077

trigger warning - sexual harassment

The air is thick, heavy, like molasses pressing against your skin. You can’t breathe.

Hands are on you.

You can’t speak. Can’t move.

His grip tightens.

"Do what I tell you."

Billy.

Your body is frozen, but your mind is screaming, thrashing against the invisible chains wrapping around you. He’s too close. His scent fills your nose, makes you dizzy. You want to push him away, want to run, but your body won’t listen.

"You’re gonna be a good girl," Billy says, lips now grazing your jaw. "You’re gonna do what I want. And in return? I don’t let this town swallow your little boyfriend whole."

Fingers, rough and burning, trailing up your sides, leaving scorching welts in their wake. The fabric of your shirt smokes where he touches, curling at the edges, disintegrating into nothing.

"You feel that?" His voice is a purr, dark amusement lacing every syllable. "That’s what happens when you belong to me."

You shake your head. Try to move. But your body won’t listen.

"You love him, don’t you?" Billy murmurs against your ear, lips dragging over your jaw, your throat. "So much?"

Your skin blisters under his touch.

"I could take him away, you know," he continues, voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Let this town eat him alive." His fingers slide lower, pressing against the waistband of your pants. "Or maybe I’ll just eat you alive instead."

His hands are inside your clothes now, searing against bare skin, his nails dragging, tearing. You try to scream, but no sound comes. Your throat is locked, strangled by fear, by his touch, by the overwhelming wrongness of it all.

"That’s it," Billy whispers, his breath hot, choking. "Just let it happen."

Your body is fire. Burning.

"You can take it, can’t you, pretty?" Billy hums, voice dripping with amusement as his fingers tighten. "Took it so well before."

Tears prick at your eyes. Your lips tremble.

Eddie.

Billy’s mouth finds yours before you can even turn away. Fire. It’s rough, wet, suffocating, his teeth dragging over your lips as his body presses against yours, forcing you back. A whimper escapes you, your hands twitching at your sides, but nothing else.

Frozen. On fire.

The world spins.

Darkness.

Eddie.

He’s there, just ahead of you. A figure in the distance, shrouded in dim, flickering light. His back is to you, shoulders hunched, curls disheveled.

"Eddie," you try to call, but your voice barely makes a sound.

Your feet refuse to move, cemented to the ground. The floor beneath you is shifting, turning into something liquid, something wrong.

And Eddie, he walks on, silent, as if he doesn’t even know you’re there.

No.

No, no, no.

You try again, try to scream for him, beg him to stop, to turn around, but all that comes out is a strangled, broken sound.

He looks through you.

Hollow, empty eyes.

Unseeing.

Uncaring.

The world tilts again, twisting into something new. The walls stretch and shudder, reality bending, folding in on itself...

You’re in a hotel room.

Shaking. Trembling. Clothes still smoldering, the remnants of Billy’s touch etched into your skin. Your body is raw, burning, ruined.

But Eddie is here.

Eddie is here, and he’s... in bed.

With her.

Chrissy.

Her bare skin glows under the soft lamplight, her hair a golden halo as she straddles his lap. The sheets pool around them, tangled and used.

Eddie is laughing.

That laugh, warm, easy, yours, but it isn’t for you.

It’s for her.

You want to move, want to run to him, shake him, scream, but your limbs won’t obey.

Chrissy’s eyes flick to you, sharp and knowing. "Oh," she breathes, "You’re still here?"

Your voice doesn’t work. Your throat is dry, tight, burning.

"He’s always wanted me," she says, voice light, mocking, "Now that you’ve done all you could to make him famous… it’s my turn."

You're frozen, clothes and skin burning from Billy's touch, staring.

"Poor thing," Chrissy purrs, her nails scratching lightly against his skin as she moves her hips, "Did you think he was really going to stay with you?"

Your stomach lurches.

You shake your head, no, no, no, that’s not true, it’s not -

But then Eddie is pulling her in, lips meeting hers in a slow, familiar kiss. The kind he used to give you. The kind that made your heart flutter, made you his.

Now it’s hers.

She moans into his mouth.

He groans, deep and needy, his hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer, pressing her against him.

You shake.

Break.

The world spins, tilts, cracks at the edges.

And then,

Billy’s voice.

"Missed this."

It slithers through your mind, curling around your thoughts like a noose.

"I’ll be back for more."

You tremble, body wracked with sobs, unable to tear your eyes away from Eddie, from the way he moves against Chrissy, the way he whispers her name, the way his hands roam her body like he’s learning every inch of her.

Like he never needed you.

The walls crumble.

The floor collapses.

You’re falling.

Spiraling into an endless abyss, screaming his name, screaming for him, but he doesn’t hear you.

He doesn’t even see you.

You’re vanishing, disappearing, dissolving into nothing, nothing, nothing, body in flames, turning to ashes.

"Baby, wake up! Hey! Sam!"

The world slams back into place.

Your body jerks, drenched in sweat, shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps.

Hands are on you.

Your mind screams.

Billy.

No, no, NO!

You thrash, a raw, strangled sob tearing from your throat as you shove at him, at the weight pressing into you, at the hands gripping your arms, your waist.

"Hey, hey, it’s me!"

The voice. Familiar. Too familiar.

Your eyes snap open.

But your mind is still trapped in the nightmare, still burning from Billy’s touch, still hearing the echoes of Eddie moaning Chrissy’s name.

Your breath is ragged, uneven, tearing its way out of your throat in gasps.

Hands are still on you.

Still pressing, still touching.

The nightmare hasn’t ended.

Billy’s voice slithers through your skull, sickly sweet, full of laughter.

"I’ll be back for more."

And Eddie’s voice, warm and low, but not for you, not anymore. For her.

Chrissy.

"You really thought he would stay with you?"

Your chest aches, burns, the phantom remnants of Billy’s touch still seared into your skin, into your bones. You can still feel him, inside you, over you, his hands, his lips, his breath against your throat, the way he -

No no no.

Someone is touching you.

You thrash, fighting, clawing, raw sobs escaping your lips as you try to push him away, get off, get off, get off!

"Sam!" The voice is desperate, hoarse, but you don’t recognize it.

Not when the weight is still pressing down, still trapping you.

The room is dark, too dark, the shadows curling like smoke around the edges of your vision, warping, shifting, bending into something wrong.

You can’t breathe.

You gasp Eddie’s name, a shattered, broken sound, as if calling for him will save you, as if he’ll come and make it stop.

And yet, the hands don’t stop.

They keep pulling, keep holding, keep trying to consume you.

Billy.

He’s back.

You know it, can feel it, the way his touch burns through the remnants of your clothes, the way the sheets tangle like restraints around your limbs.

You scream.

Loud, raw, panicked.

The room erupts in light.

Your vision blurs, blinded by the sudden brightness, but you can still see the shadow looming over you, still feel the weight trapping you.

You shove, kick, fight.

"Baby, it’s me! Hey, wake up! Sam!"

The words don’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense.

There’s breath on your face, a firm grip on your arms, but it’s not Billy’s hands anymore, it’s...

Eddie.

His face, his voice, his hands.

But you’re still trembling, still sobbing, still too deep in the nightmare, too lost in the phantom remnants of pain, fear, burning.

You flinch away from him.

And the look on his face. It's horror.Not at you. For you. "Jesus Christ," Eddie breathes, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for you, hold you, but he doesn’t, because you’re scared of him. You're still lost.

Your pupils shift, dilate, the nightmare loosening its grip, reality slowly bleeding in.

The light.

The bedroom.

The scent of him, cigarettes, sweat, something warm, familiar.

Your breath is jagged, uneven, the phantom remnants of your nightmare still clinging to your skin like sweat.

The room is too bright.

Too real.

But your body still hurts.

Your mind still burns.

You stare at Eddie, your chest rising and falling in sharp, erratic gasps. His face is pale, hollow, dark eyes wide with something close to panic, close to devastation.

He looks at you like he doesn’t know what to do.

Like he doesn’t know how to fix you.

"Sam, baby," he whispers again, voice hoarse, broken. "It's me. You're safe, okay? It was just a nightmare. You're at home."

The world is still too bright.

Too loud.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs, your body trembling, your breath uneven, ragged.

Eddie is there.

Eddie.

Not Billy.

Not Chrissy.

Not the nightmare.

You see him now. Feel him. Hear him.

His voice, hoarse and desperate, whispering your name. His eyes, wide with concern, dark with something raw and painful. "Sam," he breathes, voice shaking. "Baby, look at me."

And this time you do. Like, really.

Your vision clears, the last remnants of the dream finally peeling away, slipping from your mind like smoke. The fire is gone. The hands are gone. The weight, the whispers, the laughter, gone.

In its place, your boyfriend.

Eddie, hovering over you, his hands twitching like he wants to touch you but won’t.

Eddie, shirtless, his bare chest solid and warm, the silver chain around his neck catching the light.

Eddie, eyes red-rimmed, worried, his breath coming just as fast as yours.

And you break.

A sob rips from your throat, high and broken, and you reach for him.

"Eds," you gasp, voice trembling, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough.

Eddie knows.

He knows you’re back now.

He moves instantly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against him, holding you together. You bury yourself in his chest, fists curling into his skin, clinging, shaking, crying. His scent surrounds you. Familiar. Safe. Real.His hands are on you, gentle, soothing, nothing like the ones from your dream. They run up and down your back, rubbing slow, calming circles, fingers threading through your hair, grounding you, keeping you here. "You’re okay," he whispers, voice thick, wrecked with emotion. "You’re safe, sweetheart. It was just a nightmare. Just a dream."

But it felt so real.

The burning. The pain. The betrayal.

Your breath hitches, another broken sob escaping your lips, and Eddie hates it. Hates that you’re hurting. Hates that he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He presses his lips to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. Again. Again. Again. As if he can kiss the nightmare away. His fingers tighten around you, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "I got you, baby. I got you. You’re safe. You’re here. I’m here."

Your body melts into him, your shaking slowly easing, your sobs turning to quiet, shuddering breaths. His warmth seeps into your skin, untangling the last threads of your nightmare, replacing the fire with comfort. Replacing the fear with him. He doesn’t stop touching you. Doesn’t stop rubbing your back, doesn’t stop whispering.

"Shh, baby, it’s okay."

"You’re here, I promise."

"It was just a dream, sweetheart."

"You’re safe."

His lips brush against your temple, his breath warm, real. You close your eyes, let yourself sink into him. His heartbeat. His voice. His hands.

Eddie.

You shudder, your fingers digging into his skin, holding him close, afraid to let go.

"You’re okay," Eddie whispers again, softer now, "You’re okay, baby."

Your grip on him finally softens, less desperate, less like you think he’s about to disappear. But you don’t let go. Neither does he.

Eddie keeps you right there, pressed against his bare chest, arms locked around you like a shield, like he can protect you from whatever the hell just ripped you apart in your sleep. "Jesus, baby," he whispers into your hair, voice wrecked, shaken in a way that makes your stomach twist, "You scared the shit out of me."

You scared yourself, too. Your body is so, so tired. Your limbs feel too heavy, like they’re full of lead, exhaustion wrapping around you like chains.

But you can’t sleep.

You don’t want to sleep.

The nightmare still lingers at the edges of your mind, just waiting. If you close your eyes, you’ll feel Billy’s hands again. His burning touch, the way he...

You flinch, your breath catching in your throat.

Eddie feels it instantly. His grip tightens, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, his lips pressing against your temple again, softer this time. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "It’s okay, baby. Just me."

Just him. Just Eddie.

You nod against his chest, barely a movement, but he knows.

You’re here. You’re safe. You know that.Still, you don’t want to sleep. You can’t.Not yet. Not while the dream is still there, waiting to drag you under again.

Eddie’s hand slides up and down your back, slow, steady, like he needs to make sure you’re still whole. "You wanna talk about it?" he asks after a while, voice careful, gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll break again.

You don’t.

You don’t even know where to start.

So you just shake your head, barely lifting your face from his skin.

"Okay," he whispers, no pressure, no push.

Just Eddie. Always just Eddie.

Your breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling in shaky gasps as you finally let go of him. Slowly, hesitantly, you roll onto your back, blinking up at the ceiling.

The tears and sweat have left your face damp, your skin sticky under your trembling fingers as you push your hair back. Beside you, Eddie watches in silence before lying down again, close enough that you can feel his warmth but not enough to touch. He knows better than to push right now.

Your arm comes up to rest against your forehead, eyes fluttering shut. And immediately, the darkness is waiting. Billy’s voice, slithering. Chrissy’s hands on Eddie. Burning. Betrayal.

Your eyes snap open again, breath catching in your throat. 

Eddie’s voice is soft, hesitant. "You sure you don’t wanna talk about it? Whatever you dreamed about?"

You shake your head. You can’t.

He doesn’t know the truth, the real reason behind the nightmare, the fact that Billy still has his claws in you.

That just last week, he backed you into a corner, whispered threats laced with promises of ruin. That you’ve been carrying the weight of it alone, letting it fester, rot inside you. 

Eddie doesn’t know. And he can’t. 

"It was just... horrifying," you murmur instead, voice barely above a whisper, "Felt very real. I- I barely remember what happened. Just how it felt".

Eddie exhales, deep and tired, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he shifts closer, an arm sliding around you, pulling you back into him, into the solid warmth of his chest. He feels how tense you are, the way your muscles coil even in his embrace. "It’s the middle of the night" he mumbles against your hair. "Try to go back to sleep, mh?"

"Yeah," you lie, eyes meeting his in the dim light. You don’t miss the exhaustion in his face, the way his dark eyes are rimmed red, the weight pulling at him. And yet, he’s here. With you. Holding you together when you’re barely keeping from shattering.  "Sorry," you whisper, voice laced with guilt. 

Eddie shakes his head immediately, as if the thought of you apologizing physically pains him. "Don’t," he murmurs. Then he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips, warm, soft, grounding.

And you sink into it, into him, into the only thing that feels real. Your fingers curl into his skin, gripping, needing. 

He doesn’t pull away, kisses you slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid you might break apart in his hands.

But you don’t want careful.

You don’t want slow.

You need to feel something else, something real, something that isn’t fear, that isn’t the ghost of Billy’s hands on your skin.

So you press closer, your fingers digging into Eddie’s bare shoulders, pulling him down, grounding yourself in the heat of his body, the solid weight of him.

He exhales sharply against your lips, surprised by the sudden need in your touch, but he doesn’t question it. He just lets you take what you need. His hands slide up your sides, warm and firm, and for the first time tonight, the sensation doesn’t make you flinch. It doesn’t burn. It soothes. Replaces the phantom pain with something else, something better.

"Eds," you whisper against his mouth, barely a sound, but it’s enough.

Eddie groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours, breath unsteady. "I got you, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and love. "I’m right here."

You nod, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, just breathing him in. The scent of smoke, of him. Safe. Warm. Home.

His lips find yours again, softer this time, slower. But even then, there’s an edge to it, a quiet urgency, like he can feel the way you’re clinging to him, the way you need this, need him. His hands move, sliding under the thin fabric of your shirt, tracing patterns over your skin, careful, never pushing. He’s waiting, giving you the chance to stop, to pull away.

But you don’t.

You press closer, letting him pull you under, letting yourself drown in the feel of him, the way he touches you like you’re something fragile but not broken.

Not ruined.

Not his to take.

Yours.

Eddie shifts, rolling you onto your back, his body covering yours, but it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels right. His weight is solid, grounding, nothing like the nightmare, nothing like the hands you’re trying to forget. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, your throat, leaving soft, lingering kisses, each one chasing away the remnants of the dream, the echoes of Billy’s voice.

