Instant Karma

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines

Summary:

You live your life following the rules and doing what you're told by your boyfriend, parents and society. Eddie Munson is the exact opposite: reckless, loud and doesn't give a damn about the rules.

You're supposed to tutor him, but along the way you both learn opposites don't always just attract- they ignite.

Warnings: This story does include domestic violence, controlling relationships and eventual smut but I'll put any specific warnings at the start of each chapter :)

A/N: I've written this from a dual perspective, so each chapter will have the day from your perspective, then Eddie's. I didn't actually set out to do it that way, but I really think it helps get into both of their heads a little more.

This is an Eddie x Female Reader fic and there is no mention of y/n

I'll be posting on A03 and Tumblr

Chapter 1- Eddie's Tutor

Chapter 2- Random Act of Kindness

Chapter 3- Snapshot

Chapter 4- Campaigns & Confessions

Chapter 5- In The Rain

Chapter 6- Making Amends

Chapter 7- Shut Up Henderson

Chapter 8- Fighting Fate

Chapter 9- A Rash Decision

Chapter 10- Easing The Panic

Chapter 11- Bravado

Chapter 12- Shattered and Sheltered

Chapter 13- The Ugly Truth

Chapter 14- Keeping The Peace

Chapter 15- An Act Of Defiance

Chapter 16- Just Friends

Chapter 17- New Territory

Chapter 18- Fight or Flight

Chapter 19- Out of Reach

Chapter 20- Drunken Confessions

Chapter 21- Stolen Moments

Chapter 22- School of Hard Knocks

Chapter 23- Academic Rewards

Chapter 24- First Date

Chapter 25- Game's Over

Chapter 26- He Knows

Chapter 27- First Aid

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 28

What Happens Now

Summary: While you rest, Eddie finally opens up to Wayne and they make a plan.

Chapter Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Physical Violence, Drug/ Alcohol Use, Panic/ Fear, Injuries, Angst

Word Count: 1.8k

Eddie lingered in the doorway longer than he meant to, eyes fixed on you like if he looked away for even a second, something bad would happen again.

You were still.

He swallowed hard, dragging a hand over his face before forcing himself to turn away.

The trailer suddenly felt too small. Too quiet.

The floor creaked under his feet as he stepped into the kitchen, energy buzzing under his skin like he needed to move or he’d explode.

Wayne sat at the table, hunched over a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold.

He glanced up when Eddie came in.

Took one look at him.

“…She asleep?”

Eddie nodded once, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

“So,” Wayne started, his voice rough. “You gonna tell me what the hell's going on?”

Eddie froze mid-step. His mouth opened, then shut again, not knowing where to start.

Wayne frowned slightly. “I knew you had a thing for her, but…” 

Eddie shot him a look. “A thing?”

Wayne shrugged. “Yeah. Figured she was the reason you suddenly cared about passin’ English.” 

A pause. 

“Didn’t figure she’d be showin’ up half-dead at my door.”

Eddie huffed, shaking his head, pacing once before dropping into the chair across from him.

“It’s not just a thing,” he said, voice low. “Hasn’t been. Not for a while.”

Wayne went still. “…How long?”

Eddie rubbed his hands together, restless, wired.

“Since the start of the semester,” he admitted. “Give or take.”

Wayne blinked. “You’re kiddin’.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Wayne leaned back slightly, processing that. “All this time… and you didn’t say a word?”

Eddie let out a humourless laugh. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that.”

Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “Her boyfriend.”

“Bingo.”

Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough his knuckles went pale.

“You know how you said she was good for me?” he said. “How she’s the only reason I’ve got a shot at graduating?”

Wayne nodded once.

“She is,” Eddie said. “She’s… the only person who’s ever actually believed I could do it. Like, really believed it. Not in a ‘don’t screw up, Munson’ way. In a ‘you’re actually worth something’ way.”

Eddie exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through his hair.

“And she didn’t have to do all that”, he added. “She had everything lined up; college, future, all that crap, and she still stayed after school with me. For me. Even when she was dealing with him.”

Wayne’s expression darkened. “Scott.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie swallowed, jaw tightening. 

“He’s got leverage,” Eddie continued. “His dad’s got money, connections, school, cops, whatever. And her parents?”

He let out a sharp, disbelieving breath.

“They practically roll out a red carpet for the guy.”

Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “They know how he treats her?”

Eddie laughed once. Bitter. “They don’t care,” Eddie shot back. “Or they don’t wanna see it. Same difference.”

The words landed heavily.

“They like him,” Eddie went on, voice tighter now. “He’s ‘polite,’ he’s got a future, he says all the right shit in front of them. Meanwhile, she shows up with bruises, and they tell her to be more careful? Stop ‘provoking’ him?” His lip curled. 

Wayne’s jaw flexed, but he stayed quiet as Eddie continued. 

“…You remember that fight I got into a few weeks back?” he asked.

Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “The one you said was ‘nothing’?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “That one.”

A beat.

“That was him.”

Wayne went still. “Scott?”

Eddie nodded.

“He had her backed up against the lockers,” he said, voice tightening. “Thought nobody was looking. But I saw it. The way he had his arm up, the way she…” he cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I didn’t think. I just… went for him.”

Wayne didn’t interrupt.

“Knocked him into the lockers,” Eddie went on. “Couple punches. Nothing clean. Not enough.” His lip curled slightly. “Should’ve been more.”

“Ed”

“He deserved it,” Eddie snapped, then exhaled hard, dragging himself back. “Doesn’t matter.”

A beat.

“He didn’t fight back much,” Eddie added. “Not really.”

Wayne frowned. “Why not?”

Eddie laughed bitterly.

“Because he didn’t have to,” he said. “He just waited.”

Silence.

“After?” Wayne prompted.

Eddie stared at the table.

“He went to her,” he said. “Told her if she spoke to me again, he’d ruin me. Get me suspended. Maybe arrested. Said he knew about… you know.” He gestured vaguely. “Dealing.”

Wayne leaned back slowly. “…So what happened?”

Eddie’s hands tightened.

“She ended things with me.”

Wayne blinked.

“Wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t talk to me. Just…cut me off like I didn’t exist.”

His voice dropped, rough.

“And I thought that was it.”

A beat.

“…Until I found out why.”

Wayne watched him carefully.

“She was protectin’ you,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eddie said quietly. “She was.”

A pause.

“And I told her I didn’t care,” he added. “About Scott, the threats, none of it. Told her he could try whatever he wanted.”

Wayne raised a brow. “And she believed that?”

Eddie huffed.

“No. She was scared for me. Still is.”

His voice softened, just slightly.

“She didn’t care about herself,” he said. “Just… me graduating. That’s it. That was the whole goal.”

Wayne exhaled slowly.

“So we made a deal,” Eddie went on. “We keep it quiet. Stay away from him. Get to graduation.”

A beat.

“Then she leaves him.”

Wayne frowned. “And you were okay with that?”

Eddie didn’t answer right away.

“No,” he said honestly. “Not even a little.”

His hands curled into fists.

“But it was the only way she’d agree to anything,” he added. “She thought she could… manage it. Just get through a few more months.”

Wayne’s expression darkened. “And could she?”

Eddie’s laugh this time was hollow.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “She told me she could.”

A beat.

“Said he wasn’t that bad.”

Silence.

Eddie looked up, eyes dark.

“She lied.”

The word landed heavily.

“I knew he was an asshole,” Eddie went on. “Controlling, pushy, whatever…but this?” His voice shook. “This isn’t what she told me. Not even close.”

Wayne nodded slowly.

“She was protectin’ you again,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered. “Protecting me from doing something stupid.”

The bitterness in his voice was sharp enough to cut.

“…What changed tonight?” he asked instead.

Eddie went very still.

“He found out,” he said.

Wayne’s eyes narrowed.

“About us,” Eddie clarified. “For real this time.”

A beat.

“And he lost it.”

Silence.

Eddie’s hands trembled slightly against the table.

“The way she showed up here,” his voice caught, and he forced it steady. “He wasn’t trying to scare her this time.”

Wayne didn’t speak.

“He was trying to end it,” Eddie said quietly.

The words sat heavily in the room.

For a second, neither of them moved.

“So what was the plan after graduation?” Wayne asked.

Eddie leaned back, scrubbing his face.

“I’ve been saving,” he said. “Every deal, every job, whatever I can get. I was gonna get us an apartment. Nothing fancy, probably a dump, but ours.”

Wayne raised a brow.

