053

The bed is empty when you wake up.

You shift, stretching slightly, your body warm and heavy from sleep.

Outside, the rain pours, steady and relentless, tapping against the thin trailer windows, streaking down in winding rivers. The sky outside your bedroom window is heavy with thick gray clouds, casting a dim, sleepy light through the blinds.

You blink, still groggy but content, sighing in relief when you remember you don't have work today. You roll onto your side, reaching out, fingers sliding across the sheets where Eddie should be.

Cold. He's been gone for a while.

You frown, propping up on your elbows, listening closely. And then you hear it. Soft, low guitar chords drifting from the living room. You exhale, smiling sleepily as you sit up, rubbing your face before slowly getting out of bed. You pull the shirt you stole of him to sleep in back into place, yawning as you carefully open the bedroom door and follow the sound.

When you step into the doorway to the living space you stop, watching him for a moment, not wanting to disturb him.

The room is dimly lit, washed in the soft golden glow of a single lamp, its light barely reaching the small kitchen. It smells faintly of coffee and cigarette smoke, mixing with the comforting scent of rain-soaked earth wafting in through a cracked window. Eddie's sitting on the couch, one foot tucked beneath him, his Warlock resting across his lap. His hair is a mess, dark waves falling in wild tangles over his face, still mussed from the nap you two took after coming home from accidentally crashing at Steve's. He's wearing an old Metallica shirt, one of his favorites, soft and worn at the collar, hanging loose over his frame, and a pair of black sweatpants. No socks, just bare feet tapping idly against the floor.

He doesn't notice you, too focused on his music, nodding his head slightly as he picks out a slow, intricate melody, mumbling words under his breath. An open notebook rests on his knee, filled with scribbles, chord progressions, and half-written lyrics.

You lean against the wall, taking him in. The way his long fingers move deftly over the strings, calloused but precise. The slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates. The soft movement of his lips, whispering lyrics, testing how they fit with the music.

He pauses, shifting the guitar slightly, reaching for a pencil tucked behind his ear. The lead scratches against the page as he crosses something out, rewriting a few chords, trying again. His fingers find the strings, adjusting, changing the key, searching for the right sound until he finds it. A slow nod of satisfaction as he writes it down, tapping the eraser against the page in thought.

You watch as he reaches for his cigarettes on the coffee table, sliding one between his lips, lighting it without ever taking his eyes off his notes. Smoke curls around his face as he plays, cigarette staying between his lips, exhaling through his nose, squinting one eye slightly against the smoke.

Your chest aches with how much you love him.

Eventually, he reaches for the ashtray to tap his ashes, and as he turns slightly, his gaze flicks to the side, finally catching you in his peripheral vision. He winces, nearly dropping the cigarette. "Jesus, Sam," he breathes, grinning once he realizes it's you. "How long you been standing there?"

"Long enough" you smirk, stepping forward, "Sounded like great potential to me".

He chuckles, sets the guitar and notebook aside, reaching for your waist the second you're close. He tugs you in, hands warm against your hips, guiding you into his lap. You melt into him immediately, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. His arms wind tightly around you, pulling you in closer. "Had a good nap?", he murmurs, nuzzling into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod against him, sighing as he rocks you slightly, big hands rubbing slow, lazy circles over your back. "Mmm," you hum, tilting your head to kiss the hollow of his throat, "Missed you when waking up".

His fingers trace idle patterns over your spine, his touch soothing, "Woke up an hour ago, took one look at you all curled up and knocked the fuck out, figured I'd let you sleep a little longer".

"Could've stayed," you mumble, pressing your lips to his collarbone, "Keep me warm".

Eddie groans dramatically, throwing his head back. "Baby, you're killing me", he grins, squeezing you tighter, "You tryna make me never leave that bed again? I got a song to write".

"Mmm," you hum again, burying your face in his neck, "That'd actually be nice."

He laughs, tipping his head to kiss your temple again, "You're so fucking cute when you're needy, y'know that?"

You just sigh, snuggling deeper into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat. The rain continues to patter against the window, a distant roll of thunder humming in the distance. "But that song actually sounded great", you eventually add, drawing a small smirk on his face as he snuggles you tighter.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple, "You can be honest. No need to kiss ass".

"No, really. What I heard sounded good" you admit, your fingers toying with the hem of his shirt, "Really good. Maybe show me the rest?"

"It's not done yet," he says, tilting his head against yours, "But once it is, I'll show you. Properly. But it can take some time. Writing a song is long progress, y'know".

You hum in acknowledgment, "Yeah, I know". Your thoughts drift elsewhere. To the song you wrote. Losing Grip. You were supposed to play it with your band, Cherry Burn, at Battle of the Bands next weekend. But now after the fights with Lauren because of Effie, after she kicked you out of your apartment... you don't even know if you're still in the band. You haven't been to a rehearsal in two weeks. Haven't spoken to any of them since the fallout with Lauren.

Eddie shifts beneath you, his hand brushing along your spine as he feels the change of your body language. "Hey," he murmurs, tilting his head to look at you, "What's wrong?"

You hesitate, then sigh, "I wrote a song too, recently. Not my first one, but... definitely my most felt one".

His brows lift slightly, intrigued. "Yeah? Had no idea you write".

"Yeah. I'm... usually not talking about it. I used to write just for myself. But Lauren literally caught me at it and made me show the band. They... liked it, and we decided to perform it at the battle", you admit, voice softer now, "But now I don't even know if I'm still in a band."

Eddie frowns, his arms tightening around you, "They're fucking stupid if they won't play with you anymore just because of that Lauren bullshit. You're the best damn guitarist they got. They should separate private life and band life".

You huff a small, humorless laugh.

"Why'd you never tell me you write songs, mh?" he asks, nudging your temple with his nose.

"Didn't think it mattered", you sigh, "Never planned on showing them to anyone".

"Does matter", he insists, "The one you wanna perform? Let me hear it, yeah?"

You tense slightly. "Eds, I..."

"Come on, babe," he urges, squeezing your waist, "Play it for me. I'd love to hear it".

You hesitate, gnawing on your lip. His gaze is warm, patient, encouraging. "Please?", he smirks, and you give in.

"Fine", you sigh, "But don't laugh, okay?"

"Baby, you kidding? I could never. Come on, play it. Show me what you got".

Finally, you sigh, shifting off his lap to sit beside him. Your hands reach for his Warlock and pull it in your lap. Gently, you let your fingers settle on the strings, missing the familiar feel of your own guitar, the one still trapped in an apartment you can't bring yourself to go back to.

"What's it called?", he asks softly.

You don't even look at him, fingertips gently touching the strings of his guitar as you prepare yourself, suddenly feeling all nervous. "Losing Grip. It's... about my father".

Eddie nods, watches you closely as you adjust the guitar in your lap, take a steadying breath, and softly start to play.The first few chords ring out, quiet but deliberate. Your voice fills the air.

"Are you aware of what you made me feel?Right now, I feel invisible to you, like I'm not real..."

Dark brown eyes lock onto you, Eddie's usual easy smirk fading into something more serious. More intense. He doesn't speak. Doesn't even breathe too loud. He just listens.

"Didn't you see me reaching out to find you?Why'd you turn away?Here's what I have to say..."

Your fingers move over the strings, finding each note with practiced ease, your voice growing stronger. The words - the ones you wrote, the ones you lived - spill from you, filling the dimly lit room, blending with the rain outside.

"I was left to cry there,Waiting outside there,Grinning with a lost stare-That's when I decided..."

Eddie swallows hard, his brows knitting together as he listens.

"Why should I care?'Cause you weren't there when I was scared,I was so alone...You, you need to listen,I'm starting to trip, I'm losing my grip,And I'm in this thing alone..."

His jaw clenches slightly, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but doesn't want to interrupt.

The song pours out of you, raw, emotional, heavy with everything you've held inside for so long. All of it bleeding into each note, each lyric, each tremor in your voice.When you reach the final lines, your voice is quieter, softer, like a final plea.

"Why should I care?If you don't care then I don't care...We're not going anywhere..."

As the last chord fades, silence settles between you.

You don't look up right away, heart pounding, nerves buzzing. But when you do, Eddie is staring at you like you just knocked the wind out of him. His lips part slightly, like he's trying to find the right words, but they don't come. Instead, he exhales a long breath, his hands finally moving, gently taking the guitar from your lap and setting it aside before pulling you back onto him. You barely have time to react before you're wrapped in him, his arms winding tight around your back, pressing you into his chest. "Jesus Christ, babe," he breathes into your hair.

You hesitate, feeling the quick rise and fall of his chest. "What?"

"That...", he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes are glassy, his throat working like he's swallowing something thick, "That was fucking insane, sweetheart. I mean, fuck, your voice? Your playing? Why the hell have you been hiding that from me?"

Your face warms, "I don't know, I just-..." You stop at the way his hands grab your face, the way he looks at you. His grip is gentle but firm, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he stares at you like he's trying to etch this moment into his memory.

"If those Cherr Burn assholes don't wanna play it with you? Fuck 'em. Play it with me," he says, eyes burning with conviction, "Battle of the Bands. I want you up there with me."

