the town of Hawkins, desperate to find any sign of him.

You’re halfway through town, racing on autopilot, when the thought hits you like a punch in the gut.

What if he’s not at Gareth's? What if he’s gone? Left the town?

The anxiety is suffocating.

Billy’s words keep circling in your mind.

You don’t want Eddie to get hurt because of you. He’d never forgive himself.

And you won’t be able to live with it.

All the fights they had because of you, his bruises, his broken rib, his hospital stay. Detention. Suspension. The arguments with Wayne. How he can't control his aggressions when it's about you. How he told you, told Wayne, told everyone if Billy ever so looks at you wrongly, he will actually kill him.

After everything that guy did to you, he deserves it.

You can't tell him.

You pull up in front of Gareth’s house, skidding to a stop with your breath coming in shallow gasps.

The garage door is down.

No van.

No Eddie.

You slam the car into park, your heart sinking.

No. No, no, no.

Tears sting your eyes.

Your chest hurts, like there’s a physical ache in the place where your heart should be.

You shake your head, willing yourself not to fall apart, but the panic only grows. You can't even breathe right, fighting off the fear and frustration.

Where is he? Did something happen?

Your fingers tremble as you fumble with the lighter, trying to spark a cigarette just just flicked between your lips.

Your whole body feels like it’s vibrating - fear, panic, the fucking anger boiling under your skin. Billy’s voice won’t leave your head. His smug fucking smirk. The way he looked at you like he already won.

A week.

Your throat tightens. You take a long, shaky drag, the nicotine doing little to settle your nerves.

You stare at Gareth’s house, at the closed garage, scanning for any sign, any, that Eddie might still be here.

But there’s nothing.

Eventually, the front door creaks open, and a familiar figure steps out, groggy, hair a mess.

Gareth.

He’s holding a steaming mug in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and he’s barely watching where he’s going as he moves toward his car.

You honk.

His head snaps up, brow furrowing as he squints against the early morning light. "…Sam?"

You clear your throat, praying you don’t sound as fucking wrecked as you feel, "Hey".

Gareth walks closer, expression confused. "What are you doing here?" His gaze flicks over you, and you wonder if he can see the panic crawling under your skin. The way your hands are shaking.

"I’m looking for Eddie", you say quickly, "Is he here?"

Gareth frowns. "Munson? …No. Why?"

"Did you guys rehearse last night?", you ask, taking a desperate drag.

"Yeah", Gareth nods, rubbing his eyes, "He was here".

Hope flutters in your chest. "When did he leave?"

He shrugs, "Midnight, maybe? Him and Grant left together".

"Where did they go?", you press, gripping your cigarette so tightly it might snap.

Gareth exhales, shaking his head. ",No clue, man. We had some pot, and I was barely conscious when they left. Jeff crashed on the couch, but Eddie and Grant took off". He sips his coffee, squinting at you, his breath a cloud in the cold morning air, "Sam, what’s going on, mh? You look like shit, and I say that as your friend".

You swallow hard, your mouth dry as you flick the cigarette between your fingers, "He didn’t come home last night."

Gareth frowns, but it’s not the reaction you were hoping for. He’s not worried. He doesn’t stiffen or straighten, doesn’t get that same rush of panic that’s been clawing at your ribs since you woke up alone. He just exhales, shaking his head. "Sam, he’s fine. Probably crashed at Grant’s or something."

You stare at him, your hands still shaking, "He always comes home, Gareth. Always".

"Yeah? Well, before you, he barely made it home most nights." He chuckles dryly, taking another sip of coffee, "Guy used to disappear all the time. Probably just fell into old patterns last night. That’s all."

Old patterns.

The words don’t settle right in your stomach.

You nod, but it’s stiff, forced.

Gareth watches you for a second, reading something on your face that makes his brow twitch in concern. But then he sighs, glancing at his watch. "Shit, I gotta go. I have a test first period, and I should probably read the damn lecture notes at least once before I fail my ass off."

You nod again, forcing out a quiet, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Seriously, Sam, don’t stress. He’s fine." He tosses his cigarette onto the pavement, grinding it under his boot before turning toward his car.

You watch him leave, the taillights of his shitty old Toyota disappearing down the street.

Then, as the silence settles in, you realize you forgot to ask where Grant lives. "Fuck," you mutter, smacking the steering wheel before digging through your memory.

You think you remember it being somewhere near Robin’s place, same neighborhood, at least.

It’s a start.

You shift into gear, racing through town, tension winding tighter with every minute that passes without Eddie.

Your hands are cold, trembling as you light another cigarette, trying to ignore the fact that Billy’s words are still playing in your head, poisoning everything.

You don’t know what to do.

You can’t tell Eddie.

You know you can’t tell Eddie.

Because if you do, he’ll kill him.

This time, he really will.

And then it won’t just be an assault charge hanging over his head.

It’ll be so much worse.

Your throat tightens. You swallow hard, blinking fast against the sting in your eyes as you tear through town, scanning for his van.

Nothing at The Hideout.

Nothing at the gas station.

You drive down Robin's street.

Nothing.

No van.

Around the next corner, and then - you slam the brakes.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you spot it.

Eddie’s van.

Parked on the curb of some random house in the neighborhood near Robin’s.

You frown.

That’s not Grant’s house.

A cold feeling creeps up your spine as you scan the unfamiliar place. There’s nothing remarkable about it. Just another Hawkins house, plain and quiet in the morning light.

You park a few houses down, throwing your cigarette out the window, hands gripping the wheel. You sit there for a minute, just breathing, trying to calm the storm inside you.

He’s fine. He’s fine.

His van isn’t crashed.

He’s not in a hospital bed.

You didn’t lose him.

You keep telling yourself that.Over and over. For minutes.

Fighting the panic attack that's right under your surface since Billy walked away from you.

A voice. Distant, familiar.

You turn your head, eyes narrowing as the front door of the house swings open.

And there he is.

Eddie.

Stepping out, hands in his pockets, laughing. Still in yesterday’s clothes.

You freeze, your pulse thrumming wildly as you watch him turn toward someone just inside the doorway, nodding, grinning, saying something you can’t hear.

Your heart stops at the other person stepping out.

Chrissy Cunningham.

Perfect little blonde ponytail, fresh ironed skirt, soft pink sweater. Looking up at your boyfriend with wide, innocent eyes.

Your stomach drops.

You barely have time to process it before she giggles.

Before she hugs him.

Before she presses a soft, sweet kiss to his fucking cheek.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel, fingers digging into the worn leather.

Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts, blood roaring in your ears.

You feel your face burning, but not from the cold.

From something much, much hotter as you try to process what you just saw.

Eddie.

Your Eddie.

Stepping out of Chrissy Cunningham’s house, in last night’s clothes, laughing, looking so goddamn comfortable.

And then, the hug.

The way she clings to him, her tiny hands pressed against his back like she belongs there, like she has any fucking right to be touching him like that.

The way he lets her.

That fucking kiss.

It’s just a quick peck on the cheek. Barely anything.

But it feels like everything.

You sit there, frozen, every nerve in your body burning with anger, jealousy, betrayal, confusion.

What the fuck is going on?

Did he seriously- did he fucking cheat on me?

No.

No, he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

But then why the fuck is he here?

Why didn’t he come home?

Why is he laughing with her, hugging her, letting her kiss him while you spent the morning worried sick, searching the whole damn town for him, feeling like you were losing your mind?

Your hands are shaking as you stub out your cigarette, not even realizing you’ve been gripping it so tight that the filter is crushed. You barely register the sound of your own harsh breathing, your heart hammering in your chest.

Eddie finally fucking sees you.

His head turns, eyes scanning the street, and then... there.

His gaze locks on yours.

At first, there’s nothing but surprise.

A slow blink, a shift in his expression, like he’s just now registering that you’re sitting there, parked in your car, staring at him.

His lips part slightly, his brows furrow.

Until something clicks.

His whole face changes.

Realization.

Worry.

A flicker of something close to oh, shit.

Good. Good. He should fucking worry.

Chrissy says something, touching his arm, his fucking arm, and you see his mouth move as he responds, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

He’s frozen, staring at you, like a deer caught in headlights.

You don’t know what you’re going to do.

You don’t know if you’re going to cry, or scream, or just fucking leave.

But what you do know, is Eddie has some serious fucking explaining to do.

He's still staring at you, frozen, like he doesn’t know what to do.

And then Chrissy fucking Cunningham notices you, too.

She has the audacity, the goddamn audacity, to smile and wave.

Like this is nothing.

Like she didn’t just step out of her house with your boyfriend.

Like you didn’t spend the last hour tearing through Hawkins looking for him, thinking the worst, feeling like you were losing your mind.

Something inside you snaps.

You take a slow, shaky breath, breaking out of your stunned trance, and reach for the strap of the backpack sitting in your passenger seat. The one you brought because you thought, you hoped, you’d find him passed out at Gareth’s. The one you stupidly carried around for him while you searched for him, worried sick.

And now? Now you can’t stand the sight of it.

You turn the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Your car jerks forward as you speed up the road, right toward them, and slam to a stop just a few feet away.

Chrissy smiles at you again. Fucking smiles.