"You’re okay," he whispers between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. "You’re safe."

You believe him.

When he kisses you again, deeper this time, you let yourself fall. You whisper against his lips, telling him how much you need him, how much you want him.

And despite his fatigue, despite the lingering haze of sleep in his eyes, you feel the way he shifts, the way his body reacts to your touch, your need.

He groans, low and raspy, as your hands wander, as you press yourself against him, seeking his warmth, his presence, his love. He kisses you again, slow but with an unmistakable hunger now, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to slide against yours.

You whimper softly into his mouth, fingers gripping the muscles in his back, feeling the way they tense beneath your touch.

He’s warm, solid, real, everything you need right now.

Your hands move without thinking, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, pushing it up, desperate to feel more of him, to strip away anything that separates you from the only thing anchoring you to the present.

Eddie pulls back just enough to help, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes flicker over you, dark and unreadable in the dim light, before he leans in, pressing his lips to your collarbone, trailing slow kisses lower. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but it’s the good kind, the kind that makes you arch into him, not recoil. 

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice thick and raspy, his hands mapping your body as if memorizing you.

Your breath stutters when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your hips, slow, deliberate, watching your face for any sign of hesitation.

But there isn’t any.

You need this. Need him. 

His boxers follow, and then there’s nothing left between you. Just skin against skin, warmth against warmth, the steady, grounding weight of him above you. His body is firm, strong, but he holds you like you’re something delicate, like he’d rather die than make you feel anything but safe. 

"Eds," you whisper, breath hitching as he kisses you again, deeper this time. You shift beneath him, your legs parting, wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

His body reacts instantly, his hips pressing against yours, a quiet groan slipping from his lips at the contact. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin, voice husky, strained.

"You," you breathe, fingers threading into his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp. "I just need you."

He exhales sharply, pressing his forehead to yours, his body trembling slightly as he sinks into you, slow and deep.

A gasp catches in your throat, your body arching to meet his as he fills you completely.

He stills for a moment, breathing ragged, like he’s trying to keep himself together, like the feeling of you wrapped around him is almost too much.  "Jesus," he groans, voice barely above a whisper, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

You cling to him, lost in the way he moves, slow, deep, every thrust chasing away the fear still lingering in the corners of your mind.

His arms bracket you, his hands slipping beneath your back, holding you so close you can barely tell where he ends and you begin. He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin, whispering your name, telling you how good you feel, how much he loves you.

And you believe him. Because with every kiss, every touch, every whispered word, he reminds you, you're safe. You're his.

Another tear slips from your eye, but this time, it’s not from fear. It’s from relief. From the way Eddie holds you so tightly, so reverently, as if he can shield you from everything, your nightmares, your past, the ghost of Billy's touch.

You close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in him. In the slow, deep rhythm of his hips, the steady press of his body against yours. His warmth surrounds you, his scent, his breath, the way his lips brush against your skin between murmured words of comfort. 

"I’ve got you, baby," he whispers, voice rough with exhaustion but laced with something unshakable, "Nothing’s ever gonna hurt you again. I swear."

A quiet sob catches in your throat, but Eddie is already there, kissing it away. His lips find your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your jaw, soft, reassuring. His hands never stop moving, tracing your body like he’s mapping out every inch of you, like he wants to replace every bad memory with the feel of him instead.

You move together, slow and deep, wrapped up in each other, in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

There’s no rush. No urgency.

Just this, his body against yours, his whispered promises, the way he makes you feel like you’re whole again. 

Your fingers dig into his back, holding him closer, grounding yourself in the solid weight of him.

His breath shudders against your ear as he rocks into you, his pace never faltering, never breaking. He’s exhausted, but he won’t stop, not until he’s sure you have everything you need, until you feel safe again. "You're safe," he breathes, kissing your temple, his lips lingering there as he thrusts into you, deep and slow, "You're mine. I’ve got you." 

"I love you so much", you breathe, kissing him, moaning softly as he pushes back in, your body moving even closer against him.

"Baby", he groans, kissing you back so lovingly you're losing your mind, his pace now starting to stutter, his breath catching in his throat as he buries himself deep one last time. A ragged groan leaves his lips, low and helpless, his body giving in to exhaustion before he can even think to stop it. He cums, shuddering against you, pressing his forehead to yours as his arms tighten instinctively around your body.

You feel the way his muscles lock, the way his breath comes fast and heavy, and then the way it slows, melting into something softer, something spent.

But then he curses under his breath, voice thick with frustration. "Shit", he mumbles, barely able to keep his eyes open, his brows drawing together in something like regret, "Didn’t mean to, should’ve waited for you, I-"

You hush him with a kiss, pressing your lips to his before he can spiral, before he can make this about anything other than what it was. "Baby", you whisper, running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls, grounding him in your touch, "It’s okay"

"But I never-"

"I didn’t need that tonight", you cut him off gently, pressing another soft kiss to his lips, then his jaw, his cheek, "I just needed you. This."

Eddie exhales, something shaky and uncertain in the way he looks at you, like he doesn’t quite believe you yet. He’s always been so focused on you, on making you feel good, on making sure you cum first, always. The fact that he lost control, that he finished first, that he couldn’t hold on long enough, it’s bothering him.

"I can still..."

He shifts, like he’s ready to go again despite the exhaustion weighing heavy in his limbs.

"I’ll make it up to you, baby. My mouth, my fingers, just tell me what you want".

You shake your head, pressing a palm to his chest, feeling the way his heart still hammers beneath your touch. "Eddie, no", you murmur, "You don’t have to. I mean it. This was perfect".

He studies you for a long moment, searching your face in the dim light, like he’s making sure you’re telling the truth. And then, finally, he sighs, the last bit of tension bleeding from his body. "Yeah?" he asks, voice quieter now, rough with sleep already pulling at him.

You smile, nodding as you tuck yourself against him, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest. "Yeah", you whisper, "I feel better now. Thank you".

That seems to be all he needs to hear.

Eddie lets out a deep breath, shifting onto his side, wrapping himself around you as you reach to turn off the bedside lamp. The darkness settles over you both, but it isn’t suffocating anymore. "I’ll stay awake", he murmurs, words slurring as he fights the pull of sleep, "’Til you fall asleep. Just to make sure you’re okay".

But within seconds, his breathing evens out, his grip around you slackening just slightly, but not enough to let you go. Even in sleep, he’s holding you close. Keeping you safe.

You exhale softly, staring up at the ceiling, your body tangled with Eddie’s, his warmth pressed against your side.

His arm is heavy over your waist, fingers twitching slightly in sleep, his breath deep and even.

He’s completely out.

And you should be too. 

But the second you close your eyes, you feel it creeping in again. The weight of it. The way your stomach knots. The sensation of falling, not into Eddie, not into something soft and safe, but back into that fucking dream. The fear. The helplessness.

You know if you give in to sleep, it’ll be waiting for you.

Your eyes snap open again. Your pulse picks up, racing, your breath shallow. 

You try to focus on Eddie instead. The steady rhythm of his breathing. The rise and fall of his chest. The heat of his skin, the way he’s still inside you, the evidence of what just happened still there, keeping you in the present, in this moment. 

But it isn’t enough to silence your thoughts. 

Billy.

His voice, his hands, the threat he made still rings in your ears.

Your throat tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head against the memories.

You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to be afraid.

But you are.

And you don’t know what to do.

Eddie shifts slightly, exhaling a quiet sound in his sleep, and for a moment, you think he might wake. You hold your breath, waiting. Hoping, maybe. 

But then he settles, his grip on you softening just a little, his body sinking deeper into the mattress.

He’s exhausted. He needs the rest.

You can’t wake him for this, not when he’s been running himself into the ground, not when you’ve already taken so much of his night.

Carefully, you slip out from under his arm, peeling yourself away from his warmth. The air feels colder without him, your skin damp with sweat, goosebumps rising along your arms. You stand up, naked, restless, your body still buzzing with the remnants of anxiety. You rub your arms, glance at the clock.

4:57 AM.

Almost an hour you’ve been lying there, trying to force yourself to sleep. 

Your fingers tremble slightly as you run a hand through your hair, looking down at Eddie.

He looks peaceful, so different from how he is when he’s awake, when he’s always moving, always talking, always doing something. Right now, he’s completely still, his features soft in the dim light, his lips slightly parted, his curls spilling across the pillow.

You wish you could curl back up beside him and let yourself relax, let yourself feel safe. But your mind won’t let you.

Billy’s words, his threats, the memory of his hands on you, it’s too loud. Too much. 

You need air. 

You reach for your underwear and pull them back on, reach for one of Eddie’s t-shirts draped over the chair by the bed, slipping it on over your head. It smells like him, familiar and comforting, the fabric worn soft from too many washes. It barely reaches the tops of your thighs, but it’s enough.

Then, without another glance at the bed, at Eddie, you slip out of the room, out into the quiet dark of the trailer.

You open the front door, immediately greeted by ice cold air hitting your bare skin. You shiver, reach for the blanket draped over the couch and wrap it around you, before sitting down on the top stair outside, lighting a cigarette, inhaling deeply as the cold night air surrounds you.

You take another slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling into the freezing night air. The cold bites at your damp skin, but you welcome it, relish it. It keeps you here, in the present, rather than sinking back into the mess of your thoughts.

Billy’s home up the road is dark. His Camaro sits parked in front, the same damn car he used to drive you around in, back when things were easy, when he was just a guy and you were just a girl, when it was nothing more than a casual fling.

But that was months ago.

Before Eddie.

Before Billy’s ego took over.

You can’t believe you ever missed the signs.

That you ever thought there was anything human underneath all of that bravado.

But now?

Now you see him for what he is.

A narcissist. An abuser. Someone who doesn’t take no for an answer. 

Your fingers tighten around the cigarette, your body tense beneath the blanket.

The memory of his words slithers through your mind again, tightening around you like a vice. 

"I could ruin him."

You don’t doubt it.

Eddie has spent so long trying to outrun his past, the "troublemaker" reputation that constantly followed him.

He’s got a chance now, his band finally getting recognition, doors opening that were never open before.

But if Billy follows through on his threat, if he presses charges, accuses Eddie of breaking his nose, of assault, it'll be over. Record labels don’t take chances on guys with criminal records. Right?

Billy knows that.

That’s why he’s doing this.

You grit your teeth, watching the cigarette burn down between your fingers.

You can’t tell Eddie. You won’t tell Eddie. 

Because you know exactly what he’d do. 

He wouldn’t sit back and let this happen. He wouldn’t let Billy keep pulling the strings, keep threatening you, keep making your life hell.

No, Eddie would fight. Like he always did when it came to you.

He'll fight, he'll bruise, he'll break bones again.

Or worse.

And if he fights, he loses.

Billy wants him to lash out. He wants him to lose control. Because the second Eddie does something reckless, something stupid, Billy wins.

And you lose him.

You can’t lose him.

So you sit there, staring at Billy’s dark window, feeling the weight of the secret settle deep in your bones.

You have to handle this yourself.

You have to keep Eddie safe.

Even if it means sacrificing yourself to do it.

For a second, you even think about breaking into Billy's bedroom, holding your knife to his throat and making him beg for his poor fucking life.

You don't want him to win. You can't let him win.

But fuck, you don't know how to get out of this.

You flick your cigarette away, feeling how watching Billy's home triggers you even more, how you're starting to feel anxious and nervous again. Quickly, you head back inside, back into the warmth of the trailer. Without making a sound, you close the door behind you, put the blanket back down and head back to Eddie's bedroom.

He's still out, snoring softly, his naked body sprawled out under his blanket.

Your eyes soften as you take him in for a second, carefully pulling the blanket further up his body before turning again, opening his drawer and stealing his weed and rolling tray, leaving him alone to rest, heading back for the living room.

The cigarette didn't help.

To finally dull your mind, you quickly roll a blunt, your fingers maneuvering the paper before finally lifting it up to your lips to take a careful puff, sitting in the dim living room.

You let the smoke swirl deep in your lungs before exhaling slowly.

The trailer is silent except for the faint snores of Wayne behind his bedroom door and the distant sound of a dog barking somewhere outside.

Eddie’s down the hall, completely passed out, oblivious to the war raging inside you.

You have two days.

Billy gave you one week to decide, and it's almost over.

Two days to make a decision that feels impossible.

If you give in, let Billy have what he wants just this once, you know it won’t end there. He’ll keep coming back, dangling Eddie’s future over your head, making you crawl just to keep Eddie safe.

And what happens when he wants more? What happens when a single night isn’t enough?

You shudder at the thought, taking another deep pull from the joint, trying to force yourself to stop shaking.

But if you don’t give in, if you tell Eddie what’s happening...

You know how that ends.

He’ll lose it. He’ll go straight to Billy, fists first, and Billy will press charges.

You can already hear the cops knocking at the trailer door, see the headlines, feel the cold steel of handcuffs around Eddie’s wrists.

If you tell Eddie after, if he finds out what you did at one point - you don’t know what would be worse.

Losing him, watching the love in his eyes turn to something else.

Or watching him kill Billy with his bare hands.

There’s no way out of this.

No right answer.

Right now, you’ve never felt more alone.You take another drag, tilting your head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as your heart pounds beneath your ribs.

You could leave. Just disappear for a while, avoid Billy, avoid everything.

But then what? He’d still be there when you got back. Still waiting.

On top of that, your graduation is at stake already. If you keep skipping so many days, you won't graduate after this school year.

You need to stay. For school, for work. For not running away from this bastard.

Maybe you could find a way to trap him, flip this back on him.

But Billy’s smart. Manipulative. He’s been playing people his whole life, he won’t slip up easily.

Two more days.

Two more days to figure out how to destroy him before he destroys you.

Your eyes flick through the messy living space around you. To your guitar leaning against the wall next to the couch, where you left it after messing around with some tunes a few days ago. To your bag, carelessly dropped next to the door, the notebook you keep in there, always taking it with you where you go. The one that holds all your song ideas, lyrics, words you couldn't speak.

Maybe it'll help to just... write. Find some relief in telling your notebook, if you can't tell anyone else.

You sigh, stand back up, grab your guitar and rummage through your bag before dropping back down on the couch, one leg tugged under your body.

Your fingers ghost over the strings of your guitar, plucking absent, tuneless notes as your eyes flicker to the worn pages of your notebook. Pages filled with your words, your lyrics, the things you could never say out loud but somehow managed to carve into ink. Ideas for song, the try outs for Losing Grip.

It's all in here.

Your soul. Your deepest fears, thoughts and wishes. Put into lyrics, songs, poems.

You sigh, taking another deep puff, feeling how the weed finally clouds your brain. Your fingers tighten around the neck of your guitar as you exhale a slow stream of smoke.

If you can’t find any rest tonight, if you can’t stop the war raging inside your head, maybe you can turn all this fear, this rage, this helplessness into something that feels more like yours.

You press the joint into the ashtray, snuffing it out, then reach for the pen tucked into the spiral binding of your notebook.

Half of the pages are already filled with half-scribbled lyrics, fragments of thoughts and pain you’ve never been able to say out loud.

You flip to a fresh page.

Stare at it, your guitar balanced on your thigh.

The silence of the trailer park presses in around you, thick and suffocating, but your mind is anything but quiet.

Billy's voice echoes in your head. His threats. His control.

You exhale sharply, pressing your fingertips to the strings, forming a chord, then another. A slow, eerie melody builds under your fingers, a steady pulse like the panic inside you. The words come like a whisper at first. A thought. A confession.