“She can’t stay there,” Eddie added quickly. “Not if she leaves him. Her parents’ll kick her out. No question.”

Wayne didn’t argue that.

“I was gonna get her out,” Eddie said. “Get us both out. Fresh start. No Scott. No parents. Just… done.”

Wayne studied him for a long moment.

Then shook his head slowly.

“That’s real sweet, son.”

Eddie tensed slightly.

“But no.”

Eddie frowned. “What do you mean, no?”

Wayne leaned forward, voice steady.

“I mean, you’re not draggin’ her from one bad situation into another,” he said. “Not when she’s in the shape she’s in.”

Eddie’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“That girl in there?” Wayne nodded toward the bedroom. “She ain’t just hurt. She’s been hurt. For a long time. That don’t get fixed in some cheap apartment with bad locks and no support.”

Eddie looked down.

“If her home’s like you say,” Wayne went on, “then she don’t go back. Not at all, if we can help it.”

Eddie’s eyes flicked up.

“She stays here.”

Eddie blinked. “Here?”

“With us.”

Eddie frowned. “Wayne, this place barely fits us. One bedroom, man. You’ve been on that couch since I was a kid. I told you that ends when I graduate.”

Wayne’s mouth twitched faintly. “I remember.”

“I meant it,” Eddie said, more intense now. “You get the room back. I’m not takin’ that from you.”

Wayne waved a hand, dismissing it. “Kid, I’ve slept on that couch for over a decade. A little longer ain’t gonna kill me.”

“Yeah, well, you deserve better than that.”

Eddie shot back. 

Wayne’s gaze softened just a fraction.

“And right now,” he said gently, “so does she.”

That shut Eddie up.

“You two can have the room”, Wayne added. “But no funny business” 

Eddie huffed weakly despite himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jesus, Wayne…”

“I mean it,” Wayne said, but there was a hint of dry humour there now. “Girl’s been through enough without you getting her knocked up.”

Eddie let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh.

Then it hit him again.

“You’d really let her stay?” he asked, quieter now.

Wayne leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“I ain’t sendin’ that girl back out there,” he said. “Not when I got a roof and four walls right here. Might not be much, but it’s safe.”

Eddie’s throat tightened.

“She can rest,” Wayne continued. “Heal up proper, maybe go to college. You get yourself a job that doesn’t land you in handcuffs, help with bills, keep savin’ like you planned. Only difference is, you ain’t doin’ it alone, and she ain’t doin’ it scared.”

Eddie stared at him, eyes glassy now.

“…I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, voice rough.

Wayne gave him a look.

“You don’t,” he said. “You just do right by her and keep your head straight.”

Eddie nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

There was a pause.

Wayne watched him, really watched him.

The way his hands wouldn’t stay still, the way his jaw kept locking like he was trying to hold something back.

He knew that look.

“…I want to kill him,” Eddie said.

Low.

Honest.

Wayne didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”

Eddie’s hands curled into fists again.

“What he did to her…” his voice wavered, then tightened, “what he’s been doing,”

He shook his head, dragging in a breath that didn’t quite steady him.

“I keep seeing it,” he muttered. “Can’t shut it off. It’s just…there.”

“I know,” Wayne said.

Steady.

Certain.

Silence stretched between them.

Heavy.

Then Wayne leaned forward slightly.

“But you don’t get to fix this with your fists,” he said.

A beat.

“Not this one.”

Eddie looked up.

There was something raw in his expression now.

Something close to breaking.

“Then what the hell do I do?” he asked.

Wayne nodded toward the living room.

“You go sit with her,” he said.

“Stay calm. Make sure when she wakes up, she ain’t scared.”

A pause.

Then, quieter

“That’s how you protect her.”

Eddie swallowed hard.

The words settling somewhere deep.

He nodded.

Once.

And for once, he didn’t argue.

He listened.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot @callmefatherr@sophiejayne-illustrations713 @flavorfullsteve

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 27

First Aid

Summary: After escaping Scott, you make it to Eddie's trailer badly injured and unsure what to do next.

Chapter Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Physical Violence, Drug/ Alcohol Use, Panic/ Fear, Injuries, Angst, Broken Bones/ Ribs

Word Count: 5.4k

Your fist barely made it against the door, more of a trembling brush than a knock. The sound was so faint you almost turned away, certain you hadn’t been heard.

But then the door opened. 

Wayne Munson’s tired face appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened the second they landed on you.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, stepping out onto the stoop.

You tried to say something, anything, but your throat felt raw, scraped clean by tears and running. You were clutching your ribs without even realising it, blood drying on your lip, bruises already blooming dark along your cheek.

Wayne’s eyes moved over you, quick and panicked, disbelief hardening into something fierce. “What the hell happened to you, kid?”

You opened your mouth, but only a small, broken sound came out. “I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, voice breaking apart. “I shouldn’t have come. I just…I didn’t know where else to…”

“Hey.” Wayne’s voice softened immediately, rough with worry. “Don’t you go apologising, you hear me? None of that now.” 

The words hit something deep inside you, and your vision swam.  The adrenaline that had carried you this far began to drain away, leaving nothing but pain and the weight of everything that had happened. 

Wayne's hand caught your arm, firm and steady, grounding you before you could fall.

“Easy kid,” he murmured, tightening his grip just enough to keep you upright.

You blinked, dizzy, trying to focus, to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.

Wayne’s jaw clenched, fear flickering through his eyes before he turned his head toward the hallway and shouted, voice sharp with urgency. 

“Eddie! Get your ass out here, now!”

Eddie hadn’t moved from his bed in hours.

He’d kicked his shoes off somewhere near the door, jacket still half on, lying across the blankets like he’d collapsed. His eyes were red from more than exhaustion, though he’d never admit it aloud.

He kept replaying the argument in his head. The look on your face when he’d said those things.

He hadn’t meant what he said. Not any of it. He was just angry and scared.

Scared of losing you, scared of you getting hurt, scared of feeling this much. But he’d gone and done it anyway, hadn’t he? Pushed you away, just like he always did when something mattered too much.

“Real smooth, Munson,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair. “You always know how to screw up the good things.”

He’d thought about calling you. About showing up at the party, consequences be damned. But what would he even say? Sorry I made you cry? Sorry I said the worst thing imaginable? Sorry I love you so much it scares the hell out of me?

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up to him. His thoughts blurred. His breathing slowed. The last thing he remembered was the faint hum of the TV in the other room before sleep finally pulled him under.

It didn’t last long.

“Eddie! Get your ass out here, now!”

Wayne’s voice tore through the trailer like a gunshot.

Eddie jolted upright, heart slamming into his ribs. “Jesus,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “What the hell, Wayne, it…”He squinted at the clock. “It’s past midnight, man.”

Still half-asleep and annoyed, he shoved off the bed and stomped down the narrow hallway, voice rough. “This better be important, old man, ‘cause I swear to God…”

Then he saw you.

And the world just… stopped.

For a second, his brain didn’t catch up.

Like if he didn’t understand what he was seeing, it wouldn’t be real.

You stood by the door, Wayne’s hand steadying your arm. You were trembling, your lip split, and blood crusted along the corner. Bruises already darkened your cheek, and one of your arms was wrapped around your ribs like you were barely holding yourself together.

Eddie froze mid-step. “What…” The word caught, strangled. His breath hitched, the world narrowing to just you. 

You swayed, your lips parting like you wanted to answer, but no sound came out.

Wayne glanced back at him, his voice low and urgent. “She just showed up like this.”

You tried to say something, but your throat wouldn’t let you. Your knees buckled instead, and that was all it took for Eddie to move.

“Whoa, hey, hey! Come here. I got you.”

His voice shook. His hands didn’t.

He caught you before you hit the floor, arms wrapping around you like a reflex, like instinct, like terror. You were shaking so hard he could feel it through your clothes.

Everything in him was a hurricane, panic slamming into rage, rage slamming into fear, fear slamming into guilt so sharp it hurt to breathe.

Wayne hovered nearby, jaw tight, concern etched in every line of his face. “Get her inside, son. Careful with those ribs.”

Eddie didn’t need telling twice. He managed to prop you back up and walked you inside.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispered against your hair. “I swear to god, I’ve got you.”

He lowered you gently onto the worn couch, tugging a blanket over your trembling body.

Wayne appeared from the kitchen, eyebrows drawn tight with worry. “I’ll grab some stuff to patch her up. Keep her still,” he said, his voice firm.

