040

Eddie stands there in his kitchen, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles go white. You can see the tension in every part of his body, his jaw is tight, his whole frame rigid. He's holding himself back, and it's obvious that it's taking everything in him not to explode.

You jump down the counter and step forward, your voice pleading, "Eds... please, just let it be. I'm okay, okay? Just... ignore it." Your uninjured hand reaches for his, desperate, but he pulls back sharply, as if your touch might burn him. His eyes flicker with something dark, frustrated, angry. "Ignore it?" His voice is low, strained, the words coming out sharp like a knife, "You're fucking kidding me?" You flinch at the harshness of his tone, but you can't stop yourself from begging, your voice cracking as you continue, "I just need you, okay?"

He stares at you for a long moment, his anger boiling over now, not at you, but at the situation, at whatever it is that's got you in pieces. Then he steps toward you again, his body stiff with tension, his hands hovering in the air like he doesn't know whether to grab you or push something away."How the hell am I supposed to ignore this, Sam?" he snaps, his voice shaking with barely contained fury, "How the fuck am I supposed to ignore that I found you outside in the pouring rain, walking aimlessly at the other fucking end of town when you're supposed to be at work, hug? That you flinched from me when I tried to touch you? How am I supposed to fucking ignore you looking like a fucking ghost, like you've been torn apart, bleeding from a cut in your hand, and telling me you're okay when I can see that you're clearly fucking not?" He's so close now, his breath hot against your skin, and you can feel the fury rolling off him like a storm. Your eyes are wide, and your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice. His anger isn't aimed at you, it's aimed at the world, at whatever made you feel this way, at the injustice of seeing you in this state. "Tell me what happened," he growls, his tone demanding, "Tell me why you're like this."

Billy. It was Billy, he tried to hurt me in my own home.

But you can't, your throat is tight, the words stuck somewhere deep inside you, tangled in fear and shame. You just shake your head, your hand reaching out again, but he pulls back, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I can't just ignore it," he repeats, voice breaking with frustration, "I can't pretend you're fine when you're falling apart in front of me. Don't you get it?" He's pacing now, his hands running through his hair, the anger in him building again. "I can't fucking pretend like everything's okay when you're this broken and I don't even know why."

You take a deep breath, fighting the sting of your own tears. You want him to hold you, to make everything go away, but his anger, his frustration, it's consuming him. You can't help but feel guilty for making him go through this, for making him feel helpless.He stops in front of you again, his chest heaving with the weight of everything he wants to say. "I can't let this go," he finally says, his voice hoarse, "I can't. Not when it's you."

And suddenly, it all crashes over you, the helplessness, the overwhelming need to feel safe, to feel protected.

You reach for him again, tears welling up, and your voice is small, trembling as you whisper, "Please, Eds".

Eddie exhales sharply, his shoulders falling as he realizes what he just did. He yelled. He lost control when all you needed was him. His anger was never meant for you, but now, standing there, watching the way you tremble, the way your eyes are glassy and wet, he hates himself for making you feel even worse.'Fuck", he breathes, raking a hand through his hair before stepping toward you, hands reaching, soft now, hesitant, like he's scared you'll pull away. "I'm sorry, baby". His voice is raw, strained with regret. "I didn't mean to-... I just--" He shakes his head, his hands finally finding your waist, pulling you in, pressing his forehead against yours, "I'm losing my fucking mind here". You let him hold you, let yourself collapse into his warmth, and when his lips brush against yours, it's different this time. It's not desperate, not trying to erase anything. It's an apology. A plea. A need to feel you, to remind you he's here.

"I need to know", he whispers, the words slipping between kisses, slow, aching, "I can't... baby, I can't do this. I need you to tell me". He kisses you again, longer this time, like he's hoping the answer will pour out of you if he just holds you tight enough, kisses you deep enough. "Please, sweetheart. I'm begging you". His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks, "You're killing me here."

The regret twists deep in your chest.

You should've told him the second he found you.

Because now, now it's worse. Now, his heart is cracking in real-time, and it's your fault.

Your breath hitches, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt. "Eddie", you whisper, voice breaking. His hands tighten on you, pulling you closer. "Please, baby", he murmurs, lips ghosting over your forehead, "Tell me".

And you give in.

Your body sags against him, and you feel his arms tighten instinctively, like he knows it's coming, like he's bracing himself for the worst. You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes, and whisper, "Promise me you won't lose it". His brows furrow, his jaw tightening. He knows. He fucking knows. "Sweetheart..." His voice is strained, his hands gripping you like you'll slip away if he lets go."Promise me", you say again, more desperate this time. Eddie swallows hard, his whole body stiff. He doesn't answer. Your chest tightens. "Eddie."He exhales sharply, looking away for a second, his fingers twitching against your back. When he looks at you again, his eyes are darker, heavier. Your hands find his wrists, squeezing, pleading, "Promise me". His jaw clenches.

The silence stretches. And then, finally, he nods. Just once. No words. Because he can't say it. Can't lie to you like that. His body is wound tight, fists clenched, and you know - no matter what he just nodded, this isn't over. Not for him.

At first, Eddie listens in silence.

You tell him everything, your voice barely above a whisper, like saying it too loudly will make it more real. How you came home and Billy was there. How Lauren let him in. How he was already waiting for you, like he knew you'd be alone soon enough. How he threatened you, dangling your secret in front of you like a weapon, like he could rip your whole world apart with just a few words.

Eddie stiffens against you, his hands gripping your waist harder, knuckles going white. But he doesn't say a word. He lets you speak, even as his breathing grows heavier, even as his chest rises and falls in sharp, unsteady movements.

You tell him how you saw Billy standing in your kitchen, with her. And for a moment, you thought he did it. You thought he told her about you and Eddie. You thought your world was about to collapse right there.

Eddie shakes his head, jaw clenched so tight you hear his teeth grind. He knows what's coming. And yet, nothing could prepare him.

You tell him how Lauren left you alone with him. How Billy smiled at you like he knew something you didn't. How he stepped closer. How he spoke, low, taunting, knowing exactly where to hit you to make you crumble.

Eddie's whole body is trembling now. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to ground himself, like he's fighting the urge to explode. His breath is uneven, harsh against your skin, his eyes burning into you, darker and darker with every word you say about how Billy Hargrove tried to blackmail you.

But you don't tell him everything. You don't tell him about Billy's lips crashing onto yours. About the way you froze. About the way his hands--

No. You can't.

Eddie watches you carefully, his eyes flicking across your face.

And suddenly, something shifts in him.

His grip tightens. His body goes still. His breathing slows, just slightly, just enough for you to realize... He knows. His hands slide up to your arms, his touch still firm, but softer now, coaxing, prying. "You're not telling me everything". His voice is dark, steady, dangerously calm. "There's more."

Your stomach twists, "Eddie-.."

His hands tighten, "I swear to God, say it".

You shake your head, turning away, but he doesn't let you. He grabs your chin, not hard, but enough to make you look at him. His eyes are wild now, searching, burning.His voice drops lower. "Say it."

Your breath hitches. You try to look away again, but he stops you, fingers gripping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

"He cornered me. And then kissed me", you whisper.

The words taste like poison.

Eddie doesn't move. Doesn't blink. His fingers twitch against your skin, his breathing slow, heavy. But he's too still, too quiet. Your heart pounds, "And he touched me, again".

The silence between you is deafening.

Eddie exhales sharply, his grip on you tightening for just a second before he forces himself to let go. His fists clench at his sides, his whole body tense, like he's fighting something bigger than himself, "Where".

You swallow, not saying anything.