Your stomach twists, and suddenly, the weight of what just happened crashes down on you.

You never meant for this song to be heard. You never meant for anyone to look at you the way he's looking at you now, like you just knocked the wind out of him.

Your throat tightens, your fingers twitching against his chest. "Baby, that's very sweet, but... I don't know," you murmur, suddenly unsure, "I... actually I never even wrote it to be performed."

His brows furrow slightly, "What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I mean, it's not..." You exhale sharply, trying to gather your thoughts, "I didn't write it for a crowd. Or for a band. Or for anyone to listen to, really. I just... I needed to get it out of my system. That's all. The girls basically outvoted me on that, decided they wanna perform it. I never meant for that to happen".

Eddie watches you, his expression unreadable. "Sam," he mumbles carefully, "that's exactly why people need to hear it."

You shake your head, shifting in his lap, suddenly feeling exposed. You tug at the hem of your oversized shirt, wishing you could crawl inside it. "I don't even know if I wanna perform it at all," you admit, voice barely above a whisper, "It's-... it's personal. Too personal".

His brows knit together, his fingers still resting against your jaw.

"That's not what I wrote it for," you whisper, suddenly desperate to make him understand, "I didn't write it to be on a stage. I wrote it because... because if I didn't, I would've lost my fucking mind, Eds".

He nods slowly, taking it in. "Okay", he sighs, voice softer now, "I get that. But... that doesn't mean it should stay locked away forever, sweetheart. The best songs, the ones that hit you the hardest? They come from this." He taps a finger against your sternum, "From feeling like you're gonna explode if you don't get it out."

You bite your lip, looking down. "Besides," you mumble, "it wouldn't work anyway. I'm not even signed up. If they really kick me out, the band will perform without me, and you're with Corroded Coffin".

Eddie scoffs, "So? If they actually choose Lauren's busted ego over you being a part of their band? We'll make it work. I'll talk to the guys, see if we can squeeze you in--"

"Eddie." You shake your head, overwhelmed.

He stops, watching you carefully.

"I appreciate it. I really do. But... no." You inhale, steadying yourself. "It's not gonna happen. I'm not ready. And it's not even that great of a song, anyway." "Not that great?" He blinks at you like you just said the dumbest thing ever. "You joking?"

You shrug half-heartedly, avoiding his gaze.

"Sam. Baby." He lifts your chin, making you look at him. His eyes are dark, intense. "That was one of the best fucking songs I've ever heard. No exaggeration. No bullshit. I felt that."

Your throat tightens.

"You have no idea how good you are, do you?" His voice is almost incredulous as he continues, "You play like it's second nature. Like the guitar is part of you. And your voice?" He shakes his head, staring at you like you're crazy for doubting yourself, "Jesus Christ, babe. Why the hell have you been hiding that? You're so talented".

You swallow thickly, overwhelmed by his words, by the way he's looking at you. "I just... I don't know... I never really thought it was a big deal."

Eddie laughs. Not in amusement, but in sheer disbelief. "Not a big deal? Sweetheart, if I could bottle up how you just made me feel and sell it, I'd be a fucking millionaire." His hands find your hips, grounding you, keeping you close. "I'm telling you right now - whether it's this battle, or another gig, or whatever - you belong up there."

You bite your lip, your heart pounding.

He's so sure. So certain. Like there isn't a single doubt in his mind.

Eddie leans in, kissing you softly. "You should talk to them", he mumbles, and you shake your head.

"No".

Your lips connect for another small kiss before he pulls back, frowning. "Baby. Why no? You have to. There's no way of avoiding that".

You huff out a breath, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "Because I'm scared, okay?"

His expression softens instantly.

"They were Lauren's band before they were mine," you murmur, "And now that she hates me, I don't know if they even want me there. And I..." You hesitate, swallowing hard. "I don't wanna hear them tell me to fuck off, Ed. I'd rather just... assume I'm not part of it anymore than have it confirmed to my face".

"Talk to them", he repeats, "You love that band. Don't give up on that so easily. Lauren's pissed? Okay. She doesn't wanna share an apartment with you any longer? Fine. But don't let her push you out of that band. Not without showing you're not giving up that easily. Don't let her have so much control over you".

You tense in his lap, fingers still curled into his shirt as your mind reels. Eddie's words are sinking in, chipping away at the wall you've built around yourself all week.

"Don't be so fucking scared, Sam." His voice is firm but gentle, his hands smoothing up and down your back, "You're so tough. And now, all of a sudden, you're hiding?"

You don't answer, biting the inside of your cheek.

"You have no reason for that," he presses on, voice dipping lower, rougher, "Yeah, you're with me now. But we're in love, baby. We fucking love each other, and I just fucked her a couple of times. That's it. That's all it ever was. She has no fucking right to treat you like this. I didn't fucking leave her alone with two kids or whatever".

You exhale sharply, eyes flickering up to meet his. There's frustration there, yes, but beneath it. Concern.

"She can be pissed," he continues, "fine. She can kick you out, fine. It's her name on the lease, whatever. But don't pull your head in like this. Don't let her push you out of your own fucking life."

His words hit harder than you expect them to. Because he's right. You have been hiding. You've been avoiding everything. yYour band, your apartment, your life, just to avoid her.

But why?

Lauren hates you now, and yeah, it fucking sucks, but... was that really a reason to run? To let her dictate what you do, where you go, what band you're in?

Your stomach twists.

"You should know if you're still part of that band," Eddie says, softer now, "And if you aren't? If they really don't want you there anymore? Then at least you'll know instead of sitting here torturing yourself about it."

You swallow hard, your throat tight.

"And," he adds, tipping his head slightly, "I know you miss your guitar. And probably some clothes. Or whatever else you didn't grab last week when you bolted."

You nod slowly.

"Then we should go there and grab it," he says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "We gotta pick up the van at that concert venue from last night anyway. Might as well stop by and get your shit."

The idea of walking into that apartment makes your pulse spike. You haven't been there in over a week. You've avoided every single place Lauren might be just so you wouldn't have to face her. You can still hear the way she screamed at you when she found out. The way her voice cracked.

You're a fucking whore, Sam.

For a second, you felt like the worst person to ever exist.

But Eddie is right. You love him. And he loves you. And no matter how much it hurt Lauren, no matter how much it fucked up everything, that was real.

Your throat feels tight as you take a slow breath. "Okay," you whisper.

Eddie watches you carefully. "Okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. Let's go."

His lips twitch, his hands tightening slightly on your waist, like he's proud of you, "That's my girl."

10 minutes later, you grip the wheel of your Ford, about to shift into gear to drive off, when Eddie suddenly leans over the console, his fingers tilting your chin and turning your face toward him.

His eyes are warm, intense, full of something so achingly real that it nearly steals your breath. "I meant what I said, baby", he murmurs, thumb brushing softly against your jaw, "That song needs to be heard. You need to be heard."

Your chest tightens. You try to look away, but he doesn't let you, holding you there, locked in his gaze.

"And I'll always be there," he continues, voice low and certain, "Whether it's next to you on stage, or backstage fanning myself 'cause of how obsessed I am with you--"That gets a small, breathy laugh out of you, but he's still serious"--but I'll always be there. Okay?"

You swallow, nodding. "Okay."

He smiles and kisses you, his lips brushing yours soft and warm, like he's sealing the promise between you. Then he pulls back, squeezing your knee before sitting properly in his seat. "Alright, let's go get my van. Don't want her to think I abandoned her".

You snort and check your rearview mirror while pulling out your parking space, leaving Forest Hills and following his directions back to last night's concert venue, some random warehouse next town.

When you eventually pull up, the lot is nearly empty, only two vehicles remaining. Eddie's beat-up van and a sleek, black transporter parked near the open warehouse doors. The contrast is almost comical. You roll to a stop, watching Eddie hop out of your car and head toward his van. He's digging his keys out of his pocket when movement catches your eye.

Someone steps out of the warehouse.Your brows furrow slightly in recognition, and then -

"Won't you look at that - Greg's birthday twin is back!"

Oh shit.

You blink, watching as the lead singer from last night's band smirks at you, cigarette between his fingers while stepping into the dim daylight.

He remembers you. He fucking remembers you.

And then, as if summoned by his voice, the rest of the band filters out, laughing and chatting, lugging the last of their equipment. They see you, and you swear your stomach flips.

"Sam who turned 18!" Greg, the bassist who's sharing his birthday with you, grins widely, pointing at you, "What're you doing here? Stalking us?"

You huff out a nervous laugh, feeling the warmth creep up your neck as you glance through your rolled down window."Yeah, you caught me", you joke, shaking your head, "and I'm also waiting for my boyfriend." You gesture toward Eddie, who's still by his van, door halfway open, watching the group approach with narrowed eyes.

"Ah, yeah, the guy with the hair", their drummer chuckles as they all stroll closer, laid-back and easygoing, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Their band had won a huge battle of the bands years ago, launching them into a real music career. They had no reason to remember some random drunk birthday girl from the crowd. And yet... here they are.

You can feel Eddie's stare burning into the side of your face. You glance at him just in time to see him close his van door, walking back toward your car with slow, deliberate steps, brows furrowed. He looks suspicious, like he's already trying to decide if he needs to fight five fully grown men in a parking lot. But the atmosphere isn't tense. It's light. Casual.