Eddie kneeled beside you, hands hovering near your bruised face and ribs, his jaw tight, fists clenched with rage. He could barely think past the sight of you like this, bloodied, shaking, terrified.

“Hey, hey,” he said, voice soft but desperate. “Look at me. Please, just look at me.”

You lifted your eyes slowly, swollen and red, and met his. Every ounce of fear, exhaustion, and heartbreak pooled there, and Eddie’s chest tightened so hard it hurt.

“What the hell happened?” His voice broke, low, ragged with anger and disbelief. “Scott… he did this?”

You nodded faintly. “He knows, Eddie.”

His stomach dropped. “Knows what?”

“About… us.”

The words cut him.

“He said someone saw us. One of your friends told him.”

Eddie’s head snapped back, anger flaring so quickly it looked like it burned him. “One of my friends?”

His voice dropped.

Flat.

“Who?”

You shook your head. Tears spilt again. “He didn’t say.”

Eddie sucked in a slow, shaking breath, trying to keep his temper from exploding, trying not to make this worse, trying not to scare you. Every time he blinked, he saw another bruise on your skin.

“He was drunk,” you whispered. “And on something else. Pills, I think.”

His fists curled.

You looked down at your shaking hands. “I really thought… that was it.”

Your voice broke.

“He wasn’t stopping this time. And all I could think about was you.”

Something in Eddie shattered so silently he felt it instead of hearing it.

“Me?”

You nodded, tears spilling. “We fought, and you said those things, and I ran off, and I thought if I die right now, you’ll think I hated you. You’ll never know that I…”

Your breath trembled.

“That I love you so much.”

Eddie’s throat closed up. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he stayed still, afraid of hurting you.

“You were right, Eds,” you whispered. “He did get worse, and I didn’t listen. I thought about… that move you showed me. The one to get someone off you.”

Eddie blinked, tears welling, his mouth parting in disbelief. “You remembered that?”

You nodded weakly. “I didn’t think. I just did it. It worked.”

A tiny, cracked laugh.

“Guess you’re not such a bad teacher after all.”

Eddie let out a shaky sound, half a laugh, half a sob, before leaning forward, resting his forehead against your knee. His shoulders trembled, his voice barely a whisper. “You did so good, sweetheart. You hear me? You did everything right.”

But you shook your head immediately. “No. No, I didn’t.”

He looked up, eyes furrowed. “Hey, don’t…”

“I didn’t!” Your voice splintered under the weight of panic. “You don’t get it, Eddie. It’s like I’d been holding all of it in for so long, and I snapped. I took it too far. I fought back. I told him I hated him.” You swallowed hard, trembling. “I kicked him before I ran.”

Eddie’s brows knitted together. “Yeah? Good.”

“No…” your voice broke. “I mean, I really kicked him. I… kicked him. In the…” You gestured vaguely, your face flushing despite everything.

For a moment, Eddie just stared at you, blank.

Then the corner of his mouth twitched.

Then he made a sound like a startled choke.

Then he outright cracked, a stunned, incredulous laugh spilling out before he could stop himself.

“You… you kicked him in the balls?”

“It’s not funny!” you hissed, cheeks burning, tears welling again.

Eddie tried, he really tried, to stop laughing. But a wheeze escaped him anyway, and he pressed a hand over his mouth like that would help.

“Sweetheart, that asshole deserves a hell of a lot worse than a kick in the nuts, trust me.”

But then he really looked at you, really saw the way your hands shook, the way your chest hitched with fear, and the laughter died instantly.

His expression softened, panicked, guilt-stricken.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

You did, but your eyes were swimming.

“I made it worse,” you whispered, voice unravelling. “He warned us. He said if I even looked at you again, he’d go after you next. He said he’d ruin you, get you expelled, arrested…” Your breath hitched violently. “Eddie, you’re finally… you’re finally gonna graduate, and I, I just…”

“Hey. Stop.” Eddie slid closer, capturing your shaking hand in both of his. His voice dropped low, fierce. “Don’t you do that. Don’t put this shit on yourself.”

“I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have come here. You… you shouldn’t see me like this. I…I’m just…”Your voice cracked, and you tried to push yourself upright despite the fire screaming along your ribs. “I need to… I need to…”

Eddie’s hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could push yourself up. His grip was firm but careful, the calluses of his fingers grounding you. “No. No, sweetheart. Sit your ass down. Right now.” His eyes were wide, desperate, almost feral with fear and frustration. 

His voice cracked halfway through, sharp with fear, not anger. “You think I’m letting you go anywhere looking like this? Jesus, no. You’re not moving until I say so.”

You froze. His eyes were wild, glistening, like he was barely keeping himself from shaking apart.

“I can’t just…”

“Yes, you can,” Eddie said, too loud at first, then softer, leaning in until his forehead nearly touched yours. “You’re hurting, and you almost died tonight. You’re not leaving. Not now. Not until we figure this out. I don’t care if I have to chain myself to that damn door.”

You slumped back against the couch, every nerve screaming, trying to catch your breath. Panic still clawed at your stomach, but somehow… Eddie was managing to ground you, even as the terror of Scott’s threat still loomed over everything.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered. “You hear me? You’re safe. I don’t care what he said, what he threatened, he’s not touching you again.” Eddie slid closer, slipping an arm carefully behind your back, supporting you without pressure. His touch was gentle but firm, steady in all the places you weren’t.

“We’re gonna clean you up,” he murmured, the words thick with emotion. “And then we’re gonna figure out what comes next. Together. Because you are never going back to him. I’m not letting that happen.”

Tears spilt down your swollen cheeks. You fisted the front of his shirt, voice cracking.

“I just want you to graduate.”

Eddie pressed his forehead to yours, eyes burning, voice barely a breath.

“Yeah, well…” He swallowed, shaking. “I just want you alive.”

A moment passed before Wayne came back in with an old first aid kit, a dish towel, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. His face was carved with worry as he set everything down on the coffee table.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, settling beside you with a soft grunt. “Lemme see what we’re dealin’ with.”

Eddie stayed glued to your side, thigh against yours, holding your good hand like if he let go, you’d vanish. His thumb trembled as it brushed the back of your knuckles.

You forced yourself to sit upright, to be brave, to not make noise when the pain spiked. You kept your lips pressed together, shoulders tense, eyes flicking constantly toward Eddie, terrified less for yourself and more for what this was doing to him.

Wayne brushed your hair back gently, and you stiffened, wincing.

“Sorry,” Wayne said quietly as he cleaned around the cut at your hairline. “I know that smarts.”

You nodded quickly, like you were apologising for being hurt.

Like you didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

Eddie squeezed your hand tighter. “Hey,” he whispered, voice thin. “Look at me, okay? You’re doing so good.”

But even he knew he sounded off.

His voice was frayed at the edges, stretched tight like a wire about to snap.

Because while Wayne dabbed at your forehead, Eddie’s mind was not there.

It was spinning.

Violently.

Someone told Scott. One of his friends told Scott.

The words kept echoing.

He tried to focus on you, on your pain, on the way your breath hitched every time Wayne touched a tender bruise, but the thought kept needling him, rising like bile.

His mind raced, spinning through possibilities, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Who… who would tell him? Nobody in the group would… Dustin wouldn’t; no one else knew. So someone must have caught you. But why would they run to Scott?

Dustin wouldn’t. Jeff wouldn’t. Grant wouldn’t.

Then his brain snagged on a name he didn’t want to think.

Didn’t want to believe.

Gareth.

His brain started running in circles.

Dustin had said something about Gareth being “off.”

Gareth had been weird, quieter than usual.

His stomach knotted at the thought. Gareth had a crush on you. Eddie knew that. Everyone did.

But would he really…

Would Gareth really run to Scott?

Rat you out?

Rat Eddie out?

No.

No way.

He wouldn’t

Gareth wouldn’t

His stomach twisted. He felt sick. Hot. Numb. Betrayed.

Wayne’s voice cut through the fog like a slap.

“Ed.”

Eddie snapped back to reality so hard he flinched. “What! What? Sorry, what?”

Wayne’s eyes were serious as he held your arm gently in his hands. “Her wrist,” Wayne murmured. “It’s bad, son.”

Eddie’s stomach dropped.

Eddie blinked. “How bad?”

Wayne didn’t sugarcoat it. “It’s broken.”

Eddie’s entire body went still.

Too still.

Like something inside him stopped functioning all at once.

Broken.