His voice turns razor-sharp, "Where, Sam?"

You hesitate, but he won't let you run from this. His eyes bore into you, raw and unrelenting. You feel the words clawing their way up your throat, forcing themselves out. "My breast", you whisper.

And then, Eddie snaps.

His broad body jerks back like he's been burned. Everything inside him goes rigid, his fists curling so tight at his sides that his knuckles go bone-white. His breathing is ragged, sharp exhales that do nothing to calm the storm raging inside him.

You watch it happen in real-time, the way his chest rises and falls like he's trying to keep himself from completely losing it. The way his jaw clenches so hard it looks painful. The way his eyes go dark, wild, drowning in something you can't quite name. And for a second, just one, terrifying second, you think he's going to leave. That he's going to turn around and storm out, find Billy, and do something he can't take back.

But then he moves to you instead, so fast it startles you. His hands fly to your face, cradling it roughly, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to keep you there, to make you look at him. His forehead presses against yours, his breath hot and uneven, his whole body trembling with rage. "He--" Eddie chokes on the word like it's physically painful to say. He swallows, trying again, "He fucking touched you. Forced his fucking mouth on yours".

You don't answer. You can't.

His fingers tighten on your jaw, "And you weren't going to tell me?" His voice is raw now, breaking, like he's barely holding himself together. "You were just, what? Gonna keep that inside? Let it fester?"

Your breath stutters, "I didn't want--"

"Didn't want what, Sam?" His voice is sharp, but not at you. Never at you. He's unraveling. He's dying in front of you"Didn't want me to know? Didn't want me to fucking kill him?"

His words hit like a punch to the gut.

Eddie pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you, and his eyes - Jesus, his eyes - they're wild, furious, but underneath all of that is something worse. Pain. Pure, undiluted pain. Tears burn at the edges of your vision. He exhales sharply, like he's been stabbed, "Do you have any idea what this is doing to me?" His voice is wrecked now, thick with something like devastation, "Knowing he touched you? Knowing I wasn't there to stop it?"

Your stomach twists, "I don't want you to do something stupid".

Eddie laughs. A sharp, bitter thing, "Too late for that, sweetheart". His hands drop, pacing back a step like he needs to put distance between you, like he needs air or he's going to explode. You move without thinking, catching his wrist, holding onto him before he can pull away completely, "Promise me".

His head snaps toward you, eyes dark and unreadable, "What?"

"Promise me, Eddie", your voice shakes, but you tighten your grip, "Promise me you won't do anything. That you won't go after him".

Eddie just stares at you, like you've just asked him to carve out his own heart and hand it to you. You swallow hard, "I need you to swear it." His jaw twitches, and for the longest moment, he doesn't answer.

Eddie doesn't say it. He can't say it.

His jaw is tight, his body vibrating with so much tension it feels like he might snap in half. His fists clench at his sides, shaking. His breath is ragged, heavy, like he's barely keeping himself from completely losing it.

And then his eyes drop. To your hand.To the bandage wrapped around it.His expression shifts, something flickers behind his eyes, something dark and dangerous. "Did he do that?" His voice is low. Too low. The kind of quiet that comes before a storm.

Your stomach twists, "Babe--"

"Did he fucking do that to you?!"

The words are sharp, slicing through the air like a blade, and you flinch. You try to pull your hand back, but Eddie catches your wrist before you can, his fingers wrapping around it so gently it nearly breaks you in half. His thumb brushes over the bandage, barely touching, but even that small movement makes your breath stutter.

Eddie sees it. Sees the way you tense, the way your eyes dart away.

And something inside him shatters. "Jesus Christ". He exhales, shaky, his grip tightening just slightly, "Sam". You shake your head, your throat burning, "I- I told you, it was an accident". His eyes snap back up to yours, dark and furious, "Don't fucking lie to me".

"I'm not!"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" His voice breaks, and you jump, startled by the sudden explosion. But then he's exhaling again, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to pull himself back. When he opens them again, his face is wrecked. "Baby, please", he breathes, softer this time, "Tell me the truth".

You take a deep breath and look at him, his burning eyes, and you shake your head, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, "No, not that. He didn't- he didn't cut me". His brows furrow, confusion flickering in his eyes, but he stays silent, waiting. You swallow hard, glancing down at your bandaged hand, at the dull ache pulsing beneath it. Your voice is small when you say, "I told you the truth. It really was an accident". His grip tightens ever so slightly on your wrist, like he's bracing himself, "How?" You take a shaky breath, "I was- I was panicking. After he left". You stop yourself, pressing your lips together, willing your breath to steady before you keep going. "I was holding it. The knife. The one you gave me". Eddie's fingers twitch."It was open", you whisper, "And I- I forgot". You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, trying to force the memory away, "I was shaking, tensing, clenching my hands, I don't know. I cut myself, I swear it".

The silence that follows is thick, heavy. Eddie's thumb brushes absently over the bandage, like he's trying to soothe it, trying to take the pain for himself.

Then, his voice low, rough. "You had a panic attack". You nod. His jaw tightens, "And why did you have the knife in your hand?"

And then you finally say it, the rest of it.

"I- I froze when he kissed me". The words make your stomach twist, make your skin crawl, but you force yourself to say them, "When he touched me". Eddie's entire body locks up.You see it, the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath comes sharper, harder. His fingers clench against your wrist, but he doesn't say a word.

So you keep going.

"But then...", you hesitate, licking your lips, "Then I saw... you. Like, in my head". That gets his attention. His eyes snap up to yours, wide, questioning. You take another breath. "And I heard your voice". Your fingers tighten in his shirt, "I... remembered what you taught me. Where to hit". His grip on you tightens again. "I did it", you whisper, your voice shaking, "I fought back. Too late, but I did it".

His breathing goes uneven, "What- what do you mean?"

"I kneed him", you say, "Hard. In the balls".A sharp breath leaves him. His brows lift just slightly, like he's almost, almost, impressed, despite the storm raging inside him. You nod quickly, "And then I pushed him. Got him away from me".

Eddie swallows, his throat working, "And then?"

You look down, down at your wrapped hand, then back at him. "And then I pulled the knife".

Eddie just stares at you, eyes dark, unreadable, his grip still firm on your wrist. You can feel the way he's shaking, how his whole body is wound so tight he might snap in half.

"You pulled the knife," he says, voice low, almost disbelieving.

You nod, watching the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his fists clench at his sides like he's holding himself together by sheer force. His breathing is uneven, hard and sharp like he's trying to steady himself, trying to control the storm raging inside him.

"Did you use it?"

You freeze. His words are careful, steady, but there's something deeper in them, something raw. Like he's bracing himself for the answer.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head quickly, "No, I didn't."

His grip tightens for just a second, but his jaw is still locked, his whole body still tense, "You swear?"

You nod again, "I swear, Eddie. He- he left the second he saw it."

He exhales a shaky breath, his chest heaving as he pulls away slightly, just enough to look at you. You can see the war behind his eyes, the way the rage battles with something else. Relief, maybe. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, running a hand through his curls before dropping it to his side. His fingers twitch, his whole body still trembling with all of it, anger, pride, pain.

"You-..." He shakes his head, staring at you like he doesn't even know where to start. Like he doesn't know whether to hug you or punch a hole through the wall.

Then, he exhales sharply, his hands flying back to you, gripping your arms, pulling you in so fast you nearly stumble. His forehead presses against yours, his breath hot, unsteady. His voice is raw when he speaks, breaking at the edges. "You fought back." You nod against him, your hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt."You fucking fought back," he breathes again, like he needs to hear it, like he needs to say it out loud to believe it. His hands slide up, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "Jesus, baby. I'm so... fuck, I'm so proud of you."