You got your hands around my throat, but you don’t leave a bruise

You got your words like knives, but no one sees the wounds

You say it’s just a game, but I’m the one who bleeds

You wanna own my skin, but you won’t own me

The pen moves before you can second-guess it, your handwriting jagged from the slight tremble in your fingers. The song spills out in pieces, fragmented but full of something deep, something raw. You strum again, the melody darkening as you follow the emotions surging inside you.Your breath shudders as you write, as you play. The lines form like puzzle pieces snapping into place. Billy. His grip. The way he’s wormed into your life, your mind, like a shadow that won’t leave.

And I can’t run, can’t breathe, can’t scream

You twist the truth till it sounds like a dream

You built the walls, locked the door, threw the key

Now tell me, who the hell do you think I am?

The chords shift, growing heavier, your voice barely above a whisper as you try out the words. The weight of them settles deep inside your bones. It feels right. It feels real.

The chorus builds, sharp and biting.

I’m not your puppet, not your plaything, not your sin

Not a ghost in the dark that you can drag back in

You can burn my name, you can spread your lies

But you’ll never clip my wings, I was born to fight

Your fingers grip the neck of the guitar tighter as you sing it again, louder this time, the words vibrating in your chest.

So go on, set this cage on fire

I’d rather burn than be your desire

Your pulse pounds. Something inside you shifts. This isn’t just a song anymore, it’s yours. It’s a scream into the void, a message to Billy, to yourself.

Later, you stare at the words scrawled across the page, ink smudged where your fingers had pressed too hard, your own handwriting almost frantic.

Your throat is raw from singing so softly for hours, voice breaking at times, but you never stopped.

You poured every ounce of rage, fear, and defiance into this song until it bled onto the pages. Your hands ache. From gripping the guitar too tight. From pressing the pen too hard. From carrying the weight of everything you can’t say out loud.

And now it’s morning.

The realization comes slow, like surfacing from underwater. You blink, the world around you coming back into focus.

The dim glow of dawn seeps through the trailer blinds. The cigarette butts overflow in the ashtray, the air thick with stale smoke. The remnants of your joint still sit beside it, barely touched.

Your fingers brush against your notebook again, tracing the lyrics you just finished. A song that no one will ever hear. A song that screams the truth you won’t speak.

6:58 AM.

Eddie’s alarm will go off soon.

You sigh, standing up, stretching out the stiffness in your body.

You’re exhausted. More than exhausted.

Your bones feel like they’re filled with lead, but there’s a strange numbness in your chest. Like maybe the hours you spent tangled in your music did something. Maybe not enough, but something.

You move on autopilot. Closing your notebook carefully, as if sealing away the night. Placing your guitar back in its spot. Shuffling to the kitchen, flipping the switch on the coffee machine. The first few drops hit the pot, filling the space with the rich, bitter scent of caffeine.

You barely register it as you drag yourself to the bathroom.

Inside, you're stripping out of Eddie’s t-shirt and stepping under the freezing stream of the shower. The shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, goosebumps prickling across your skin. But you don’t move. You let it bite into you, wake you up, bring you back into your body, washing away the dried sweat and tears from last night.

After a few minutes, you leave he shower, shivering, lips blue, but feeling better. You brush your teeth and get ready, before grabbing some clothes from the bedroom where Eddie is still sleeping like a baby.

When you step back out, hair damp, jeans hugging your hips, tight black top and flannel layered over it, you feel a little more like yourself. Tired. Worn thin. But put together enough that Eddie might not immediately see through you.

You sit at the table with your coffee, fingers curled around the mug, staring blankly ahead as the minutes slip by, your notebook close, smoking another cigarette.

A muffled alarm sound comes from Eddie’s room, followed by a sleepy, grumbly groan.

Then a confused grunt.

He realizes you’re not in bed.

A shuffle of blankets.

A floorboard creaks.

Then, a second later, "Baby?"

His voice is hoarse, thick with sleep as he steps into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and pulling a shirt over his head. His curls are messy, the waistband of his boxers riding low on his hips. He looks soft, warm, tired, but when he sees you, showered, dressed, coffee already in hand, his frown deepens.

"You’re up?" He scratches at the back of his head, brow furrowing. "Like, up up?"

You lift your mug slightly, a half-hearted gesture. "Yeah."

He frowns and steps closer, "What's going on?"

You take another sip of coffee, cigarette burning between your fingers. "Couldn't fall back asleep after that nightmare. So, I stayed awake".

Eddie stares at you, his tired brain still processing. "Wait… have you been awake all night?"

His eyes drift to the couch. The discarded guitar. The overflowing ashtray. The half-smoked joint. His frown deepens.

You nod, inhaling another drag of your cigarette. "Yeah. Wrote a little."

He sighs, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "You wrote? Can I see?" His voice is softer now, still thick with sleep and exhaustion.

"It's nothing", you lie, voice low, "Messed around. Nothing serious. Just needed some distraction."

His tall body steps beside you, his warmth radiating through your tired skin. He takes a sip of coffee and immediately chokes, coughing. "Jesus Christ, how strong did you make this?"

A tiny smirk twitches at your lips. "Strong enough."

He grumbles, setting the cup down before his hand finds your back, rubbing slow circles. His eyes flicker over you, checking your face, the exhaustion in your features. "You okay?"

You don’t look at him. Don’t let him see the truth. Instead, you nod. Lie. "Yeah. Just tired, babe, don't worry".

Your boyfriend is too tired himself to catch the deception in your voice. He sighs, presses a kiss into your hair. "Okay," he rasps, stealing the cigarette from your fingers, taking a slow drag before heading back toward the bedroom, "I'll be right back. Gotta get dressed."

You watch him go, realizing you've been resting your hand on your notebook the entire time.

Eddie comes back ten minutes later, dressed now, smelling faintly of his cologne, his hair still messy but a little less wild. He rubs his hands over his face, still waking up, still shaking off the weight of sleep. His pupils are wide, probably from the coffee, and there’s a crease between his brows as he watches you, like he’s already thinking too hard.

Like something isn’t sitting right.

He sits down across from you, his movements sluggish, but his eyes stay on you. Watching. Reading.

You don’t look at him, just take another slow sip of your coffee, exhaling smoke from the cigarette burning between your fingers.

"You’re really okay?" he asks again, voice lower this time.

You nod, too quickly. "Yeah."

His fingers tap against his mug, "You sure? Last night was... something"

You nod again, pressing the cigarette to your lips, "I told you. Just tired."

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away. He’s always been good at reading you, too good, and right now, you can feel the way he’s picking apart every little thing.

The way your shoulders are tense. The way your fingers twitch around the cigarette. The way you aren’t meeting his eyes.

And how your hand continues to rest on your notebook, as if you're guarding it and whatever's writing in it.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. "You were screaming in your sleep," he states finally, voice quieter, more serious now,  "Crying. Fighting me off when I tried to wake you".

Your stomach clenches.

"You don’t remember?" he asks.

You do.

The way Billy’s voice had slithered through your head, laughing, taunting, backing you into a wall. The way Eddie had pulled you away, trying to wake you, but in that moment, it wasn’t Eddie. You were still trapped in the dream, still in Billy’s grip, still trying to escape.

And when Eddie touched you, when he tried, your body reacted like it was still there. Like you weren’t safe.

You remember waking up with your heart pounding so hard it hurt. The sheer panic, the way you couldn’t breathe, the way you couldn’t see him through it at first. You’d fought, shoved at him, nails digging in, sobbing so hard it felt like your ribs might crack.

And then, when you realized, when you saw him, not Billy, you’d latched onto him like he was the only thing tethering you to reality. Because he was.

You remember all of it.

"Of course I remember", you answer, taking another sip of coffee, shortly glancing at him over the rim of your cup.

Eddie watches you. His fingers tighten slightly around his mug. "It took me forever to wake you up," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw, "You wouldn’t stop fighting me. You didn’t even recognize me."

You don’t say anything.

His voice softens, careful now. "Who was it?"

You blink. "What?"

"In your nightmare," he mumbles, tilting his head slightly. "Who was it?"

Your pulse skips.

Billy’s name presses against your tongue, but you can’t say it.

Won’t say it.

Because if you do, it makes it real again. It gives it power.

Eddie doesn’t break eye contact.

He knows. Even if you don’t say it.

You shake your head, "No idea, barely remember that part. But I'm fine, Eds. Don't worry, okay? Just had a rough night, that's all".

Eddie scoffs, shaking his head. "Yeah. Sure." He leans back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. "So, you have some fucking nightmare that wrecks you so bad you don’t, or can't, go back to sleep. The first thing you need me to do after you finally snap out of whatever horror you were trapped in is to fuck you. Then you spend the whole night smoking and writing, and now, what? You’re just fine?"

You lift your coffee to your lips, trying to stay steady. "Yeah."

His jaw tenses. "Bullshit."

You swallow hard, setting the mug down carefully.

Eddie exhales again, long and slow, like he’s trying to hold onto whatever patience he has left. He rubs at his eyes, the heel of his palm pressing into them before he drags his hand down his face, scrubbing at the stubble on his jaw. His other hand reaches blindly for his coffee, bringing it to his lips, but he barely takes a sip before setting it down again with a dull clink.

His gaze flickers to you, then to your notebook. He notices the way your fingers tighten around it. How you shift, just slightly, angling yourself so it's closer to you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches, brow furrowing deeper, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then, finally, he reaches out.

His fingers brush against yours, the callouses rough against your skin as he touches your hand, light, cautious. Not forcing, just there. Testing.

"Hey," he murmurs, softer now. "Talk to me."

You swallow. Your throat feels dry. "I am," you reply. It’s barely above a whisper.

Eddie huffs a quiet, humorless laugh. "Yeah? No offense, sweetheart, but you’re really bad at lying." His thumb brushes over your knuckles, just barely. "And I mean, like, really bad."

You exhale, glancing away, "Eds, it was just a dream. It’s not a big deal."

His grip on your hand tightens, just a little, not enough to trap, just enough to hold. "Not a big deal?" he repeats, and there's something sharp under the exhaustion in his voice, "Right. Not a big deal that you screamed so loud I thought you were being fucking murdered. Not a big deal that you sobbed so hard I thought you were gonna choke on it. Not a big deal that you-" He stops, shakes his head, jaw clenching before he sighs, voice dropping lower, "Not a big deal that you fought me like your fucking life depended on it. Like you didn’t even know me."

Your chest tightens.

Eddie shifts, leaning forward slightly, gaze locked onto yours. "But, sure," he mutters. "Not a big deal."

You force yourself to look at him. His eyes are tired, dark circles under them, but they’re still him. Still warm, still Eddie. Still looking at you like he’s searching. "You know how brains work, babe," you say, voice steadier now. "Dreams do that sometimes. They’re just..." You gesture vaguely, as if that’s enough of an explanation, "...fucked up sometimes. That’s all."

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just lets the silence settle between you, dragging it out, waiting to see if you’ll crack.

You don’t.

Instead, you force an easy, tired smile, squeezing his hand once before pulling away, reaching for your cigarette again.

He watches you. His jaw tenses, like he’s biting something back, but then he just exhales, slow and measured, leaning back in his chair. His fingers drum against the table once. Twice. Then stop. Dark eyes flicker to your notebook again.

You feel it before he even moves.

The second his fingers twitch toward it, your grip tightens. Not enough to be obvious, not enough to make a scene, just enough for him to feel it when his hand ghosts near it.

Eddie stops. His brows lift slightly, a slow realization settling in his expression. He looks at you again. Looks at the way your shoulders tense. The way your fingers are curled around the edge of the notebook, like you’re holding onto it for dear fucking life. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. "What’s in there?"

Your stomach twists. "Nothing," you say. Too quick.

Eddie tilts his head, still watching you, that crease between his brows deepening. "You sure?"

You nod. "Just lyrics, Eds. Just messing around."

His eyes flick between yours, studying, searching. Then, after a long moment, he nods slowly, leaning back again. "Okay," he says. But he doesn’t mean it. You can tell.

You take the last drag of your cigarette, letting the smoke curl past your lips before stubbing it out in the ashtray. Your coffee is cold now, but you swallow the last sip anyway, feeling the bitterness settle in your stomach.

Then, without a word, you stand.

Your notebook is the first thing you grab, fingers curling tightly around it as you walk to your bag, slipping it inside like it’s something dangerous. Something that needs to be hidden. Out of sight. Out of reach.

Eddie watches you the entire time.

You feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and unmoving, pressing into your back as you move toward the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s thinking. Overthinking.

You sigh, pushing past the exhaustion dragging at your bones, grabbing a bowl and the box of cereal from the cupboard. Pouring. Moving on autopilot. Trying to act normal. "Want some?" you ask over your shoulder, your voice light, casual, forced.

Eddie takes his own cigarette from the pack, lighting it with slow, deliberate movements. He exhales, shaking his head. "Nah."

You glance at him briefly, catching the way his dark eyes follow your every move. You roll your shoulders, brushing off the way it makes your skin prickle, and lean back against the counter. A few bites of cereal. That’s all. That’s all you need to get through. Just eat something, push past the knot in your stomach, let this morning pass.

The silence stretches.

You chew, swallow, poke at the cereal with your spoon before glancing up. His eyes are still on you. "Jesus, Eds," you mutter, setting your spoon down into the bowl in your other hand, "Stop staring at me."

He shrugs, cigarette resting between his fingers, "Can’t help it."

You huff a tired breath, shaking your head. "Why?"

He takes another slow drag, his fingers tapping idly against the table. "Because," he exhales, smoke curling around his words, "I feel like you’re keeping something from me."

Your chest tightens. You grab your spoon again, take another bite. Avoid his eyes. "I’m not."

"Mm." He makes a quiet noise, tilting his head. Not buying it.

You sigh, heavier this time, forcing yourself to look at him. "Baby, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you, but I’m fine. Okay?" You set your spoon and bowl down on the counter, pushing it away slightly. "I’m fine. I’m just tired. I had some bad dream I don’t even remember, and I’m sorry I woke you up, terrified you, and then - " You shake your head, laughing a humorless, exhausted laugh. "Eventually needed you to fuck me to feel something other than lingering fear." Your voice turns sharp, clipped, the words tumbling out faster than you mean them to. "It won’t happen again."

Eddie stares at you.

It’s only then that you hear it, how tense you’ve gotten. How snappy you sound.

Your breath catches. Immediately, you take a step back. Your hands lift slightly, like you’re trying to physically push the words away. "Fuck, sorry" you mumble, shaking your head. "I- I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m sorry. I’m just..." You rub your fingers over your brow, pressing hard, trying to smooth out the frustration that isn’t even directed at him. "Exhausted."

Eddie doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t react. He just watches you, cigarette burning down between his fingers, his brows drawing together in something like understanding. Something like concern.

Then, finally, he stands. Flicks his cigarette into the tray, steps toward you.

You press your back against the counter, but not out of avoidance. Not to run. Just to breathe.

Your boyfriend stops a foot away. Looks at you for a second longer, then lifts his arms. An invitation.

Your breath shudders slightly. You hesitate for only a moment before you step forward, falling into his chest. His arms close around you immediately, pulling you in, pulling you tight. One hand slides up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, keeping you close as his other wraps around your waist, grounding, steady. You bury your face in his shirt, exhaling against the fabric. He’s warm. Smells like cigarette smoke and sleep and him.

Eddie doesn’t say anything. Just holds you.

You sigh deeply, the weight of the lie pressing down on you like a stone tied to your ribs, dragging you under. Lying to Eddie is killing you. Not being able to tell him the truth, not being able to let him handle it, to let him protect you like he always does, it’s fucking destroying you.

You blink rapidly, pushing back the sting of tears, arms tightening around him. You press yourself into his warmth, his scent, his love, trying to disappear into him, trying to let him pull you away from the storm inside your head.