Eddie takes a step forward, his face pale now, his mouth opening like he’s about to say something. "Sam--"

But you don’t let him. You grab his backpack and throw it out of the window, not caring where it lands, not caring if something inside breaks, not caring about anything except the hurt pounding through your chest.

It hits the pavement with a dull thud.

Eddie flinches.

You stare at him for a split second. Long enough for him to see the hurt written all over your face, the tears threatening to spill, the betrayal.

And then you look away.

You blink hard, swallow the sob climbing up your throat, and slam your foot on the gas.

You don’t see Eddie scramble to grab his backpack.

You don’t see Chrissy’s smug little smirk fade.

You don’t see Eddie finally start moving, like he’s going to chase after you.

Because you’re already gone.

You’re driving way too fast. Tears blur your vision, making the road smear into streaks of grey and brown, but you don’t slow down. You just grip the wheel tighter, trying to swallow the sobs clawing their way up your throat.

What the fuck just happened?

You were supposed to find him passed out on a couch, not walking out of Chrissy house in last night’s clothes.

Not laughing with her.

Not hugging her while you were losing your mind looking for him.

Not letting her fucking kiss his cheek. 

Your hands are shaking. Your whole body is shaking.

You step harder on the gas, watching the speedometer needle climb, trying to outrun the pain clawing through your chest.

Behind you, Eddie finally snaps out of it. "Fuck", he curses under his breath, his heart hammering. He bends down, grabs his backpack off the pavement, and sprints to his van.

Chrissy says something behind him, but he doesn’t hear her.

He doesn’t care.

His hands are fumbling as he jams his keys into the ignition, his breathing ragged as he peels out onto the road, tires screeching. He sees your car ahead, speeding down the street, and presses down on the gas.

He knows what this looks like. He saw your face. Saw the way your expression cracked before you threw his backpack at him.

And now you’re running. And he’s not going to fucking let you.

He tightens his grip on the wheel, eyes locked on the back of your car.

You can see him in the rearview mirror. His van is right there, his headlights locked onto you like a predator tracking prey. You shake your head, gripping the wheel so hard your knuckles go white.

No. I can’t do this right now. I just can’t.

So you push the gas pedal harder. The speedometer needle climbs. The streets blur. Robin’s neighborhood flies past in a smear of houses and trees, your vision swimming with the tears you keep furiously wiping away. Your breath comes in quick, uneven gasps, the panic and rage twisting inside you like a storm.

You don’t know where you’re going. You just know you need to get the fuck away from him.

Behind you, Eddie is losing it.

He’s honking, shouting your name out the window. "Sam! Stop the fucking car!"

But you won’t.

You can’t.

The speed keeps building.

Your pulse is a frantic drum in your ears as you swerve around a corner, almost losing control, your tires screeching against the pavement. Your car fishtails for a terrifying second, the back end swinging wide before you manage to right it.

Your heart is hammering.

You don’t care.

The town center is up ahead.

You’re racing toward it, still seeing Eddie behind you in the mirror, still hearing Billy’s words in your head, still feeling the burn of jealousy and fear choking you.

I have witnesses to sign my accusations. Choose wisely.

Your foot slams the gas pedal to the floor.

Eddie’s still there, still trying to catch up.

The traffic light up ahead flicks from yellow to red.

You see it. You don’t care.

Instead of braking, you speed up.

The junction rushes toward you in a blur of pavement and headlights.

You’re blasting through it.

Horns blare. Tires screech. A car slams its brakes just in time to miss you by inches. Another swerves wildly to avoid hitting your back bumper.

Eddie watches, his blood running cold. His stomach lurches as he sees you barely make it through the intersection, your car almost T-boned right in front of him. He slams on his brakes, his van jerking to a violent stop at the red light. His heart is a wild pounding in his chest, his breath caught in his throat as cars fly past in front of him.

For a second, he can’t move. He just grips the wheel with shaking hands, staring after you.

You’re still going. Still racing away.

His whole body is trembling as he watches your car get smaller and smaller, disappearing up the road.

He grips the wheel harder, slamming his foot on the gas the second the light turns green. His van roars forward, tires screeching against the pavement as he flies through the intersection, desperate to catch up.

But you’re already so far ahead.

His stomach is in knots, his mind racing.

What the fuck was that?

You almost got yourself killed. And he doesn’t even know why.

His pulse pounds in his ears as he pushes his van harder, weaving through traffic. He doesn’t care about the speed limit, doesn’t care about the way his heart is hammering, doesn’t care about anything except you.

Up ahead, you’re still flying down the road, still wiping away tears, still seeing that fucking image of him stepping out of Chrissy Cunningham’s house.

That stupid smile. That fucking hug.

Her lips on his cheek.

Your grip tightens on the wheel as a fresh wave of rage and hurt surges through you.

You don’t know where you’re going. You just need to go.

Eddie is catching up, his headlights flashing in your rearview mirror as he honks again, shouting your name.

You shake your head.

No.

You can’t face him right now.

Not after Billy.

Not after Chrissy.

Not after -

Fuck!

Your breath is coming in quick, uneven gasps.

Your vision is blurry.

Your whole body is buzzing, barely holding on to control.

Another red light ahead.

A line of cars stopped.

Nowhere to go.

You slam on the brakes at the last second, tires screeching, your car lurching violently as you skid to a stop, your body jolting forward from the force.

Your breath is ragged, your pulse thundering in your ears.

Eddie whips his van to a stop right behind you, pulling his handbrake before he even fully halts. He’s out of the driver’s seat in an instant, slamming the door and storming toward your car.

Your hands are gripping the wheel so hard your knuckles are white.

You’re shaking.

Your door rips open, and Eddie is there.

Breathless. Wild-eyed.

His chest heaving, curls a mess, panic all over his face.

"What the fuck was that?", he roars, voice cracking, eyes scanning you like he doesn’t even recognize you. He grips the roof of your car, leans in so close you can feel his anger, his fear. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? You almost fucking died back there! Do you even realize what the fuck you just did? Running a red light? Almost getting hit?" His voice booms through the street, drowning out the sounds of honking cars behind him.

But he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that people are staring. Doesn’t care that he’s holding up traffic.

Because fuck traffic.

He almost lost you.

His hand flies through his hair, his breath ragged. He steps closer, his fingers twitching, reaching for you, but you jerk away.

He freezes.

Something in his expression shifts immediately. His breath catches in his throat as his hands slowly drop. His anger flickers, replaced by something raw. Something scared.

Your voice is shaking when you whisper, "Don’t". You meet his eyes, and for the first time since he pulled you over, he really sees it.

The way your hands tremble on the wheel.

The way your chest rises and falls too quickly, like you can’t breathe.

The way your eyes are full of so much fucking pain.

His own heart pounds harder.

"Baby", he tries again, softer now, reaching for you again.

"Don’t fucking touch me!", you snap, voice breaking.

Eddie flinches.

"Where the fuck were you last night, huh?" Your voice slashes through the air, loud and sharp and cutting.

Eddie’s brows furrow, "What?"

"You stayed at that house?", you hiss, your voice cracking. You’re shaking now, your body buzzing, your vision blurring.

His face is unreadable.

"You fucked her?"

Eddie’s lips part, but nothing comes out.

And that silence, that fucking silence, is everything.

"Did you fuck her, Eddie? That cheerleader cunt!?"

Your scream shatters the air, echoing through the street, making pedestrians turn their heads.

Eddie stares at you. Mouth open. Frozen.

And you know.

You fucking know.

A sharp, guttural sob rips from your chest as you shove him back, hands trembling, rage and devastation clawing their way through your ribs. You slam your door shut, locking it with a click.

Eddie’s whole body jolts, his hands pressing against your window. "Fucking stop!" He pounds the glass, voice wrecked, "Please. Don’t run, Sam. I didn't-"

Cars are honking now.

The light is green.

You don't even listen to him, just hit the gas.

Eddie barely jumps back in time before your car speeds forward, tires screeching.

"FUCK!"

He sprints back to his van, throwing himself inside, chasing after you.

Out of town. Away from everything.

You’re breaking. Tears are streaming down your face. Your stomach is in knots, twisting and turning and hurting. Your knuckles are white around the wheel, nails digging into your palms as you shake your head violently, trying to clear it, trying to breathe, trying to fucking understand how the hell this is happening.

But the only thing your mind keeps replaying.

The way he stared at you.

The way he didn’t deny it.

You feel like you’re dying.

Your breath gets sharper, quicker, erratic.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs, your whole body trembling as everything implodes inside you.

Panic.

You try to push through it.

Try to keep driving.

Try to focus on the road.

But your vision is tunneling.

Your body isn’t listening to you anymore.

Eddie honks behind you, desperately trying to keep up, trying to get to you.

You wanna drive faster, get away from him.

But you can’t.

You can’t do this.

Your hands are shaking too hard. Your vision is too blurry. You're on the edge, and if you keep driving, you'll crash.

So you swerve to the side, tires skidding on gravel, jerking the wheel as your car lurches onto the shoulder of the empty country road between Hawkins and Forest Hills.

Your doors stay locked as you gasp for air.

And break.

You grip the wheel so hard your fingers ache. Gasping. Shaking. Crumbling. Tears falling. A panic attack flooding your veins, your brain, your body.

Eddie slams his van to a stop behind you, jumps out, sprinting to your car. His eyes widen when he sees you, curled over the wheel, chest heaving. Completely and utterly falling apart.