"So?" The lead singer - Ryan? No, Rick? - crosses his arms, smirking at you, "Did you have a good birthday, or what?"

"Yeah," you say, still a little stunned by the interaction, "It was... pretty amazing, actually. Thanks to you guys, too. Great gig".

Eddie reaches your car, resting an arm on the roof as he looks them over.

"Good," Greg nods, and then, as he throws a short glance at Eddie, his eyes light up in recognition. "Oh, and this guy! Shoulder support of the year!"

The rest of the band chuckles, nodding in agreement.

Eddie raises a brow, glancing between them and you. "Uh. Thanks?" His tone is light, but you can tell he's assessing them, trying to figure out why a bunch of near-famous rockstars are suddenly so interested in you.

You exhale, finally pushing your car door open and stepping out, stretching slightly.

"So, Sam, you liked the gig, yeah?", the drummer asks.

You can't remember his name. Robin told you multiple times last night, but it's still in a blur. She'll lose her mind if you tell her about this. "Loved it. You guys were insane last night", you admit, leaning against your car.

The group looks pleased, exchanging glances before shifting their attention back to you.

Eddie's gaze flicks between you and the band, his arm still resting on the roof of your car as Greg turns toward him with a smirk. "So, what about you, man? Did you like the gig, or were you too busy making sure Sam here didn't break her neck on your shoulders?"

Eddie exhales a short laugh, finally relaxing a bit, "Nah, I caught most of it. You guys were killer."

Rick - okay, yeah, definitely Rick - tilts his head, intrigued. "Oh? We got the guy with the hair's approval?"

Eddie snorts, taking out his own cigarette and lighting it, "I mean, don't let it go to your heads or anything."

The group chuckles, the tension dissipating as the conversation naturally shifts into something easier. You talk about last night's set, about the energy, the crowd, the absolute insanity of their final song. The more you talk, the more comfortable you feel. Eddie leans against your car, smoking, watching you with amusement as you slip so effortlessly into the conversation, not intimidated at all by them. You're laughing, cracking jokes, the band responding like you've known them forever. Greg and Rick are lounging against your hood now, cigarettes in hand, fully engaged. The other three - drummer, keyboardist, guitarist - stand close, relaxed, adding their own thoughts here and there, the whole atmosphere so easy and natural.

"Oh, and you", you gasp, pointing your cigarette at the guitarist - Matt? Mark? - and making him raise his brows. "Dude, that descending legato run before the final chorus on your last song? Insane. Your left-hand control is ridiculous.And how the fuck do you keep that tremolo-picked section so tight? My wrist would fall off".

Matt - because yes, now that you think about it, you're pretty sure that's his name - blinks at you for a second, like he wasn't expecting you to actually have something real to say about his playing. Then, he lets out a surprised chuckle, shaking his head as he takes a drag of his cigarette. "Shit," he mutters, exhaling smoke, "you actually know what you're talking about, huh?"

"Damn", Greg laughs, nudging his shoulder, "She's not just here for the eye candy."

Eddie snorts, shaking his head, amused, but doesn't say anything, just watching you.

"You a guitarist?" Matt asks, tipping his cigarette at you.

You hesitate for just a second, suddenly self-conscious, but before you can answer, Eddie does it for you.

"Hell yeah, she is."

You roll your eyes. "I was gonna say that myself, thanks."

He grins around his cigarette, exhaling slowly, "Just making sure they get the full picture, babe."

Matt hums, intrigued now. "And you?" He looks at Eddie. "I mean, you got the hair, so I guess you play, too?"

Eddie smirks. "Oh, definitely. I've got a whole band back home. Corroded Coffin."

Greg lets out a low whistle, "Damn, okay, sick name."

Rick nods, "Yeah, I like that. You guys play original stuff, or just covers?'

"Both", Eddie says, tossing his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his boot, "But mostly original shit. Heavy, loud--"

"Very loud," you interject, making Greg and Rick chuckle.

"Hey," Eddie raises a brow at you, "you love it."

You just smirk at him before taking another drag.

Matt's still looking at you, though, like something's clicking into place. "Wait, if you play too, are you guys in a band together?"

You open your mouth, unsure how to answer, but, once again, Eddie beats you to it. "No, but she should be."

Your face burns immediately, "Ed-"

"Nah, listen," he says, turning back to the group, completely ignoring your protest, "she doesn't just play like a maniac, she writes, she sings, she's got fucking talent."

Greg raises a brow, "Oh yeah? She any good, or are you just saying that 'cause she's your girl?"

The other guys laugh, the question teasing, but Eddie doesn't even hesitate. "Nah, man. She's insane." His voice is so sure, so fucking certain that it makes your stomach flip. He looks at you, softer now, "That good."

The band actually seems interested now. You can see the drummer and keyboardist leaning together and mumbling something. Rick tilts his head, arms crossed, "Yeah? What kind of stuff do you write?"

You hesitate, shifting your cigarette between your fingers, suddenly feeling like way too many eyes are on you. "Uh... just, y'know. Personal stuff. Nothing crazy".

"She just played me one of her songs," Eddie jumps in again, "Fucking blew me away".

You groan, covering your face, "Oh my god, shut up."

Greg grins, "Damn, now I'm curious".

"Yeah," Matt adds, "you got a tape or something?"

You shake your head, feeling way too flustered now. "No, it's not-... God, it's not even that great, he's exaggerating".

"Not that great?" your boyfriend scoffs, looking at you like you just personally offended him, "Baby."

Rick smirks, lighting himself another cigarette, "Damn, dude, you hyping her up hard right now".

"Because she fucking deserves it," Eddie insists, still looking at you, "You deserve it." His voice is softer now, but firm, "Sam, that song needs to be heard."

Your heart pounds. You don't know what to say.

Rick pulls an impressed face, sharing a few glances with his bandmates. "So, you write songs but you're not in a band? Maybe join his, then?", the drummer asks, flicking his cigarette away.

You roll your eyes, your face feeling way too warm now. "I am in a band. I... was. I... don't really know, actually".

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rick asks, crossing his arms, exhaling smoke.

Everybody looks at you.

You hesitate. "It's complicated."

All of them frown now. "What the hell happened?", the keyboardist asks, shifting on his feet.

Eddie's jaw tightens slightly, his fingers twitching as he takes another slow drag from his cigarette. He knows this is your story to tell.

You sigh, glancing at him before shifting your gaze back to the guys. "It's a long story".

"Well, we got time." Rick smirks. "And I kinda wanna know why your boyfriend's suddenly looking like he wants to kill someone."

The group chuckles, but Eddie doesn't. His jaw flexes, cigarette perched between his fingers. He's quiet, but the tension in his stance says enough.

You exhale, rubbing your temple. You weren't expecting to have this conversation today. But here you are.

"Yeah, okay". You chuckle dryly, exhaling smoke as you shake your head. "The reason I'm not sure I'm still in my band?" You gesture toward Eddie beside you. "He's standing right here."

The group shifts, glancing at Eddie, then back at you. Matt already sighs, running a hand down his face like he knows exactly where this is going, "Oh no".

You shrug. "I moved here four months ago. I didn't know anyone, didn't have much of a plan, but I found a band to join. And I fell in love with them - our songs, our music, the way we played together. They weren't just bandmates. They became my friends. I even moved in with our drummer." You pause for a second. "We were close. Like, really close."

Eddie shifts next to you, already knowing where this is leading. His fingers tighten around his cigarette.

"And then Eddie stumbled into my life." You roll your eyes with a smirk. "We despised each other."

Eddie snorts, shaking his head. "Correction - she despised me. I, on the other hand, was simply showing affection in my own charming way." He grins, taking a drag from his cigarette before adding, "I had a crush on her from the first damn second."

The guys groan, laughing as Greg nudges Rick. "Jesus, this guy."

You fight the warmth creeping up your neck. "We were... seeing other people. Nothing serious, just... distractions, I guess". Eddie stiffens beside you. You can feel it, the way his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching slightly. Billy's name isn't spoken, but it hangs in the air like a ghost. You swallow, pressing on. "And then Eddie-", you flick the cigarette between your fingers, "decided to go for my roommate."

Rick chokes on a laugh. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah," you mutter, "Didn't know we were sharing an apartment, though".

Eddie exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to get my mind off her." He nods toward you, voice dry. "Didn't exactly work out".

Greg whistles lowly, "Damn, dude."

Eddie smirks humorlessly. "Yeah. Imagine my surprise when I ran into her in the middle of the night. In her apartment." He shakes his head. "I was confused as fuck."

Rick and Matt exchange looks, already invested. The drummer leans in, "So? What happened?"

"Well, obviously, distracting me with that fling didn't work," Eddie says simply, his voice quieter now. "Because I fell for her. Hard". He glances at you, and for a moment, everything else fades. "And at some point, somehow, she did too."

Your chest tightens, but you push through, continuing your story. "He ended things with my roommate. I ended things with the guy I was seeing. And we... kinda ended up together".