He’s home.

And he’s the reason you’re doing this.

For his success. His luck. His life. So he can make it out of this fucking town intact, unscathed. So he never gets dragged down, never gets pulled under by the weight of people like Billy fucking Hargrove.

You inhale deeply, nose pressing into his shirt, holding him tighter. Eventually, you whisper, "I’m sorry."

Eddie hums, a low, tired sound, rubbing his hand over your back. "You know you can tell me everything, right?" he murmurs, voice soft but firm.

You nod. But you don’t say anything.

He sighs. Shifts slightly, pressing another kiss to your temple. "Are you sure there’s nothing you wanna tell me?"

The question hangs between you. Heavy.

Then, softer, careful. "Did someone hurt you?"

Your breath catches. Just for a second.It’s barely noticeable. Barely.

But Eddie feels the way you freeze, the way your fingers twitch slightly against his shirt.

You shake your head. It’s not a lie. Not really.

Billy didn’t hurt you. Not this time. He barely touched you, just your arm, just enough to remind you of what he could do.

But he came too close. Close enough to whisper his threats against your skin. Close enough to make your stomach turn. Close enough to make you remember.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Push the memory down. Push it away. Your arms tighten around Eddie, pulling him so close you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

He grunts, shifting slightly in surprise, but doesn’t pull away. He just holds you, warm and solid, his lips brushing against your hair, then your forehead, a quiet, steady rhythm of affection. "Baby," he rasps, his voice a little rougher now, a little sharper, "What’s going on?"

You shake your head again, burying your face deeper in his chest. "Nothing," you mumble against his shirt, "I’m just tired."

His arms tighten around you."You don’t sound fine," he mutters.

You swallow hard, pressing your lips together.

He tilts his head slightly, his hand moving up, fingers brushing through your hair. "You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?"

You nod.

It’s a lie.

And Eddie knows it.

He tilts your chin up, his thumb grazing along your jaw, eyes dark with concern. For a second, you think he’s going to push, going to ask again, demand the truth, but instead, he just kisses you. Slow, deep, like he’s trying to pull something out of you without words. His lips are warm, familiar, and when he exhales against your mouth, it’s almost a sigh.

"I love you", you whisper, voice thick with something too heavy to name.

His fingers tighten slightly where they rest against your face, like he’s anchoring himself. "I love you too, baby", he murmurs, and his voice is different now, softer, but heavier, like he already knows. Like he’s already decided something. "I’ll always protect you, you know that, right?"

Your heart stutters in your chest. You nod.

His gaze searches yours, flickering across your face, tracing the tension in your expression. But he doesn’t say anything. Just presses one more lingering kiss to your lips before stepping back, running a hand through his hair.

"We should probably get going", you mutter, glancing toward the clock, "If we don’t wanna be late".

He nods, looks at you as if he wants to say something.

"I just..." you gesture vaguely toward the bathroom, "One minute."

He watches you for a beat longer than normal. He doesn’t like this, you can tell. But after a moment, he nods. "Yeah, sure".

You turn before he can see the way your hands shake. Step into the bathroom. Close the door. Press your palms against the sink and force yourself to breathe.

Outside, Eddie’s jaw tightens as he stares at the closed door. The tension in your shoulders. The way your breath hitched when he said he’d protect you. The way you froze when he asked if someone hurt you.

It’s Billy.

He fucking knows it.

His fists clench at his sides. He’s already fought him before, already made it crystal fucking clear what happens if Billy so much as breathes in your direction.

But now?

Now Eddie’s done holding back.

His gaze flickers to your bag. That notebook. The one you wouldn’t let him take. The one you tucked away so carefully, so deliberately.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But then he remembers last night. The nightmare. The way you thrashed in his arms, fighting him like he was a ghost from your past. The way you screamed. The way it gutted him.

His stomach twists as he steps closer. He hesitates, just for a second, before reaching down, fingers curling around the worn cover.

His heart pounds as he flips through the pages, skimming over your handwriting, not wanting to invade more than he has to.

But then he sees it. The last page, the ink darker, pressed deeper into the paper, like you were gripping the pen too hard.

Cage on Fire

His dark eyes move as he reads the song you wrote. Every single word. Over and over.

You got your hands around my throat, but you don’t leave a bruiseYou got your words like knives, but no one sees the woundsYou say it’s just a game, but I’m the one who bleedsYou wanna own my skin, but you won’t own me

His blood boils. His hands tremble. His heart pounds so hard it feels like it might punch through his ribs.

He knew it.

It’s crystal clear, this is about Billy. Again.

Not a ghost in the dark that you can drag back inYou can burn my name, you can spread your liesBut you’ll never clip my wings, I was born to fightSo go on, set this cage on fireI’d rather burn than be your desire

His jaw clenches so tight it aches.

He imagines you, curled up on his couch, alone, drowning in the weight of whatever happened, his shirt hanging loose on your frame, your face raw from crying.

He sees it so clearly, how you wrote this in the dead of night while he slept just a room away. Oblivious. Like an idiot.

And the worst part?

The stains on the paper. Little dark smudges where your tears hit the page.

You cried when you wrote this. You broke all over again.

And he wasn’t there.

I see your face in every nightmareYour hands still stain my skinBut I am not that girl you brokeI won’t let you win

That’s what fucking kills him.

His breath is uneven, sharp through his nose, burning in his lungs. His vision tunnels. He can’t think straight, can’t even feel his fingers as they grip the notebook too tightly, knuckles white.

The bathroom door creaks open.

Your footsteps are light, hesitant.

You round the corner, your small, tired smile fading the second you see him. See the notebook in his hands. The page still open. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

Your stomach drops.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Your voice comes out sharp, cutting through the tense air like a blade.

Eddie's head snaps up, eyes blazing. "What the fuck is this, huh?" He holds up the notebook, your notebook. Your fucking notebook. "That's what you wrote?" His voice is rough, torn apart by fury, by something raw and shaking beneath it.

You freeze for a second, staring at him in disbelief before it all crashes over you, a wave so strong it nearly knocks you off your feet. "You went through my bag?" Your voice rises, incredulous, your whole body trembling. "You fucking read my notes? That’s like my fucking diary, Eddie! And you know that! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" You lunge forward, snatching the notebook from his hands.

He doesn’t stop you. He lets you rip it from him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already seen it. Every single line is burned into his mind, seared into his fucking soul.

"I had to" he rasps, taking a step toward you, "You won’t fucking talk to me. You wake up screaming, you flinch when I touch you, you lie to my fucking face, and I’m just supposed to sit back and do nothing?"

You stare at him, notebook pressed fo your chest. "You had no right!" Your voice cracks. "You don’t get to fucking violate my privacy because you think you have some right to know everything!"

"I do have a right!" he explodes, his hands shaking at his sides, "I have a fucking right because I love you! And because this..." he jabs a finger at the notebook pressed to your chest, "is about him. Again! After I fucking warned him! After I beat his ass! And now you’re standing there, acting like I’m the bad guy for wanting to know what the fuck happened to you? To my girlfriend? The woman I fucking love?"

Your vision blurs with tears. Anger, hurt, betrayal all mixing together in your throat, making it impossible to breathe. "You can’t force me to tell you!" You hiss, your voice sharp as glass, "I’m a fucking grown-up, Eddie, and if I don’t want to tell you, you have to fucking accept that!"

"Like hell I do", he growls, eyes blazing with fury, "I deserve to fucking know, Sam".

You shake your head, your grip tightening around the notebook, "Fuck, no! That’s not your fucking choice to make. That was private, Eddie. You had no fucking right!"

His chest heaves. His fingers twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with his own rage, "I don’t give a fuck about rights, Sam. Not when it comes to you. Not when I know this motherfucker did something again". His voice drops lower, but it’s more dangerous that way, like a quiet, deadly storm. "Tell me what the fuck he did to you".

Your whole body locks up. You shake your head, stepping back. "No". 

Eddie’s nostrils flare. "No?"

"NO." Your voice cracks, but it’s still firm, still defiant, "It doesn’t matter".

"What the actual fuck?" His eyes are wild now, furious and desperate all at once, "You wrote a fucking song about him, Sam! About how he’s got his hands around your throat, how he’s fucking trapping you, and I’m supposed to believe it doesn’t fucking matter?"

You’re shaking. Overwhelmed. Angry. Exposed in a way that makes your skin crawl. "I didn’t write it for you to see".

"WELL, I FUCKING SAW IT!"

His voice shatters the room.

Silence.

Your breath stutters. Your vision blurs. Your heart pounds.

Eddie’s chest is rising and falling like he just ran a mile. His hands curl into fists, his whole body vibrating with tension, with something he’s barely keeping in check.

You feel like you can’t breathe. "I can’t do this right now", you whisper, shaking your head, pushing past him.

"Sam-"

"I said I can't do this right now, get off of me". You shove his chest, just enough to make him step back. Your voice is raw, like an open wound, "You crossed a fucking line."

He steps in front of you when you try to move, blocking your way, his jaw clenched so tight it might shatter. "You’re not running from this. Not today. I wanna know what the fuck he did."

You shake your head violently, clutching the notebook to your chest. "Move, Eddie." Your voice is low, a warning.

"No." His voice is just as low, just as dangerous, "Not until you tell me the truth."

You feel like you might break apart right there. "Fucking move", you hiss, shoving at his chest again, but he barely budges. Your hands are shaking so badly you can hardly see straight. Your whole body feels like it's shutting down, caving in on itself.

Eddie is breathing hard, his hands running through his hair, pacing in a tight circle before turning back to you, eyes wild. "You make this even fucking worse by not telling me", he continues, voice cracking with frustration, "I imagine the fucking worst, Sam! You have no idea. I am seconds from losing my fucking mind here."

"You already fucking have", you throw back, your voice hoarse, raw. Your throat is burning, your whole body thrumming with adrenaline. You just want out. Away from this. From him.

"Yeah? Yeah?! Well, what the fuck do you expect me to do?!" Eddie roars, throwing his hands out, "Just sit back while he does this to you again?"

You swallow hard, biting the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. "I expect you to fucking trust me. But clearly, you don’t".

Eddie barks out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Trust you? Trust you to do what, Sam? Handle it? You’re having nightmares so terrifying you're actually screaming in your sleep, you’re writing this", he gestures wildly at the notebook, "and I’m supposed to trust that you’re okay?"

Your chest caves. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know. He’s too close. He’s too much. You just need space.

But Eddie isn’t backing down.

And neither are you.

His vision is red. Blurred at the edges. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, his pulse hammering against his skull as he watches you step away from him like he’s the one who hurt you. Like he’s the fucking problem.

"I can’t believe you read it without my consent." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the room like a knife. Your grip tightens around the notebook, knuckles white, shoulders curled in like you’re trying to protect yourself from him. From him.

And that shreds him apart more than anything else.

"Sam, I-"

"No." Your breath hitches, eyes flashing. "No, Eddie, you don’t get to talk your way out of this. You don’t get to act like you didn’t fucking violate me." Your words tremble, but they hit him like a punch to the gut.

His jaw clenches so hard it aches. "Violate you? Sam, I just-"

"You just what?" Your voice cracks as you take another step back. Your legs feel weak, your skin burning with betrayal. "You just went through my shit? You just read something I never wanted you to fucking see? You think just because you love me, you have the right to cross that line?"

"I HAD TO!" Eddie’s voice explodes through the space, raw and vicious, his hands flying up before curling into his hair, "I had fucking had to. Because you won’t fucking tell me what’s going on. Because I know, I know it’s him again, and you won’t fucking say it!" His chest heaves as he takes a step toward you, but you flinch.

You fucking flinch.

And that stops him dead.

Something inside him fractures.

"You’re scared of me now?" His voice is low, hoarse, and so goddamn broken it makes your stomach twist, "After everything, I’m the one you’re afraid of?"

"I..." You don’t know what to say. You’re shaking, your whole body hot and cold at the same time, your heart racing so fast it hurts. "I don’t... I just-"

"Fucking say it, Sam!" He snaps, hands twitching at his sides, "Tell me what he did. Tell me what I already fucking know!"

"You don’t know!" You scream, voice wrecked, eyes burning, "You don’t know anything, Eddie. You think you do, but you don’t. You have no fucking clue what it’s like!" Your whole body trembles as you clutch the notebook tighter against your chest, like it can shield you from him, from this, from all of it. "This is mine, Eddie. My thoughts, my fears, my fucking songs! You had no right!"

"I don’t give a fuck about rights, Sam!" He explodes, pacing like a caged animal. "I know that bastard is fucking with you again! Again! How the fuck am I supposed to sit back and do nothing?"

"Then don’t!" You scream, voice raw with pain, "But don’t you fucking dare force this out of me! You think this makes it better? You think this makes me feel safe?"

Eddie freezes. His breathing is ragged, his fingers flexing like he’s fighting the urge to punch something. Anything. He just wants to fix it. To make it stop. To hurt the bastard who did this to you. But all he’s doing is making you hurt more.

"I thought I could trust you," you whisper, voice shaking. Your tears fall freely now, hot streaks against your flushed cheeks, "I thought you... fuck. I thought you understood what it's like to write something so private, for no one else to fucking see." You shake your head, looking at him like he’s a stranger. "But you don’t. You really fucking don’t."

Something in Eddie’s chest caves in. He takes a shaky step forward. "Baby, come on--"

You step back. That’s what kills him.

"No," you shake your head violently, voice shaking, "I can’t. I can’t do this right now, Eddie. You crossed a fucking line."

He swallows hard, his throat thick with something suffocating. "I was just..."

"You were just selfish," you snap, fire flashing in your eyes, anger laced with something deeper. Hurt. Disappointment. "You didn’t do this for me, Eddie. You did this for you."

Eddie takes a step back like you physically hit him. For the first time since this argument started, he doesn’t know what to say.

The silence between you is deafening.

Your breath is ragged, your whole body thrumming with adrenaline, hands still gripping the notebook.

Eddie looks at you. And suddenly, he’s terrified.

Because this doesn’t feel like just a fight.

This feels like something breaking.

You shake your head sharply, turning on your heel and walking away, your whole body trembling.

You can’t do this. Not anymore.

There’s nothing left to say, not when he’s already seen everything.

You don’t care where you’re going, as long as it’s away from him.

Eddie follows. You hear his heavy footsteps behind you as you push into his bedroom, the air thick with the scent of him, of home, but it doesn’t bring you comfort right now. Not when you feel so exposed, so betrayed. 

You keep your back to him, chest heaving, shoulders shaking, stepping further into the room, as far away as you can get.

But it’s not far enough.

The trailer is too fucking small, and he’s standing in the doorway, blocking your only way out. Trapping you. 

"Sam." His voice is lower now, not as sharp, but still rough, still burning with everything he’s feeling. 

You shake your head violently. "Just... just don’t, Eddie." Your voice cracks.

"Don’t what?" He snaps, stepping forward, "Don’t fucking care? Don’t want to know what’s happening to you? Don’t wanna protect you?" 

"YES!" You spin around, eyes wild, face wet with tears, "Yes, that’s exactly it! Because I don’t need you to fucking save me!" Your breath is uneven, ragged. "Not like this. Not when you have to betray me to do it."

His face twists, something breaking in his expression. He runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots, trying to keep it together. "Are you serious right now?" His voice is quieter, but somehow even angrier. "Sam, this motherfucker is out there-" 

"And I know that!" you cut him off, clutching the notebook to your chest, like it’s a shield, like it’s the only thing keeping you together, "I fucking know that, Eddie! I live it! Every goddamn second of every goddamn day, I live it!" Your voice cracks, and you take a step back, chest rising and falling rapidly, "But you? You don’t get to take this from me. You don’t get to force me to tell you when I’m not fucking ready." 