Scott

Scott had actually…

Eddie’s breath left him in one violent, ragged exhale.

Heat roared through him, rage so sharp he tasted metal.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Eddie whispered, voice shaking so hard it barely sounded human. “I swear to God, I’m gonna, I’m gonna…”

You flinched.

Not from him. From the picture in your head. Eddie storms out, finds Scott, and throws himself into something brutal and final. Getting hurt. Getting arrested. Not coming back.

“Eddie!” Your voice cracked. “Eddie, please don’t, please, he’ll hurt you, you’ll get arrested, just stop!”

Your breath went too fast. Too shallow. Panic spiking so sharply your vision swam. Your good hand clawed weakly at Eddie’s sleeve like you were trying to hold him in place.

Like he was already halfway gone.

Wayne reacted instantly.

“Ed. Come here.”

Eddie didn’t move. He couldn’t. Rage had him by the throat.

Wayne didn’t repeat himself.

He grabbed Eddie by the elbow and yanked him to his feet, hard enough to break the spiral, to shock him into the present, dragging him to the other end of the room.

“Wayne!” Eddie barked, struggling. “Let go, I’m not…I can’t…”

“Son,” Wayne snapped quietly. “Look at her.”

Eddie looked.

And what he saw nearly dropped him to his knees.

You were trembling, holding your ribs, and still watching him, terrified for him instead of yourself.

Trying to be brave.

Trying not to make a fuss.

Trying not to upset him while your wrist hung wrong and your breath hitched with every movement.

Wayne’s voice softened, but only just.

“You listen to me, boy,” Wayne said, low and firm. “She’s in bad shape. Real bad. And she’s looking right at you while she’s hurtin’. She’s scared you’re about to run out that door and get yourself killed.”

Eddie froze.

Wayne leaned in, voice rough with urgency. “She’s feeding off you. If you lose it, she’ll lose it. If you panic, she panics. You wanna help her? Then you calm the hell down.”

Eddie swallowed hard, throat thick, chest hammering.

“But Wayne,” he rasped, tears burning his eyes, “he broke her wrist. He…he could’ve…she could’ve…”

“I know,” Wayne said firmly. “I know, son. But you fall apart right now? She’s goin’ with you. And I’m real worried she’s already this close to shock.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. He forced air into his lungs.

Then again.

And again.

He looked back at you.

Your eyes were glassy, pleading, terrified he’d blame himself, terrified he’d explode, terrified he’d leave your side when you needed him to stay.

And Eddie felt something inside him click, painfully, violently, back into place.

Eddie didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

He wasn’t built for this, for staying, for holding it together when everything in him was screaming to run. That’s what he always did, right? When things got too heavy, too close, too real, he bailed. Cranked his music, lit a joint, laughed too loud until it drowned out everything that hurt.

But he couldn’t run this time. Not from you.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist, breathed once more, and nodded stiffly.

“I’ll stay calm,” he whispered, voice trembling but resolute.

“Good. Now listen,” Wayne said, glancing back at you. “I’m worried about her ribs. The way she’s holding herself… something’s wrong.”

Eddie’s breath stalled. “Wrong… wrong how?”

“I don’t know. Maybe cracked. Maybe worse. I need to go look for some more bandages. While I do that, you need to check her ribs.”

“Me?” Eddie sputtered. “Wayne, I don’t, I can’t… I don’t know what I’m doing man!”

“You don’t gotta be a doctor,” Wayne said simply. “Jus’ check her chest, stomach, and ribs. Look for bruisin’, swelling, anything that looks wrong. If somethin’ looks off, I’ll come in and take over.”

Eddie stared at him, pale, panicked in an entirely new way.

“I’m gonna screw it up,” he whispered.

Wayne squeezed his shoulder again, firm, grounding. “Son… she ain’t scared of you. She trusts you. And right now? That’s what she needs more than anything.”

Eddie’s breath trembled.

Then he nodded.

Small. Weak. But determined.

He turned back toward you, and even through the pain, you were watching him with wide, nervous eyes.

And Eddie forced himself to breathe slowly, to soften his face, to kneel beside you again like he wasn’t falling apart inside.

“Hey,” he whispered gently, brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “ Wayne’s gonna grab more stuff, okay? And… um… I need to check your ribs. 

His voice shook, but only a little.

“I’m right here. I’m gonna be careful. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, already trembling.

Eddie reached for the hem of your shirt with hands that were trying very, very hard not to shake.

“Okay,” we’re gonna get this off you real careful, yeah?”

Your hands shook as you tried reaching for the hem of your shirt, but the moment your wrist moved, pain shot up your arm, and you gasped.

“Hey, hey, no,” Eddie murmured quickly, catching your good hand. “I got it. Let me… let me do it.”

You nodded, breath trembling.

Eddie swallowed hard and slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, lifting it gently over your ribs. You hissed in pain, every inch of movement sending fire up your side.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I know. I know it hurts.”

He paused midway, hands frozen at your waist, trying to lighten the tension, the Eddie instinct that kicked in even when he was terrified.

“… I really wish I were taking your top off under different circumstances.”

You glared weakly at him. “Eddie…”

The joke wasn’t appropriate, and you probably should have smacked him.

But the tiniest, broken twist of a laugh escaped you, and Eddie tried to give you a little smile back, until the shirt finally slid free.

And the smile vanished.

Completely.

Eddie froze, breath punched out of him.

Your chest, your stomach, your sides, every inch was bruised, some spots dark purple and blue, others red, swollen, angry. A few places looked like you’d been struck with something hard. One bruise near your ribs bled into another so much it was just one long smear of pain.

There were scrapes. Fingermarks. A smear of dried blood along your side.

Eddie’s face drained of all colour.

“Oh my god…” he whispered, voice breaking. “Sweetheart… he did all this?”

He reached out but stopped his hand just above your ribs, too afraid to touch you.

You felt yourself shaking. “It’s not that bad.”

“Don’t,” he said, and his voice cracked hard enough to split him open. “Don’t you dare say that. Not when I’m looking at you like this.”

He forced himself to breathe, to steady his hands, to remember what Wayne told him.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I’m gonna check your ribs, alright? Just… tell me if it hurts too much.”

He lifted his hand, slow, feather-light, and pressed two fingers gently near the edge of the bruising, nowhere near the worst of it.

You stiffened, face crumpling, jaw clenched so tight your teeth squeaked.

Eddie’s stomach twisted.

“Sorry, baby, sorry,” he whispered quickly. “I barely touched you.”

“I’m okay,” you lied through your teeth.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking so hard the couch is vibrating.”

He hesitated, then moved his fingers slightly lower, checking the next rib.

Your sharp, strangled gasp made him jerk back like he’d been burned.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, horror flooding his voice. “Okay, okay, that’s not normal. That’s not right. Those ribs are, they don’t look right.”

You tried to look down, but Eddie caught your chin gently.

“Don’t. Don’t look. Just… just breathe for me, okay? Nice and slow.”

But his eyes stayed on your ribs, panic rising again despite everything Wayne said.

Because he could see it.

Halfway down your right side, one rib wasn’t lining up with the others. It jutted too far out and dipped strangely under the next one. The bruising was darker there, angrier.

His stomach dropped.

“Oh shit,” he whispered, voice small, terrified. “Shit, Wayne! WAYNE!”

He was shaking his head fiercely, eyes wild, hand hovering over your ribs like he was afraid to touch you again.

Wayne finally stepped back into the room, eyes averted politely at first, then he saw Eddie’s face and the panic there.

“Alright, alright, hold on, just let me…” He crouched down, keeping his movements deliberate. 

He didn’t touch at first, just looked.

Then he hummed under his breath, low and troubled.

“What?” Eddie barked, voice too loud. “Wayne, what?!”

Wayne sighed through his nose. “That’s not just bruisin’.”

You tensed, breath catching, heart pounding.

Eddie felt your panic spike and grabbed your hand, squeezing hard.

Wayne continued, careful and calm. “Somethin’s off with that rib. Could be cracked. Could be broken. Could be more than one. Hard to say without an X-ray, but it ain’t right.”

Eddie’s breath stuttered like he’d been punched.

You swallowed hard, voice trembling. “Is it… bad?”

Wayne paused before answering, which was answer enough.

Then:

“I think we’re lookin’ at a hospital visit, darlin’. 

The moment the word hospital hit the air, you froze.

Your whole body tensed. “No.”

Wayne held up both palms, gentle but firm. “I know you’re scared. I get it. But you’ve got a rib sittin’ wrong, and that ain’t something we can fix with tape and a prayer.”