The group is dead silent now, their earlier amusement shifting into something heavier. Their gazes flick between you and Eddie, the weight of the story sinking in.

"But she didn't know," you say, voice softer now, "My roommate. She didn't know the reason he broke up with her was me. And she was heartbroken. She cried her fucking eyes out, and I..." You inhale deeply. "...I felt awful. I still do. But I... loved him. Probably from the same damn first second."

Eddie's eyes soften, something deep and unshakable in the way he looks at you. Like he's reliving it all, the way you fought it, the way you both tried to deny what was already there.

"And then I finally told her," you continue, "Had the guts to look her in the eyes and say it. After waiting for too long". You let out a breath, shaking your head. "She lost it. The whole screaming match, the tears, the threats. Kicked me out of the apartment, just like that. And now... I don't know if I'm still in my band." You shrug, the weight of it all settling over you, "Because she is. That's for sure."

Silence stretches between you all. The guys glance at one another, processing everything you just laid out.

Greg lets out a slow whistle, "Holy fuck."

Matt shakes his head, rubbing his jaw, "That's... some next-level drama, man."

Rick raises his brows at Eddie. "Dude. You really fucked that up."

Eddie exhales a laugh, nodding, "Oh, I know".

"But also kinda won", Greg points out, looking between the two of you, "I mean... look at them".

You roll your eyes, shoving your hands into your pockets. "Doesn't change the fact that I probably don't have a band anymore".

Rick studies you for a moment, then shrugs. "Well, shit." He flicks his cigarette away, "Guess we'll just have to hear you play to see if that's a loss or not."

Your heart skips, your stomach flipping. "What?"

"Yeah," Matt grins, "You talked a big game about my technique. Let's see if you can back it up".

The rest of the band nods, murmuring in agreement.

"Oh, no", you laugh and shake your head, "No, no, no. I... don't have my guitar, and I'm not- not prepared to play anything now, and I mean, where? Here? I mean, I'd need an amp, and...", you start, nervously playing with your fingers, stepping from one foot to the other. You blink at them, feeling your heartbeat in your throat.

Vanguard. The same band you watched from the crowd last night, the same guys you've been casually talking to for the past half hour.

And now they're asking you to play for them? No way. No fucking way.

Rick shrugs, completely unfazed. "We've got everything you need in the van. No big deal to set it back up".

Matt crosses his tattooed arms, smirking."If you're right-handed, you can use my guitar."

You stare at them, shaking your head, "I- No. I can't just-..."

Eddie steps in before you can finish. "Grab the stuff," he tells them, "She'll be right behind you."

What?

The guys don't question it. Rick claps Matt on the back as they turn toward their van, the other three following them, already moving to grab what they need. You watch them walk off, frozen in place, your breath coming shallow.

Eddie turns back to you. He knows. He knows you're panicking, knows you're seconds away from bolting. But his eyes, sharp and unwavering, don't let you. "Listen. I don't know what just happened, but this is the biggest chance you'll ever get," he states, low and firm. "The craziest fucking coincidence. And you're taking it."

You shake your head, "Eddie, I--"

"You're taking this fucking chance, baby," he repeats, grabbing your jaw, tilting your face up to his, "Or I swear to God, I'll never talk to you again."

You scoff, half in disbelief. "You're not serious."

His grip tightens just slightly, thumb brushing your cheek. "Don't test me."

You swallow, searching his face, but there's no teasing, no usual smirk. Just something serious. Insistent.

"What?" you whisper.

"Play your song," he mumbles. "Show them. Now."

Your hands tremble, your breath shallow, "No, I... I think I wanna go home".

"No. Play your fucking song, Sam." His voice is unrelenting, his eyes burning into yours. "You got this. I'm right here with you, okay? Don't hide it."

You shake your head again, but he doesn't let go. You don't know if it's the pressure or the fear or the fact that you are terrified of embarrassing yourself, but you can't move.

You can't breathe.

And then he kisses you. Hard.

It steals every thought from your head, every argument, every fear, everything but him. His hands cradle your face, his lips urgent against yours. When he pulls back, his forehead presses to yours. "Don't you see what a fucking chance this is?" he whispers. "Take it, or we'll have a fucking problem." His grip on you is steady, grounding. His breath warm against your lips. "And I'm not joking."

Your breath is shaky when you pull back, your eyes locked on his. "You are insane," you whisper.

Eddie smirks, but it's softer now, his thumb still brushing over your jaw, "Yeah, and?"

You swallow hard, glancing past him at the band gathering their gear, plugging it back in, right at the entrance of the warehouse.

It's happening. This is happening.

The chance of a fucking lifetime, and yet your entire body feels like it's locking up, every nerve screaming at you to run.

"I can't," you say, voice barely above a breath.

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose, something close to frustration flashing through his eyes. He shakes his head. "Bullshit.""Eddie-"

"No, listen to me," he cuts in, firm but not unkind, "I get it, you're scared. You think you're not ready, but fuck that. You are ready. More than ready. And you know it."

You shake your head again, but the fight in you is weaker now.

"Sam," he says, softer this time. "Baby." His hands slide down to your arms, squeezing gently. "You told me you always wanted to be on a stage. Isn't that your dream?"

"I do, I just..." Your voice wavers.

"Then don't back out now," he insists. "You'll regret it. You'll regret it so fucking much."

You squeeze your eyes shut. You know he's right. God, you know he's right.

He leans in again, voice low against your ear, "Play your fucking song, baby. For me, okay? Do it for me, if you won't do it for your fucking self".

You exhale shakily, your fingers twitching. Then, after a long, agonizing pause, you nod. "Okay," you breathe.

He pulls back, searching your face, making sure you mean it. When he sees that you do, his lips twitch into the smallest, proudest smirk. "That's my girl."Before you can second-guess yourself, he laces his fingers with yours and starts walking. You don't fight it. Just follow.

The band is already setting up. Matt is tuning his guitar, glancing up as you and Eddie approach.

"She in?" Rick asks, eyebrows raised.

Eddie grins, squeezing your hand before letting go, "She's in."

You chew the inside of your ceek, nerves bubbling under your skin as Matt holds his guitar out to you. "Right-handed, yeah?"You nod, slowly reaching for it, the familiar weight settling against you as you wrap it around you. Your hands feel foreign, shaky, but you adjust the strap over your shoulder, inhaling deeply.

"You good?" Matt asks, watching you closely.

You lick your lips, nodding once. "I think I'm about to pass out. But... Yeah".

Rick claps his hands together. "Alright, let's hear it then."

The warehouse is vast and empty, save for the makeshift setup the guys have thrown together, Matt's guitar in your hands, an amp humming softly, a mic stand adjusted to your height. The air is thick with anticipation, heavy with the weight of your own nerves pressing down on your chest.

Eddie stands close, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with something unreadable in his dark eyes. You can tell he's holding his breath, waiting to see if you'll really do this.

Your fingers tremble against the strings as you strum once, twice, just to test the sound. The chords ring out, sharp and clean, cutting through the silence of the warehouse. You swallow, glancing at the band. All five of them wait for you, making you gulp hard and seek Eddie's eyes. He gives you a soft smile. You got this.

You close your eyes. Take a breath. And then, you play.

The first chord rings out, reverberating through the empty venue, a rich, full sound humming through the amp. Your fingers tremble slightly on the fretboard, but muscle memory takes over. The moment you strum again, the notes settle into something steady, something real.

A hush falls over the group. The casual amusement they had just seconds ago fades, replaced with something sharper, something heavier. Eddie doesn't move from where he's leaning against a stack of crates, arms crossed, eyes locked on you. He's not smirking now. He's not teasing. His lips are slightly parted, another cigarette forgotten between his fingers, like he's watching something he doesn't quite believe is happening in front of him.

The band doesn't say anything. They just listen.

And finally, you sing. Your voice is tentative at first, quiet, unsure, shaking lightly from your nerves, but the moment the melody shapes itself into the song you wrote, the song Eddie pushed you to share, the nerves start to bleed away.

It's raw. It's real.

And it fills the entire fucking space.

Your voice grows stronger, steadier, lifting and curling through the air like smoke. The cold walls around you makes the sound bloom, stretching every note, every breath, making it sound even bigger than it is. Rick and Greg exchange glances, brows rising slightly in silent conversation. Matt has stopped leaning against the van entirely, arms now crossed as he watches, nodding subtly along to the rhythm. The drummer whistles low under his breath, shaking his head.

But Eddie - Eddie looks like you've just knocked the wind out of him all over again. His jaw is tight, eyes dark and burning as he watches you, as he listens. He's not just hearing your song; he's feeling it. Every word, every note, it's hitting him square in the fucking chest, and he doesn't even try to hide it.

Your fingers glide over the strings, transitioning seamlessly into the next verse, your voice dipping lower before rising again, opening up into the chorus.

And that's when it really happens.

Greg mutters, "Damn".

Matt lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Okay," he murmurs, almost to himself.

Rick exhales slowly, arms crossed tighter, his smirk long gone.

The song builds, layers upon itself, your voice twisting around the guitar, the chords swelling through the amp. You close your eyes, losing yourself in it, letting it take over, letting it be bigger than the nerves, bigger than the fear.

Until it's over.