Eddie breathes hard through his nose, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I just- I just don’t understand why you can’t see it," he mutters, voice shaking, "Why you can’t see that keeping this from me makes it worse."

"Worse for who, Eddie?" you snap, "For you?"

His jaw locks, his fists tightening. "No. For you. Because I know what happens when you keep this shit inside, when you let him fucking win." His eyes are dark, desperate, burning into yours, "I’m not letting him win, Sam. I won’t."

"You don’t get to decide that," you whisper, shaking your head, stepping back again.

Eddie steps forward.

You flinch again. It’s small, barely there, but he sees it.

His breath catches, his whole body tensing, like he’s been punched in the gut. He stops moving. His eyes flash with something that isn’t just anger anymore. It’s hurt. Deep, gut-wrenching hurt. "Baby," he breathes, softer now, almost pleading.

But you can’t do this. Not with him looking at you like that. Not with the weight of everything pressing so hard against your chest, suffocating you.

You shake your head again, tears slipping down your cheeks. "You don’t get it," you whisper. "You don’t fucking get it."

Eddie swallows hard. "Then make me get it."  

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers tightening around the notebook. "I trusted you," you say, voice so small it barely makes a sound, "And you fucking read it anyway."

His face crumples, something shattering behind his eyes. 

"You had no right," you whisper, stepping back again, your back nearly hitting the wall, "No fucking right."

He exhales sharply, raking a hand down his face, his own breathing uneven. "I know," he mutters. "I fucking know, okay? But I can’t-" He cuts himself off, shaking his head, looking at you like you’re slipping through his fingers. "I can’t just sit back and do nothing."

"You could’ve waited," you snap, voice trembling, "You could’ve trusted me to tell you when I was ready." 

He lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Yeah? And when the fuck would that be, mh?" His eyes are wild again, desperate, "Because I don’t think you ever would have told me. Not before it was too fucking late." 

You stare at him, panting, raw and wrecked and so goddamn tired. "You don’t get to decide that either," you whisper.

He just stares at you, chest heaving, eyes searching yours for something, anything, that will tell him what the hell he’s supposed to do. But you don’t give him anything. Not anymore. 

You just clutch the notebook tighter, turn away, and sink down onto the edge of the bed, pressing your hands to your face, shoulders shaking.

He moves before he can stop himself. He crosses the room in two strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands reaching for your wrists, trying to pull them away from your face.

You jerk back, resisting him, shoving weakly at his chest. "Don’t," you snap, your voice raw, shaking. "Don’t fucking touch me, Eddie!"

But he doesn’t let go.

"I’m sorry," he breathes, voice strained, desperate, "I’m so fucking sorry."

You shake your head, twisting in his grip, trying to pull away. "You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to fucking say sorry and-" 

But then his arms are around you, wrapping around your shaking frame, pulling you into his chest, holding you tight like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he doesn’t.

"Let me go!" You thrash, trying to shove him off, pushing against his shoulders, hitting his arms, but he doesn’t budge, "Eddie, I swear to god".

"I can't," he breathes against your hair, voice cracking. "Please".

Your whole body tenses, every muscle locked, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. 

"I’m sorry," he whispers again, arms tightening around you, "I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have read it." His voice wavers, his breath hot against your temple, "But, fuck, Sam, I didn’t know what else to do. I’m losing my fucking mind." 

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears burning hot trails down your cheeks. "You still had no fucking right," you whisper, voice thick, hoarse.

"I know," he breathes. "I know." 

You don’t want to give in. You don’t want to let this go, not yet. Not when you’re still so hurt, so raw.

But you’re exhausted. Emotionally, physically, completely drained.

And his arms are so warm, so solid, his heartbeat pounding against your ear, steady and strong. 

You can’t fight him anymore. 

Your body sags against him, and a broken sob rips from your throat.

Eddie makes a sound, a sharp, pained inhale, like your tears physically hurt him. His grip tightens, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other smoothing over your spine. "I’ve got you," he whispers. "I’ve got you, baby." 

You fist his shirt in your hands, pressing your face against his chest, soaking the fabric with your tears. "I trusted you," you choke out.

"I know," he whispers, pressing his lips to the top of your head, "And I broke that. I’m so fucking sorry."

You shake your head, biting back another sob, "I didn’t want you to see it."

"I know," he breathes, rocking you slightly, his fingers tangling in your hair. "I know, baby. And I fucked up. But I can’t, I can’t stand not knowing what’s happening to you. Not when it’s hurting you like this. Not when it’s Billy."

At the mention of his name, your whole body locks up again.

Eddie feels it. Feels the way you stiffen, the way your breath catches, the way your grip tightens on his shirt. His jaw clenches, fury burning hot in his chest. "Tell me," he whispers, his voice low, dark, "Tell me what he did, Sam." 

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Baby," he pleads, fingers twitching against your spine. "I need to know. I can’t... I can’t protect you if I don’t fucking know."

You let out a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to look at him, your tear-streaked face breaking his fucking heart. "You can’t protect me from this," you whisper.

His eyes flash. His grip tightens. "The hell I can’t."

You still don’t want to tell him. 

You can’t. 

You’re shaking in his arms, crying, trying to pull away, but Eddie doesn’t let you go. His grip is strong, desperate, his body warm and solid against yours. "Baby, please," he whispers, voice rough, rasping against your ear, "Please, just tell me."

You shake your head, your hands pressed against his chest, but it’s useless. He won’t let you push him away. "No," you croak, voice breaking. "I... I can’t, Eds. I just can’t."

His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt. "Why?" His voice cracks, his breath ragged, "Why won’t you tell me?" 

Because I don’t trust you not to do something stupid. Because I know exactly what you’ll do. 

Your chest heaves, throat burning from the sobs you’re trying to swallow. "Because if I do," you whisper, "I’ll lose you."

Eddie stiffens. His grip on you tightens, just for a second, then his hands come up to cup your face, tilting it up so you have no choice but to look at him. His eyes are wild, dark with frustration, pain, something close to devastation. "What the fuck does that mean?" he demands.

You close your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks, and shake your head.

But Eddie won’t let it go. "Sam," he presses, his voice shaking now,"What does that mean? What did he do? What did he fucking say?"

You whimper, shaking in his grasp, "I just wanna protect you, Eds." 

His expression twists into something broken. He’s panting, his fingers trembling where they hold you. "Protect me?" His voice is hoarse, "Protect me from what?" 

You don’t answer. 

Eddie lets out a harsh, shaky breath. He moves closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip tightening like he’s trying to keep you from slipping away. "I can’t stand this," he whispers, voice strained, like he’s on the verge of breaking, "I can’t fucking stand knowing you’re scared, that something’s hurting you and you won’t let me in." His breath stutters, "You’re everything to me, Sam. You’re all I have. You’re all I fucking love."

Your chest caves. A sob rips from your throat as you shake your head, still trying, still holding onto this last shred of control.

But he keeps going. 

"I can’t do this, baby," he pleads, voice raw,"Not when I know something’s wrong. Not when I know he’s involved." 

And finally, you give in. 

Your breath shudders, your whole body trembling in his arms as you whisper, barely audible, "He’s not threatening me this time."

Eddie stills.

You sniffle, choking back another sob, staring at his chest, unable to look him in the eye. "It’s you," you say, voice breaking.

His fingers twitch against your skin.

You finally lift your gaze, tears still running. Your lips tremble as you force the words out, words that taste like acid on your tongue. "He’s going to ruin your life if I don’t give him what he wants." 

For a moment, Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Until everything inside him fucking shatters. His grip on you loosens, fingers twitching against your skin, like his body is short-circuiting, like his brain can’t keep up with what you just said.

He's trying to process it, eyes darting over your face, until every muscle inside him tenses again.

His breath comes in sharp, ragged pulls, his chest rising and falling too fast.

His hands drop from your face, curling into tight fists at his sides.

"What?"

His voice is hollow, barely a whisper.

You wipe at your tears, sniffling hard. "Eds, please, I-"

His head snaps up and cuts you off, dark eyes burning, his jaw clenched so tight it might break. "What does that mean?" His voice is shaking now, rough and unsteady, like he’s barely keeping himself together. "What does he fucking want?"

You press your lips together, more tears slipping down your face.

You can’t say it. You can’t.

Eddie’s nostrils flare, his whole body trembling. "Tell me," he growls, stepping closer again.

You shake your head. Tears falling down your face as you try to avoid his gaze, try to step back. He stares at you. His breath is gone, ripped from his lungs, like someone just reached inside him and crushed his ribs with their bare hands.

Then, he finally understands.

No.

His stomach lurches, his blood turns ice-cold, and he sees it, sees the way your eyes flicker with fear, the way your shoulders curl in, the way you can’t fucking look at him.

It’s you.

Billy wants you.

He wants your body.

Eddie’s hands shake violently. His whole body trembles, like a wire pulled too tight, about to snap. His vision blurs with rage, his pulse pounding so hard in his ears he can barely hear anything else.

"He’s going to ruin your life if I don’t give him what he wants."

He hears it again, over and over, like a death sentence ringing in his fucking skull.

He feels sick.

His fingers twitch against your skin, curling into fists, his nails biting into his palms so hard he might draw blood.

"You’re lying," he whispers, but his voice is hollow. Broken.

You flinch. Your whole body trembles against him.

His voice rises, shattering through the room. "You’re fucking lying!"

Your breath hitches, tears still running. You shake your head, eyes filled with something so raw it makes Eddie want to scream.

He fucking snaps.

He rips away from you like he’s been burned, his hands flying to his hair, gripping it, pulling, because if he doesn’t, if he doesn’t find something to anchor him right now, he’s going to fucking explode.

"That motherfucker," he spits, pacing, wild, unhinged. "That motherfucker, I'm gonna-"

"Eddie, please!"

"You were just gonna let this happen?" he roars, rounding on you, eyes wide, manic, "You were just gonna... just gonna sacrifice yourself so I wouldn’t find out? You would've fucking let him rape you instead of letting me know?"

You stare at him.

Rape.

Your breath stutters.

Rape.

Eddie’s voice echoes in your head, that single word slicing through you like a knife, ripping into your chest, into your ribs, into your fucking soul.

You stare at him.

Your vision tunnels.

Rape.

It would’ve been rape.

You would’ve gone to him. You wouldn’t have fought. You would’ve let it happen because you thought you had to.

Because Billy made you believe you had to.

Your stomach lurches. Your knees nearly give out.

Eddie sees how your eyes widen, how your whole body collapses under the weight of it, the weight of the fucking truth.

"Sam," he breathes, voice different now. Quieter. Wrecked.

You shake your head. Your throat is raw, burning. "I..." You can’t get the words out. Can’t even think.

He swallows hard, stepping forward, slower this time. His hands twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t reach for you. Not yet. "What did he say?" His voice is strained, like it’s barely holding together. "What the fuck did he say to make you think you had to do this?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the tears. Doesn’t stop the horror curling in your gut.

Eddie waits.

"He’s going to the cops," you choke out.

His body locks up.

You force yourself to look at him, even though it hurts, even though his face is already twisting with fury. "Says he has proof." Your voice shakes. "Hospital documents, witnesses. He- he says he’s gonna file a report, say you assaulted him. Say you broke his nose, say you threatened him."

"Because I fucking did!" Eddie roars, throwing his arms out, his whole body vibrating with rage. "Because he fucking deserved it after all the shit he gave you, over and over again!"

You flinch, your breath hitching, but you force yourself to keep going. "And he’s gonna tell them about the drugs". Your voice cracks. "He’s gonna tell them you’re a dealer. He'll find witnesses for that, too. Lauren, maybe. Or someone else that hates you".

His breath catches. His fists clench at his sides.

"Think about it," you choke out, tears still running, "The freak of Hawkins. The guy they already hate. Who do you think they’re gonna believe?"

Eddie fucking loses it. His whole body tenses, muscles locking up like he’s holding himself back from punching through the goddamn wall. His breathing is ragged, uneven, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turn white.

"I don’t give a fuck about any of that," he snarls, "I don’t give a fuck about the cops, about his goddamn hospital records, about what this town thinks of me." His chest rises and falls rapidly, wildly, but his eyes, his fucking eyes, they’re sharp, dark, burning into you like fire. "When did this happen?"

You hesitate again. Your throat tightens.

Eddie steps forward, the heat of his body hitting you as you feel his eyes burning into your profile. "Sam," he growls, voice low, dangerous, "When?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. Swallow down the nausea creeping up your throat. "Last Friday".

The second the words leave your lips, something shifts.

Eddie’s face twists. His head jerks back, his brows crashing together, like the puzzle pieces are finally clicking into place. "Last Friday," he repeats, voice hollow.

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself.

And then, you witness the exact second it hits him.

His whole body stiffens. His jaw locks. His hands shake as realization slams into him like a freight train. "Last Friday?" he echoes again, voice rasping, cracking, "The day you thought I cheated?"

Your breath hitches.

Eddie’s eyes widen.

"The day you had a fucking panic attack," he says, voice rising, "The day you left me."

You flinch.

IHis chest heaves, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you, shake you, hold you, anything to make you understand. "That same fucking morning", he rasps, is breath catches, his voice breaks, "That’s when he cornered you?"

You nod. "I ran into him when I left the trailer to find you".

Eddie stumbles back a step.

His whole body sways, like you just punched the air from his lungs.

He's replaying it all in his head.

You, that morning, terrified because he wasn’t home. Worried sick as you ran out the door to go find him. And Billy fucking Hargrove, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

You watch how he pieces it together, how he slowly understands.

That Billy took advantage of your fear. Of your panic. Of how desperate you were to find Eddie.

That it probably triggered your breakdown even more. That it was all too much.

And he wasn’t fucking there.

Eddie’s hands fly to his hair, gripping tight, pulling at the roots. "Jesus Christ," he chokes out. His breathing is wrecked, heavy, harsh, "You kept this from me for almost a fucking week?"

You press your lips together, tears slipping down your face.

"After everything?" he shouts, voice cracking, "After that whole fucking day, after everything we went through, you still didn’t tell me?"

You shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn’t."

"You fucking should have!" Eddie roars, eyes flashing, "You should have fucking told me!"

"And what would you have done, Eddie?" you snap back, voice sharp, hoarse, wrecked, "Gone straight to him? Beaten the shit out of him? Gotten arrested?" You throw your arms out, voice rising. "He wants you to do that! That’s why he told me, he wants you to fucking snap!"

Eddie still doesn’t give a fuck. "He wants to rape you," he snarls, stepping forward, "And you think I’m just supposed to ignore that?"

You sob again, desperate tears running down your face, dripping on your shirt, soaking the fabric.

This is all too much. You feel like you're breaking in half.

"I couldn't let him do that to you", you cry, "I couldn't let him destroy you like that, when you just got that once in a lifetime chance with your band. I just... I didn't do anything, but I- ... all I want is to protect you, I-", you choke on a sob, "This is all my fault and I just wanted to keep you safe, just once. I- I didn't know what to do, I just can't let him win, I... I can't have you lose everything just because of me".

Big hands grip your face, fingers shaking against your skin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are wild, burning with something dark, something furious, but beneath it, God, beneath it, there’s devastation.

"How could you think any of this is your fault?"

You whimper, your hands grasping at his wrists, as if trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep yourself from completely falling apart. "Because it is," you choke out, your voice breaking, "You fought because of me, Eddie. This... this all happened because of me."

His grip tightens. "No."