Your breath hitched. Your eyes went glossy and unfocused. And before either of them could blink, you were shaking your head. Hard.

“No. No no, I can’t. I can’t go there.” Your voice cracked into something small and terrified. “My parents, they’ll find out, Scott will know where I am, please, no. No hospital.”

You tried to sit up, tried to scramble away even though your wrist screamed and your ribs lit up like fire. Eddie reached for you, but you flinched from touch, too panicked to understand anything beyond get out.

You pushed off the couch, breath shaking, your good hand fumbling for your shirt, your bag, whatever you could grab. Pain lanced through your ribs and wrist, but adrenaline shoved you forward.

“Whoa, hey, no.” Eddie caught you around the upper arms, gentle but firm, terrified of hurting you. “Sweetheart, no, stop, stop, please, don’t move like that. You’re hurt.”

But you kept shaking your head, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“He’ll find me,” you whispered. “If he knows I’m hurt, if he knows where I went, if my parents. Eddie, please…”

Your breathing was too fast, too shallow. You were spiralling hard.

Wayne stepped in then, not rough, not loud, just steady. He placed a careful hand on your uninjured shoulder.

“Alright,” he said, calm as stone. “Okay. Look at me.”

You forced your eyes up.

“We won’t take you tonight,” Wayne said. “Not if you’re this scared. Not if you’re stable. I won’t do that to you.”

You nodded helplessly, still crying but no longer fighting.

Eddie eased you backwards, guiding you to sit again before your legs gave out. His hands were shaking as he brushed your hair off your face.

You swallowed hard. “I’m sorry…”

Eddie’s face fell like you’d punched him.

“No. Don’t apologise. Don’t ever apologise for being scared.”

Wayne stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Make sure your breathing stays steady. If anything gets worse, we are going, no arguments.”

You trembled and said thank you, breathing unevenly.

Eddie shifted closer, hands gentle on your shoulders. “Okay… okay, breathe with me,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. He pressed a hand lightly to your back, guiding you. “In… slow. Hold it… now out. Good. Again. Nice and slow.”

You followed his rhythm, shaky at first, your ribs protesting, but the sound of his voice, soft and grounding, helped anchor you. The fire in your chest dulled slightly, the panic easing just enough that you could focus on him instead of the pain.

Wayne moved efficiently around the couch, cleaning and dressing your cuts, pressing gauze and bandages gently against bruised skin. “This’ll sting a little,” he warned, but was careful not to hurt you more than necessary. Eddie never left your side, rubbing your back, murmuring encouragements, sometimes joking quietly to make you crack a tiny laugh despite the blood and bruises.

Finally, Wayne stepped back, surveying his work. “Alright,” he said, voice firm but calm. “That’s the best we can do tonight. You’re patched up. No more fiddling, no more moving. Now, get her to bed before she does herself even more harm.”

Eddie nodded quickly, relief and exhaustion washing over him. “Yeah… yeah, come on,” he murmured, sliding one arm carefully under your shoulders, the other around your waist. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you into bed.”

Eddie sat you on his bed while he rummaged through a drawer, muttering under his breath, then pulled out one of his old, soft band tees, the one you’d stolen twice already, and he’d pretended not to notice.

“Here… you can wear this. At least… sleep in something that doesn’t smell like panic and blood.”

Despite everything, the pounding ribs, the fear, the exhaustion, you let out the smallest huff of a laugh. “Thanks…”

Eddie’s shoulders dropped in relief at the sound.

He moved closer, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. “Arms up, sweetheart,” he said softly.

You obeyed, shaky and slow. Eddie helped you peel off your bra, careful not to pull at the bandages Wayne had placed. He paused for a second, not staring, not checking you over, just looking at your face to see if you were okay.

Then, because he was Eddie and couldn’t help himself even now, he added in a quieter, crooked whisper, “Also, for the record… this is not how I imagined getting you out of your bra tonight.”

You swatted at his arm weakly. “Idiot.”

Then he slipped his shirt over your head and eased it down your body, guiding your arms through the sleeves, smoothing it gently against your ribs so it wouldn’t catch.

When he leaned back, he gave you a small crooked grin. “You gonna leave me any clothes at this point? Or should I just start borrowing yours?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled weakly, leaning back against him as he helped you slide under the covers. Eddie’s hands lingered for a second on your shoulders, making sure you were settled before he climbed in beside you. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close, just the way you liked, secure, warm, and impossibly comforting.

His eyes dropped, guilt flooding every inch of his face. “Hey,” he murmured, voice thick. “I… I need you to hear something. Okay?”

You blinked through the blur of tears, confused and hurting.

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing your cheek like he was scared he didn’t have the right to touch you anymore. “What I said earlier… that shit about you just… taking it. Being the perfect daughter, the perfect girlfriend, no matter how he treats you…”

He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as if the memory physically hurt him.

“I didn’t mean any of that,” he said, voice cracking around the edges. “I was angry and ran my mouth like an asshole, and I hurt you. I know I hurt you.”

You pressed a hand to his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his breath. “Eds… It’s okay. I know.”

“No it’s not. You looked at me,” he whispered, jaw trembling, “like I’d just confirmed your worst fear. Like everything he says to you, every lie he’s fed you was suddenly true.”

Your breath hitched. He was right.

“I said you just let people hurt you,” he whispered.

His voice broke.

“And then you show up like this…”

He shook his head, swallowing hard.

“You fought your way out. You got away from him.”

His eyes met yours, fierce and wrecked all at once.

“I was so wrong.”

His fingers slid to cradle the back of your neck gently, like he was holding something fragile and precious. “You are not someone who lets people hurt you. You are not weak. You are not put on this Earth to please some asshole who wants to control you.”

“If something had happened tonight “ 

His voice cracked outright, tears slipping free despite him trying so hard to hold it together. “If I had lost you with that being our last conversation, I don’t think I’d ever find my way back from that.”

Eddie…”

He shook his head, forehead touching yours, voice barely a whisper.

“You’re my girl,” he said, raw, honest. “You’re all I think about, even when I’m trying not to. And seeing you hurt…” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t handle it. But that’s on me. Not you.”

Your fingers curled weakly into his shirt.

“I was scared,” you whispered. “I was scared you’d go after him. That you’d get hurt. That he’d… take everything from you.”

Eddie’s eyes closed, like your words physically hit him. His arm tightened around you, gently but fiercely.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed against your hair, “he’s not taking a damn thing from me. And he’s sure as hell never laying a hand on you again.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, slow, lingering.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. “Right here. With me. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

You let yourself sink into him, the warmth of his body, the gentleness of his hold, the familiar scent of his shirt against your skin, and for the first time all night, your breathing started to settle.

“Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “I’m right here.”

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot @callmefatherr@sophiejayne-illustrations713

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 26

He Knows

Summary: After your fight with Eddie, you try to pull yourself together before going to a party with Scott. But as secrets come to light, things take a terrifying turn.

Chapter Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Physical Violence, Drug/ Alcohol Use, Panic/ Fear, Injuries, Angst

Word Count: 2.5k

You stared at your reflection in the mirror above your dresser. Your eyes were red and raw, and your makeup had smudged in tired streaks down your cheeks. You’d washed your face twice, splashed cold water over your skin until it stung, but nothing could take away the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

Eddie’s words echoed in your head on an endless loop. 

Maybe you want it.

You swallowed hard, pressing a trembling hand to your mouth like you could stop the sob that kept threatening to break through. 

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have. Not Eddie. 

But the look on his face when he said it…

The anger, the fear, the way his voice cracked. It still felt like a knife twisting deep.

You dragged in a shaky breath and reached for the first outfit you could find that would be good enough for Scott, but not enough to grab attention. Movements automatic, you dressed like a zombie, dabbing concealer under your eyes to hide the evidence of your breakdown, even though your skin still throbbed from crying.

Then Scott’s car roared up the street, bass rattling your windows, his buddies pressed into the backseat like human sardines, laughing way too loud and smelling like smoke and cologne. 

You froze at the curb, stomach in knots, but then Scott leaned across the passenger seat and popped the door open with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“There’s my girl,” he said, voice sharp around the edges.

You climbed in, heart hammering. His arm slithered around your shoulders before you could even buckle in, tugging you against him like it was normal.

His hand pressed at the base of your neck, thumb tracing circles that weren’t comforting.