His heart shatters.

"Sam", he breathes, rattling at your locked door, pressing his hands to your window, panic creeping into his voice.

But you don’t move. Don’t even look at him. Eddie swallows hard, his own throat tight, his own breath uneven. "Baby, please… Open the door".

You don’t move.

You can’t.

Your fingers dig into the wheel, knuckles white, your chest heaving so violently it hurts.

Every inhale is jagged, every exhale worse, your throat burning, your mind spiraling.

Eddie’s hands press against the glass harder. His fingers twitch. He wants to rip the door open, wants to grab you, hold you, fucking fix this, but you locked it.

You locked him out.

His heart fucking cracks.

"Sam". His voice is softer now, shaking, eyes darting over your face, your body, your whole fucking form collapsing in on itself, "Baby, please".

You barely hear him through the storm in your head, through the blood rushing so loud in your ears. You squeeze your eyes shut. Shake your head, gasping, teeth clenched.

He sees it. With big, shocked eyes, he watches you,  the way your chest stutters, the way your breath isn’t coming right, the way your shoulders tremble like you’re drowning.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay", he breathes, stepping closer, voice gentle but frantic, "It’s okay. Just- just try to slow it down, alright?" He lifts his hands in surrender, like he’s trying not to spook you. "I’m right here. Just breathe with me, baby, please".

Your fingers tighten around the wheel. Your throat is closing. Tears stream down your face as you gasp for air.

"Okay, fuck- uh, just... look at me, alright?” He taps the window, trying to get you to focus, "Just look at me, sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re safe".

But you don’t. You just shake your head again, tears streaking your face.

"I can’t- I can’t, I can’t, I- I can't breathe--"

Eddie fucking breaks.

His fingers curl into fists, chest aching, because he knows what this is. Knows you’re too far gone, knows you’re scared, knows you’re hurting.

And all because of him.

His eyes burn. His throat closes. He swallows hard. Tries again. "Okay", he whispers, pressing his forehead to the window now, eyes squeezed shut, "Then just- just let me in, baby".

Nothing.

Just the sound of your gasping breaths.

Eddie’s hands press flat against the glass."Please". 

Your breath stutters as you try to focus on his voice, locked in your own body.

"Please open the goddamn door".

Slowly, your hand moves.

Fingers trembling.

And he hears the soft click as the door unlocks.

Eddie yanks it open.

Grabbing you, pulling you into him, arms wrapping around your shaking frame so tight, crushing you into his chest, like he’s trying to hold you together as he pulls you out of your seat, into the cold November air.

You sob. Violently. Shaking uncontrollably, hands clutching at his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as your face buries into his shoulder while he holds on for dear life. One hand cradling your head, the other pressing into your back, his own breath uneven, his own body trembling, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair.

"I got you", he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut, "I got you, baby. I got you, I got you, I got you".

Your breath is slowing, coming back under control, but the second you register his hands on you, holding you, grounding you, trying to pull you back from the edge - you shove him away. Hard. "Don’t fucking touch me!", you gasp, stumbling backward, chest rising and falling erratically. Your hands are shaking as you push your hair from your damp face, every nerve in your body screaming from the betrayal twisting inside you like a blade.

Eddie freezes, his hands still half-raised, like he’s terrified of scaring you off again. His face, his stupid, beautiful, lying face, is a mess of emotions.

Worry. Pain. Guilt.

But no words. No denial.

Just silence.

And that silence? It fucking kills you.

Because you saw him. You saw her.

Her hands on him. Her lips on his cheek.

You saw the way she smiled when she noticed you, like she knew what you were thinking. Like she wanted you to know.

And Eddie? He just stood there. Stared at you. Didn't even try to explain.

Didn't even try to deny it.

The only man you ever really let in. The only man you ever trusted. The only one who ever made you feel safe.

And he betrayed you.

It slams into you all at once.

Billy’s words, still slithering under your skin. The way he threatened Eddie’s future, his life. The way Eddie looked when you accused him.

The silence.

It’s too much.

Your vision goes spotty, your legs feel weak, and suddenly, it’s happening again.

That terrifying, suffocating spiral.

Your breath catches, your chest locks up, your fingers go numb.

The air feels thick, heavy, pressing in on you from all sides.

You stumble further away, gasping, desperate to get away from him, from everything.

You can barely hear him calling your name, barely register his panicked movements as he watches you unravel in real-time. "Sam", he tries again, stepping forward, but you flinch so hard it stops him in his tracks.

Your chest is collapsing in on itself. Your body is shutting down, every system overloaded, every nerve on fire. You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but drown in the storm raging inside you.

Eddie is still talking, saying your name, pleading with you, trying to find a way in, but his voice is distant, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears, by the gasping sobs you can’t control.

Your legs give out, and for a second, you think you’ll hit the pavement, let it swallow you whole.

But he’s there.

He catches you before you hit the ground, arms wrapping around you, holding you, even as you fight him, sinking down with you.

"Let me go!" you choke out, pushing at his chest, shoving, clawing.

But he won’t.

"Not happening," he murmurs, voice thick with desperation. He tightens his hold, locking you against his body, refusing to let you slip away. "Not letting you do this alone, sweetheart. Not happening."

You thrash, try to break free, but he doesn’t budge.

"Get off me!"

Your fists hammer against him, weak, frantic, your body desperate to push him away, to push everything away. 

But his arms stay locked around you, solid, warm, safe.

"I’ve got you," he breathes into your hair, voice cracking, "I’ve got you, baby. You’re okay. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe."His lips press into your temple, soft and desperate, his breath warm against your skin. He rocks you, gently, grounding you, holding you together while you’re falling apart.

And slowly, so slowly, your fight starts to die down. Your hands stop pushing. Your body stops thrashing.Your gasps turn to shuddering breaths, then to quiet, broken sobs.

Until there's nothing.

No more tears. No more rage. No more fear.

Just emptiness.

Like everything inside you has been ripped out, leaving nothing but a hollow, aching void.

Eddie feels it the second you go limp in his arms. The second the fight leaves you.

"Sam?"

His voice is so soft now. Hesitant. Scared.

But you don’t respond. Don’t move. You just sit there in his arms, staring past him, past everything, at nothing at all.

Eddie feels his stomach drop.

Your body is warm in his arms, but you might as well be gone.

You’re not fighting, not crying, not screaming at him. You’re just… empty.

"Sam?"

He pulls back just enough to see your face, to try and find something - anger, sadness, hate, anything - but your eyes are glassy, unfocused. Like you’re somewhere else.Like he’s already lost you.

"Baby, please"

His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing over tear-stained cheeks.

"Say something."

Nothing.

Panic claws at his chest, a different kind now. Not the sharp, burning kind from watching you almost wreck your car, from chasing you down, from losing his goddamn mind when you wouldn’t stop running from him.

No, this is worse.

This is cold. Heavy. The kind of fear that settles in your bones and stays there.

Because Eddie knows how to fight. He knows how to chase after you, to scream, to beg.

But this? This silence? He doesn’t know how to fix this.

His fingers tighten in your hair as he leans closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath shaky. "I’m right here, okay? I swear to god, I’m right here. Just... please, come back to me."

You blink, slow. Barely. But you don’t react.You just sit there, locked inside yourself, while Eddie drowns outside of you.

And then he really panics.

"Okay, fuck this." His voice shakes, his hands sliding down to grip your shoulders. "C’mon, stand up". He doesn’t wait for a response. He lifts you from the cold ground, his arms tight around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. He moves on instinct, guiding you to your car, pulling open the door and sitting you down in the driver’s seat. Then he crouches in front of you, hands gripping your knees, searching your face with wide, desperate eyes. "Sam." His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s scared speaking too loud might shatter you completely. He runs his hands up your legs, over your arms, trying to warm you, trying to reach you. Your skin is ice cold. "Baby, please look at me."

You don’t move.

Your hands rest limp in your lap, your shoulders hunched. Your breath is slow, but shallow.

Eddie swallows hard. Panic builds in his chest again, but he pushes it down. He can’t freak out. Not now.

Not when you look like you’re barely here.

"Hey, it’s me." He whispers, taking your hands in his own, rubbing warmth into them, pressing them between his palms. "You’re okay, alright? Just… come back to me."

A long moment of nothing.

And then, finally, you blink.

Slow. Barely. But it’s something.

Your gaze drifts to his face, unfocused at first, and then - then, those empty eyes land on his, and you see him. Your lips barely move as you speak, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.

"I thought you loved me."

Eddie physically flinches. Like you just punched him square in the gut. His grip tightens on your hands, shaking his head so fast his curls bounce around his face. "What? Baby, no - no, no, no, I do. I swear to fucking God, I do." His whole body leans toward you, his hands desperate against your skin, like he can’t get close enough, like he can’t make you believe him the way he needs you to. "I love you." His voice is breaking, cracking under the weight of this whole fucking nightmare, "I didn’t- I would never."

But you just stare at him. And the look in your eyes - god, it makes him sick.

Because you don’t believe him.

He shakes his head again, still gripping your hands like a lifeline. "No, baby, no, I swear to you-"

But you pull your hands back, pressing them into your lap, and he feels the loss of your touch like a knife to the chest.