Your breath hitches, eyes burning at the weight of his words. At the way he's looking at you, like you're something unbreakable, like you're something more than just a victim.

But then his hands tighten on you once more, his whole body tensing up again, and suddenly, the storm shifts back. "You had to pull a knife", he mutters, voice lower now, darker, "to fight a man off. In your own fucking home."

You swallow hard, your heart hammering.

"And you hesitated to tell me?"

You flinch. His jaw locks, his eyes burning into yours, something sharp and devastating in them. "You-..." He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head, "You really thought I'd lose my shit that bad? That I'd just, what? Go running off to kill him without thinking?"

Your silence is answer enough.

He pulls back, raking a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling into the curls like he's trying to keep himself grounded. "Jesus Christ, sweetheart." He turns away for a second, his hands on his hips, his back rising and falling with every sharp inhale before he spins back, his eyes wild again, his voice shaking with something deep, something wrecked, "Do you have any fucking idea how that makes me feel?"

You don't answer.

"That you were scared to tell me? That you thought I'd just- I don't know, snap?" His hands are gesturing wildly now, like he doesn't even know what to do with them, "That you'd rather sit with this alone than trust me to handle it?"

"It's not that--"

"Then what the fuck is it?"

You inhale sharply, shaking your head, "I just- I just didn't want you to make things worse."

His jaw tightens, and he lets out a sharp, bitter breath. "Make things worse," he repeats, voice low, biting, "Baby, what could possibly be worse than you having to pull a fucking knife on a guy who doesn't understand what no fucking means?"Your chest tightens. His hands run through his hair again, his body still vibrating with the weight of it all, "Jesus. You shouldn't have to do that. You shouldn't have to fucking do that." His voice is thick with something broken, something furious, "And the fact that you thought-..." He stops himself, shaking his head.

You step closer, reaching for him. He pulls you in again, his arms wrapping around you, crushing you against his chest. His hands slide up your back, gripping at you like he's scared you'll slip away. His voice is quieter now, wrecked, whispered into your hair, "I need you to promise me something."

Your breath stutters. His hold on you tightens as he murmurs, "You ever feel like that again. You ever feel unsafe. You come to me. You tell me. No hesitating. No second-guessing. You let me protect you."

You don't answer right away.Not because you don't want to. Not because you don't believe him.

But because it means something. Because making that promise, giving him that, isn't just about safety. It isn't just about protection.It's about trust. About letting him in.

And you know it.

Eddie must feel your hesitation, because his hands tighten on you, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like he's afraid you'll slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough. "I know you're still figuring this out", he murmurs, voice rough, his breath warm against your temple, "I know I'm not your boyfriend. Not really."

Something cracks open inside you.

"I know I'm not your man," he continues, quieter now, like it physically pains him to say it out loud. "Not officially. Technically...", his voice wavers, bitter and aching all at once, "technically, I'm just the guy you're sleeping with." His hands slide down, settling at your waist, gripping tight. "The guy you kiss at school, but not at the bar because people you don't wanna know might see us. The guy climbing through your window in the middle of the night because you don't want your roommate to know." There's no accusation in his voice. No malice. Just hurt. It's thick in his throat, weighing down every word.

"And I tell myself that's okay," he whispers, pressing his forehead against the side of your head, his grip desperate, "That it's enough. That I can deal with it. Because fuck, sweetheart, I'd take you however I can get you." His chest rises and falls, a sharp, uneven breath. "But if you ever feel unsafe again, if anything like this ever happens," his voice hardens, firm and unyielding, "you come to me." Big hands slide back up, cupping your face, forcing you to look at him. "I don't care what we are or what we aren't", he says, eyes burning into yours, "I don't give a shit if I never get to call you mine. I don't care if I can't hold your hand in public or kiss you in front of your friends." His thumbs stroke along your cheekbones, gentle despite the fire in his eyes. "But I need to know that when it really matters, when you're scared, when you need someone - you'll come to me".

Your throat is tight, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Promise me," he breathes, his voice cracking, "Swear to me, sweetheart. No hesitating. No second-guessing. You let me protect you."

And this time, you don't hesitate.You don't second-guess.You let yourself fall, just a little.

"I promise", you whisper.

Eddie exhales, something in his face crumpling with relief, and then he's pulling you in again, wrapping you up in his arms, holding you like he never wants to let go. His lips press against your hair, lingering, breathing you in. And you let him.

You tilt your head up, just enough to meet his eyes. They're wide, searching, like he's bracing himself for whatever you're about to say.

And you don't know what comes over you. Maybe it's the way he's looking at you, like you're something fragile but worth holding onto. Maybe it's the way he's still holding you so tight, like letting go isn't an option.

Maybe it's just him.

Because it's always him.

So you kiss him.

You press up on your toes, hands sliding into his hair, and kiss him like you've been starving for it, like you need him to feel what you can't always say. Eddie makes a sound against your lips, something caught between a gasp and a groan, and then he's kissing you back, hard and desperate, like he can't help himself. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him like he's trying to mold you to him, make sure you stay.

When you finally pull back, breathless, his forehead drops against yours. His chest is heaving. His fingers twitch against your sides, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I'm sorry," you whisper, barely more than a breath, but it's enough to make his eyes snap open, searching yours. "I am bad at this," you admit, your voice unsteady, "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to do this. But it's not because I don't want to." You swallow hard, your heart beating so fast it feels like it might burst. "It's because you make me feel things. Big things. You make my heart flutter and my stomach flip and my head spin, and I don't know what to do with that." His arms wrap tighter around you, and there's something raw and unguarded in his expression, something that makes your chest ache. "But you are my man," you tell him, voice barely above a whisper, "Even if things are complicated. Even if I don't know how to be good at this. You are mine." You press another kiss to his lips, soft, lingering, "And you have me. You know you do."

His lips find yours again, and you're so overwhelmed by everything, by him, by today, by the weight of it all, that another tear slips from your eye. It lands on his hand, the one cradling your face, and he feels it. He pulls back, just enough to press soft kisses to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, trying to soothe you, trying to replace everything bad with him.

As much as he hates this whole day, hates what you went through, hates that he wasn't there sooner, he can't ignore the way his heart clenched when you called him your man.

Fuck.

"Stay," he murmurs against your skin, "Stay in my clothes, in my arms". And you nod, because you don't want to be anywhere else. Suddenly, exhaustion washes over you. The kind that settles deep in your bones. It's barely evening, but you feel like you've lived a lifetime in a single day.

You flop down onto his couch, letting out a breath, and Eddie moves around, picking out a movie to lighten the mood. Big Trouble in Little China. Something ridiculous, something to distract you. "You hungry?" he asks. "Thirsty? Anything?" You shake your head, already crawling toward him as he flops down next to you, pressing yourself into his side, like you need to be closer. "I just need you," you mumble against his chest. Eddie swallows thickly, flicking his lighter open and sparking up a cigarette. He exhales slow, wraps his arm around you, pulling you in. You're curled up against him, warm and safe, the movie starting in the background.

And already, you're dozing off.

He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, his other hand absently running up and down your back. His eyes are locked on some distant point behind the TV, his mind replaying everything that's happened. Every second of today, every second of before.

The rain.Your shock.The way you flinched from him.

That one nearly shattered him.You'd never done that before, not to him.And then in the bathroom, letting him undress you, looking so small, so lost, your eyes void of that fire he loves so much. The bloody cut on your palm, your voice shaking with sobs, the way you looked at him when he promised to protect you.Like you wanted to believe it. Like you didn't know if you could.