The last chord rings out, echoing into the empty space before fading into silence.

For a long, breathless second, nothing happens.

You finally lift your gaze, pulse roaring in your ears, suddenly hyper-aware of every set of eyes locked onto you.

The band just... stares. Like they don't quite know what to say. Like they weren't expecting that.

Then Rick lets out a sharp breath, followed by a quiet laugh as he shakes his head, "Well, fuck me".

Matt runs a hand through his hair, smirking slightly, "Yeah. Okay. That was... damn".

Greg exhales, pointing blindly at Eddie without taking his eyes off you. ''Yeah, alright, man, I get it now. You weren't hyping her up for nothing".

Eddie doesn't say anything. You glance at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, and you realize - he's just staring. His expression unreadable at first, lips parted slightly, brows drawn together like he's still processing what just happened.

Then, slowly, something shifts.

A smile tugs at his lips, slow, proud, almost disbelieving. You're still catching your breath when he finally speaks. "That was fucking unreal". His voice is rough, low, like he's still coming down from whatever spell you just put him under.

Your breath shudders as you exhale, fingers trembling slightly as you ease the guitar from your shoulder. You pass it back to Matt, murmuring a quiet, "Thanks", and he takes it without a word, still watching you. There's something different in his gaze now, something like respect.

Rick lets out a low whistle, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Alright, yeah. I was not expecting that".

You laugh, breathy, disbelieving, shaking your head, "Fuck, I... I didn't even think I'd actually do it".

Matt grins, grabbing his guitar case. "Yeah, well, you did. And you just shut all of us the fuck up". He gestures vaguely to the rest of the band. "That doesn't happen often".

Eddie still hasn't moved. He's watching you like he's never seen you before. Like he's known you all this time, but never really seen you like this.

Your heart is still racing, adrenaline buzzing in your veins like electricity. Your face is warm, the weight of so much attention pressing in, but it's not bad. It's not suffocating. It's just new.

Greg tilts his head, studying you with newfound curiosity, "You really wrote that?"

You nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah".Your voice is small, uncertain, and Eddie finally moves. He steps forward, wordless, his hands finding your waist, pulling you into his side. The second he touches you, you exhale, relaxing just a little. His fingers tighten slightly, like he can't believe how shy you sound after what you just did.

Greg watches the way Eddie tucks you close, eyes flickering between the two of you. "Who's it about?" His tone is light, but curious. "Sounds very personal".

You hesitate. The words feel heavier than you expected. Then, quietly, "Uhm. My father".

Something shifts. The amusement and impressed glances don't disappear, but they settle into something heavier, something aware.Matt's smirk softens. Rick nods slightly, like that makes sense. Like it clicks for them. Salva, the keyboardist, and Joe, the drummer, share a glance. Eddie's hand moves up your back, rubbing slow, steady circles.

You're still catching up, still processing everything, your hands slightly shaking from the leftover adrenaline.

Eddie notices. He squeezes your side again, solid, grounding.

Rick pulls a pen from his pocket, scribbling something on the back of a gum wrapper before handing it to you. A phone number. You frown and look at him.

"Call me when you're ready", he says, "We know some people. We could help you. Maybe even whatever band you end up with". His gaze lingers on you, brow lifting slightly. "You got something to you, Sam. That was really fucking impressive".

You stare at the scrap of paper in your hands, something thick and heavy settling in your chest. Eddie leans in, his lips brushing your temple. His voice is soft, but firm, full of something you can't quite name when he murmurs, "Told you, baby. I'm so fucking proud of you".

They start packing up, Eddie finally pulling away from you to help.

You watch, still clutching the number, still speechless. What the fuck just happened?

The late afternoon air is cool, dusk creeping in around the edges of the sky when you step outside after them, sliding the paper with Rick's number into your pocket.

The band relaxes again, the weight of the moment giving way to something lighter. Jokes return, easy, unforced. Eddie steps behind you, hands sliding around your waist as he pulls you back against him. You sink into his chest, exhaling smoke from your cigarette as you glance at the band. "Thank you", you say finally, meaning it more than you can explain, "Seriously, guys. Like... I, fuck, I... Thanks. Really. For giving me this chance. For listening. For not making me feel like a fucking idiot".

Rick waves you off, leaning against the van, "Not an idiot. A musician".

"An artist", Matt corrects with a smirk, flicking his lighter.

Then the singer glances at Eddie, exhaling smoke. His voice is easy but serious when he says, "Keep an eye on her, man. She's special".

Eddie scoffs, tightening his arms around you. "As if I'd ever let anything happen to her". He shifts, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head, "And oh, man, I know. Trust me".

Your stomach flutters. You drop your free hand to his, lacing your fingers together.

As the band piles into the van, Rick leans out the window. "Call us. Keep practicing. Write more songs. And don't fucking hide what you got".

You smirk. Nod. "I will. Thank you".

Then Greg leans out another window. "And don't you dare drop out of school for music, kiddo! Graduate first!"

You laugh. "I will!"

And then they're gone, pulling away down the empty road, leaving behind a swirl of dust and the faint scent of cigarette smoke.

Silence settles again.

Eddie doesn't let you go. You stand there for a moment, letting the reality of everything catch up. His arms stay wrapped around you, grounding you, his chest rising and falling steady against your back. He just presses another slow, lingering kiss to the side of your head, like he's still coming down from the high of it all.

You shift in his hold, exhaling sharply, shaking your head. "I... what the fuck just happened?" Your voice is quieter than you expected, still dazed, still watching the dust settle in the empty parking lot.

Eddie lets out a breathy laugh against your hair, arms tightening around your waist, "You happened, baby".

You scoff, tipping your head back against his shoulder, "I wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to get your van, Eddie".

He smirks, nuzzling into your neck. "Yeah? Well, guess fate had other plans". His lips brush your skin, voice warm and low, "Guess you were supposed to blow their fucking minds instead."

You turn in his arms, finally facing him, and his hands settle on your hips, his gaze roaming over your face like he's still processing everything. His eyes are dark, intense, full of something heavy and unspoken.

"I don't..." You shake your head again, voice unsteady, "I don't know how I even did that".

Eddie lifts a hand, brushing a knuckle along your cheek. "Because it's in you, sweetheart. Always has been". He smiles, soft, full of pride. "I knew you were gonna be good. But fuck". His fingers tighten slightly, like he can't help it. "That was more than good. That was..." He exhales, shaking his head. "I don't even have the fucking words".

You feel warmth creeping up your neck, a mix of adrenaline, disbelief, and the way he's looking at you.Your voice is barely above a whisper. "They really liked it?"

"They fucking loved it".

You chew your lip, shifting slightly in his hold, like you still don't quite believe it. "I mean, they were just being nice, right?"

Eddie laughs, loud, incredulous, before shaking his head. "Baby. No". He gives you a look, like he needs you to understand. "Rick surely doesn't give his number out to just everyone. Those guys don't waste their time hyping up someone who doesn't have something real. And you..." He exhales sharply, pressing his forehead to yours, voice lower, rawer. "You have something real".

You swallow, throat tight, still trying to catch up.

Eddie tilts your chin up, making you meet his gaze. "I need you to believe that".

You bite your lip, nodding slowly. "I'm trying".

"Try fucking harder", he smirks, pulling you further into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Because that", he mumbles, shaking his head in utter disbelief, "That was, fuck, that was insane". His hands are everywhere, gliding up your arms, cupping your face, brushing over your waist like he needs to feel you to believe you're real. "You just walked in there, all nervous and cute, all 'oh, I don't know if I can do this,' and then - boom - fucking exploded". He shakes his head, eyes glinting as he cups your face again, "They were stunned, Sam. I was fucking stunned". Your face warms as he keeps going, relentless, unstoppable. "You were- god- you were breathtaking, baby". His voice dips, raspy with something deeper, darker. "You have no idea how fucking proud I am. How fucking turned on I am right now".

You let out a startled laugh, shoving his chest. "Eddie!"

"What?" He grins shamelessly, eyes flicking over your face, your lips, "You can't just do that to me, sweetheart. Sing your heart out like that, look like a goddamn force up there, and not expect me to lose my fucking mind".

You're burning now, giggling as you bury your face against his chest, "Oh my god". His arms wrap around you, holding you tight, letting you feel every bit of his excitement, his pride, his love. You peek up at him, biting your lip. "Thank you", you say softly, "For making me play. For believing in me".

Eddie exhales sharply, something flickering in his eyes before he tilts your face up. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and then he's kissing you. Soft at first. Just a slow, lingering press of lips. But then you sigh against him, melting into him, and his hands tighten. The kiss deepens, his breathing heavy, his fingers threading into your hair. When he pulls back, just an inch, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice is barely more than a whisper. "I love you", he murmurs, "So fucking much. You have no idea".

Your hands slide up his chest, curling into his jacket, "I think I do".

He smiles, soft, brushing his nose against yours. "You're perfect". He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring, "You're everything".

Your heart swells so full it aches.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and serious. "Just... promise me something, yeah?"

You blink up at him, "What?"

His lips quirk into something playful, but there's real, raw vulnerability beneath it. "Don't leave me when you're famous".