But you shake your head, trembling in his grasp. "I dumped him. I embarrassed him, I humiliated him in front of everyone. And now he- he wants revenge."

Eddie watches as you shatter, sobs ripping through you, your breath hitching as you curl into yourself, like you want to disappear, like you hate yourself for what’s happening.

It hits him. How close you were. How close you came to actually walking into Billy’s trap. How close you were to giving in.

His stomach lurches. He can see it now, the way you hesitated before telling him. The way you kept trying to push him away, the way you tried to protect him.

Because you really, truly believed this was your burden to bear alone.

His hands drop from your face, only to wrap around you, crushing you against him.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes, "he really had you thinking you had no choice, didn’t he?"

A broken sob rips from your throat as you fist his shirt, your whole body trembling. "I didn’t know what to do," you admit, "I... I couldn’t let him take everything from you. I couldn’t-"

He buries his face in your hair, his grip unrelenting as you sob into his chest. He hears every ragged breath, every heartbreaking cry. He feels your pain, your fear, your desperation clawing at him, and something inside him snaps.

His hands shake, his blood boiling, his pulse roaring in his ears.

"I’m gonna kill him."

Your breath catches, "Eddie, no-"

"I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM!"

All of a sudden lets go of you.

You stumble, but before you can say anything, before you can even breathe, he spins around, storms toward his dresser, yanks the drawer open so hard it nearly rips off its tracks.

The glint of a knife in his hand.

Your stomach drops.

You stare at him, stumbling back, right against the closed bedroom door.

"Eddie."

He doesn’t hear you.

He sees red.

His breaths are ragged, sharp, his chest rising and falling too fast. His grip on the knife tightens until his knuckles turn white.

"He’s gonna fucking pay for this."

You shake your head, your back pressed against the door, blocking his way out, your hands trembling. "Eddie, please, what are you doing?"

"MOVE, SAM!"

He surges forward, trying to shift you aside, not rough, not yet, but desperate. He won’t hurt you, he’d rather die, but you’re in his way, and right now, all he can see is Billy.

Billy.

Billy putting his hands on you.

Billy trying to force you.

Billy making you think, even for a second, that you had to let him.

He’s gonna fucking pay.

You fight him off, pushing at his chest, sobbing, shaking so hard you can barely stand. "This is exactly why I didn’t tell you" you cry, your voice wrecked, "Because I knew you’d fucking do this".

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head, his grip tighter around the knife. "And what the fuck was I supposed to do, huh? Just sit here while he gets away with it? Sit here while you-" His voice breaks, shatters. "While you fucking suffer?"

"What are you gonna do?" you sob, your hands clawing at his shirt, trying to make him hear you, "Kill him? Then what? Go to prison for it?"

He stills.

"You gonna end up in a cell with your father?"

His whole body locks up. His breath stops.

Then, he lifts his head, and his eyes burn into yours, a storm raging behind them, his expression something you’ve never seen before. "What did you just say?" he hisses, voice low, dangerous.

You flinch but don’t back down.

"You know this fucker sits because he’s a fucking criminal," Eddie snarls, his entire body shaking with fury, "All I want is to fucking protect you. The woman I love. My heart. My fucking everything." His voice cracks, his eyes shining. "And if I’m imprisoned for it, then that’s it."

Your breath stutters. A sob rips from your throat, violent, helpless, wrecked."And what about me?" you whisper, your voice barely a breath, barely a plea. "What about me, Eddie?"

His entire face falls.

For the first time since this started, since the rage took hold and swallowed him whole, Eddie sees you. Sees the way your body is curled in on itself, your shoulders shaking, your eyes wide, filled with nothing but fear.

Not of Billy.

Not of what he did.

Of Eddie.

It breaks him.

"Baby..." His voice is wrecked, hoarse, barely a whisper.

"What about me, Eddie?" you choke out again, your lips trembling, more tears slipping down your cheeks, "If you do this, if you go out there and hurt him, if you fucking kill him--" Your voice breaks, and you press a hand to your chest like you’re trying to hold yourself together, "I’ll lose you."

He shakes his head, his chest rising and falling too fast, too hard, "No, baby, no, we-"

"Yes!" you sob, stepping forward, grabbing at his face, his arms, anything, "You will go to prison! You will be taken away from me! Do you understand that?"

His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. His fingers twitch against the knife. "He deserves it," he grits out, "He fucking deserves it for what he did to you".

"And I deserve you!" you cry, shaking your head so hard your vision blurs, "I deserve you, Eddie!" Your voice cracks. "I deserve to love you, to have you, to not fucking lose you because of him! That’s what he wants! He wants you to lose everything! To snap! To get locked up so I’m alone and helpless! Don’t you see that? Please, drop that knife, you're fucking scaring me!"

Eddie blinks, something flickering behind his rage, like your words are breaking through, like they’re pulling him from the edge of the abyss.

"You think I can live without you?" you sob, your hands gripping his wrists, shaking, "You think I can breathe without you?" Your knees almost give out. "He already took enough from me. Don’t let him take you, too."

Finally, realization hits him.

What he almost did.

What he almost became.

His breath catches. His fingers tremble. His grip on the knife slips.

With a strangled, broken sound, Eddie lets it go.

The knife hits the floor with a hollow clatter, but it might as well be a gunshot.

He just stands there. Frozen. Chest heaving. Hands still trembling at his sides. His head spins as the red haze lifts, as the weight of what he just did, what he almost did, slams into him like a freight train.

He looks at you.

You, pressed against the door like you’re bracing for impact, shoulders curled inward, eyes shining with terror.

And not just at what Billy did. At him.

His stomach drops.

He scared you. He scared you.

Eddie’s lips part, but nothing comes out. His mouth is dry, his throat tight. The adrenaline is still there, still buzzing under his skin, but now it’s twisted into something worse, something that hurts.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you, to pull you close, to fix this, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t move.

Because for the first time in his entire life, Eddie Munson doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.

"Sam," his voice barely works. It’s hoarse, wrecked, like the words are fighting to come out.

You don’t answer. You just stare at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling with rapid, shaky breaths.

"I..." He swallows, hard. His hands flex open, then curl into fists again, like he doesn’t know what to do with them, "I scared you."

It’s not a question.

Your silence burns.

Eddie shakes his head, running a hand through his curls, gripping at the roots like he wants to rip them out. "Fuck." He backs up a step. Then another. His legs hit the bed, and he sits, hard, elbows on his knees, fingers threading through his hair, head hanging between his shoulders. He exhales sharply, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes like he can shove the guilt back down.

You’re frozen.

Your breath is still coming too fast, too sharp, your ribs straining with each inhale.

The room feels too small, too heavy, closing in around you.

And Eddie, he’s just sitting there. Head in his hands, fingers tangled in his curls like he’s trying to hold himself together. Like if he lets go, even for a second, he’ll fall apart completely.

Your eyes flick to the knife on the floor. The one he dropped. The one he was going to use.

Your stomach twists.

He really would’ve done it.

You knew he’d be angry. You knew he’d lose it.

That’s why you didn’t tell him. That’s why you tried to keep it from him.

You were afraid of exactly this.

But seeing it happen, watching him become something else entirely, watching the rage consume him, watching him scream at you, fight to get past you, to kill for you - you hadn’t been prepared for that.

You should feel safe, shouldn’t you? That’s what love is supposed to be, right?

Safety. Security.

Someone who would do anything for you.

And Eddie, he would. He did. The moment he knew the truth, the moment he realized what Billy had done, what he’d tried to do, there was no hesitation. No second thought.

But it didn’t make you feel safe.

It made you terrified.

Not of him. Never of him. But of what this darkness inside him could turn him into. Of how close you came to losing him.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at him, feeling the adrenaline begin to drain out of you, leaving you weak, trembling. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, gripping tight, like if you let go, you’ll shatter into a thousand pieces.

Eddie hasn’t moved. His shoulders rise and fall with unsteady breaths, his fingers still twisted in his hair. He looks like he’s trying to disappear, like if he makes himself small enough, if he just hides, maybe this won’t be real.

But it is real.

You step forward, slowly, stepping carefully around the knife on the floor. It feels like stepping around a landmine, like one wrong move could set it all off again.

"…Eds"

Your voice is quiet, unsteady. But it’s enough.

He lifts his head. His eyes... God, his eyes. They’re dark, hollow, wrecked. He looks torn apart, like he doesn’t recognize himself anymore. Like he’s trying to figure out if you do.

You just look at each other.Both of you broken. Neither of you knowing how to fix this.

Eddie moves first. He stands, slowly, until he’s right in front of you, his tall frame looming over you, close enough to touch but not daring to. He sways slightly, like he’s unsteady on his feet. Like the weight of everything is pressing down on him, crushing him.

You don’t move. He doesn’t either.

"I don’t…" His voice is hoarse, wrecked. He swallows hard, like he’s fighting to keep himself from breaking even more. His hands twitch at his sides, aching to reach for you, to hold you, but he doesn’t. He won’t. "I don’t know how to stop it". His voice cracks. "When it’s you, when someone hurts you, I... I can’t-" He clenches his jaw, breathing in sharply through his nose. His hands curl into fists. "I don’t know how to be anything but this".

A monster.

He doesn’t say it, but you hear it anyway.

You exhale, shaky. Then, carefully, you reach up, pressing your palm flat against his chest.

Eddie freezes. His heart is racing beneath your touch, hammering like it might break right out of him. He stares down at you, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t expecting you to touch him. Like he thought you never would again. You don’t say anything. But you don’t move your hand, either. His breath stutters. His entire body is trembling. "I scared you." His voice is barely a whisper, but the way he says it, like the words are ripping him apart, makes something in your chest twist.

You don’t lie. You don’t say, No, you didn’t. Because he did. You were scared. You still are. But you’re here.

Eddie makes a broken sound, his hands finally reaching up, hesitating for just a second before he clings to you. His arms wrap around you, crushing you to him, his face burying in your hair, his body shaking with the force of his breath. "I’m sorry," he whispers, over and over, voice wrecked and raw, "I’m so fucking sorry".

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers curling into the back of his shirt, gripping him.

He's shaking.

Not just a tremor, not just a shiver, but full-body, uncontrollable trembling, like something inside him is fracturing apart and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. His grip on you is too tight, his fingers twisted into the fabric of your shirt, knuckles white. He’s holding on like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality, like if he lets go, he’ll vanish into something dark and irreversible.

You stay still, letting him hold you. Letting him press his face into your shoulder, his breath coming hot and ragged against your skin. His heartbeat is wild beneath your hands, frantic, uneven.

"I’m sorry", he whispers again, voice cracking under the weight of it. "Fuck, I- I didn’t mean-" He chokes on his words, his breath stuttering out of him. "I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

You feel how close he is to crying when he presses his eyes shut, lashes damp against your skin. His breath is uneven, shallow, his chest hitching.

"I..." Eddie swallows, hard, his arms tightening around you for a second before - hesitation.

You feel the shift before he moves, before he starts to pull away, like the reality of what he’s done is crashing back down. Like he suddenly realizes he shouldn’t be touching you. Like he thinks he doesn’t deserve to.

You catch his wrist before he can let go completely. His breath stutters. He stops moving.

His eyes are still dark, still hollow, but something in them shifts. You don’t speak.You don’t know what to say. So instead, you step forward, slowly, pressing your forehead against his. Eddie stiffens, just for a second, before his breath shudders out of him and his body sags against yours.

For a long moment, you just stand there, holding each other in the heavy silence.

Your throat is tight. Your chest aches. You don’t even realize you’re crying again until Eddie’s grip on you shifts, his thumb brushing, just barely, against your face, wiping your tears away. You pull in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. Trying to think through the mess in your head.

This has to stop.

All of it.

Not just today. Not just this one moment.

Everything.

The fights, the secrets, the way Billy has infected your lives like a disease.

The way you’ve let him.

Eddie loves you so much it’s consuming. So much it makes him reckless. Makes him a monster, when he never should have had to be one. When all he’s ever wanted was to be good for you, to be someone you can trust, someone who keeps you safe.

But you keep breaking that trust. Every time Billy comes back into your life you don’t tell Eddie. You keep it inside, let it fester, let it grow until it’s too late, until Eddie finds out on his own, forces the truth out of you, and snaps.

Every single time.

You never learn. And neither does he.

He fights. He always fights. He’s fought for you, bled for you, taken hits, gotten suspended, gotten expelled. He’s risked himself over and over, because he loves you, because he doesn’t know how to stop, because he’s afraid.

And you? You think you’re protecting him. By keeping it in. By carrying it alone. By making yourself smaller, quieter, because if you just don’t tell him, maybe you won’t have to watch him destroy himself for you.

But it’s destroying you both.

"This has to stop."

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Eddie flinches like you just hit him.

His forehead leaves yours, just enough so he can look at you. He doesn’t move.

Your chest heaves with a breath, unsteady, raw. "I can’t do this anymore, Eds. I can’t." You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look up at him. His face is so close to yours, his eyes shadowed and empty and wrecked. "We keep doing this. We let him do this to us. We let him..." Your voice breaks. You shake your head, gripping at his shirt like it’ll keep you from falling apart. "He’s tearing us apart, Eddie." Eddie closes his eyes. His jaw clenches. You press on, desperate, needing him to hear you. "I never tell you, because I know what you’ll do. And you always find out anyway. And then you do it. And I..." Your breath hitches. "I just keep making it worse. I should tell you everything. I want to. But I just keep thinking if I don’t, if I can handle it alone, maybe you won’t... maybe this won’t-"

Your words crumble into silence.

Eddie’s hand suddenly grips yours. Tight. Desperate. "I don’t want to be like this", he rasps, voice hoarse, low, like he’s barely holding himself together. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and God, he looks broken. "I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to scare you." His voice cracks, and his hands come up to your face, cradling it like you’re something fragile. "Baby, I don’t want to fucking lose you."

Your breath shudders out of you.

Eddie shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear it, like he’s still unraveling, still there, in the haze of what almost happened tonight. "But I don’t know how to stop." He swallows hard, his hands flexing against your skin. "He touches you, he- he hurts you, and I just... I can’t think, I can’t fucking breathe, I just-" His voice is shaking now, rough and raw. "It’s like something takes over, and I don’t know how to stop it."

You close your eyes, pressing into his touch, aching. "We have to stop".

He doesn’t answer. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating, until finally, Eddie nods. Barely. Just a fraction of movement.

You exhale, leaning into him, letting his hands anchor you.

Eddie swallows, his throat bobbing with the effort, and when he finally speaks, his voice is so small you almost don’t hear it. "Can I-" He stops, like he can’t get the words out. His fingers twitch against your cheek, hesitant, like he’s afraid he doesn’t deserve to touch you anymore. He swallows again, eyes flickering between yours, and when he speaks this time, it’s barely a breath."Baby, can I please kiss you?"

Your heart cracks open. Shatters. Because Eddie Munson has never asked to kiss you before. He never had to. He’d just known, like gravity, like breathing, like inevitability.

You don’t know what hurts more, the fact that he had to ask, or the way he’s looking at you now, like he already knows the answer will be no.

"Of course", you whisper, hands slipping up his chest, curling into the worn fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer until there’s no space left between you. Until your lips find his in a kiss that isn’t soft, isn’t gentle, isn’t anything but desperate.

Eddie makes a noise in the back of his throat, something wrecked, something raw, and then he’s kissing you back like he’s drowning, like you’re the only thing keeping him from sinking. His hands tighten against your face, and for a moment, just a moment, you feel him hesitate, like he’s afraid he’ll break you.So you pull him in harder. He exhales shakily into your mouth, a shuddering breath that’s half relief, half disbelief, and then it’s everything.