His jaw tightens. His fingers twitch against your back.

He remembers school. The first time he'd stepped in, when Billy had you backed into the cafeteria wall, whispering something in your ear that made your shoulders bunch up, your body freeze. Eddie hadn't even thought, just inserted himself between you and Hargrove, shoving him back, grinning wide even as Billy threatened to break his face. You kissed him, right there. Just a small kiss, but it meant the world to him after weeks of hiding whatever's been going on between you.

And then, two days ago. When Billy couldn't leave you alone, again. And things between them escalated. Suspended. Again. Like it fucking matters. Because the only thing Eddie cares about is the look on your face, that flicker of fear before you realized it was him pulling Billy away from you. Your voice, calling for him, making him stop mid punch and stumble back to you, kissing you in front of everyone, his hands bloodied. How he tasted your fear.

It makes his blood boil. Makes his hands flex against your back, resisting the urge to squeeze. Not at you, never at you, but at the anger building in his chest.

Because Billy Hargrove hurt you. He hurt you again. And again.

Eddie wanted to believe it's over now, that Billy got the message, that the bruises he left would be enough.

Apparently, they didn't. He came back. And he got you, alone. God knows what would've happened if you hadn't fought him off.

He takes another drag, his fingers tightening in your shirt. He won't let it happen again. No more tears. No more fear. No more fucking Billy. He looks down at you, curled into him, your breath even, soft against his chest. You're so fucking tired after today. And you should be. You've been through hell.

But now you're safe.

Here, with him.

And he's never letting anything touch you again.

Eddie hears it before he sees it.

The unmistakable rumble of Billy's Camaro, the bass from his stereo vibrating the trailer walls. It's getting closer.

His grip tightens around you instinctively, his palm warm against your hip. His name falls from your lips again in a soft mumble, and for a moment, his anger wavers. He presses a lingering kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your arm, your waist, anything to keep touching you.

To remind himself why he's here. Why he needs to stay right the fuck here.

But then the engine cuts out. A car door slams. A girl laughs.

And he goes rigid. His heartbeat hammers against his ribs. He swears he can still see it, see you, soaked and trembling in the rain, flinching from his touch, your bloody hand limp in his. He can still hear the waver in your voice, the way you sobbed when you told him what happened. How you crawled into him just to feel safe.

His blood boils. His fingers flex against your skin. His jaw tightens. His stomach twists with something vicious and unforgiving.

Don't go after him. Promise me you won't go after him, Eddie.

He thinks back to your words, your pleading eyes. But technically... he never promised a damn thing. He just nodded.

Without thinking, he moves to stand up, pulling himself away from your sleeping body. Carefully. Slowly. Controlled. You stir against him, voice thick with sleep as you frown your brows, "What're you doing?" His mind scrambles for an excuse. "Forgot the groceries in the van", he mutters, lips brushing over your forehead, "Gonna take a piss while I'm at it. Be back in a sec."

You sigh, shifting deeper into the couch, already slipping back under. You don't question him. Don't press for more.

Good.

Eddie tucks the blanket over you, fingers lingering at your shoulder, his lips ghosting over your temple one last time before he forces himself to step away. His body is rigid. His hands are already clenched into fists. He shoves his feet into his boots, tugging them on roughly. His breath is slow. Measured.

One last glance at you, curled up on his couch. He opens the door. Steps out into the night.

Billy's standing by his Camaro further up the road, leaning back against the driver's side, lazily dragging a cigarette between his lips. The girl he brought home, some random chick in a mini skirt, is giggling, tipsy, maybe drunk, clinging to his arm. Billy says something to her, something low and smooth, and she laughs again, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Eddie steps down the stairs, eyes locked on Billy, who looks so pleased with himself. Like nothing happened. Like he didn't shatter you to pieces. Like he didn't try to blackmail you, inverted your home, threatened and touched you, forcefully kissed you. Scared you. Eddie's fingers twitch. His nails dig into his palms while he barely contains himself, slowly stepping on the gravel road and heading right over. He moves with purpose, his boots scuffing against the gravel, each step heavier than the last. His pulse thrums in his ears, drowning out everything but the rage curling like fire in his gut. His breath comes slow, controlled, but his hands? His hands are twitching at his sides, aching to do something.

Billy still hasn't noticed him. He's too busy smoking and flirting, his arm going around the girl's shoulder as he leans down to whisper something into her ear, grinning smugly just like he doesn't have a single fucking worry in the world.

Eddie clenches his jaw. His fists. His everything.

And then Billy's eyes flick up.

He snorts, rolling his shoulders back, shifting his weight like he's getting ready for a show. Like this is all a game to him. Like Eddie is just some sideshow entertainment to impress the girl still clinging to his arm. "The fuck are you on about, Munson?" Billy drawls, exhaling a slow cloud of smoke. His lips curl, the beginnings of a smirk forming as his eyes flick over Eddie. "You following me now? Jesus, man. Didn't know you had a thing for me." He laughs, turns his head toward the girl, winking, "Think I should be flattered?"The girl giggles uncertainly, eyeing Eddie, who keeps walking, steady, silent, his gaze locked on Billy like a predator sizing up prey. Billy notices. His smirk widens, but there's something else beneath it now. A flicker of something calculating. Testing."You look pissed," Billy continues, smug, shifting his stance. "What's the matter, freak? Long day? Things not going well with your little charity case?" His tone is mocking, goading. "Ahh, that's it, isn't it?" He exhales another drag, tossing his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot. "Let me guess. Come to cry on my shoulder 'cause your girl finally wised up?"

Eddie keeps walking.

"You know," Billy sighs dramatically, arm still around the girl, but his body angling slightly toward Eddie now, "I tried to warn you, man." He shakes his head, feigning pity, "But you don't listen. Just go around throwing punches, getting yourself suspended, acting like a big man. But let me tell you something, Munson..." He grins, cold and sharp, "She ain't worth it."

Eddie stops a few feet away, breath slow, measured. But his fingers are twitching. And Billy notices that too. The girl shifts beside him, glancing between them, sensing the change. "C'mon, Billy, let's just--""Shh, baby," Billy murmurs, brushing a thumb along her jaw without taking his eyes off Eddie, "Men are talking."

Eddie tilts his head, his lip curling slightly, "You're real proud of yourself, huh?" His voice is low, dark. Almost calm. "Think you can just do whatever the fuck you want, treat people like shit, put your hands on her, and nothing's gonna happen?"

Billy blinks. Just for a second. A small crack in the performance. And Eddie sees it.But Billy recovers fast, rolling his eyes, laughing under his breath, "Jesus, you're obsessed, huh? She must be real good in bed for you to be this--"

Eddie moves before Billy finishes the sentence.

His hand grips the front of Billy's jacket, shoving him back against the Camaro so hard the metal groans beneath him. The girl gasps, stumbling back, "Oh my God!"Billy grunts, surprised but not scared. Not yet. His smirk wavers, but his eyes stay sharp, calculating. "Think you can break into her house", Eddie hisses, his voice low, dangerous, a growl behind his teeth, "Threaten her. Touch her." His fingers tighten, his knuckles white, "Force yourself on her." Billy's jaw flexes. Eddie leans in closer, "How do your balls feel, huh?" His voice is ice now, a whisper, deadly, "Still sore from where she kneed you after you fucking tried it? That must've been real embarrassing for you, Hargrove."