You laugh, shaking your head, "Oh my god, you idiot".

"I'm serious", he teases, smirking, "I'm already picturing it. You, all huge and famous, hanging out with rock legends. Forgetting about your little metalhead boyfriend back home".

You roll your eyes, tugging him closer, "You're ridiculous".

"And you're ridiculous if you think I'm letting you go anywhere without me".

Your heart stutters.

He smirks, pressing another kiss to your forehead, "Face it, rockstar. You're stuck with me".

You grin, wrapping your arms around him tighter. "Good". You smile softly at the pet name you usually use on him, when the realization hits you like a slow, creeping wave.

They never even heard him play.

Eddie, the one who's spent years chasing this dream, who's spent every waking second working toward it, who lives and breathes for the stage, for music.

Your stomach tightens.

He stepped back. He let you have this moment, let them listen to you, let them be blown away by you. And you were so overwhelmed, so caught up in it all, that you didn't even notice. You blink, glancing up at him, seeing how he's looking at you. Like you're the only thing in the world, like nothing else matters.

But this, this is his dream, his everything, and he didn't even touch a guitar.

"Oh no", you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He blinks, brows furrowing slightly, "What?"

"They didn't hear you play", you say, almost guilty, "This was supposed to be your moment too".

Eddie stares at you for a second, then huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "Baby", he breathes, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, "I know I can play. That's not the point".

You open your mouth, but he stops you with a kiss soft, lingering, stealing the words right off your tongue. "I wanted them to hear you", he mumbles against your lips, "I needed them to hear you". He pulls back, just enough to look you in the eyes, his hands cupping your face again, thumbs tracing gently over your cheeks, "You have no fucking clue how special you are, do you?"

Your throat tightens, your heart stumbling in your chest. "But this is your dream, Eds", you whisper, "Music. Stages. You belong there".

His expression softens, something like awe flickering in his dark eyes. "I do", he admits. "But so do you". He presses his forehead against yours, voice dropping lower, "And I'll do whatever it fucking takes to make sure you see that".

A lump forms in your throat. You swallow hard, eyes flickering away. Eddie watches as your expression shifts, as something flickers behind your eyes. Doubt, hesitation, that quiet voice in your head trying to tell you that this doesn't mean anything. That it won't lead anywhere. That Rick probably won't even remember you if you ever call.He can see it all over your face, and it kills him.

"Hey", he murmurs, tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to look at him, "Don't do that".

You blink at him, "Do what?"

He gives you a knowing look. "Doubt yourself". You open your mouth, but he shakes his head before you can even start. "Don't fucking do that. You know what you just did back there. You felt it". His grip on you tightens slightly, like he's trying to ground you, to keep you from sinking back into your own head. "That wasn't nothing".

You hesitate, pressing your lips together, your heart racing in your chest. "This isn't gonna lead anywhere", you say quietly, shaking your head, "I mean, come on, Eddie. Let's be real. Nothing's actually gonna happen." You huff a humorless laugh. "I'll probably call Rick one day, and he'll have completely forgotten about me".

Eddie's jaw clenches, "No fucking way". You roll your eyes, looking away, but he doesn't let you. He grabs your face again, not rough, but firm. "No. Listen to me". His voice is low, serious, more intense than before. "That was not some fluke. That was not something they're just gonna fucking forget". He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "And even if nothing happens from this, even if you never call him, even if you never get on a stage again, you still did that. And you were fucking incredible".

Your throat tightens. You don't know what to say. You just know that whatever happens, whether this leads somewhere or fizzles out completely, there's only one thing you're sure of.

You need him. That's it. You could lose every other opportunity, every other moment like this, and you'd be okay. As long as you have him.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around his, "I can't do this without you".

Eddie's whole expression softens, something like pure adoration settling in his features. "Baby", he murmurs, shaking his head slightly, "You'll never have to".

"What if I'm not ready?" you ask, causing him to smile, slow and knowing, as he leans in, brushing his lips over yours again.

"Then I'll be ready for you".

You look up at him, locking your eyes with his, seeing how they flick over your face, your lips, his fingers still cradling your jaw like you're something precious. Something he's in awe of. "Kiss me".

Eddie's lips twitch, his breath hitching slightly, and then, his expression shifts. His grip on your waist tightens, fingers pressing into you as something dark and desperate flickers in his eyes.

Your lips meet for a soft, warm kiss.

"More", you whisper, your hands curl into the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, chest against chest, until you can feel his heartbeat thundering against yours, "I need you".

He groans softly, then crashes his mouth onto yours, his arms wrapping around you, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip tight. The kiss is hungry, all tongue and teeth, raw and desperate, like he's trying to devour every bit of you. Like he's trying to consume the moment, to burn it into his memory so he never forgets. You whimper against him, fingers threading into his curls, tugging slightly. He growls, deep in his chest, and it makes something hot coil in your stomach. His hands roam, gripping, pulling, sliding under your shirt to press against your bare skin, scorching and possessive. He pulls back just enough to mutter against your lips, breathless and heady, "You drive me fucking insane". You barely have time to process it before he's kissing you again, deeper, slower, dragging his lips over yours like he never wants to stop. Your back hits the brick wall, his body pressing against yours, surrounding you, overwhelming you. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him, making you feel everything. You gasp against his mouth, dizzy, spinning. He breaks away just long enough to press open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, sucking and biting just enough to make you shudder. His voice is rough when he mutters against your skin. "God, you...fuck, you're unreal". You grip his hair, pulling his face back to yours, swallowing his next words in another desperate kiss. Eddie groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist. His body presses against yours, heat radiating between you as he kisses you like he's starving.

You can't help the soft moan that escapes you when he tugs at your hips, pressing harder against you, his breath ragged, desperate. He swears under his breath, his lips trailing down your jaw, your throat, his teeth scraping against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Fuck, baby", he pants, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands sliding up under your shirt, fingertips grazing over your ribs, your stomach. His voice is thick, strained, "You have no idea what you just did to me".

You let out a breathy laugh, still dizzy from his kisses, from the way he's looking at you. Like you hung the damn moon, like you belong to him. "Oh, I think I do", you tease, your voice breathless, hands still gripping his jacket.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "No. No, you don't". His fingers tighten on your waist, his lips brushing yours again, barely a whisper of a kiss. "You were... Jesus Christ, you were fucking breathtaking in there. I couldn't- I still can't..." He exhales harshly, like he's trying to catch up with himself, "I've never seen anything like that. Never felt anything like that".

Your heart stumbles, your cheeks burning, "Eds".

"You're a force", he murmurs, cupping your face, his thumbs tracing slow, gentle circles against your skin, "And you can't let this go. You hear me?" His voice is serious now, full of something heavy. "You're gonna keep writing. Keep playing. You're gonna fucking blow up, baby". His eyes soften just a little, something vulnerable flashing in them, "Just... don't leave me behind when you do, okay?"

You stare at him, drowning in those pools of dark chocolate, still buzzing, still trying to process everything. The weight of your own song lingering in your chest, the fact that they listened, that they actually liked it, that for a moment, it felt like maybe this wasn't just some impossible dream. But more than that, more than anything, you're overwhelmed by him. By what he did. By how he stepped back, how he let you take the stage, how he ignored his own dream, his own chance, to give it to you.

Eddie Munson, the guy who has breathed music since the moment you met him. Who has spent years fighting to be heard, dragging his band through dive bars and empty venues just to get something, anything. And today? He let you have it. No hesitation. No bitterness. No jealousy. He put you first. And the only thing he said about himself, was a half-joking comment about you not leaving him behind if this actually goes somewhere.

You let out a soft, disbelieving chuckle, shaking your head.

Eddie raises a brow, confused. "What?"

You shake your head again. "I really hope you were fucking joking thinking I'd leave you behind". His breath catches. His fingers twitch against your spine. You lean in again, kissing him slower this time, softer, before whispering against his lips. "You're all I need". You're wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close, pressing your forehead against his. "I need you". You brush your lips over his, barely there. "I love you".

A soft, choked sound escapes him, like he wasn't expecting to hear it right now. His hands tighten on you. "Say it again", he breathes.

You smile, threading your fingers through his curls. "I love you. I love you so much. I could never leave you".

His lips crash into yours again, and this time, it's softer, just as desperate, just as needy, but with something deeper, something raw. He pulls you in tighter, presses his lips to your cheek, your jaw, your temple, mumbling against your skin. "Fuck, baby--" Another kiss. "You--" Another. "You own me, do you know that?"

You smirk. "Oh, absolutely I do".

He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head before kissing you again, and again, and again.

Half an hour later Hawkins town center

The second you pull into your old street, all the warmth, all the adrenaline, all the love humming under your skin dies down like a candle in the wind. With everything that just happened, you almost forgot you wanted to stop at your old home. Almost.

The apartment complex is exactly the same, worn-down bricks, a few broken shutters, that one flickering streetlamp buzzing like a dying insect. But it feels different now, like you're stepping into a space you no longer belong. Your eyes scan the sidewalk, the cars lining the curb. And then you see it, Lauren's car, parked exactly where she always leaves it.Your gaze drifts upward, heart thudding. Behind your old apartment windows, the lights are on.