"Where were you last night?" Your voice is quiet, but the weight of it slams into him, "I waited for you, Eddie. I waited, and you never came home."

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. He doesn’t even know where to start.

"I woke up, and you were gone," you continue, voice trembling, "I searched the whole fucking town for you. I thought something happened to you. I thought-" Your breath hitches, a fresh tear rolling down your cheek, but you quickly wipe it away, "And then I found you." You blink at him, and your eyes are glassy, but there’s something else there now, something sharp. "With her."

Eddie’s stomach drops. "Sam-"

You stare at him. "She kissed you."

He immediately shakes his head, a look of pure desperation on his face, "It wasn’t-"

"I think you broke my heart, Eddie."

It comes out so soft, so fucking final that his whole body locks up. Panic swells inside him, fighting to escape, but he shoves it down because this isn’t about him. It’s about you. About what he’s done to you.

"No."

He moves closer, still crouched in front of you, his hands hovering over your knees, afraid to touch but needing to. "No, baby, I didn’t, I swear to fucking God, I didn’t cheat on you."

But you just stare at him, and he can see you still don’t believe him.

His whole body is shaking. He’s gripping his own thighs so hard his nails are digging into the denim, trying to anchor himself, trying to keep from grabbing you, from shaking you until you listen.

"You didn’t even say anything when I accused you," you whisper, voice raw, "You just fucking stared at me, Eddie. You didn’t deny it."

"Because I was in shock!" His voice cracks, eyes wild, "Because I couldn’t believe what you were saying, I- Sam, I would never-"

"You lied to me." Your voice is so quiet, so empty, and it sends a bolt of terror through his chest, "You said you didn’t want her. But everyone wants her."

Eddie flinches. "That’s not fucking true!"

But you keep going like you don’t even hear him.

"She wanted you. She fucking wanted you." You finally look at him again, and the sheer devastation in your eyes knocks the breath from his lungs. "And it looks like she finally got what she wanted."

"No-"

"I hope it was fucking worth it."

"STOP." His voice is booming, his breathing ragged. "How could you even fucking think that?! How could you? I didn’t- I didn’t do anything!"His hands are in his hair now, yanking, desperate, "I didn't fucking cheat on you!"

But you’re barely listening. You shake your head, tears streaking down your face, and your voice comes out so small it guts him, "I loved you so much, Eddie."

The past tense is like a gunshot.

Eddie freezes. "Loved?" His stomach turns violently. "The fuck are you talking about? Sam, I didn’t do anything! Are you fucking breaking up with me? Hello?! SAM." His voice is frantic, his eyes wild, searching your face for any sign that this is a nightmare, that this isn’t real, that you aren’t really saying these things.

But you just stare at him. Silent. Broken.

It fucking shatters him. He is falling apart in front of you. His eyes are wide, wild with desperation, his hands shaking as he reaches for you, but you pull back like he burns you. And it’s killing him.

"Baby, please," his voice cracks, raw and broken, "I crashed at Grant’s. I passed out, I didn’t mean to, I was fucking high- but then my van broke down this morning, and it was stuck right in front of her house. I was working on it for hours. Arms deep in that fucking engine, trying to fix it."

You just stare at him, unmoving, unblinking, and he wants to scream.

"Chrissy saw me when she went outside with her dog this morning", he keeps going, words tumbling over each other in his desperation, "I was covered in oil, freezing my ass off, and she invited me inside to wash my hands. That’s it. She gave me a coffee. Her stepdad was there, he saw my hands all fucked up, asked about it, and we talked about the van. What I fixed, how I did it. He owns a garage downtown, Sam. He offered me a job there. That’s all that happened. I was in there for maybe an hour, and when I came outside, you were there."

But you shake your head. "I don’t believe you." Your voice is hoarse, your body trembling, "I saw how she touched you. How she fucking kissed you."

"She- it wasn’t...it wasn’t like that".

"Then why didn’t you come home in the first place?", you ask, your voice slowly filling with anger.

Eddie runs a hand through his hair, groaning in frustration. "Because I got high as a fucking kite at Gareth’s, okay?! I drove Grant home, thought it’d be a great fucking idea to smoke another blunt, and I passed out! That’s what fucking happened, Sam!"

But you just let out a humorless, broken laugh, "You said you’d come home."

Eddie swallows hard, "I know. I’m sorry, I-"

"I fucking waited for you, Eddie." Your voice shakes, cracking on his name, "In my fucking underwear. Because of all the shit you promised me. And you got high and crashed somewhere instead?" Your throat is burning, your vision blurry with tears, but you don’t stop. "And then you let that cunt touch you like that? Let me watch? And don’t even immediately tell me it’s not what it fucking looked like when I accused you?" Your breath shudders out of you. "I can’t believe you." You shake your head, eyes hollow. "Sounds like you needed a minute to come up with a fucking excuse."

Eddie recoils. Like you just fucking stabbed him. "Sam, no" His voice cracks, and his whole body is shaking. "No, no, no, please- That’s not... Sam, I fucking love you!" His voice is breaking, panic rising in his throat, because he can see it. The way you're shutting down.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands clenched so hard your nails dig into your palms. "I don’t believe you," you whisper.

Eddie snaps. Stands up, pulls you to your feet, gripping your arms like he’s terrified you’ll slip right through his fingers.

You try to fight him off, shoving at his chest, but you’re weak. Wrecked. And he doesn’t let go. He won’t let go.

"Baby", he chokes out, "please".

Your eyes, dead and hollow just moments ago, finally flicker back to life, but all it does is make it worse. Because now they fill with tears. Now he sees the real damage.

"I was so fucking worried about you," your voice breaks, shaking in your throat. "I thought... I thought something happened, I searched the whole fucking town for you, Eddie! And then-"

You gasp, almost say it, almost tell him about Billy, but you can’t. Not right now.

"And then I saw you, with her"

Eddie’s lips part, eyes full of agony.

"Why with her?" Your voice rises, raw and hurting. "We fought about her already! You know how much I fucking hate her, how much I know she wants you! And you just let her fucking touch you like that?! Hug you? Kiss you?"

Eddie’s breath hitches, panic flooding his features. "It wasn’t... she just-"

"Just don’t lie to me, Eddie!" Your voice is sharp, cutting, pleading. "I don’t fucking deserve that." You shake your head, vision blurred with tears. "Did you fuck her?"

"NO!" Eddie’s voice cracks, desperate and wild, "No, no, fuck no! Sam, I swear to God"

But you shake your head again. You can’t believe him.

"Please". He grabs your face between his hands, his grip shaking, "Please, baby, look at me. I love you so fucking much. I could never... I would never cheat on you." His thumbs stroke your damp cheeks, voice breaking apart, "You’re my everything, baby. Please don’t fucking leave me. I can’t live without you."

You let out a choked sob, your body trembling as more tears spill down your face. You can see the oily smudges on his hands, the same ones that should be proof, the ones that should make you believe him, but it’s still so hard.

Eddie is begging you now. "Please. Don’t fucking leave me. I love you. I love you so much."

And then, before he can stop himself, he kisses you. Soft at first. Hesitant. Just his lips pressing into yours. But then his hands are tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, kissing you again and again and again, harder, deeper, like he’s trying to make you feel everything he can’t say. 

You shove at his chest, weak and frantic, but Eddie doesn’t let go.

His grip tightens, desperate, his lips crashing against yours like he can kiss the doubt right out of you. "Please," he breathes between kisses, his hands tangling in your hair, sliding down to cup your face, "Please, baby, don’t do this. I need you."

You twist your head away, gasping for air, your whole body trembling. "Eddie, stop".

But he doesn’t. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer, like he’s trying to mold you against him, make you feel how real this is, how much he loves you. His breath is ragged, shaking, as he presses his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I swear to God, I love you. I didn’t- I wouldn’t".

But your hands are between you now, pushing weakly at his chest.

"Eddie," you whisper, barely holding yourself together. "You can’t- you can’t just fix this like this." 

His entire body tenses. "Then how?" His voice is raw, desperate, "Tell me how, Sam, because I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make you believe me."

You shake your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. "I don’t think you can."

His breath shudders out of him like you just punched the air from his lungs. His grip loosens, his hands falling away from you.

And for the first time, you see the realization settling in. The fear shifting into something heavier. Defeat. 

Eddie takes a shaky step back, raking both hands through his hair, gripping at the roots like he’s trying to hold himself together. "Sam, please," he chokes out, "You know me. You know I wouldn't do that to you."

You stare at him, at the broken boy standing in front of you, the one you swore you’d always love.

And the worst part is, you do know him. Or at least, you thought you did.

But now? Now, everything feels different.

The pain in your chest is unbearable, your body screaming at you to close the distance, to tell him you believe him, to let him hold you until the world feels safe again.

But you don’t.

You take a step back instead, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together. "I don’t know what to believe anymore," you whisper.

Eddie sways slightly, like the words knock him off balance. He opens his mouth, then closes it, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. "So, what?" His voice is hoarse, thick with unshed tears, "You’re just gonna walk away?"

You inhale sharply, because that’s the question, isn’t it? The one that’s been screaming in your head since the moment you saw him with her. 

Do you walk away? 

Do you let go of the only man who ever made you feel safe? The one who swore he loved you? The one who, despite everything, still looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him breathing? 

Or do you stay? 