Billy shoves at Eddie's chest, trying to break his grip, "Get the fuck off me, freak". But Eddie doesn't move."You don't get to walk away from this", Eddie hisses, shoving Billy against the car again, "You don't get to pretend like you didn't do it. Like you didn't fucking hurt her." His breath is ragged now, fists trembling with how much he wants to hurt Billy. "Didn't I make myself clear last time? When I fucked up your pretty little face for pulling your shit in the hallway?"Billy's jaw clenches, something flickering in his expression. Eddie leans in closer, his grip tightening, "You think you can touch her again and there won't be consequences?" Billy scoffs, shaking his head, finally looking pissed now. "She doesn't even really want you, Munson." His voice is lower, sharper, trying to dig deep, "You know that, right?" His lip curls, eyes burning with something mean, "She's just desperate to fill the void I left."

Eddie barely hears the words. Because he's already swinging, and Billy barely gets his arms up in time before Eddie's fist connects with his jaw.

Billy's head snaps to the side as Eddie's fist crashes into his jaw with a sickening crack. He grunts, stumbling, his back slamming into the Camaro. The girl shrieks, stumbling backward onto the sidewalk, hands flying to her mouth.

But Eddie's not done.He's seen your face in his mind too many times. Heard your broken voice, felt the way you trembled in his arms. He remembers the terror in your eyes. The way Billy touched you. The way you flinched.

Billy spits blood onto the pavement, jaw flexing as he rolls his shoulders back, already shifting into fight mode. He drags a hand over his mouth, smearing red across his knuckles, his smirk curling back into place like this is fun for him. "There he is," Billy taunts, cracking his neck, shaking out his arms, "Knew you had it in you, Munson." Eddie doesn't give a fuck what he says. He swings again.But Billy ducks, coming up fast with a jab to Eddie's ribs, sharp and practiced. Eddie grunts at the impact, but he barely registers the pain. His blood is boiling, adrenaline drowning everything else out. Billy shoves him back, fists up now, bouncing slightly on his feet, all confidence and ego. "C'mon, freak," he grins, teeth flashing, "That all you got?"

Eddie doesn't fucking think. He lunges. They hit the ground hard. Gravel digs into Eddie's hands as he straddles Billy, fist rearing back before slamming into Billy's face again. And again. Billy snarls beneath him, thrashing, throwing a punch that catches Eddie's cheek, splitting his lip open again. But he doesn't stop. "She is not yours," Eddie growls, voice shaking with fury, landing another hit, "She was never yours". Another punch. "You don't fucking touch her." Billy is fighting back now, fists swinging, and Eddie takes another hit to the ribs that knocks the wind out of him for a second. But he grits his teeth, grabs Billy by the front of his shirt, and slams his head against the pavement. Billy groans, dazed, blood dripping from his nose, his cocky smirk finally wiped clean off his face. His breathing is ragged now, his fists clenching and unclenching as he struggles beneath Eddie who now shifts his weight, knees digging into Billy's sides as he leans down, face inches from his. Blood drips from Eddie's busted lip, his breath warm against Billy's bruised face.

"You should be fucking scared of me," Eddie breathes, voice like gravel, dark and steady.

And then, he moves.

Billy barely has time to react before Eddie's hand goes to his belt, fingers curling around the handle of his knife.

The switchblade flicks open with a sharp click.

Billy tenses as the cold steel presses against his throat. His eyes go wide. He goes still.

For the first time in his fucking life, Billy Hargrove hesitates.

The girl screams. "Oh my God, he's gonna kill him, somebody help!"

Eddie doesn't even look at her. He's staring into Billy's eyes, drinking in the way his pulse jumps against the blade, the way his bravado cracks, just a little. The way he finally fucking understands. "I'm not fucking joking", he hisses, his voice barely above a whisper, "You ever come near her again, ever touch her again, ever fucking look at her the wrong way..." He presses the knife in just enough to make Billy's breath catch, "... and you won't walk away next time."

Billy swallows. The blade barely shifts.The girl is still screaming, panicking as she watches them. Lights flick on in the trailers around them. Windows creak open.

But nobody moves. Nobody interferes.

Because in the trailer park, shit like this happens.

And everyone knows better than to step in.

Eddie holds Billy there for a long, tense second, long enough to let it sink in. Let it burn into Billy's fucking skull.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he eases back. He flicks the blade closed with a practiced snap, shoves it back into his belt while standing back up. Billy sucks in a sharp breath, eyes darting between Eddie and the knife now hidden away. He's still breathing hard, but his smirk is gone. Eddie spits onto the ground next to Billy's head, glaring down at him, fists still clenched, blood still hot in his veins, "Stay the fuck away from her, Hargrove, or I'll forget myself".

Inside his trailer, the screams dragged you from sleep like a gunshot. Your heart jolts. Your body reacts before your brain does, sitting up too fast, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

The couch next to you is empty. Cold. The blanket Eddie tucked around you slides off as you push yourself up, blinking against the hazy light of the television.

And then you hear it again.

A girl's shriek. High-pitched, panicked. Desperate. Your stomach twists. Your mind blanks with sheer, instinctive panic as you stumble toward the door, fingers shaking as you rip it open, the metal creaking under your grip.

You freeze at the scene opening in front of you. The night air is thick, charged with something violent and electric. Gravel crunches under Eddie's boots as he stands over Billy, who's sprawled on the ground, one elbow propped up, chest heaving. His lip is split, blood trickling down from his nose, knuckles scraped raw where he must've gotten a few hits in himself.

But Eddie, he looks feral. His curls hang in wild tangles around his face, his chest rising and falling in short, furious breaths. His lip is bleeding. His fists are bleeding. The veins in his arms stand out, every muscle coiled tight, like he was still riding the high of whatever the fuck just happened.

And then there's her. The strange girl pressed against Billy's Camaro, hands over her mouth, eyes blown wide with fear. The scene hits you in flashes.

Billy on the ground.

Eddie looming over him, bloodied and shaking.

A girl, some random chick who had no idea what kind of man she'd climbed into a car with tonight, whimpering against the door.

The knife hanging on his belt. How his hand still rests on it, as if he just put it back. As if he pulled it on Billy.

"Oh my god, Eddie!"

Your voice barely made it past your lips, but it is enough.

He stiffens. Turns. His dark eyes lock onto yours, still burning with leftover rage, until he really see you. See you standing there, barefoot on his porch, drowning in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, your expression filled with blank panic.

Billy's eyes snap to you. Even through the blood smeared across his face, the swelling on his lip, the bruising already darkening beneath his skin, he smirks. It's slow. Twisted.Like he knows something Eddie doesn't. Like this is a game, and he's just remembered the rules. His gaze drags down, taking you in. Eddie's sweatshirt. Eddie's sweatpants. Barefoot in the cold, standing in Eddie's trailer like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Like you're his.When you should be Billy's.

Something ugly flashes across his face. A realization. A truth sinking in. He shifts, his weight shifting on his elbow as he glances back at Eddie, then back at you.

And then he moves, pushing himself off the ground, aiming for Eddie's back.

"Watch out!" You gasp, just in time.

Eddie twists, bracing himself before Billy can shove him, but they collide anyway. Gravel scatters. Billy's shoulder slams into Eddie's chest, trying to take him down, trying to get the upper hand. "You little whore!" Billy snarls through his teeth, eyes wild, spit flying as he fights against Eddie's grip, "Running to this freak like a desperate--" The words barely leave Billy's mouth before Eddie drives him back against the Camaro, shoving him so hard the car rocks. "Say that again." His voice is low, lethal, his fingers twisting into the front of Billy's shirt, shoving him harder, like he might just put him through the fucking metal.