She's home.

Well, fuck.

You pull your handbrake and turn off the engine, gripping the steering wheel for a second before forcing yourself to get out, parked right behind Eddie's van. He gets out at the same time you do, his gaze immediately snapping to the windows, then back to you. You can already see it in his eyes, that fierce, unwavering protectiveness, that stubborn need to have your back, no matter what. "I'm coming with you".

You shake your head, stepping closer. "Stay here". His brows knit together."If she sees you with me, she'll lose it", you shake your head again, firmer this time, "I don't want that today. I don't want another fight. I just want to grab my stuff and leave. No drama".

Eddie exhales sharply, hands twitching at his sides. "You need help carrying it. I'll come--"

"No, babe", you step closer, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palms, "Please stay down here. Okay?"

His jaw tightens. "I don't want you to be alone up there, getting fucking shamed for being with me". He scoffs. "I'm the one she should be mad at, not you. Let me take care of her while you pack your stuff".

You sigh, shaking your head again. "I got this, okay? Just wait here. Please".

He looks at you. Long. Searching.And finally, reluctantly, he nods. "...Okay"

You exhale, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "Thank you".

His hands linger on your waist for a second longer, like he's fighting the instinct to follow you anyway. But he stays put, watching as you take a deep breath and turn toward the entrance doors, pushing them open. As you step inside, the door swinging shut behind you, you hear the familiar click of his lighter, the first drag of a cigarette. You climb the stairs slowly, pulse hammering harder with each step. You don't know why you're so nervous. Maybe because this is the first time you're back since that fight. Maybe because you have no idea what kind of reception you're about to get. On the top floor, you nervously fumble with your keys, taking another deep breath and unlocking the door.

The second you step inside, you know you walked into something you weren't supposed to.

This is a band meeting. Without you.

Lauren is sitting on the couch, Amy and Joanna beside her. There are beer bottles on the table, notebooks, half-eaten takeout containers. They're working. Prepping for the Battle of the Bands. Maybe even writing new music. All without you.

Lauren sees you first. She's lounging on the couch, beer in hand, her expression unreadable at first, until recognition flickers, and then, like a slow, creeping storm, the resentment sets in. She takes a slow sip of her drink, setting the bottle down with a deliberate clink before leaning back. "Well, well", she drawls, voice laced with disdain, "Decided to grace us with your presence, huh?"

You look away, step forward, walking toward your room.

She scoffs. "Gone for over a week, and now you just waltz in like nothing happened?"A sharp, humorless laugh. "Let me guess, things didn't work out? He kicked you to the curb already?"

You keep walking. "I'm just here to grab some stuff, Lauren. I'll be gone in a minute", you just reply, passing them by.

Her voice follows. "Oh, wait. You're still with him, aren't you?" She sounds almost amused now, like she can't quite believe it. Then she shakes her head, exhaling sharply, "Jesus. Are you seriously that fucking stupid?" She watches you with narrowed eyes. "You really think he's anything more than just some fucked-up guy who's good enough to fuck with?" Her tone is sharp, edged with something almost pitying, "My god, you're still in this dreamy headspace of yours? He's not a relationship guy, Sam. He'll never be your fucking boyfriend or prince charming or whatever the hell you're wishing for. He's a bastard. He'll drop you the second another whore like you spreads her little legs for him".

You sigh, shaking your head as you open your bedroom door, leaving it ajar when stepping in. She doesn't know what's going on with Eddie and you, how he indeed is your boyfriend. And you don't plan on enlightening her. So, you grab a few bags and start filling them with everything you get your hands on, trying to keep your cool. Clothes, tapes, memories, books, school stuff.

You're quick, not wanting to spend more time here than necessary, and that when you realize - this doesn't feel like your home anymore.

It's... just a room you lived in once. Nothing more.

You sigh again, throwing the bags over your shoulder, grabbing your guitar case and stepping back into the hallway.

Three pairs of eyes meet you the second you step back into the living room. "You're bringing that to his crusty trailer now, mh? That where you're staying? Or are you living in your car again", your old roommate continues, making you frown and look at her.

"No, I am not sleeping in my car again", you finally reply.

"That's a shame", she returns, "I was kinda hoping for that, though. Would've deserved that".

"Come on, Laur, that-", Joanna starts, but one glare of her friend makes her shut up again.

You shift the weight of your bags on your shoulder, adjusting your grip on your guitar case, before exhaling through your nose. You're tired. Tired of this place. Tired of her.

Lauren just keeps watching you, arms crossed, jaw tight. She's waiting for a reaction, some proof that she's getting under your skin. That she still has the power to affect you. But she doesn't. Not anymore.

You lift your chin, "Whatever. I'll be out of your hair in a second".

She scoffs, shaking her head like she's exasperated by your very existence. "Yeah, you better be", she mutters, taking another slow sip of her beer before setting it down with a sharp clink. "Oh, and we've already started looking for someone else to take your room. Better get the rest of your shit soon, or chances are high I'll just throw it on the fucking street".

That doesn't surprise you.

You glance at Amy and Joanna, but they don't meet your eyes.

Lauren smirks, cocking her head. "Suddenly so quiet, mh? Got nothing to say now?"

You sigh, and meet her gaze.

Her eyes are filled with hate.

And you realize this is over. There's nothing you can say to make her forgive you.

"I do have one question. I came here not knowing if I was still in the band", you admit, "But it's obvious you've already decided that for me". You gesture vaguely to the notebooks, the setlists, the way they were working on everything without you, "So I just want clarity. Am I out?"

Lauren snorts, shaking her head like she can't believe you're even asking, "Of course you're out. What the fuck did you think was gonna happen?"

You nod, taking that in. And then, quietly, you say, "Okay".

Lauren falters. For just a second. Like she expected you to fight her on it.

You look at Amy and Joanna again. "I really enjoyed playing with you, guys. Sorry it ended like that. But I understand you're her friends, and you're having her back in this". They both avoid your gaze. You sigh deeply and focus on Lauren, who's watching you with a winning look in her eyes. "Lauren, I know, I said it a few times already, but I really am sorry".

Her jaw clenches. "Oh, fuck off with that bullshit", she hisses, but you don't stop.

"No. I'm sorry for hurting you like that", you continue, voice calm, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I should've told you the second I realized what I'm feeling for him. But I didn't. I'm sorry I lied to you about all this, I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend to you. An honest friend. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn't".

She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, "Oh, wow. Do you feel better now? Getting all that off your chest?"

You shake your head, "Not really".

Lauren rolls her eyes, "Then what's the fucking point?"

You pause. Then, softly, honestly, you say, "I regret how things between us turned out, and I regret how I treated you. But I don't regret choosing him".

The words land heavy in the air between you. Lauren stills.

"I love him".

Her breath catches, just for a fraction of a second. Then she laughs. Loud and sharp and hollow. "Jesus fucking Christ", she mutters, rubbing a hand down her face, "You are so fucking delusional. He's using you, Sam. Open your fucking eyes".

Amy and Joanna exchange glances.

You just take a steady breath. Adjust the strap on your shoulder. "Whatever. I'm done here. I'll grab the rest of my stuff within the next days. Good luck at the battle". And with that, you turn and head for the door.

"Yeah, better piss off, Sam", she calls after you, "I'll give you two more weeks until he's sick of you. And don't you fucking come back then". She laughs again, dry and hollow, repeating your words to her friends. "She loves him, you heard that? My god, she's so fucking pathetic".

You don't even look back as you step toward the door, gripping your guitar case a little tighter. Lauren's laughter still rings behind you, grating and cruel, but you don't let it touch you. Not anymore.

You're done here.

You pull the door open, and nearly collide with Eddie. He's right there. Standing tall, solid, broad in the narrow hallway. His dark eyes flick over you instantly, scanning, checking, reading you. His jaw is tight. His hands twitch at his sides like he's barely holding himself back from storming in and tearing into them for whatever bullshit they just spewed at you.

And for a second, you forget everything else. Forget the tension in the room behind you. Forget the sting of Lauren's words. Forget how you told Eddie to wait outside.

All that matters is him. The need to feel him hits you all at once.

"Eds", you whisper, stepping forward, into his space, into his warmth, one hand pressing against his chest.

He exhales sharply, his hands finding you instantly, one settling at the small of your back, the other curling around your wrist. "You okay?" he murmurs, voice rough, edged with something sharp. Protective.

You nod, but you don't stop moving. You reach up, tilt your chin, and kiss him. Desperate to wash away the last ten minutes of your life, desperate to remind yourself what's real. Eddie responds instantly, his grip tightening, pulling you closer, his fingers curling into your jacket like he never wants to let go.

The door is still open behind you. Lauren stands from the couch, scoffing, already muttering something under her breath as she moves toward the door, ready to slam it shut in your wake, but then she sees.

Sees him.

Sees the way he's touching you. Holding you. The way his hands linger like he never wants to let go. Sees the way he looks at you. Soft. Warm. Protective. Loving.

And it hits her.

She stills. Freezes in place, watching, processing.

Eddie reaches past you without even glancing inside, effortlessly grabbing your bags like it's the most natural thing in the world. "C'mon, baby" he murmurs, his voice for you only, "Let's get outta here."