Even though it hurts. Even though trusting him feels impossible right now. 

Eddie takes a step closer, his hands twitching at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you. "Baby," he murmurs, his voice cracking, "Please don’t leave me." 

You don’t know what to do. 

So, you just stand there, staring at him, heart breaking, waiting for an answer that won’t come.

And as he takes another step, you step further away.

Your chest tightens as Eddie's voice rises, raw with desperation. His eyes are wild, wide, his whole body trembling with frustration, anger, heartbreak.

He takes a step forward. You take another back.

"Why are you running from me?!" His voice cracks, his hands raking through his hair, tugging at the roots, "Why don’t you fucking believe me?!"

"Because it’s her!" you snap, your voice shaking with emotion, "Because I know you had a crush on her years ago! Because I know how women like her are when they want something!"

Eddie lets out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, throwing his hands up, "Oh, come the fuck on, Sam!"

"She fucking wanted you, Eddie!" you shout, your voice thick with tears, hands curling into fists at your sides, "And she got you! I saw the way she looked at me. That fucking smile. That little wave. She was mocking me! And you just stood there! You let her touch you!"

Eddie is pacing now, hands on his hips, his breaths coming fast and uneven. "Jesus Christ!" he shouts, spinning back to you. "I still have fucking oil on my hands!" He holds them up, his fingers still streaked with grease. "Go look in my fucking hood! I’ll show you what I fixed! What the fuck else do you want from me?!"

You shake your head, more tears spilling down your face, "I wanted you to come home to me!"

Eddie freezes.

Your chest heaves, your body trembling, but you force the words out anyway. "I wanted you to come home. I wanted you to want to come home. And instead, I woke up alone. I searched the whole fucking town for you, Eddie. And then I found you. With her." Your voice breaks, your nails digging into your palms. "And you didn't even deny it. You just- you just fucking stared at me."

Eddie’s hands clench into fists at his sides. His whole body is shaking, his breaths uneven, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "Because I couldn’t believe what you were saying!" His voice is hoarse, desperate. "Because I was in fucking shock! You- you were looking at me like I killed someone, Sam!"

"You might as well have," you whisper.

Eddie lets out a strangled noise, like the words physically hit him, his body jerking back like you just took a swing at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?" His voice is rising again, shaking with disbelief, anger, pain. "I am your fucking boyfriend! And the slightest fucking inconvenience, the slightest fucking bit of jealousy, and this is what happens? You tell me you loved me? Past fucking tense?" His voice cracks. His eyes are glassy. "What, you wanna break up over this bullshit, Sam?" His voice is hoarse, raw, like he's barely holding himself together, "After everything? After us?"

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know.

Because part of you wants to collapse in his arms, let him fix this, let him fix you.

But the other part?

The other part is screaming at you to run.

His eyes change the second he realizes you don't answer him.

You don't immediately tell him you don't wanna break up with him.

"You're... breaking up with me?", he rasps.

You gulp. Stare.

"Are you fucking kidding me?", he continues, voice and face filled in disbelief as he steps closer again, immediately stopping at how you stumble back again.

Run.

You blink, and in that second, Eddie realizes you're about to run. He knows it. "Oh, no", he shakes his head, takes another desperate step, but you already whirl around, fall into your driver seat and lock your doors again. Your hands are shaking as you fumble with the keys, breath hitching, heart pounding. You need to get out of here.

Now.

Eddie is still shouting, still pleading, but you don’t hear the words anymore. It’s just noise, just static in your ears as you twist the key in the ignition.

The car roars to life, the headlights illuminating the road ahead.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in, your vision blurring, but you force yourself to move. You shift, your foot pressing down on the gas, the tires kicking up gravel as you pull away.

Thud.

You slam the brakes with a strangled gasp.

Eddie is in front of you. His hands are pressed against the hood of your car, his curls wild, his chest heaving, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. The headlights cast harsh shadows across his face, making him look even more wrecked, more broken.

He’s on the edge of crying.

"Don’t fucking do this, Sam!" His voice is hoarse, raw with emotion. "Please!"

Your hands grip the wheel so tightly your knuckles go white. "Move, Eddie," you choke out, voice barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head violently, "No."

Your throat burns. "Eddie"

"I will fucking stand here all fucking day if I have to!" His hands curl into fists against the metal, "You are not running from me, do you hear me?! You are not fucking running from this! You are not fucking leaving me!"

Tears slip down your face as you stare at him, at the way his chest is rising and falling so fast it looks like he might collapse. At the way his lips tremble, at the way his whole body shakes.

"I wanna fucking marry you, Sam." His voice cracks. "You are my fucking everything."

You squeeze your eyes shut, a broken sob clawing its way up your throat.

"Please." His voice is softer now, but still wrecked, still shaking, "Please don’t leave me."

You look at him again, at the way he’s falling apart in front of you, and it hurts.

It hurts because you want to believe him.

It hurts because you still love him.

But it hurts even more because you don’t know if love is enough.

Your fingers tremble on the wheel.

"Please, baby." His forehead drops against the hood of your car, his shoulders shaking, "Please just fucking talk to me. Fucking believe me".

And for a moment, just one, your foot hovers over the brake.

For a moment, you almost turn off the car.

For a moment, you almost stay.

But then the pain crashes into you all over again.

Billy’s voice. The image of her touching him. The way he didn’t deny it right away.

And suddenly, it’s too much. Again.

Your breath hitches as you shift the car into reverse, heart hammering in your chest.

Eddie’s head snaps up. "Sam!"

You hit the gas. He stumbles back, his hands sliding off the hood as you pull away, gravel kicking up beneath your tires.

"SAM!"

You can hear him screaming for you, can see him in the rearview mirror as you steer around, his hands pulling at his hair, his body collapsing to his knees in front of his haphazardly parked van.

And it feels like you just ripped your own heart out of your chest.

But you keep driving.

Because it’s all you know how to do.

The road stretches endlessly ahead, but you aren’t really seeing it.

Your hands grip the wheel so tight your knuckles ache, your breath coming in quick, uneven bursts.

The road signs blur past, but you don’t register them.

All you can see is him.

Eddie, standing in front of your car, tears in his eyes.

Eddie, falling to his knees, screaming your name.

Eddie, breaking right in front of you.

"I wanna marry you, Sam."

His voice is still in your head, raw and desperate, tearing through you like a blade.

You wipe at your face furiously, but the tears won’t stop. They keep coming, harder, heavier, until the road in front of you is nothing but a smear of color.

You can barely breathe through them.

"You're... breaking up with me?"

You love him. God, you love him. Too much. So much it hurts. So much it terrifies you.

That’s why you ran. That’s why you always run.

The same way you did when you first realized how deep this was, when you tried to stop it before it was too late. The way you did when he scared you with how much he cared, when you thought pushing him away was the only way to protect yourself. The way you did when you fought, when you thought if you just got far enough, you could stop feeling everything he made you feel.

But every single time you ran, you turned around and ran right back.

Because you couldn’t leave him.

Because the thought of a world without Eddie Munson in it was so unbearable, it made your chest ache.

"Why don’t you fucking believe me?"

His voice echoes in your skull.

You let out a sob so hard your whole body shakes.

"Please don't leave me. I can't live without you"

You shouldn’t have left.

You never should have left.

"What have I done?", you whisper, realizing you never said you're not breaking up with him.

He thinks you actually left him.

You slam on the brakes.

The car behind you honks loud and sharp, swerving past, but you don’t care. You barely register it as you yank the wheel, heart racing, tires screeching against the pavement as you turn in the middle of the road.

You press down the gas, fly back down the road, pushing the pedal to the floor, the engine roaring beneath you.

Your pulse is a hammer in your throat, your breath coming in quick, frantic gasps.

"Please be there." You whisper it like a prayer, like a plea, like you can will the universe into listening. "Please, Eddie. Please still be there."

The road feels endlessly, though you've only been driving for a few minutes. You're racing back to him, breaking all speed limits, body trembling, regret growing in your chest.

He thinks you broke up.

Oh, my god. What have I done? 

Your breath is ragged, your hands gripping the wheel so tight it feels like you might snap it in two.

You don’t even know what the hell you’re doing. All you know is you can’t leave him like that.

The road stretches ahead, but your mind is stuck behind, stuck on his voice, his face, the way he fell to his knees like you had just torn him apart.

"I wanna marry you, Sam."

Your throat tightens. You press the gas harder. The world blurs past you, the same stretch of road you just fled down. The same trees. The same fences. The same pain still gripping your chest like a vice.

And then, there he is.

Exactly where you left him. Kneeling in front of his van, on the gravel, head bowed, shoulders trembling.

He hasn’t moved. Not an inch.

It shatters something inside you.

You left him like that.

You did that.

You ran, and you left him there, falling apart, breaking right in front of you.

Your stomach twists violently, a fresh wave of guilt slamming into you.

You slam on the brakes again, barely managing to shut off the engine before you’re throwing the door open, stumbling out onto the gravel. The cold air bites at your tear-streaked face.

His head snaps up.

The second his eyes land on you, your breath catches. They’re red-rimmed, glassy with unshed tears, full of so much disbelief it makes your chest ache. Like he doesn’t trust what he’s seeing. Like he’s afraid if he moves, you’ll disappear again.