The girl screams. "Back off!" she sobs. "You're gonna fucking kill him!"

But Eddie doesn't move. Doesn't hear her. He's too far gone. It happens so fast you barely register it, his fist swings back and then cracks forward, connecting with Billy's nose with a sickening, wet crunch. Billy howls. His head snaps back against the Camaro with a thud, hands flying up to his face, blood gushing between his fingers. Eddie doesn't stop. "You fucking piece of shit!" he roars, voice raw, filled with something you've never heard from him before, pure, unfiltered rage. His knuckles are already stained red, his chest heaving, muscles coiled so tightly he looks like he's ready to tear Billy apart.

The girl shrieks again, high and piercing, clutching at her hair like she's watching a horror movie unfold in real life.

And it snaps you out of it.

Your body moves before your brain catches up, racing down the metal steps, bare feet barely feeling the sharp bite of gravel as you rush up to them."Shut the fuck up!" you snap at her, barely sparing her a glance, "Or I'll make you."She chokes on a sob, stumbling further back against the Camaro, but her cries die down. Finally. But you don't care.Your hands find Eddie, grabbing his shoulders, pulling him back, fighting against his sheer strength, against the way his entire body thrums with violence.

"Eddie, stop!" you plead, voice urgent. "You'll kill him! You know what a hit like that can do, you know that!" Eddie is panting, wild-eyed, teeth gritted so hard it looks painful. His fists are still clenched, shaking. His entire body is locked in place, poised for another strike, staring down at Billy like an animal ready to finish the kill. Billy groans, still gripping his nose, blood dripping down his chin, onto his shirt. His breath is ragged, wheezing through what must be a completely shattered nasal cavity. He's done.

"Eddie," you whisper, softer now. "Please." His body jolts like something inside him clicks back into place. His head snaps toward you, pupils still blown, but for the first time since you ran out here, he sees you. Feels your hands on him. Then, he inhales sharply through his nose. His fists loosen. His body unlocks. And he pushes you behind him. It's instinct. Protective. His arm presses across your front, holding you there as his furious gaze flicks back to Billy, who is still groaning, still cursing, still bleeding. Eddie watches him, glaring, panting, barely restrained."Stay the fuck down, Hargrove." His voice is dangerously low, "Or I swear to God, I won't stop next time."

Billy groans again, his bloody fingers gripping the Camaro's roof as he struggles to stand. His face is a mess, his nose an unnatural angle, blood dripping down his lips, staining his teeth red as he bares them in a grimace. His breaths are labored, raspy through the wreckage of cartilage Eddie just shattered. But still, his eyes find yours.And something in them makes your stomach twist. Spite. Rage. Possession.Like he still thinks he has some kind of claim over you. His eyes flick down, taking in the way Eddie's sweatshirt swallows you, the way his sweatpants hang loose around your waist, the way your bare toes dig into the gravel next to Eddie's boots. His lip curls, his bloody teeth flashing in a pained smirk.Eddie barely reacts. His breath is still ragged, his body still coiled so tight he might snap. But he doesn't lunge again. Not yet. Not when he can feel your fingers curled around his wrist, your other arm wrapped around him from behind, holding him back. Billy's nostrils flare, his face a mess of blood, rage, and bruising flesh. He groans, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. The girl at the Camaro scrambles toward him, wide-eyed and trembling. "Billy", she stammers, "we need to get you to a hospital".

But Billy shoves her away.

She stumbles back with a yelp, clutching the side of the car to keep from falling. His lip curls, all fury and disgust. "Piss off", he spits, voice thick and nasally, blood dribbling down onto his shirt, "You're nobody". She stares at him, stunned, like she can't believe he's serious, "Are you fucking kidding me?" Billy doesn't even look at her. His eyes are locked on you.You, still clinging to Eddie's arm, your body half-hidden behind his, shaking from the aftershocks of fear and adrenaline. His stare burns into you. Like he still thinks he owns you. Like he can't fucking believe you're standing there, clinging to Eddie fucking Munson like he's your goddamn lifeline. Like you should be running to him instead. Billy's jaw tightens, teeth clenched so hard it looks painful. Blood trickles down from his nose, over his lips, onto his chin. His fingers twitch at his sides, curling and uncurling into fists.

Then his eyes flick back to Eddie.And he smiles. A twisted, ugly thing, all blood and teeth. "You're gonna regret that, Munson". His voice is low, dark, laced with venom, "I will fucking destroy you." His gaze shifts, pinning you in place, "Both of you." Eddie shifts in front of you, a solid, unmoving wall. Billy ignores it, continuing his little speech, "You just threw your fucking life away for a little bitch who's gonna drop you the second she finds someone better."

You gasp at the sudden movement in front of you. Eddie's hands fist into Billy's collar, shoving him back hard against the Camaro.. Billy grunts, his head knocking against the frame, but Eddie doesn't let up. He's on him, chest heaving, growling low in his throat. "Say that again", he dares, voice sharp and deadly, "Go on, Hargrove, fucking say that again." Billy just smirks. Blood coats his teeth, "Touched a nerve, Munson?" His breath is heavy, pained, but smug, "What, scared she'll realize she's slumming it with some trailer park freak?"

Without a warning, Eddie's fist slams into Billy's jaw with a sickening crack.

"Eddie!" you cry, grabbing at his arm, his shirt, anything, trying to pull him back, "Stop, please, fucking stop it!"

And then -

A gunshot.

The sound rips through the night. You flinch, heart stopping. The girl by the Camaro screams, ducking down, hands over her head.

Eddie's grip on Billy's collar disappears the moment the gunshot cracks through the night. His hands are on you in an instant, grabbing your waist, pulling you close, shielding you with his own body. His breath is ragged, pulse hammering beneath your fingertips as you clutch at him, shaking. He doesn't speak. Just holds you there, steady, safe, as both of your heads snap toward the source of the shot.

Billy's father, Neil Hargrove, stands on his porch, shotgun in one hand, a beer in the other. The smoke from the shot curls into the air. His stance is casual, like he didn't just fire a fucking gun to break up a fight. His face is twisted in a snarl. "William," he barks, voice cutting through the silence, "Get your useless ass inside. Now."

Billy doesn't move. He wipes at his face, blood smearing across his cheek, breathing hard. His jaw is tight, his eyes burning.

And then his father's gaze shifts. Lands on you, as he takes in the whole scene. Recognition flickers. Slowly, he tilts his head, taking you in. The girl his son had been fucking for months. The one he hated, because you didn't fear him like all the others did. His lip curls. "You."

Your stomach knots. Memories crash into you. That night in Billy's room. His father's voice, booming through the door. "Keep that fucking whore quiet, or I will." The way you froze. The way Billy didn't say anything. Didn't fight for you. Didn't even look at you. The way you got up. Got dressed. Walked straight through the house, past Neil Hargrove himself, who had stood there, waiting. Glaring. Expecting you to lower your head, to scurry away like the rest of them. But you stared back. Met his eyes. Didn't flinch. And that pissed him off more than anything.

Now, he glares at you, fingers tightening around the shotgun. His eyes sweep the scene, the blood on Billy's face, the bruises already blooming, the way Eddie stands in front of you, a barrier.

And then, he fucking laughs. A low, mean chuckle. "This is about her?" he drawls, looking back at Billy, shaking his head, "You're telling me this whole scene is because of a girl? Jesus Christ, Billy. That's fucking embarrassing."

Billy stays silent.."Get inside," his father snaps. "Now."