It’s his hands tangling in your hair, like he can’t bear to let go. It’s your fingers fisting in his shirt, like you need to keep him here. It’s the way he kisses you like he’s trying to put himself back together, piece by broken piece.

It’s the way you let him.

You kiss him again. And again. And again.

It’s frantic, messy, edged with something like grief, something like surrender. Like two people clinging to the wreckage of everything they almost lost. You taste salt and copper and him, something that has always felt like home, and you don’t care that your hands are shaking. You don’t care that the world outside this moment is still spinning, still breaking, still threatening to take and take and take.

Because right now, you have this. You have him.

You pull away just enough to breathe, foreheads still pressed together, breaths mixing, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt. Eddie’s hands tremble against your cheeks, thumbs brushing over skin like he’s memorizing you, like he’s trying to make sure you’re still real. "I can’t-" His voice breaks, and he swallows like it hurts. "I can’t lose you."

You shake your head, a whisper of movement, a promise. "You won’t".

But Eddie’s eyes are dark, storm-clouded, filled with something too deep for words. "We can’t keep doing this", he murmurs, barely a breath, like he’s only just realizing it himself, "I..." He exhales sharply, his hands slipping down to your jaw, your throat, like he needs to feel your pulse there, proof that you’re alive, proof that you’re his and still here. "I can’t keep scaring you when all I want is to keep you safe". His grip tightens for half a second before he forces himself to let go, like even now he’s afraid of holding too tight, of doing too much, of being too much. "Baby, I see you. I see the way you look at me when I... when I get like that. I know what it does to you. I know what it means". His voice hitches, something breaking in it. "I don’t want to be this person."

You don’t know what to say. So you kiss him again. Like maybe if you do it enough times, you can stitch the words into his skin. You can rewrite the ending. You can unmake the monster that he thinks he’s becoming.

His arms curl around you, pulling you in like he can’t get you close enough, like he wants to crawl inside your ribs and live there, safe, untouchable.

You fist your hands in his jacket, knuckles white, gasping into his mouth, and he swallows every sound, every shuddering breath, every desperate, silent plea. "We have to stop letting him ruin us", you whisper into the space between you.

"I know". His hands tighten, then loosen, like he’s fighting himself.

",We have to be smarter", you insist, pressing closer, like you can press the truth into him, "We have to... God, Eddie, we have to stop letting him win."

Eddie’s breath shudders out of him. "I don’t know how to walk away. To just leave it, when I know he - "

"Yes, you do", you cut him off, framing his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes, "We do. Together. We walk away together".

A sharp inhale. A heartbeat of silence.

Then, barely above a whisper. "Promise me".

You nod, throat tight. "Promise me."

He doesn’t hesitate. "I promise, my love".

And then he’s kissing you again, and it’s different this time. Slower, softer, but just as deep. Just as much. A vow pressed into the shape of your lips, a silent plea for forgiveness, for strength, for something better than this. For something more.

"I love you so much, Eds", you whisper into his mouth, and you feel the way he shivers, the way he exhales like you just knocked the air from his lungs.

"I love you too much", Eddie whispers back.

You close your eyes. Swallow hard. Try not to think about how much truth there is in that.

You're still kissing him, shifting a little, stepping forward, and something gets under your foot. A dull scrape against the floor.

Eddie freezes.

You both pull away, glance down at the knife lying between you, right where he dropped it. Right where it almost became something neither of you would have come back from.

He moves before you can, dropping into a crouch, snatching it up in one swift motion. He exhales through his nose, sharp and uneven, like he’s just now realizing it’s still there, runs a thumb over the blade’s edge, checking it, checking himself, then crosses the room and yanks open a drawer.

You hear it slide against worn wood, hear the way he shoves the knife inside with more force than necessary. Still tense. Still wired.

You're just standing there, watching him, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of your bones, weighing you down like gravity is stronger in this trailer than anywhere else in the world. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, "Why do you even have that?"

Eddie keeps his back to you for a second longer, hands braced against the counter, shoulders rising and falling with his breath. Then, finally, he turns. "For protection."

You arch a brow, "Protection from what, Eddie?"

He huffs a humorless laugh. "From who, you mean."

You stare at him, waiting.

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, eyes flickering to the drawer like he’s debating whether he should just shut it and move on. "I’m a fucking drug dealer, sweetheart." His voice is flat, matter-of-fact. "Not all my clients are friendly little high school stoners looking for a dime bag." He shrugs, but it’s too stiff, too forced. "And, y’know… trailer park. Drunks, junkies, God knows what else. It’s not exactly the safest place to live."

You exhale slowly, pressing your fingers against your temple. You knew this. You’ve always known this. You’ve seen the tension in his shoulders when someone he doesn’t trust gets too close, the way he checks over his shoulder when he’s out on a deal. You knew. But knowing and seeing are two different things. You step forward, voice low, firm.

"You need to stop dealing."

Eddie’s jaw tenses. He shakes his head, looking away. "It’s not that simple".

"Yes, it is."

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. "Shit’s expensive, baby. We wanna move in together, I gotta pay for all that. I told you imma find a real job, but until that, it's easy money."

You take another step, softer this time. "Eds…" You reach for him, fingers brushing against his arm, his wrist. He doesn’t pull away. "Anything that can be held against you. Anything that can be used to destroy your music, your life", you swallow, "Us. You have to let it go".

Eddie’s throat bobs as he swallows hard..

You keep going, steady, relentless. "Billy will use it against you. He’s already trying to rip us apart. You really want to give him the fucking ammunition?"

His brown eyes flash, something dark and furious passing over his face at the mention of Billy’s name. But then it’s gone, replaced by something heavier. Wearier. He knows you’re right. His fingers twitch at his side. "It’s just..." His voice falters. He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "It’s what we do, y'know". His lips curl like the words taste bitter in his mouth.

You shake your head, "No, it’s what your father did." You squeeze his wrist. "Not your mom. Not Wayne". You take another step, pressing in close. "Not you".

Eddie closes his eyes. His hands come up to your waist, curling in the fabric of your shirt like he’s bracing himself. Eventually, he nods. "Okay", he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, "Okay".

You sag into him, relief washing over you so suddenly it almost knocks the breath from your lungs.

"In that case, I should probably, uh… get rid of everything inside that drawer", Eddie mutters.

You nod. "Yeah. You should."

He hesitates, then moves back to the counter, gripping the edge of the drawer with both hands. He pulls it open, glances inside. You watch the way his shoulders go rigid, the way his fingers tighten against the wood. Curiously, you step forward, craning your neck to see what’s inside, and freeze.

The drawer has a double bottom you never noticed before.

And beneath it, drugs.

Pills. Weed.

The knife he just put back inside.

And a gun.

Your body moves before your mind catches up, an instinctual, visceral reaction. You step back, away from the drawer, away from him.

Eddie’s head snaps toward you at the movement, eyes going wide, "Baby".

"You have a gun?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s sharp, cutting through the thick, suffocating air between you.

He lifts his hands instantly, palms up, placating, "It’s not... I never used it".

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing in your ears. "Why the fuck do you have a fucking gun in there? I sleep here, Eddie. In this bed. Next to you. And there’s been a gun sitting in that drawer this whole time?"

He flinches like you just slapped him. "I-..." He cuts himself off, runs a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "Fuck".

You don’t move. You don’t say anything. You just stare at him, waiting, demanding an explanation without words.

Eddie swallows. His throat works around the words before they even come out. "It wasn’t supposed to be anything. I... I got it years ago. Someone..." He shakes his head. "Someone gave it to me once. As payment."

You blink. "As payment?"

"For drugs", he mutters quietly, "I was younger. Stupid. Thought it was cool, thought it made me..." He huffs a humorless laugh, shaking his head at himself. "I dunno. A badass, I guess." His jaw tenses. "So I kept it. In that drawer. The whole time".

Your stomach twists.

It’s not just the gun. It’s everything it means.

It’s something that could ruin him in a second, destroy everything, take away all the things you both want so desperately. A criminal record, a dead dream, a life shattered over something as stupid as a mistake made years ago.

"You kept it? Is it registered?" you echo, voice thin.

Eddie finally looks at you, eyes dark, haunted. "No. The serial number’s gone". His voice is quiet, like maybe he doesn’t even want you to hear it. "Filed off."

You stare at him.

You don’t know what you expect to feel. Fear, maybe. Horror. But all you feel is, devastation.

Because this is Eddie.

The guy who gives you his jacket when you're cold. The guy who writes you love songs, dances with you, makes you laugh so hard and whispers stories into your skin, who loves you so much it hurts.

And now you’re looking at him and seeing someone weighed down by the past, by stupid choices, by things that have been festering in the shadows of his life for far too long.

He’s not a monster.

He’s not a criminal.

He’s just lost.

And you can’t let him stay that way.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. Your voice is calmer when you speak again, more measured, but still firm, "We have to get rid of it. You don't know what happened with that gun. What somebody else might have done with it. It needs to go, Eddie, before anyone finds it. It's an unregistered gun, in a drawer full of fucking drugs. You'd be locked away in a fucking second".

Eddie doesn’t react at first. Then his fingers twitch at his sides. His jaw clenches. "I know", he mutters. He looks at the drawer again, like it’s staring back at him, mocking him, reminding him of every bad decision he’s ever made. You step forward again, closing the space you’d just put between you, placing a hand on his arm. His muscles are tight, wound up like a live wire. He exhales sharply through his nose, nodding once. "I’ll get rid of it".

"Now", you press.

His lips twitch, something bitter behind it "You don’t trust me?"

You hesitate. Just for a second. Because the way he broke your trust earlier still lingers.

It’s enough for him to notice.

His face shutters. He nods again, tighter this time. "Right. Yeah. I get it."

Your chest aches, you grab his arm again, "No, Eds, I--"

"I’ll take care of it", he interrupts, voice low.

You hold his gaze. Then, slowly, you nod.

He exhales hard and shuts the drawer with a quiet click, as if that’s enough to bury everything inside. "I’ll sell the rest", he mutters, "Tell Rick I’m done". You watch his hands flex at his sides. The tension still rolling off of him in waves. "I’ll keep the knife", he continue, his eyes flicking to yours, "But the gun’s gone. I swear, baby. I'll take care of that, I promise".

You swallow, still staring at the drawer. At the secrets inside it. At the things you hadn’t known.

He watches you, how you can't stop looking at his dresser and something like panic flickers behind his eyes. "Sam, I never used it", he repeats, like that’s supposed to make this better, "I kept it because, I don’t know. But it’s not...it’s not me, okay? This is not me. You know me".

Your breath is uneven, "Then why keep it?"

He doesn’t answer. Just swallows hard and looks away.

Your mouth moves before your brain can catch up, and you hear yourself asking quietly. "Why did you take the knife?"

Eddie stiffens.

You swallow hard before asking again."Eddie. If you had a gun in there this whole time, why did you take the knife?"

He doesn’t look at you. His jaw tightens."You don’t wanna know", he mutters.

Your stomach twists tighter. "I do. Tell me why you didn't take the gun. I bet you know how to shoot, Eds. Why didn't you take it?"

Your boyfriend finally meets your eyes, and for a second he almost looks like he might not say it. Like he might lie. Then he sighs. "You really wanna know? I took the knife because I wanted to feel it". His voice is flat as he adds, "Shooting him wouldn’t be enough".

Your breath stops.

He watches your reaction, shoulders tight, fists clenched like he’s bracing for impact.

"Go on", he pants, "Say it". His voice is shaking now, but his eyes are wild, daring you, "Call me a fucking monster, Sam".

You stare at him, at the way his chest rises and falls too fast, at the way his hands are shaking, at the way he looks at you like he’s already lost you. Like he expects to lose you over this.

Maybe you should be afraid. Maybe you should listen to that voice in the back of your head screaming run, run, run.

Because what kind of person says something like that?

What kind of person means it?

But you’re still here.

And you’re still looking at him.

"You’re not a monster", you whisper.

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose, a bitter sound, and shakes his head. "Don’t".

"You’re not"

His jaw clenches, "I wanted to feel him die, Sam. What kind of person-"

"You’re not a monster", you cut in, voice stronger now. You shake your head, reaching for him, gripping his arms like you can hold him together with your hands alone. "You’re angry, and you’re scared, and you don’t know what to do with it. But that doesn’t make you a monster".

He laughs, and it’s broken. "I have a drawer full of drugs. A knife. Multiple knives, if I'm being honest. A fucking gun". His eyes shine in the dim light, wild, desperate. "And I was about to commit murder. For you. Because I love you too much". His breath shudders out of him. "That is a monster."

You shake your head again, "No."

"Maybe you should reconsider your life choices," he mutters, looking away. "Your partner choices".

That makes something snap in you.

"Don’t you dare", you snap, grabbing his face, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are wide, startled, but you don’t care. You don’t let go, "Don’t you dare make this about me". His breath is ragged. He doesn’t move. "I am here because I love you", you hiss, "And you, Edward Munson, are not a fucking monster, but you are drowning. And you’re dragging yourself down deeper and deeper, and if you don’t stop..." Your voice breaks, your hands tightening against his jaw. "I’m scared, Eds. Please, stop with this. You need to stop it".

Something cracks in his expression.

"I don’t want to lose you", you whisper, "I don’t want you to throw your whole life away over this. Over him. Over some stupid, fucking game he's playing with us". His breath is unsteady. His hands lift, hesitating, before they settle over yours, pressing them into his skin like he’s afraid you’ll let go. "You gotta be smarter than this fuckhead, get rid of all that illegal shit you're apparently owning without me knowing, and fucking pull yourself together", you murmur, looking right into his eyes, holding his face to make sure he listens, "I know you wanna protect me, now I know you actually would fucking kill for me, Eds, but I don't want that. I want you to stay with me. To stay out of anything illegal. To focus on your music, on your graduation, on the things you love, okay? To make it out of this fucking town. That's what I want. I want you to be that funny, smug and cocky idiot I love so much, I want you to protect me if it means shooing some drunk idiot away or stepping up if somebody gets too close, but not like that. I want us to be happy and careless and free, you hear me? No drugs, no fights, no fucking mayhem or even murder. I need you to let that go. This side of you. Your father's fucking genes. You need to let that go, Eds. I need you with me, okay? Don't fucking leave me alone in this fucked up world. Stay by my side. Please stay by my side."

Eddie pulls you in so fast, so hard, it knocks the breath out of you. His arms crush you against him, his hands fisting into the back of your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His body trembles against yours. "I’m sorry," he chokes out, voice rough, thick with something raw and aching, "I’m so fucking sorry, baby. For all of it." You don’t hesitate, you wrap yourself around him, bury your face into his shoulder, let him feel you, all of you, right there with him. "I read your notes," he murmurs, voice heavy with regret, "I forced you to tell me. I fucking screamed at you. Lost my shit. Pulled a knife. Scared you." His voice cracks on the last word. "I made you feel like you couldn't tell me, because I, because I don’t know how to fucking control myself when it comes to you." His grip tightens, his whole body shaking, "And you've been keeping this to yourself, alone, for almost a week."You shake your head against him. He keeps going, relentless, wrecked. "The gun, I should've told you. I should’ve never had it. I should've... I should've been better."

Tears burn in your eyes. "Eddie, stop."

"And I hate that you thought you had to keep this from me." His voice is barely above a whisper now, hoarse and broken. "I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me. That you thought..." His breath shudders out of him. "That you thought you had to handle Billy alone because I can’t fucking handle myself."His forehead presses against yours, and when you look up at him, his eyes are shining. Wrecked. Ruined.