He stands, slowly, watching how you come closer. How your steps grow faster. How you run back to him.

Until you hit him, arms wrapping around his neck, throwing yourself into him, holding on so tight you can barely breathe.

He staggers back, gasping, arms coming up instantly, locking around you, crushing you against him. His hands grip at your back, your waist, your hair, like he’s trying to anchor himself, like he’s making sure you’re really here.

You hold onto him just as tightly. Your fingers curl into his jacket, gripping so hard your knuckles ache. Your face buries into his neck, his scent filling your senses, grounding you. Neither of you say a word.Just hold. Breathe. Feel.

"You left me."

His voice is quiet, but it cuts through you like a knife. You squeeze your eyes shut, a fresh wave of guilt slamming into you.

"You didn’t believe me. You don’t fucking trust me", he whispers.

It destroys you.

You can hear the way it breaks him just to say it. Feel the way his body trembles against yours. You don’t even know what’s wrong with you. What made you run. Why you always run. Your hands move before you even think, reaching for him, cupping his face. His skin is warm beneath your palms, damp with sweat, with tears.

And God, he looks wrecked.

Eyes red-rimmed and glassy, jaw tight, lips parted like he’s still trying to catch his breath.

You shake your head, throat tight. "I’m sorry," you whisper, barely able to get the words out, "I was so hurt, I-" Your voice cracks. "I’m sorry."

His eyes flicker, searching yours. His grip loosens. Just slightly.

Like he’s only just now realizing you actually left. That you ran. Again.

That you said you loved him.

Past tense.

His brows pull together, breath catching.

"Do you still love me?"

His voice is so quiet, so unsure, so shattered, it makes your stomach twist violently. Because the fact that he even has to ask breaks you more than anything else. Your breath hitches. His words knock the wind out of you.

Do you still love him?

Like it’s even a question. Like you could ever not.

Your hands tighten on his face, fingers curling into his skin. Your thumbs trace over his cheekbones, brushing against the faint stubble there. His eyes, red-rimmed, glassy, so full of hurt, search yours, desperate, pleading, waiting for you to answer.

"Of course I do, Eds", you breathe, "I never stopped. I never could."

His face doesn’t change at first. Like he doesn’t quite believe you. Like your words are just sounds, not something real, something solid enough to hold onto. Your heart cracks.

"I was scared," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "I let it get to me, and I-" You swallow hard. The shame is suffocating, "I ran. But I always come back to you."

His breath shudders, lashes flickering. "You always run," he murmurs, and there’s no anger in it. No accusation. Just exhaustion. Just pain.

You nod, chest aching, "I know. I know."

His hands hover at your sides, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or push you away. "I can’t-" His voice wavers, breaks. He looks away, "I can’t keep chasing you, Sam."

You shake your head, feeling the panic rise, the terror of losing him clawing at your throat. "You won’t have to."

He meets your gaze again, wary, so unsure.

You press closer, forehead touching his, hands slipping down to his chest, gripping his shirt like you’re terrified he’ll disappear if you let go. "I’m done running." The words tremble in the space between you, but they’re real. They’re true. "I love you. And I’m done running."

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

And then, he lets out a ragged breath, something between a laugh and a sob, and suddenly, his arms are around you again, pulling you in so tight it nearly hurts. "God, Sam." His voice breaks, his face pressing into your neck, "Don’t you ever fucking do that again".

Your hands fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closer, like you can drag him into your skin, like you can make up for the space that ever existed between you. "Always fucking come home to me, you hear me?" Your voice cracks, raw with the weight of everything you feel, "I can’t fucking breathe when you’re gone."

His lips crash against yours, desperate, urgent, stealing the words right from your mouth. "I thought you left me for good this time," he breathes between kisses, voice so small, so broken, it makes your chest cave in.

You shake your head, kiss him harder, whispering, "I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry."

His hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile, something precious. He presses his forehead to yours, breath warm and uneven. "No, I'm fucking sorry. I messed up last night," he whispers, "But that’s all it was. The rest... fuck, it was just a stupid fucking coincidence." His voice cracks, "I love you so much, you have no fucking idea."

You can’t stop kissing him. You don’t want to. Each press of your lips feels like another apology, another promise, another way to tell him I love you without saying it.

Your fingers tangle in his curls, tugging, grounding, needing him just as much as he needs you.

He exhales sharply, shivering, the cold seeping into your bones, mixing with the adrenaline, the rawness of everything. "How could you even think I cheated on you?" he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked.

You shake your head, pressing your mouth to his again, again, again.

You can’t talk. You can’t find the words, can’t explain how your own fears twisted reality, how your jealousy and insecurity tangled into something ugly, something you regret so deeply it makes you feel sick.

But you can feel. And he can feel you.

His arms tighten around you, his hands clutching at your back, your waist, anywhere he can hold onto you. You sink into him, body trembling, overwhelmed, undone. He’s clinging to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again, like if he lets go, even for a second, you’ll slip through his fingers and run.

You won’t. You can’t.

You couldn’t if you tried.

"I love you so much", you whisper between kisses, the words shaky, breathless. You don’t even realize you’re crying until his thumbs are brushing the tears from your cheeks.

His own face is wet, and it guts you, rips you apart from the inside out. "I thought I lost you," he breathes, voice breaking.

"You’ll never lose me," you swear, your fingers curling into his jacket, gripping it so tight your knuckles ache. You shake your head, pressing your forehead to his, your breath mixing with his, "I was scared. I was hurt. But I... fuck, Eds, I can’t live without you."

A broken sound escapes him, something between a sob and a breath of relief. He kisses you, and you can taste the salt, the desperation, the love that’s too big, too much, but somehow still not enough. You whimper into his mouth, tilting your head, kissing him deeper, drowning in him. His hands slide under your jacket, fingertips ice-cold against the heat of your skin. You shiver, not just from the cold, but from the way he touches you, like you’re the most important thing in the world, like you’re the only thing that exists.

"Never run from me again," he pleads against your lips, his voice wrecked, ruined.

You nod, your hands in his curls, your body pressed to his like you can mold yourself into him. "Never. Never again."

His breath shudders, and he pulls you into his chest, burying his face in your neck. He holds you so tight it almost hurts, but you don’t care. You need it. You need him.

The drive back is quiet. The kind of quiet that’s heavy, thick, pressing down on your chest. Your hands are cold on the steering wheel, your body exhausted beyond words, every emotion you’ve felt in the last two hours crashing down like a storm. Eddie’s van follows close behind, headlights flickering in your rearview mirror. You know he’s watching you. Making sure you don’t disappear again.

Forest Hills comes into view too soon and not soon enough. The place where it all started, where everything fell apart, and where you’re desperately hoping you can piece it all back together.

The trailer park is still half-asleep, the morning air biting at your skin as you step out of the car. You glance toward Billy’s place. Just for a second. And suddenly, you’re back there. Standing in front of your car. His voice low, dangerous.

"Bet it’d tear him apart, huh? Seeing you crawling back to me."

Billy’s smirk, the glint in his eye, the sick feeling curling in your stomach.

"You don't want his music career to end before it even started. You love him, don't you? So much? So, be a good girl, and do what I tell you".

The memory makes you feel like you might be sick. You swallow it down. Eddie can’t know. This would destroy him. He’s already barely holding on.

His van door slams shut, snapping you back to the present. He meets you halfway, his hand finding yours without hesitation, fingers lacing together like he’s afraid to let go. You squeeze back, reassuring, silent.

Wayne’s still asleep inside. If you’re lucky, he won’t wake up until noon. You have time. A couple of hours at least. Time to talk. Time to make sure you’re okay. Time to make sure this didn’t break anything.

Inside, everything is still. The quiet is almost suffocating. Your feet carry you toward his room without thinking, Eddie following close behind. His eyes flicker to the bed the second you step inside.His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his hands flexing at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He still looks so broken when you turn to him, shrugging off your jacket, shivering at the cold that creeped into your bones.

You sigh deeply, searching for words to tell him how sorry you are, but none of them seem like enough. Instead, you step closer. His breath hitches, his eyes never leaving yours. "Baby". Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

In an instant, he pulls you into him, arms wrapping tight around you.

"I'm really sorry", you whisper into his neck, wrapping your arms around him. He nods, holding you close. You bury yourself in him, in his scent, his warmth, his everything. His breath is shaky, his heartbeat racing beneath your palm where you press it against his chest.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His face twisted with something raw, something broken. His fingers tremble as they cup your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. "I can’t believe you thought I fucking cheated on you", he rasps, "You really think I could do that to you? Hurt you like that? Betray you like that?"His voice is thick, hoarse, but there’s fire beneath it. He shakes his head, blinking hard like he can’t even process it.

You stare at him with big eyes.

"Don’t you fucking get it?", he rasps, his grip tightening, "Don’t you fucking see how obsessed I am with you?"

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

"I fucking worship you, Sam." His breath is unsteady, his voice cracking. "I need you. You’re everything to me. Not one fucking day goes by where I don't ask myself what I did to fucking deserve a woman like you. A love like yours". His forehead presses against yours, his lips barely brushing against your own as he whispers. "I kiss the fucking ground you walk on. I watch you sleep sometimes, like a fucking creep. You know that? I just lay there and watch you because I still can’t believe you’re real. Can't believe you're mine. Can't believe you actually feel the fucking same".