Billy doesn't move. Doesn't answer. Just stands there, shoulders tense, lip still curled in anger, but, something else. Something small. Something flickering behind his eyes. His father steps down from the porch, growling, "I said...""Heard you the first time," Billy mutters, voice low, thick with anger.

Your heart pounds in your chest as your fingers find Eddie's, curling, flexing, gripping each other tight. You don't dare to move.

Eddie shifts in front of you, his body coiled, jaw tight. He stands between you and that gun without hesitation. You both watch as Billy finally moves, head lowered, steps slow. Defeated.

For the briefest moment, your stomach twists. Pity. Because you know. You know what's waiting for him behind that door. But then you remember the way he grabbed you. The way he kissed you. The way you had to fight him off. And whatever pity was there vanishes. You keep your eyes on Neil, your pulse pounding. Eddie's fingers flex around yours. You squeeze back, watching how his gaze flicks to Eddie, eyes narrowed. Then to Billy's face, taking in the damage. "That Munson boy broke your face like that?" He scoffs, shaking his head, "That's even worse. You're useless, William. Even he's got more fight in him than you do. And apparently, he fucks your girl, too". His lip curls, "Look at how she clings to him. What a shame."

Eddie doesn't move. Neither do you. The gun is still in Neil's hand.

Billy finally reaches the porch, pushing past his father. His steps are slow, a little unsteady. Probably a concussion. He hesitates for a second, looking back at you, at Eddie. Then Neil Hargrove turns on him again. "You're a fucking shame, son," he spits, "Letting this punk make you look like this, and then he goes home with the girl? Jesus. Pathetic." For a millisecond, you see something flicker in Billy's eyes. Something like hurt. But then it hardens, and he steps inside.

Your nails dig into Eddie's skin, but he doesn't react. His stare stays locked on Neil, unblinking, muscles coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. "Fucking get inside already", Neil snaps again, "Before I put you there myself". Billy moves.

And the door slams shut behind him.

You gulp. Mr Hargrove lingers for another second, glancing between you and Eddie, that same vile smirk curling his lips. And then, he spits. Right onto the gravel. Right in front of you. Cold, drunken eyes find you one last time. "I'd watch myself if I were you, girl". His lip curls, "You cause trouble everywhere you go". And then he turns. Walks inside. The moment the door slams shut, the trailer park falls silent.

It's over.

Your breath is still caught somewhere in your throat, adrenaline pumping so hard through your veins it almost makes you dizzy. The gunshot still rings in your ears, the smell of blood and sweat thick in the night air. Billy's Camaro sits there, its front stained with smears of blood, its headlights still throwing harsh, artificial light over the gravel. And then there's her. The girl.She's still pressed against the car, shaking, arms wrapped around herself like she's trying to disappear. Her mascara is running, her breathing ragged. She glances between you and Eddie like she doesn't know if she should run or say something.You force yourself to swallow down the shaking in your voice. "Go home." It comes out rough, strained, but firm, "Don't knock on his door." Her wide eyes flick toward Billy's trailer, toward the shut door, the place where he just disappeared. You can see the hesitation, the conflict. Like she still thinks she should check on him. Like she still thinks Billy Hargrove is someone worth caring about when he just told her to piss off and called her a nobody. But then her gaze lands back on you, at the blood on your hands, at Eddie's torn-up knuckles, at the way he's still holding you like he's afraid to let go. Her breath shudders out, and she nods. She doesn't say another word. Just stumbles on her feet and down the road.

And then, it's just you and Eddie.

You're still in shock, blinking around like a deer in headlights. Someone shot a gun around you. You could've been shot. Eddie could've been shot.

As realization hits you, you're starting to shake like a fucking leaf, sucking in a sharp breath to calm the growing panic in your chest. What the fuck just happened?

Eventually, Eddie finally unfreezes from his own shock, turns, grabs your hand, and pulls. "Inside". His voice is tight, urgent. His grip is firm. Your bare feet stumble over the cold gravel as he drags you back toward his trailer, away from Neil Hargrove, away from the Camaro, away from Billy's blood still staining the ground. The night presses in around you, the distant sound of a dog barking, some voices inside the other trailers, but no one steps outside. Not even now, after someone shot into the night skies.

Eddie rips open the door and all but shoves you inside, slamming it behind him, locking it. Securing it. Shutting the outside out.Only then, he turns to you. "Are you okay?" His hands are on you immediately, gripping your arms, running over your sides, up to your face, tilting your chin, scanning you frantically. "Did he touch you? Did- did his fucking dad--"

"Eddie..."

"Fuck," he hisses, his eyes raking over you, still flushed from the cold, still barefoot, still wearing his clothes, "Fuck. Fuck. I should've killed him. I should've put him in the fucking ground."

"Eddie, stop!"

You grab his face, force his gaze onto you. His skin is warm, flushed with adrenaline, his pulse hammering against your palms. His lip is still bleeding, a fresh cut splitting the already-healing wound from last week. His jaw is tight, his curls sticking to his face with sweat. Your eyes flicker lower. His knuckles are a mess. His arms, scraped and bruised. His ribs, he winces when he shifts. "You're hurt," you whisper, your voice shaking, but all he does is shake his head. "Don't care", he rasps, pressing his fingers against your cheeks, desperate, his forehead almost touching yours, "I don't don't fucking care. I just..." His breath shudders out, hands flexing on your skin as his voice cracks, the panic in his eyes so raw.

Something inside of you splinters. Because despite all his rage, despite all the blood and bruises and shaking adrenaline, he's terrified. You pull him closer, press your hands over his chest, feel the rapid, uneven beat of his heart under his skin. "It's okay", you whisper, "We're okay".

But he can't hear you.

His breath is still coming too fast, his hands still trembling, his entire body coiled. His eyes are wild, unfocused, his jaw clenched like he's still there, back in the fight, in the middle of it all, and you can feel it, he's not here. He's still caught in it. His eyes are wide, dark and frantic, darting over you like he can't take in enough, like he's still searching for the wound, still expecting to find you bleeding out beneath his hands. His fingers are everywhere, shaking, trembling, touching your arms, your face, pressing against your ribs like he's convinced something inside you is broken. You can hear his breath, sharp and ragged, too fast, almost panting.

He doesn't even realize he's the one who's hurt, the one who's bleeding.

His face is streaked with red, fresh blood dripping from a cut on his temple, smudged across his cheekbone. His lip is split, his knuckles are torn, his shirt dark with spreading stains. But none of it matters to him. "Jesus, fuck, he- he could've shot you", Eddie stammers, voice breaking, fingers gripping at your shoulders, "He had a gun, he- B-Billys father could've--"He swallows hard, his breath catching, pupils blown wide in shock, in fear. His hands tighten, knuckles going white against your skin, "I shouldn't have- I should've-..."

You try to stop him, try to catch his face between your hands, but he jerks back, breath coming in a stuttering gasp. "Eds", you whisper, trying to anchor him, trying to get him to breathe deeper, but he's too far gone. He won't let you touch him, won't let you pull him from this, won't hear you. He's caught in his own head, spiraling, shaking, drenched in sweat and blood and panic. His chest heaves, ribs rising and falling too fast, too sharp, his body wired with adrenaline, muscles locked up like he's still fighting, like he hasn't realized it's over. His whole body is trembling, the terror and fury still burning inside him, consuming him, and no matter what you say, how you try to reach him, it's not enough.

Tears slip down your face, silent and unnoticed. You're shaking too, the weight of everything crashing down on you, the fight, the gun, what you saw him do, what he did for you. You're scared, not of him, never of him, but of this, of the way he's lost in it, drowning in his own panic, his own violence, his own need to protect you at any cost.