You nod, brushing your fingers over his as he takes the weight from your arms. You step into him as he guides you away, feeling the warmth of his palm at your back, his touch steady, grounding.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Lauren's words burst out of the opened apartment door, sharp and ragged, something unhinged breaking free.

Eddie doesn't react. Doesn't even glance back. He keeps his focus on you, leading you down the hall, steady and unbothered, while your ex-roomate fumes behind you.

"You love him?" she spits, voice rising, incredulous, "That's the guy you chose? That fucking loser? You really think he's gonna stick around?"

You keep walking.

She steps forward, gripping the doorframe, her voice pitching higher, cracking. "You're fucking stupid, Sam! He's gonna leave you just like he left me! He doesn't love you!"

Eddie stops. Turns. Looks at her.And it's different from how he's ever looked at her before. There's no heat. No anger. No bitterness. Just nothing.Like she's not even worth the energy.

Lauren's breath hitches.

And Eddie just turns back to you, his focus locking in on yours, his voice soft and even. "Let's go home."

Home. Not the trailer. Not his place.Home.

You nod, even smile softly as you let him guide you towards the stairs.

You don't even make it halfway down the hallway before Lauren comes storming after you. "Don't you fucking walk away from me!" Her voice is sharp, cutting through the stale air of the apartment complex.

You clench your jaw, gripping your guitar case a little tighter, willing yourself to just keep moving.

But she's relentless. "You think you're special?" she spits, footsteps heavy behind you. "You think you're different? You're just another dumb bitch he's using until he gets bored. Jesus, Sam, wake the fuck up!"

Eddie stiffens beside you. You feel it in the way his shoulders rise, the way his grip tightens ever so slightly on your bags. But he keeps walking, guiding you toward the stairs.

Lauren lets out a humorless, breathless laugh. "Unbelievable." And then she turns her attention to him. "You're fucking disgusting, you know that, Munson?" she sneers, venom dripping from every word. "You just love ruining people's lives, don't you? First me, now her, what's next, huh? How long until you move on to the next dumb bitch who falls for your shitty act?"

Eddie stops.

You feel it before you see it.

His whole body goes rigid, a slow breath pulling through his nose. And then he turns. Slowly. Deliberately. He shifts, placing himself between you and her, shoulders squared, stance solid.

Lauren hesitates for a fraction of a second. Like she suddenly realizes just how much of Eddie she's facing.

He doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't take a step forward. Doesn't have to.

"You done?"

Two words. Flat. Even. No heat, no anger, just an exhausted kind of finality.

She crosses her arms, scoffing, but there's something in her eyes now, something flickering, unsure. "Fuck you," she snaps. "I hope you fucking crash and burn together."

Eddie sighs, shakes his head and turns back to you.

But she can't let it go. She's so hurt, and it's all bubbling out of her now. "Oh my god, Sam, you are so fucking pathetic," she spits, her voice echoing through the stairwell, "You actually think this is real? That he loves you?"

You don't stop. Neither does Eddie.

"You're fucking delusional!" she laughs, but there's no humor in it, just something raw and desperate, her voice cracking under the weight of it. "You know he's a liar, right? You know he's just saying whatever you wanna hear to keep you around?"

You grip Eddie's wrist before he can turn, before he can take the bait, but it's too late, she's spiraling.

"He can't love you! He can't love anyone! You think he's gonna be faithful? That you're the only one?" She laughs again, hollow and sharp, "Jesus, Sam, wake the fuck up. He's probably already fucking someone else behind your back, just another fucking whore like you are!"

You wince at her words. Eddie turns back to her, cold and slow.

Lauren's face is twisted with anger, but the second her eyes meet his, something flickers. A sliver of doubt. Maybe even fear. "You don't know shit about me," he says, voice low and razor-sharp.

She swallows, but she squares her shoulders, still holding on to whatever pathetic high ground she thinks she has. "I know enough", she sneers, "I know you're just using her. I know you're a fucking liar. I know--"

Eddie tilts his head, eyes dark, empty. "You don't know a fucking thing". He lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, Lauren. You think you were special? You were just a way to kill time. A warm body when I needed one." His lips curl, a mockery of a smile. "That's all you ever were."

Her breath hitches.

But Eddie doesn't stop. He steps forward, slow, predatory, forcing her to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact. "You wanna talk about being pathetic?" His voice is quieter now, but somehow heavier, sharper, "Look at yourself. Still so fucking obsessed with me that you're willing to make a goddamn spectacle of yourself just because you can't handle the fact that I never gave a shit about you."

Lauren's hands curl into fists, "Fuck you".

He leans in just enough, just close enough that she instinctively shifts back, voice faltering. "You wanna call her a whore again?" His tone is deathly calm, but his eyes? Black with rage. "Go ahead. Say it one more fucking time."

She stiffens.

Eddie doesn't blink.

And suddenly, the anger on her face wavers.

Because it hits her. That he's not just pissed. That he's done. That he doesn't give a fuck that she's a girl, that she's someone he used to fuck, that there was ever history between them. Right now? She's just another person talking shit about his girl.

And he'll end her just like anyone else.

The hallway is silent. Lauren's jaw clenches, her nostrils flaring, her whole body trembling with rage. But she says nothing. Eddie smirks, just barely.

That's what I thought.

And then he turns, brushing past her without another glance, wrapping a firm hand around your wrist as he walks away. "Come on, baby," he murmurs, like she isn't even there anymore.

And for the first time since you arrived, Lauren has nothing else to say.

Eddie slams the back doors of the van shut with more force than necessary, the metal rattling in protest. He exhales sharply, hands bracing on the doors for a second before he turns to you. You're leaning against the side of the van, arms crossed, watching him. He's still fuming. It's in the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch like he's dying for something to hit. "Fucking maniac," he mutters, running a hand through his hair, "I swear to God, if I had to hear her say one more fucking thing--"He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, shaking his head. He turns fully toward you, steps closer. "I couldn't just stay down here. I know you told me to wait, but I knew..." He exhales, jaw clenching, eyes locked on yours, "I wasn't gonna leave you up there alone".

You shake your head. "I'm so glad you came up." Your voice is soft, steady, cutting through the leftover anger in his system, "I mean it, Eds."

His shoulders drop just a fraction. He steps closer, hands bracing against the van on either side of you, caging you in. Protective. Solid. His eyes scan your face, dark and intent. "You're sure you're okay?" he murmurs, the heat of his body so close now. His fingers brush your arm, trailing up to cup your jaw, "Because I'll go right the fuck back up there if I have to."

A small smile tugs at your lips. "I'm okay," you promise, tilting your chin up, chasing his touch, "Now I'm okay."

His eyes soften, just a little, before he sighs and drops his forehead against yours. "Jesus Christ, baby," he mutters, and then he's kissing you. Slow and deep, his grip tightening like he needs to feel you, needs to know you're here, with him. You melt into it, arms slipping around his neck, pressing closer as your lips meet for a soft, long kiss, and you feel it, how he starts to relax. How the tension in his shoulders unwinds. How the anger from upstairs bleeds out of him as he sinks into you instead. He keeps mumbling against your lips between kisses. "Fucking love you". Another kiss. "Hate hearing people talk about you like that". Another, deeper this time. "Like I'd ever fucking look at anyone else."

And that's when it hits you. A sudden, sharp realization cutting through the warmth of his touch. You pull back a little.

"They kicked me out of the band".

Eddie blinks at you, the words sinking in. Then he exhales sharply, shaking his head, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips. "Their fucking loss," he mutters. His hands tighten at your waist, fingers flexing. "You don't need them, sweetheart. You know that, right?"

You nod, but you're still reeling from it. You knew it was coming the second Lauren spoke, but now that it's real now that it's sinking in, it leaves a hollow ache in your chest. But Eddie sees it. Reads it all over your face. And then something shifts in his expression. "Hey," he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin so you meet his eyes. "Remember what happened earlier? Vanguard? How you made a whole band admire you?"You blink up at him, heart skipping a beat as you nod. "You have Rick's fucking number, sweetheart. You don't need them. Fuck them." And before you can say anything, he kisses you again. It's softer this time, slower, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you into him like he's grounding you. Like he's making sure you feel it, believe it.

That you're better off without them. That you don't need anyone who doesn't see your worth.

"You're too fucking good for them anyway," he mutters between kisses, "They're never gonna go anywhere. But you?" Another kiss, deeper this time, his fingers slipping into your hair, "You could be a fucking star, my love".

You exhale against him, some of that ache melting away. Your fingers curl into his jacket, pulling him closer, and for a second, nothing else matters. Just him. Just this.

Eventually, he pulls back, brushing one last lingering kiss against your lips before nodding toward your car. "C'mon, baby. Let's go home. Been hell of a day".

"Yeah, let's go home", you sigh, grabbing your keys.

Home.

You take your car, he takes his van, and you both leave, driving off into the night.

And back on the top floor of the darkened apartment complex, Lauren stands at the window, watching you go.

Her jaw is tight. Her arms are crossed.And her stomach twists with something ugly, something bitter, as she watches Eddie's taillights disappear into the night, right alongside you.