Your breath hitches.

"I smell your hair every fucking day, because I’m so fucking addicted to your scent. To your warmth, your skin. I mean, I can’t keep my hands off of you. Ever." His hands slide down your arms, over your waist, pulling you flush against him. "I always want to kiss you, baby. Every single second of every fucking day, all I wanna do, is fucking kiss you. Feel you. Be close to you". He’s kissing you again, desperate, like he’s trying to prove it, to show you. His hands are everywhere, your hair, your back, gripping, holding, pulling you deeper. "You make me so happy, baby", he continues, "You're my perfect, beautiful, hot-ass menace of a girlfriend. A woman like you, loving a guy like me? Are you kidding? You really think I would throw that all away?"

His words break you apart and put you back together in the same breath. His love is so loud, so unwavering, and it crashes over you like a tidal wave, leaving no room for doubt.

He would never hurt you.

He would never betray you.

And you feel so fucking awful for ever thinking otherwise.

Your hands tremble as they find his face, pulling him into a desperate kiss, tasting his pain, his devotion, his relief. You whisper against his lips, over and over. "I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry."

For doubting him. For leaving. For nearly getting yourself killed on that intersection because you couldn't get away from him fast enough. For breaking his heart when he’s the last person in the world who deserves it.

You ran. Like you always do.

Because loving him is too much. Because needing him is too much.

You were always fine on your own. You learned how to survive, how to take care of yourself, how to leave first before someone else could leave you.

You built walls so high, no one ever climbed them. No one ever even tried.

Until him.

Eddie tore through them without even trying.

And it terrifies you.

Because this love, this deep, all-consuming love, it’s not safe. It’s not controlled.

You handed him your heart, completely, and if he ever decided to crush it, to leave you, you don’t know if you’d survive it.

And this? What just happened? It wasn’t even real. You know that now. But it still hurt like hell. So what happens if the real thing ever comes? If one day, he wakes up and decides he doesn’t love you anymore?

You don’t know how to live without him.

You don’t even know who you are without him.

You hate it. You need him.

And that scares the shit out of you.

His hands slip under your shirt, warm against your skin, grounding you. You feel him breathe, feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours, like he’s trying to steady himself too. "Baby," he whispers, his forehead pressed to yours, "you can’t do that to me again. You can’t just... just run like that, I thought-" His voice breaks, and so do you.

"I won’t," you promise, and you mean it.

You can’t do that to him again. You won’t. Because no matter how scared you are, no matter how much your body screams at you to run when things get overwhelming - he’s home.

He’s your sun, your gravity, your whole fucking universe.

And no matter how far you go, you’ll always come back to him.

The kisses deepen, slow and consuming, as if you’re both trying to pour everything you can’t say into each other. His hands are everywhere, your jaw, your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt.

The room is quiet except for your breaths, heavy and uneven, mixing in the small space between your mouths. Big hands wander back on your waist, sliding up your sides as he kisses you, slow and deep, like he’s trying to pull you inside of him. Like he needs to feel you, all of you. Your hands tremble as they push his shirt up, your fingers trailing over the warm skin of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch.

He pulls back just enough to help you lift it over his head, tossing it aside before diving back in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your throat, over the curve of your shoulder. His fingers work at your shirt next, slipping it up and over your head in a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes locked on yours the whole time. "You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent. His hands trace over the lace of your bra, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric, making you gasp. He watches your face as he unclasps it, letting it fall away. His hands replace the fabric, palms warm and rough against your bare skin.

"Eddie," you breathe, arching into his touch, your hands sliding down his torso, over the ridges of his stomach, down to the waistband of his jeans.

He groans softly when you undo the button, his hips pressing forward involuntarily. His hands move lower, to the waistband of your own jeans, popping the button, dragging down the zipper. Ringed fingers skim over your hip bones before he tugs them down, watching as you step out of them, letting his hands linger on your thighs, then trail higher, until his fingers hook into the sides of your underwear. His eyes flick to yours."Can I?"

You nod, heart hammering as he kneels, slides them down your legs, pressing a kiss just above your knee as he does.

For a second, he just looks up your now bare body, before getting back up, pulling you into him, kissing you again, one hand sliding on your butt as you quickly push down his jeans and boxers, chuckling into his kiss as he wiggles them down and kicks them away.

He gently grabs your hips, guiding you onto the bed, onto your back, his body settling between your legs. He kisses up your stomach, your ribs, up the center of your chest, until his mouth is on yours again, slow and deep. His fingers trail lower, between your thighs, parting you gently. He groans when he feels how wet you are, his head dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck, baby," he breathes, listening to the soft moan you let out as his fingers move, slowly rubbing circles.

You whimper, shifting beneath him, needing more, needing him. "Eddie".

"I got you, sweetheart," he murmurs. His kisses move lower again, down your body, over your stomach, the inside of your thighs. He takes his time, tasting you, worshipping you, his hands gripping your hips as he buries himself between your legs.  His breath is heavy against your inner thigh, warm and ragged as he trails slow, open-mouthed kisses up your skin. His hands grip your hips. His eyes flick up to yours, dark, hungry, but also aching with something deeper. Something raw. "I could never want anyone else", he murmurs between kisses, his voice hoarse, "Never". 

Your eyes follow his as he moves, never breaking eye contact as his lips press against your hip bone, his nose grazing your skin, inhaling you like he’s memorizing the way you smell. The way you taste. His tongue flicks against your skin, just a tease, a promise of what’s to come. He groans low in his throat, almost to himself, like he can’t believe you’re real.

That you’re here.

That you’re his. 

You gasp when his mouth finally wanders further south, a sharp inhale that turns into a moan when he licks up your fold, slow and deliberate. Your fingers thread through his hair, gripping tight as he devours you like a man starving. Like he needs this, needs you, more than air.

His mouth moves over you, slow at first, savoring every reaction, every gasp that escapes your lips. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he works you open with his tongue, his groan vibrating through you. He’s completely lost in you, lost in the way your body arches, the way your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Oh my God, Eddie", your voice is breathy, breaking on his name, and he moans against you in response, his grip tightening on your thighs. The vibration of it sends a shudder through you, your body arching, pressing closer, giving him more.

His hands slide up, one gripping your hip to hold you still as his tongue moves, teasing, exploring, before he slips a finger inside you. Your whole body tenses, then melts, a whimper slipping from your lips. His other hand finds your breast, palm warm against your skin, fingers brushing over your nipple, rolling it between his fingertips. You're moaning softly, hips jerking against him, chasing his tongue, needing more.

"Look at you", he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. He lifts his head just enough to watch you, his lips slick, pupils blown wide. "So fucking pretty like this. Falling apart for me". His finger curls inside you, his tongue teasing just right, and your thighs squeeze around his head. He groans like he loves it, like he wants to drown in you. 

Your free hand finds his, fingers lacing with his tightly as you pull it from your breast. You bring it to your lips, kissing his knuckles first, then slipping one of his fingers into your mouth, sucking softly.

He swears, a guttural sound from deep in his chest. His hips press against the bed, needy and desperate. "Jesus Christ, baby", he rasps, voice shaking as he watches you sucking on it, eyes half closed, your naked chest moving under your gasps. You bite down gently, teasing, moaning around his finger as he works you, as he pulls you closer and closer to the edge. His tongue moves with purpose, his fingers pressing just right, and all you can do is gasp his name, over and over. Your head falls back into the pillow, your lips leaving his damp finger as you moan louder, legs trembling around his head. "Ohmygod, yes, just like that, baby", you moan, your hips slowly moving with his licking tongue, muscles twitching already around his fingers, breathing turning heavier and heavier. Eddie's hand wanders back to your breast, squeezing it softly as he groans against your skin, watching you closely. You're breathing harder and harder, pressing yourself into his face, one hand still buried in his hair, pulling him deeper into you, the other one falling on his hand resting on your breast.

"Fuck, you're g-gonna make me cum", you whisper, gulping hard, both hands now buried in his curls, back arching off the mattress.

Eddie grins against your pussy, licking you faster, fingers moving just perfectly inside you. He tightens his grip, his fingers digging into your skin as he buries himself deeper, chasing your pleasure like it’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s starving for it. Your thighs shake around his head, your moans breaking into breathless gasps, and he swears he could die right here, between your legs, and it would be the best way to go. "Yeah, baby", he murmurs against you, voice rough, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he watches you fall apart, "Let me have it. Let me taste it". His tongue flicks over you again, relentless, his fingers pressing just right, curling deep, and it’s too much, too good, your body tensing, your nails scraping against his scalp as you cry out. 

"Oh my god, fuck, Eddie!"

You shatter. Your body bows, your breath catches, and pleasure crashes over you in a dizzying wave, pulling you under.

Eddie groans, low and guttural, as he keeps working you through it, his tongue lapping at you, his fingers pressing deep, coaxing every last tremor from you. He stays there until you’re twitching, whimpering, until you’re tugging at his hair, too sensitive, too overwhelmed.  Only then does he slow, kissing your inner thigh as he eases his fingers from you, sucking them into his mouth with a satisfied hum. He watches you as he does it, his lips slick, his eyes full of something dark and worshipful. "You taste so fucking good, sweetheart", he murmurs, licking his fingers clean.