"Hey, hey", you call, trying to grab him again, to stop him from spiraling any further, "Take a deep breath, okay? You're about to have a panic attack, Eddie, deep breaths okay? Come on. Hey! Do you hear me?"

But he still barely reacts, still stammering about what happened, touching you frantically, gasping to get some air into his tense chest. You can't think of anything else. You just move. Out of nowhere, your hand comes up, landing right on his cheek. It's not hard, just a sharp, stinging snap of contact against his skin. "Stop it!", you pant, face wet in tears you didn't even feel.

It's just enough to pull him out of it. To stop the spiral.

Eddie freezes mid-panic.

His whole body goes still, like you've cut the strings holding him up. His head turns slightly from the force of it, eyes wide, blinking, lips parted. For the first time since the fight, he actually sees you. He actually looks at you, blinks away the fog behind his eyes. The fight or flight mode finally eases out of his system. Dark eyes dart to your hand, still held up close to his cheek. Then back down to your face. He doesn't say anything. Just stares, caught off guard. Did you really just hit me? is written all over his bloody, cut open face.

"Fucking stop it", you pant again, adrenaline pumping through your veins while you're letting your hand slowly sink down to your thigh. His glance locks with yours. He sees your tears, your fear. Swallows hard. "Please", you whisper again, blinking away another tear.

"Baby", he rasps as if he just woke up from a nightmare, his hands reaching for you to pull you in, to wrap you up in the safety of his arms. But you step back, shaking your head. Immediately, he freezes. The anger snaps through you, sudden and overwhelming, tangled up in everything else, fear, relief... love. "You promised me you wouldn't do anything", you whisper, another wave of tears burning in your eyes. His face crumples, guilt flashing through his eyes, but there's something else there too, something helpless, something desperate. "I know", he breathes, trying to step closer, but you take another step back, "I know, but- I couldn't... I can't just--"His voice breaks, and he shakes his head, swallowing thickly, "I can't let him get away with that. Not when it's about you". Your heart aches at that. Still, you don't let him step closer. Now that he's done spiraling, your ocean of emotions is threatening to drown you."You fucking promised me", you hiss, voice sharper now, "You fucking promised me!""I know", he rasps, his voice wrecked. "Oh, yeah?" you scoff, your chest tight with this storm of emotions you don't know how to contain, "But you can still do this, right? You can throw yourself into a fight, nearly get yourself killed, and not give a flying fuck about what you promised me". Your throat chokes up, but you don't stop. You can't. Even as your voice breaks and your eyes overflow again, you can't stop. Now, that you finally realized what happened. How stupid he was. "You're fucked up, Eddie", you spit, "You can't just let him hurt you like that, when..." Your voice wavers, shaking with rage and relief, with everything you can't say yet.

His breath is ragged, his eyes locked onto yours, dark and pleading, but you don't let yourself soften. "I fucking told you not to go after him! Look at you!", you sob, wiping at your face, "You're hurt! You're bleeding, and someone SHOT A FUCKING GUN, Eddie!! This is exactly why I didn't wanna tell you!" He winces when you start to yell, but he still doesn't fight it. He knows you're right. He knows he fucked up by breaking his promise. "YOU MADE ME FUCKING TELL YOU! And ALL I asked you to do in order to open up to you, was to stay away from him! And what did you do, you fucking idiot?"  You're sobbing harder now, wiping at your face with the sleeve of the hoodie you're wearing, but it's useless. Your hands are shaking now, your legs trembling, your heart thudding loudly in your chest.

You're so angry at him. So fucking angry.

And he just stands there. Bleeding. Still shaking a little. The feeling of your palm still on his cheek. His eyes wide, locked on you. One hand still halfway reaching for you. "I'm sorry", he rasps, eyes glistening now. You're swallowing the lump in your throat. "You're suck a fucking idiot", you hiss, stepping closer, "You're dumb and stupid and a fucking idiot with an anger problem, and I--..." You stop right in front of him, glaring up at his bloody face. "I'm so fucking mad at you", you whisper, still crying, already reaching for his face to pull him down and finally kiss him.

It's messy, all teeth and heat and anger, your nails scraping down his chest as you shove yourself against him, needing to feel him, needing to remind yourself that he's here, that he's alive. He gasps against your mouth, but he doesn't pull away. He grabs yo, hands squeezing your waist, pulling you in like he needs this just as badly as you do. You bite his split lip, and he groans, low and wrecked, his fingers flexing, gripping, desperate. "You're such a fucking idiot", you hiss against his mouth, your voice breaking. His hands slide up, cupping your face, smearing blood across your cheek, your jaw. "I know", he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours, swallowing hard, "I know, baby, I know, I'm sorry".Your chest heaves, your hands still trembling as you grip the front of his shirt, pushing, pulling, needing more, needing everything. "You scared the shit out of me", you whisper, the words raw, torn from somewhere deep inside you.Eddie exhales shakily, his lips brushing yours. And you can't stop. You kiss him again, harder, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, drinking in his gasps, his heat, his everything. His hands are everywhere, mapping your back, your waist, your face, his fingers shaking but firm, desperate to hold onto you, to feel you. "Thank God", you gasp between kisses, panting against his lips, pressing him back against the wall, "Thank God you're okay". His breath hitches, and then he's kissing you again, swallowing your words, his hands tangled in your hair, gripping like you're the only thing keeping him standing.

It's overwhelming. It's messy and angry and hot and raw, full of fear and love and everything you both almost lost.

And neither of you can stop.

Eddie is everywhere. His hands, his breath, his blood, his heat, it's all over you, wrapping around you, pulling you under. You can't breathe, but you don't want to. His fingers dig into your sides, slipping beneath your hoodie, sliding up your spine, warm and desperate, gripping you like he needs proof that you're real, that you're here. His hoodie is too big on you, swallowing you up, but his hands slide beneath it easily, skin on skin, rough fingertips mapping you out, claiming you. "I can't..." His voice is wrecked, barely a growl, hot against your lips. His fingers tighten on your waist, pressing you harder against him, dragging you closer, pulling you in, "I can't let him... fuck, I can't stop myself when it's you".You shake against him, body torn between anger and relief, between hunger and something else, something deeper, something you don't want to name. "Then fucking try", you snap, voice shaking, hands gripping his face, thumbs smearing through the blood on his cheek. You're still crying, tears mixing with the mess of him as you kiss him, rough and biting, punishing him for making you feel like this.

For making you feel everything.

"You think I can just stand there?", he rasps, his forehead pressing to yours, his body trembling against you. His breath is hot, ragged, panting against your lips, "You think I can fucking let it happen? Just let him--" His voice cracks, and he kisses you again, cutting himself off, his hands gripping you tighter, roaming higher, sliding up your ribs, your back, like he needs to feel all of you, needs to make sure you're whole. You don't stop kissing him, can't stop pouring everything into it, your fear, your anger, your relief, your gratitude. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body pressing against his, and he groans, a deep, guttural sound, his hands tightening on your bare skin. "Eds", you whisper, his name trembling against your mouth. He groans again, like hearing you say it like that is too much, his fingers slipping under your hoodie further, his lips moving to your jaw, your throat, hot and desperate. "I can't lose you", he breathes against your skin, voice cracking, breaking. His hands tighten, his whole body trembling, "I can't".

You pull him back up, crash your lips against his again, tasting blood and tears and everything you both almost lost. "I'm right here", you whisper against his mouth, voice shaking, "I'm right here".

And he kisses you like he believes you.

Like he needs you.

Like you're the only thing tethering him to this world. And maybe you are.