God, you hate that he feels like this, but you needed him to understand. Needed him to see it, to feel it, to get why you were so fucking scared.

You exhale, hands sliding up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands. "I’m sorry too," you whisper, "For not telling you. For keeping it in. For..." Your throat tightens, "For not trusting you to be stronger than this."

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. He leans in, presses his lips against your forehead, against your temple, desperate, over and over again. "Please don’t think I’d ever be able to hurt you," he whispers, the words like a prayer against your skin. "Please, baby, please don’t leave me."

A tear slips down your cheek. You tilt your head, press your forehead against his, "I’m not going anywhere."

Your lips meet softly at first, a careful press, the kind that says I need to make sure you’re still here. The kind that trembles with everything unspoken between you. His hands are hesitant, resting at your waist, warm but unsure, like he’s afraid you might pull away.

But you don’t. 

Instead, you breathe him in, pressing closer, your fingers slipping into his curls, tangling there as you pull him deeper. His breath stutters against your lips, and you can feel the way he shudders, how his whole body melts into yours, like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it. His hands tighten, fingers digging into your sides, grounding himself in you, in the way your mouths mold together, the way your body fits so perfectly against his.

"Baby", you whisper between kisses.

He groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours for just a second, catching his breath before he leans in again, kissing you deeper, needier. His hands roam now, sliding up your spine, fingers spreading against your back, holding you impossibly close. You feel the desperation in the way his lips move against yours, the way his body is pressed so firmly into you, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against your own. "God, I’m so sorry", he breathes, between kisses, his voice raw, aching, "For all of it. For scaring you. For everything".

You shake your head, pressing your lips to his again. "Just kiss me", you whisper, "Please, just kiss me".

And he does. 

Again and again. 

Your back hits the dresser, making a soft thud as he cages you in, arms bracketing you on either side, his mouth never leaving yours.

It’s desperate now, a clashing of lips and tongues, teeth scraping, breaths mingling.

You gasp as his hands slide up, pushing your shirt up, over your head, and he groans at the sight of you. "Fuck", he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes heavy with something between awe and anguish. His hands are shaking as he skims them up your sides, tracing the bare skin there like he’s memorizing you, "You’re so fucking perfect".

You don’t give him time to think, to dwell, to spiral. You grab his shirt, yanking it over his head, tossing it aside. He’s warm, solid, his skin flush against yours, and the sensation makes you whimper, makes your nails dig into his shoulders. His mouth is back on yours, fevered, urgent, his hands everywhere, your back, your waist, your hips, sliding over bare skin like he can’t get enough.

You’re barely aware of how you end up sitting on the dresser, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, until there’s nothing between you but the rough fabric of your jeans and the heat of his skin. 

Eddie groans, deep in his chest, burying his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "I need you", he rasps, voice thick with want, with need, with everything he can’t put into words, "I need you so fucking bad".

You tilt his chin up, making him look at you, brushing your thumb over his jaw. His eyes are dark, wide, vulnerable. "I know, baby, I need you, too" you whisper.

His breath hitches, something flickering in his expression, something broken, something desperate. His hands grip your waist as he lifts you, and you gasp, clutching onto him as he carries you to the bed. 

Your back hits the mattress, and he’s on top of you in an instant, pressing every inch of himself against you, his weight grounding you, his warmth consuming you. His lips move over you, to your lips, your jaw, your throat, trailing lower, slower, worshipping every inch of you. His fingers trace over your ribs, your stomach, his touch so gentle. "I love you", he murmurs, again and again, between kisses, between touches, like he needs you to know, like he needs to make up for every harsh word, every fight, every moment of doubt. "I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry".

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging gently, guiding him back up to you. "I love you too", you whisper, "So much. But you need to stop apologizing".

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as he presses his forehead against yours. "I just, I don’t deserve you," he chokes out, "Not after everything. Not after today".

You cup his face, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones, forcing him to look at you. "That's fucking bullshit", you whisper, "We deserve each other. And we’re going to be okay. We have to be, okay?"

His breath shudders out of him, and he nods, barely, just a fraction. "Okay", he whispers.

You kiss him again, soft this time, slow, lingering. His hands slide lower, to the waistband of your jeans, fingers curling around the button, hesitating. "Please", you whisper against his lips.

That’s all he needs. 

His hands work quickly, sliding denim down your legs, along with your underwear. You help him do the same, pushing his jeans down, fingers skimming over bare skin, feeling every scar, every ridge, every inch of him.

When you’re both bare, chest to chest, skin against skin, he pauses. Just for a moment. His hand brushes your cheek, his eyes searching yours. "I love you", he says again, voice barely above a whisper.

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer. "I know", you murmur, "Show me". 

He grins. That grin you love so much finally shows again when he moves between your legs, his cock hard and aching already, pressing against you as he leans over your naked body. His breath is warm against your skin as he kisses it, his lips tracing every inch like he’s memorizing you, like he’s making sure you’re real, here, his.

You shiver under his touch, legs angling and pressing to his sides, fingers sliding into his curls. His hands follow his lips, fingertips ghosting over your ribs, your stomach, your hips, his dark eyes locked onto yours.  "You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, like he can’t believe you’re his to touch, to love. He presses a soft kiss to your stomach, then another, then higher, lips skimming over sensitive skin until you gasp, arching just slightly. He watches you, drinking in every reaction, every shift of your body beneath him. Lips ghost over your breasts, your hard nipples, sending shivers down your spine. Then his hand moves, fingers sliding between your legs, parting you, teasing you until you whimper.

"That’s it, baby," Eddie groans, voice low, wrecked, "Let me hear you." His lips find yours again as he pushes a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, swallowing the breathy sound that escapes you.

His kiss is deep, lingering, his free hand tangling in your hair as he moves his finger, finding a rhythm that has you gripping his shoulders, gasping against his lips. He groans when he feels you react, your body shifting toward his touch, your thighs tightening around him. "God, you’re perfect," he whispers against your jaw, trailing kisses down to your neck, biting gently before soothing the skin with his tongue.

When he moves down again, he takes his time, kissing his way lower, lingering over your chest, his lips brushing your breast before he sucks lightly at your sensitive skin. His hand never stops moving, fingers working you open, curling just right, until your breath stutters, until your grip in his hair tightens. "You sound so pretty when you moan for me," he murmurs, voice thick, sending a shiver through you, his fingers luring another moan from you. He groans softly before pulling back, watching the way his fingers disappear inside you, then slowly slipping them out. His dark eyes meet yours as he brings them to his lips, licking them clean, groaning at the taste of you. "Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever had," he breathes before settling between your legs again, his hands spreading your thighs wider, guiding himself to you.

His lips find yours just as he finally presses in, slow, careful, his body shuddering as he sinks into you. Your lips part in a quiet gasp, your eyes fluttering shut at the stretch, the heat of him, the way he fills you so perfectly. "Fuck, baby," Eddie groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his hands gripping your hips like he’s holding on for dear life.

Your breath stutters, your fingers gripping Eddie’s shoulders, his back, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him. "Oh, my god, Eddie," you gasp, your lips brushing against his jaw, his cheek, before finding his ear. "You feel so good."

He groans at your words, at the way your body clenches around him, at the way you whisper his name like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. His pace is slow, deep, deliberate, every roll of his hips sending pleasure sparking through you, making you shiver beneath him. His lips find yours again, drinking in your moans, matching them with his own, the sound of your bodies moving together filling the room.

"Need you," you murmur against his mouth, fingers threading into his curls, tugging him closer. "Want you, always."

His breath hitches, his movements faltering for just a second before he recovers, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you against him. "You have me," he rasps, his lips trailing down your jaw, your throat, before he groans against your skin, "I’m yours, baby. Always yours." You tilt your head, your lips seeking his neck, your teeth grazing over his pulse before you kiss, lick, sucking gently, feeling the way his whole body shudders above you. He curses, burying his face in your hair, his pace shifting, growing deeper, his grip on you tightening. "Fuck," he breathes, voice wrecked, "You’re gonna kill me."

You whimper as he thrusts a little harder, a little slower, his body flush against yours, every inch of him pressed to you like he needs to feel every part of you at once. "More," you moan, legs tightening around him, pulling him in, "Baby, please."

His hands slide under you, gripping your back, holding you closer, burying himself deeper. "I’ve got you," he murmurs, his lips finding yours again, his breath uneven, "I’ll give you anything you want."

Every movement, every kiss, every whisper between you drowns out the fight, the fear, the pain. Right now, there’s only this. Only the way you fit together so perfectly, the way you moan his name, the way he holds you like he’s afraid to ever let go.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck again, his body pressing into yours like he can’t get close enough. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as his movements quicken, his thrusts deeper, more desperate. Every inch of him feels like it was made to fit against you, inside you, filling you completely, drowning out everything but the heat, the need, the aching, overwhelming love between you.

"God, baby," he groans against your skin, lips trailing over your throat, your collarbone, his teeth scraping lightly, "You feel so fucking perfect, can't believe you're fucking real". His voice is rough, like he can’t believe you’re his, like he’s afraid to wake up and find this is all a dream.

You whimper, fingers digging into his back, nails dragging over sweat-damp skin as he thrusts a little harder, a little deeper, making your breath stutter, making your body arch into him. "Eds", you gasp, your hands tangling in his curls, pulling his mouth back to yours, kissing him fiercely. "I need you, I- oh, my god, yes".

"You have me," he pants, swallowing your moans, his lips moving desperately against yours, his tongue teasing, licking, claiming, "I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere." His forehead presses against yours, his breath warm, uneven, his movements never slowing, never stopping. Big hands slide up your body, over your ribs, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you shudder beneath him. His mouth follows, kissing down your chest, sucking, teasing, groaning as you arch into him. "So beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with need, "So fucking beautiful."

You moan softly, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in, wanting more, needing all of him.

"Fuck," he breathes, his grip on you tightening as his hips snap forward, hitting that perfect spot that makes you cry out, makes your body tremble. "I got you, baby. Just let go.", he pants against your skin, bathing in your sounds.

His name spills from your lips, over and over, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you, your body clinging to him, desperate for more, for everything. His pace quickens, his hands everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, tangling in your hair, tilting your head to capture your mouth again. Hot lips trail back to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I love you," he murmurs, voice wrecked, desperate, "God, I love you so much."

You moan, your whole body shuddering, overwhelmed by the way he feels, the way he touches you, the way he says those words like they’re the only truth that matters. You cup his face, pulling him into another kiss, deep, messy, full of everything you can’t say, everything you feel. "I love you", you pant against his lips, and he groans, his hands gripping you tighter, his movements more urgent, more frantic, like he needs to pour everything he has into you, like he needs to prove it with every thrust, every kiss, every whispered word.

"You’re mine," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, almost pleading. "You’re everything, baby. Everything."

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, your legs locking tighter around his waist, keeping him right where you need him. "I’m yours," you whisper, voice trembling, full of nothing but love and need, "Always. Only you, Eds."

He groans, a deep, wrecked sound, pressing his forehead to yours, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm again that makes your whole body shudder.

Every movement is filled with purpose, like he’s trying to burn this into you, to remind you of exactly what you mean to him.

"Can't get enough of you," he rasps, his lips brushing over yours, barely a kiss, just breath and warmth and shared need, "Never will".

Your body reacts to his words, to his voice, to the way he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. Your hands slide over his back, nails scraping lightly, making him shiver. "Fuck, Eddie," you gasp, tilting your head to press your lips to his neck, kissing, sucking gently, feeling the way he trembles beneath your touch.

He moans lowly, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, just a little deeper, making you gasp. His hands roam your body, one gripping your thigh, the other sliding up to cup your face, tilting your chin up so he can look at you. "I need to see you," he pants, voice thick with emotion, with hunger, with love, "I need to see how good I make you feel."

You meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

It’s more than lust, it’s love, devotion, desperation. A need to make up for every fight, every moment of doubt, to prove to you, to himself, that this is real, that nothing, not Billy, not fear, not anger, can take this away from you.

His pace quickens slightly, his body moving against yours in perfect rhythm, his lips brushing yours between gasps and moans. "Say it again," he murmurs, "Say you're mine".

"I’m yours," you whisper, then again, louder, more sure, "I’m yours, Eddie. Always."

His breath shudders out of him, his grip tightening as he buries his face in your neck, pressing hot kisses to your skin.

You gasp as he moves faster, deeper, your whole body arching into him. His hands roam over your back, your sides, your thighs, like he can’t get enough of touching you, of feeling you beneath him. "Oh, fuck", you gasp, your body tightening, the pleasure building, coiling low in your stomach.

He keeps going, filling you so perfectly you can barely think, barely breathe. His breath is ragged, hot against your neck as he groans, feeling the way you tighten around him, the way your body clings to his.

"Yeah, that's it, baby," he rasps, voice thick, wrecked, desperate. His lips find yours again, capturing every gasp, every moan as he rolls his hips just right, just the way he knows you love, "Feel so fucking good... God, you’re perfect.'

You shudder, nails scraping lightly down his back, the tension coiling tighter, hotter, your body arching into his. "Eds," you whimper, "please, don’t stop. Please."

His jaw clenches, his pace stuttering for a moment as he groans at your words, at the way you’re trembling beneath him, beneath every deep thrust. "Never," he breathes, "never gonna stop." His lips trace along your jaw, down your neck, finding that spot that makes you gasp, makes your back arch as he sucks, licks, nips at your skin. "You’re mine," he whispers, voice thick with devotion, with need, "all mine."

Your fingers thread into his curls, tugging lightly, and he groans, hips jerking forward a little harder, making you cry out. "Eddie! Oh god, yes," you gasp, your body tightening around him, the pleasure building so perfectly it’s almost too much.

His thumb brushes your cheek before trailing down, between your bodies, pressing against your swollen clit just right.

The sensation sends you spiraling, your whole body tensing, pleasure crashing over you in slow, shuddering waves. "Oh, God, yes! Oh, my God--",, you gasp, clinging to him as you come, "Fuck, you're gonna make me cum, oh- m-my fucking god, yes--!"

He grins breathlessly, not stopping his stimulation, rubbing your clit in the same rhythm he thrusts deep into you, eyes wandering over your gasping, crumbling face as you cum beneath him. He watches you, eyes dark, lips parted, completely wrecked by the sight of you falling apart. "That’s it, baby", he murmurs, voice thick with awe, pressing soft kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, your lips, "So beautiful when you cum for me". His mouth is on yours again, drinking in every whimper, every breathless plea. His name tumbles from your lips as your body tenses, shuddering around him, your climax crashing over you like a wave. His pace slows, drawing it out, feeling every pulse, every squeeze, groaning against your gasping lips as he watches you come undone for him. "Fuck" he pants, his forehead pressing against yours, his body trembling.

You don’t let him pull away. Instead, you guide his hands to your hips, moving with him, keeping him deep, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, "Your turn, baby. I need you." His breath stutters, his grip tightening, his rhythm growing a little rougher, more desperate. You feel him shudder, hear the soft curses spilling from his lips as he gets closer, chasing that high. You kiss along his jaw, his neck, whispering against his skin, "Want you to let go for me. Need to feel you."

Eddie groans, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts deep one last time, his whole body shuddering as he falls apart. His hands grip you tight, his breath coming in ragged gasps, lost in the overwhelming pleasure, in you.

You hold him through it, soothing him with soft kisses, with whispered words, letting him feel every ounce of love you have for him. His body relaxes against yours, his weight comforting, grounding. His lips brush your temple, your cheek, your lips, soft and slow and reverent.

And as he holds you, as he breathes you in, he knows, no matter what happens, no matter what’s tried to tear you apart, you’ll always find your way back to each other.