Your head is spinning, your skin still buzzing, but you reach for him anyway, needing him close, needing him now. "Come here", you breathe, pulling at his shoulders.

He grins, but it’s soft, as he moves over you, his body settling against yours, his bare skin warm against your own. His lips find yours in a slow, deep kiss, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, the heat between you reigniting instantly. You moan softly, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you.

Eddie groans into the kiss, rolling his hips against you, and you can feel his dick, hot and hard, pressed right against your slick pussy. He shudders, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Baby, fuck", he mutters, "I need you".

You cup his face, looking into his eyes, seeing everything you feel reflected right back at you. The need. The desperation. The love. You nod, lifting your hips slightly, guiding him where you need him most. "Then take me", you whisper. 

He doesn’t hesitate. He lines himself up, his gaze locked onto yours as he pushes in.

You both gasp at the feeling, the stretch, the overwhelming fullness as he sinks into you completely. "Oh, shit", you breathe, clutching at his shoulders, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

Eddie swears under his breath, his arms trembling as he holds himself over you. "Jesus Christ, baby", he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your skin, "How do you always feel so fucking good?"He starts to move, slow and deep, like he’s savoring every second, every inch. His hands roam over you, gripping your hips, your waist, your thighs, like he needs to touch all of you at once. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is messy, desperate, all tongues and gasps and soft moans swallowed between you.

"Baby", you whimper, nails dragging down his back, legs tightening around him, "Faster".

He groans, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, just a little deeper. "Yeah?", he rasps, "That what you need, my love?"

You nod frantically, breath hitching, fingers gripping his shoulders. "Yes," you whisper, then louder, "Yes, Eddie. Please." 

A groan rips from his throat, something raw and unrestrained, and he answers you with his body, his hips rolling into you deeper, harder, but still slow, like he’s savoring you, like he’s drinking you in with every measured thrust. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still as he moves, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.

You arch into him, pressing your chest to his, your nails dragging down his back, leaving faint red lines in their wake. He shudders at the sting of it, his lips parting against your neck as he sucks a mark into your skin, as if he needs to brand you, needs to remind you, you are his. "Oh god, yes", you moan, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, "I love you so much-- fuck".

"Say it again," he murmurs against your skin, his voice wrecked.

You tilt your head back, letting him take whatever he wants, letting him press his mouth over your throat, your collarbone. "I love you, Eddie, fuck, so much", you moan again, making him growl, and his control snap.

He pushes up onto his knees, hands gripping your thighs, dragging you closer, pulling your hips flush against his. The change in angle is devastating, deep and perfect, making you gasp and clutch at the sheets. His hands roam over you, brushing over your stomach, your ribs, his fingertips ghosting over your breasts before he takes them in his hands, rolling and teasing, watching the way your body responds to every little touch. "Look at you," he breathes, voice thick with awe and possession. "Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect. So beautiful like this. How could I ever fucking want someone else when I got you, mh? My god, you're a goddess".

Your skin burns under his gaze, under the weight of his admiration, and you reach for him, needing more, needing everything. He lets you pull him down again, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrap your legs around him, ankles locking at the small of his back, urging him deeper, faster. 

"Jesus Christ," he gasps, his forehead falling against yours, "You feel… fuck, you feel like heaven." 

You whimper, pulling him into a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue and broken moans, both of you lost in it, lost in each other. His movements turn more urgent, his rhythm faltering, and you can feel it building again, that tightening heat curling low in your stomach.

You need more.

"Turn me over," you pant against his lips, your voice barely there, but he hears it.

His eyes darken, his jaw clenching. "Yeah?"

You nod, biting your lip, and Eddie swears under his breath before gripping your waist, shifting you onto your stomach with careful hands. He kisses down your spine, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers tracing patterns over your hips as he settles behind you, shoving a pillow under your lower stomach. "Goddamn, sweetheart," he mutters, almost to himself, his hands running over the curve of your ass, down your thighs as he settles between your legs, "You have no idea what you do to me."

You throw your hair to one side, glance over your shoulder, smirking at him while rolling your hips up.

His eyes meet yours, so full with complete devotion to you it's killing you. Then he’s pressing against you again, sinking into you so slowly, so deeply, that you both groan in unison. His hands splay over your back, one gripping your shoulder as he starts to move, slow at first, savoring it, before the need takes over and he loses himself in you. He groans deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans down, pressing his chest against your back, covering you completely. His heat surrounds you, the dampness of his skin against yours, the way his breath fans across the side of your face."Jesus Christ, baby," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, then your neck, kissing slow, open-mouthed, savoring every inch of you. His weight pins you beneath him, warm and solid and safe, like he never wants to let you go again. His fingers lace with yours, his palm rough against your softer skin, holding you tightly against the mattress as he moves inside you, slow now, deep, like he wants to make you feel every inch of him, like he’s pouring his love into you with every slow, deliberate thrust. "You feel so good," he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is raw, shaking, wrecked with how much he needs you, "So fucking perfect. Mine."

You nod frantically, pushing back against him, every movement sending pleasure sparking through your veins. "Yours," you breathe, gripping his fingers tighter, pressing your cheek into the pillow as his mouth trails along your jaw, your temple, his nose nuzzling against your hair.

He shifts, pulling back just enough to angle your leg, hooking it over his, pushing even deeper inside you. A choked gasp leaves your lips, your body stretching, burning in the best way as he fills you completely, as his hips grind against yours in a slow, devastating rhythm. "That’s it, sweetheart," Eddie groans, his free hand gripping your hip, guiding you with him, making you feel every single second. His breath stutters as he presses another kiss to your shoulder, then the side of your neck, biting gently, soothing the sting with his tongue, "So good for me. Always so good."

You whimper, turning your head to try to catch his lips, needing to taste him, needing more. He grins against your skin, groaning softly as he shifts again, sliding his hand beneath you. His fingers find your boob, squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingertips, sending a shiver down your spine. "Fuck, Eddie," you gasp, your fingers squeezing his, your free hand reaching back to tangle in his hair.

"God, I love you," he breathes, his movements growing slower, more intense, like he’s trying to fuse himself to you, like he never wants to forget what it feels like to be this close.

Your heart is racing, your body burning, trembling beneath him, every nerve on fire with the way he touches you, the way he loves you.

He groans your name, his body tensing, his movements faltering, his fingers tightening around yours.

You're moaning softly, pressing into him, rolling your hips, aching for release as he moves inside you. "More", you pant, "Please, baby, please fuck me".

Eddie shifts behind you, pulling back slowly, reluctantly, like he hates the thought of leaving the warmth of your body even for a second. But then his hands are back on you, gripping, guiding, claiming, as he presses his palms to your hips and lifts you up onto your knees. A broken moan leaves your lips at the sudden shift, your hands clutching the sheets, your body humming with anticipation. "You want it, baby?" His voice is dark, thick with need, but there’s so much love in it, too. He needs this, needs to make things right, needs you to feel how much you mean to him.

"Please," you gasp, pressing back against him, desperate, aching, your body trembling with how much you need him to take you apart.

He swears under his breath, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulls you back onto him in one slow, deep thrust. The sound you make is wrecked, your fingers curling into the sheets, head falling forward as he fills you completely."Jesus Christ," he groans, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you still for a second, just feeling you. "You’re so- fuck. You’re everything."

Then he moves.

Slow at first, deep, so deep, like he’s savoring it. But then his grip tightens, his pace quickens, and suddenly, he’s giving you exactly what you need.

You cry out, gasping his name as he pulls you back against him with every thrust, driving into you harder, faster, deeper. His fingers press into your skin, guiding your movements, making you feel every inch of him, every ounce of his devotion. "You’re mine," he grits out, his voice ragged, desperate. "You hear me, baby? Mine."

"Yours," you sob, head tilting back, pleasure sparking through you like wildfire, consuming you from the inside out, "Always".

He groans darkly, leans forward, pressing his chest against your back again, his arms wrapping around you completely.One hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together against the mattress. The other slides up, over your stomach, your ribs, finally cupping your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as his hips snap forward, pushing you both closer and closer to that edge. His mouth is everywhere, your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. His breath is hot, his voice shaking with how much he feels for you."Fuck," he chokes out, voice wrecked, hands gripping you tighter, holding you to him like he’ll never let go, "Gonna make me- fuck, baby, I can’t-" 

"Me too," you gasp, body trembling, burning, so close, "Don't stop".

Eddie’s hand snakes beneath you, fingers finding that perfect spot again, and you break apart, crying out his name as your body tightens, pulses, drags him down with you. He groans deep in his throat, his movements stuttering, his grip turning bruising as he follows you over the edge, falling, unraveling, filling you up.

You feel him twitching deep inside you, his hands on your skin, how his hips slowly stop moving. "Holy shit", he groans, both of you collapsing as your knees give in, you flopping on your stomach, gasping for air, buried under his heavy, warm body. You're tangled, your breaths uneven, the room thick with heat and love and everything you almost lost.

Then Eddie moves, slowly pulling out, rolling down from you and gathering you in his arms, pressing slow kisses over your shoulder, your cheek, your temple. "Never fucking leave me", he whispers, and you shake your head.

"I won't, baby", you mumble, snuggling back into his warm body, his strong arms wrapped around you, "I'll never leave you".