“You look nice,” he said finally, eyes glued to the road. “Guess someone had a reason to get all dressed up, huh?”

“Just a party, Scott,” you said, forcing a smile.

He hummed, low and calculating. His fingers dug a little deeper into your shoulder. “Mm. Yeah… just a party.”

A stretch of silence passed, heavy and loud. Then his voice came, “You’ve been busy, huh? Yearbook… hanging around after school.”

Your pulse spiked. “Yeah, deadlines. You know how it is.”

Scott hummed, noncommittal. His hand squeezed your thigh just a little too tightly. “Mm. I do. Just… Hope you’re not getting into any trouble.”

You stiffened beneath his touch, every muscle tightening beneath the weight of his hand. The casual tone didn’t match the pressure of his fingers, or the way his eyes flicked toward you, sharp, assessing, almost amused.

You stiffened. “No. Nothing like that.”

His lips twitched, a mock-sweet smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Good. Because you wouldn’t keep anything from me, right?”

“Of course not,” you muttered, forcing the practised calm that always let you survive nights like this.

The party was already in full swing by the time Scott pulled up. Music pounded through the walls, laughter spilling out the open door, the air thick with cigarette smoke and cheap beer.

Scott’s hand stayed on your back as he guided you inside, his friends trailing behind like shadows.

You spotted familiar faces from school, and you were about to head over, when Scott’s arm hooked around your waist. He dragged you toward the kitchen where the keg was, nodding to a group of jocks and cheerleaders like he owned the place.

“Look who finally showed,” one of them teased, grinning at Scott before glancing at you. “We haven’t seen you in a while. Scott been keeping you locked away?”

Scott chuckled like it was all a joke, but the way his fingers dug into your hip said otherwise.

“She’s worth keeping close. You never know who might try and… steal her away.”

You froze for a moment before regaining your composure and forcing a laugh. 

As the party went on, Scott had been getting louder and wilder, shots mixed with pills you didn’t recognise, his laughter sharp enough to cut. You’d kept yourself small in the corner of the living room, clutching a half-warm soda instead of alcohol, trying to vanish into the wallpaper.

Your chest still ached from earlier, from the fight with Eddie. His words echoed in your head, louder than the music. You wanted peace. You wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Hey,” one of Scott’s friends said. He wasn’t one of the loud ones; he was new to the team and usually hung at the edge of the group. He offered you a lopsided smile. “You look like you’d rather be at the dentist.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“The look on your face,” he said, grinning now. “Like you’d pay money to be anywhere but here. Even if it meant root canals.”

It pulled a laugh out of you before you could stop it, small, real, breaking through the heaviness like a crack of light.

But then a shadow fell over you.

Scott.

He stumbled forward, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched, his body vibrating with booze and whatever else he’s swallowed. His hand clamped around your arm hard enough to sting.

“The fuck is this?” His voice was loud, cutting through the music. Heads turned. 

You froze. “Scott…”

He jerked you to your feet, glaring at his friend. “You think you can just come over here and flirt with my girl? Right in front of me?”

“Dude, come on,” the friend raised his hands, backing up. “I wasn’t…”

But Scott wasn’t listening. He dragged you away from the couch, through the press of bodies, ignoring the startled looks, ignoring your protests. Out of the sliding door into the cool night air, the music muffled behind glass.

Once you were outside, Scott slammed you against the siding, his grip iron tight on your arm, his face twisted with anger.

“You think I don’t see it?” he hissed, eyes wild. “You think I don’t notice when you smile at other guys? Laugh at them?”

Your chest heaved, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear him. “I wasn’t…he was just being nice!”

“Don’t lie to me.” His fingers dug in deeper. “I told you what would happen if you so much as looked at anyone else.”

For the first time, the thought flashed sharp and terrifying: He knows. 

The cold air stung as Scott dragged you off the porch, down the side of the house, his grip bruising your wrist. The thump of music faded into a dull heartbeat behind you, replaced with the scrape of gravel under your shoes.

“Scott, please,” you whispered, tugging at his hold. “You’re drunk, you’ve taken too much, you’re not thinking straight…”

“Shut up.” His voice was low, dangerous, vibrating with something darker than alcohol. He pushed you into a narrow alley, the shadows swallowing you both.

You tried again, your voice shaking. “Nothing happened inside, I swear, he’s your friend, I’m not flirting with anyone. I don’t have time for…”

The crack of his hand across your face was sudden and sharp. The world tilted, hot pain blooming across your cheek. You staggered back, stunned, as tears sprang to your eyes.

Scott’s chest heaved as he glared down at you, his pupils blown wide, spit catching on his lips as he spat the words out:

“Don’t you fucking dare lie to me.”

Your heart pounds so hard you feel sick. “I’m not…I,” 

He slammed a hand into the wall beside your head, the sound cracking through the alley like a gunshot. “You think I don’t know? Huh? You think I’m fucking stupid?” His voice rose, ragged, slurred around the edges, trembling with a fury that reeked of booze and pills. “I know you’ve been sneaking around with the freak again.”

The bottom dropped out of your stomach.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb!” His face twisted in the shadows, red-rimmed eyes wide, teeth bared. “One of his loser friends saw you kissing him. They told me everything.”

You froze. The world tilted. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Scott leaned in close, the stench of alcohol and sweat choking the air. His fist knotted in your shirt, jerking you forward until you could feel the heat of his breath on your face. “All this time, you thought you were so clever,” he spat. “Running around with that loser behind my back. You think he loves you? You think he can protect you?” His lip curled into a sneer. “One word from me and he’s done. You’ll never see him again.”

Confusion and terror tangled in your chest, your throat burning. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out, just air and fear.

Then the punches came. Fast. Brutal. Wild. Each one drove the air out of you, each one blurred your vision until the world dissolved into pain and noise.

“Why won’t you just do what I tell you?!” he shouted, spit flying. “Stop embarrassing me! Stop acting like you’re in charge!”

You staggered back, arms up, trying to protect yourself, your voice barely a whisper. “I… I’m not trying to!”

You hit the wall again, brick biting your shoulders, then he shoved you down.

You hit the ground hard. The impact rattled through your ribs. Dirt filled your mouth. You coughed, gasping for air, your chest screaming.

Then his boot came down. Once. Twice.

Pain exploded through you, sharp and white-hot. You curled into yourself, trembling, every nerve on fire.

Something inside you broke. But not in the way he wanted.

“I hate you!”

The words came out cracked, hoarse, but real. They filled the air like something you’d been holding back for years.

He froze mid-strike, his hand hovering. You kept going.

“I hate everything about you!” you gasped, breath hitching. “I hate the way you talk to me, the way you treat everyone like they’re nothing! I hate that I’m scared all the damn time! I don’t want to be with you, I never wanted any of this!”

Your voice shook but didn’t falter. The truth clawed its way out, raw and burning. 

“I love Eddie.”

A breath

“Do you understand that? I love him. And I don’t care what you say or what you do, I’m done being scared of you.”

For a moment, there was silence. Your chest heaved. The world held still.

Scott stared down at you, eyes glassy, his chest rising and falling too fast. You saw it, the flicker of shock, the hesitation. But it vanished as quickly as it came.

His face twisted, the drugs and alcohol in his system only heightening his emotions. “You stupid bitch,” he hissed. “You think I want you? You think we get to choose?” He lunged, grabbing you by the throat. “You should have fucking listened to me!” he shouted, spittle hitting your cheek.

You clawed at his wrist, air burning in your lungs, tears streaming down your face. There was no reaching him. No reasoning.

This wasn’t a fight anymore.

This was it.

And all you could think, all you could feel, was the weight of your last words to Eddie. The look on his face when you’d stormed away. The things he’d said, the things you’d said back.

He thinks you hate him.

And the worst part? He’d warned you. He said Scott would go too far. He’d tried to teach you how to fight back. You could still hear his voice, half-serious, half-playful, when he’d shown you the move, his hand guiding yours, his laugh soft and warm. I’d sleep better if you knew what to do. 

You’d rolled your eyes. You’d told him you’d never need it.

But now… You did.

The world was blurring, edges going dark. Your heartbeat thundered in your skull. You thought of Eddie’s eyes, the way he’d looked at you, worried, soft, so damn full of love, and something inside you snapped into focus.

You took one shaking breath, then moved. 

Make it ugly, make it sudden, make it work.

You planted your heel, twisted your hips, and shoved hard, breaking Scott's grip. You followed it with a swift kick to the balls, just like Eddie had taught you.

Scott's eyes widened.

And then, for the first time in forever, your body listened to your mind.

Run

Your feet pounded against the gravel, every step echoing in your skull. Your breath came in sharp, tearing gasps. The alley behind you blurred into darkness and noise, the thud of music, the roar of Scott’s voice, fading but still too close. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Your lungs burned. Your legs screamed. Your heart felt like it might split your ribs open. But you kept running. Because stopping wasn’t an option, not with him behind you, not with his voice still clawing through your head.

Each step took you farther from him, farther from that alley, from the fists, from the terror that still clung to your skin.

By the time you stumbled onto the main road, your body was trembling so hard you could barely stay upright. You pressed a hand to a streetlight, breath shuddering, the cold metal grounding you just enough to stop from collapsing completely.

And then the sobs came, raw, ugly, unstoppable. Relief tangled with pain until you couldn’t tell them apart. You were free, for now. But the word free felt fragile, like it could break if you breathed too hard. Because Scott knew. He knew about you and Eddie. And he was still out there.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand and kept walking, half-stumbling through empty sidewalks and dim pools of streetlight. Every shadow made you flinch. Every sound made your pulse spike. You didn’t have a plan, just the need to keep moving.

Home wasn’t an option. Steve’s wasn’t certain. The whole Wheeler family had gone away for the weekend.

Your vision blurred as tears welled again, but through the shimmer of streetlights, you caught sight of a weathered wooden sign:

FOREST HILLS TRAILER PARK.

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t want to go there. Not after the fight. Not looking like this, bruised, dirty, shaking. You didn’t want Eddie to see you like this.

But you had nowhere else. No one else.

Your throat tightened, but your feet moved anyway. One step. Then another.

The night air bit at your skin as you crossed into the trailer park. Each trailer looked the same, small and quiet, but you knew exactly which one was his. You could’ve found it blindfolded.

Your legs wobbled, every muscle screaming to stop, but you kept going, following the faint light spilling from a window.

By the time you reached it, your vision was swimming. The familiar shape of the trailer came into focus, its porch light flickering weakly. 

You didn’t want to knock. You didn’t want him to see you like this. But you couldn’t make yourself leave either.

For the first time since that alley, you let yourself imagine what it might feel like to be safe again. 

You took a breath that rattled all the way through your bones and stepped toward the door.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot @callmefatherr@sophiejayne-illustrations713

[northernsoulktf]

Hey… I know I kind of disappeared for a while, and I’m really sorry about that 🤍

I’ve been pretty unwell, so everything sort of got put on hold for a bit.

The good news is I have been writing. I’ve got 3 more chapters of Between the Lines ready. I just need to figure out how to actually upload them from my phone 😅

Thank you for being patient with me, it genuinely means so much. I’ll have everything up as soon as I can 🫶

[northernsoulktf]

missing between the lines 😔🤍🤍

I’m sorry 💔💔

I do keep trying to write but i’ll get so far, lose confidence and scrap it.

It’s such an intense part of the story and I just keep thinking nothing i write is good enough.

My confidence is at rock bottom atm. When I got the HG under control and got out of hospital, my boss’ attitude completely changed towards me. I’m getting left out of important conversations, and treated like i’m incapable. Atm i’m working 7 days a week and I don’t even know what i’m trying to prove.

I’m coming home every day defeated and exhausted, then overthinking everything.

I’m hoping I manage to get my head out of my arse soon and finish the next part for you lovely lot. I appreciate the love for the story more than you know and I really hope the next part doesn’t disappoint after all of the waiting ❤️❤️

[northernsoulktf]

AHHHHHHHH ITS ALL SO GOOD KEEP WRITING IM SO WORRIED SCOTT IS GOING TO TRY AND ASSAULT HER AT THIS PARTY 😭

Thank you so much! I've just finished the next chapter and I'm so nervous to post 😭

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 25

Games Over

Summary: As you and Eddie try to protect each other, you clash worse than ever.

Chapter Warnings: Abusive Behaviour (Scott)

Word Count: 2.1k

The halls were almost empty by the time you left yearbook, the echo of lockers slamming and sneakers squeaking fading into Friday’s quiet. Your stomach was twisted tight. Scott had been awful all day, snapping at you in front of his friends, digging his nails into your arm, whispering ugly things when no one was listening. And tonight, there was a party you were expected to smile through at his side.

You couldn’t go yet, not like this.

You needed… something. A pause before the mask went back on. Just a sliver of comfort, the chance to be held, to talk about anything that isn’t Scott or your family or the performance waiting for you tonight. A moment of normal, with the one person who made you feel like you were more than the cage you’d been shoved into.

So when you spotted the Hellfire boys spilling out of their room, laughing, arguing, Dustin waving a set of dice around, your heart beat faster. You waited until they were gone, until the coast was clear, and then you slipped down the hall, pushing open the heavy door.

Hellfire had wrapped up nearly half an hour ago, but the smell of grease and Sharpie still clung to the room. Eddie was alone again, clearing the battlefield with his usual careless method, dice scooped into one hand, maps rolled in crooked tubes. He was humming under his breath. 

When you appeared in the doorway, his head snapped up.

“Sweetheart.” His voice was warm, but the word carried surprise, and a flicker of worry. He glanced behind you, as though expecting someone to follow. “We said Fridays were risky. Basketball practice runs late.”

“I know.” Your voice was small, frayed at the edges. You stepped inside anyway, letting the door click shut behind you. “I just… wanted to see you.”

Eddie straightened slowly, brow furrowing. The sight of you made something twist in his chest. You were standing too still, your arms wrapped tight around yourself. Not like last time, when you’d been shy and jittery with adrenaline, this was different. Your eyes were glassy, your smile too thin.

He crossed the room in three strides. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing brightness into your tone. “I just… missed you. I wanted to see you.”

Eddie’s jaw flexed. “No.” He shook his head, curls brushing his shoulders. “No, don’t do that. Don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ “

You dropped your gaze, heart thudding. “Eddie, please. Just… leave it. Can we talk about something else?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose, visibly wrestling with himself. Last time, he’d let it slide. Last time, he told himself it was enough just to make you laugh, to hold you until your shoulders loosened. But this time... this time the hurt in your voice was different.

“I can’t,” he whispered, softer now. “I can’t leave it. Not when you look like this.”

You squeezed your arms tighter around yourself, desperate to hide. But Eddie’s hand came up, tentative, hovering near your chin until you let him tilt your face toward the light. His eyes roamed over you, careful, searching.

And then he saw it.

The faint shadow on your cheekbone. The way your collar sat wrong on one side, hiding more than it should. His hand froze, every muscle in his body going taut.

“Sweetheart…” His voice broke, rough with disbelief and fury he was trying to swallow down. He brushed your collar back before you could stop him, and there it was, the ugly bruise blooming down your shoulder, fingerprints ghosted into your skin.

Eddie’s breath left him in a hiss. He staggered back a half-step, both hands buried in his hair like if he didn’t, he’d hurt something...or someone.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Eddie…”

“Don’t,” he snapped, then immediately shook his head, eyes wide, guilty for snapping at you. “No, I’m sorry. I just…fuck, sweetheart…”

You said nothing, throat burning.

His hands dropped, fists tight at his sides, and he asked again, low and certain: “It was him again, wasn’t it? Scott?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Eddie’s whole body trembled. Not just anger, though it was there, hot and black, simmering under his skin, but fear, too. Fear for you, fear of how long you’d been carrying this alone. He looked at you like you’d cracked him straight open.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered finally, his voice wrecked. He reached for you again, this time pulling you against him without hesitation, holding you tight. His lips pressed to your temple, soft, desperate. “You should’ve told me.“

You buried your face in his chest, shaking. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Worry?” Eddie choked on a disbelieving laugh, hugging you tighter. “Sweetheart, I’d burn the whole goddamn world down before I let anyone touch you like that again.”

For a moment, it was just silence, your heart hammering against his. And then he tipped your chin up, eyes blazing.

“You’re not going with him tonight,” he said, steady as steel. “I don’t care what party he thinks you’re his for. You’re not going.”

Eddie’s words hang in the air like smoke: You’re not going with him tonight.

You pull back sharply, shaking your head. “No, Eds, you don't get it. I have to. If I bail, or if I embarrass him, it’ll just be worse the next time he sees me.”

Eddie stares at you like you’ve just spoken another language. “Sweetheart, he’s leaving marks on you sober.” His voice cracks, rising in anger he can’t bottle. “What the hell do you think he’s gonna do when he’s drunk and showing off at some party?”

Your arms fold around yourself, defensive, like you can make yourself smaller. “It’s only a couple more weeks until graduation. I can handle it. I’ve been handling it.”

Eddie laughs, sharp and broken. “No, you haven’t.” He gestures wildly at your shoulder, at the bruises he can’t unsee. “This is what handling it looks like? Lying to me? Telling me he hasn’t touched you when he’s putting his hands on you like that?”

Your throat tightens. “I didn’t lie.”

“Yes, you did!” Eddie’s voice cuts, louder than he means it to. “You looked me in the eye and said he hadn’t hurt you. That it wasn’t as bad right now. You lied because you didn’t want me to know, or you don't trust me enough to handle it.”

You flinched, tears blurring your vision. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what he’s capable of. If I make one wrong move, he’ll…”

“He’ll what?” Eddie snapped, stepping closer, his chest heaving. “What, sweetheart? Shout at you? Hit you? Threaten you? Because guess what, he already does. And the longer you let him own you like this, the more he thinks he can.”

Your jaw trembled. “You think it’s that simple? That I can just…just walk away? My family, my life?” 

“Fuck your family,” Eddie cut in sharply, anger sparking in his eyes. “If they’re really gonna stand by while you get hurt because it keeps their stupid business alive, then they don’t deserve you.”

The words cut deep, sharper than he intended, and he saw it instantly in the way your face crumpled. Eddie’s anger faltered, replaced with panic, but you beat him to it.

“You don’t get to say that!” Your voice cracked, raw with hurt. “If I lose them, if I lose everything, I’ll have nothing left. Nothing but you.”

Eddie froze. His heart lurched, his mouth opening and closing, but nothing came out.

Tears slipped down your cheeks now, shaking your head. “And you don’t understand how terrifying that is. Because you could wake up one day and realise I’m not worth the trouble. And then where would I be? Nowhere. With no one.”

“Sweetheart…” Eddie’s voice cracked on the word. His hands lifted helplessly, hovering in the space between you like he wanted to grab hold of you and never let go.

“It’s a couple more weeks, Eddie. You’re so close to graduating…finally. If you snap, if you get into it with him, you’ll lose all of it. They’ll suspend you, or worse. Scott promised me if I so much as looked at you again, you’d get…”

“Suspended? Arrested?” Eddie cut in, his laugh bitter and sharp. He dragged a hand over his face, pacing hard, curls flying as he shook his head. “You think I’m just supposed to sit here? Watch you walk out that door and straight into his hands again? Christ, sweetheart, do you hear yourself?”

“I have to!” you shouted back, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. “It’s not about what I want, Eddie. It’s about what I have to do to survive!”

His chest heaved, his voice snapping louder than he meant. “Maybe you do want it! Maybe you want to keep playing the part! The perfect girlfriend, the good daughter, no matter what it costs you!”

The words are out before he can catch them. They slice through the air, jagged and cruel, and the second they land, Eddie’s face changes; shock, horror, regret crash into him all at once.

But it was too late.

Your face instantly crumpled, your whole body seeming to fold in on itself as if he’d just ripped the air from your lungs. “You think I want this?” Your voice cracked, raw and breaking. 

Eddie’s whole world caves in. “Sweetheart…no, no, I didn’t mean that.” He lurches forward, desperate to reach you, but you step back fast, shaking your head like you can’t even bear him close.

“You don’t get it. You never get it. You don’t know what it’s like to be trapped. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like the world will rip everything from you if you so much as breathe wrong! You think I want this when I spend every day terrified.” Your voice cracked on the last word, a dangerous mixture of anger, embarrassment and helplessness couring through you.

“Baby… I….” Eddie’s voice broke, desperate, but you were already moving.

You shoved past him, fumbling the door open with shaking hands. He caught a glimpse of your tear-streaked face before you bolted down the hall, your sobs echoing off the lockers until the sound swallowed him whole.

Eddie stood frozen in the centre of the room, chest heaving, his fists curled so tight his knuckles bled white. The silence after you left was unbearable, the echo of his own words roaring in his skull.

“Fuck,” he whispered, sinking into a chair, his hands tangled in his hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He’d promised himself he’d never hurt you. And now he’d just done it worse than Scott ever could. 

His fist slammed down on the table, rattling the minis and the last greasy pizza box. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. The sting in his knuckles was nothing compared to the hollow ache spreading in his chest.

Eddie pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, squeezing hard until stars burst in the dark. Tears leaked out anyway, hot and furious. He never cried, not like this anyway. But right now, he couldn’t stop. His throat burned, his chest cracked open, and he bent over the table, shaking.

The door creaked. Eddie’s head jerked up, eyes bloodshot, breath sharp. Dustin stood in the doorway, clutching his notebook, frozen at the sight of him.

Eddie scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, trying to straighten up, but his hands were shaking too badly. “What?” His voice was rough, defensive. “Game’s over, Henderson. Go home.”

Dustin hesitated, his sneakers squeaking softly as he stepped inside instead of retreating.

“I, uh…” Dustin swallowed. “I saw something weird after Hellfire. Gareth was acting off all day and then…I don’t know, man, I saw him headed to the gym.”

The words hung heavy, but Eddie barely reacted. He just shook his head hard, curls bouncing, eyes closing like he could block out the world if he squeezed them tight enough. “Not now, Dust. Please. Just… not now.”

Dustin shifted his weight, restless. “Eddie, I’m worried Gareth…”

“Go home!” Eddie’s voice cracked like a whip, louder than he meant it to, shoving the words across the room. His chest heaved.

Dustin froze, stunned by the sudden fire, but then he saw the way Eddie’s face crumpled after, guilt instantly swallowing his anger. His voice dropped to a rasp. “Just… please. Go.”

For once, Dustin didn’t argue. 

When the door clicked shut again, Eddie sagged forward, burying his face in his arms. His breath came shallow, broken. He’d never hated himself more than in this moment, wishing harder than anything that he could take it back. The fight. The words. The way she’d left, sobbing, because of him.

And worst of all, knowing it wasn’t Scott this time who’d broken her. It was him.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot @callmefatherr @sophiejayne-illustrations713

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 24

First Date

Summary: You won’t admit it, but you’re exhausted. Luckily, a certain metalhead can see right through you and makes a plan to give you a break. 

Chapter Warnings: Pure fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

You were perched at Eddie’s small trailer table, poring over his English notes while he absentmindedly shuffled through a stack of papers. Your pen moved quickly, circling mistakes, scribbling corrections, and occasionally jotting encouraging notes in the margins. Each time you looked up, you caught him watching you, curls falling into his eyes, a little smirk ghosting across his face like he couldn’t help himself.

He saw the way you bit your lip when you paused to think, the slight slump of your shoulders even when you tried to sit tall. He knew you were carrying a lot. 

Yearbook had been brutal, your team arguing over layouts, photos, captions, each page a battleground you were desperately trying to keep from collapsing. You were double-checking names, cropping photos, making sure no one ended up in the wrong section, all while wearing that faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

And then there was Scott. Even in public, Eddie saw him for what he was: controlling, performative, the kind of guy who smiled too wide and talked too loud just to remind everyone he could. God only knew what he was like when no one else was watching.

Your parents weren’t helping either, breathing down your neck, pushing grades, college, and expecting perfection. 

Eddie had watched you try to carve out moments with him whenever you could. 

But with graduation looming, every time you were together, the moments as a couple inevitably slid into tutoring sessions. You were more focused on helping him pass, on making sure he’d graduate, than on giving yourself a single minute to just breathe.

And now, sitting there watching you, he saw the exhaustion creeping through the cracks. The slight tremor in your hand when you turned a page, the slump of your shoulders when you thought he wasn’t looking. You were doing too much. Giving too much. And you still never complained.

Not even to him.

He’d been saving every dollar he could from his side deals, stashing it away for a deposit on an apartment after graduation, a place that could be yours once you finally broke free of Scott and your parents. But tonight, looking at you hunched over his notes, he decided something: you needed a break now. A real one.

So Eddie made a plan. Something just for you. Something normal.

He couldn’t risk anything too close to Hawkins. Anywhere nearby, and someone would see you, whisper, suspect. That meant leaving town, just for one night. A real date. No books, no corrections, no tutoring. Just the two of you.

A few nights later, you were perched at Eddie’s table again, pencil in hand, correcting his notes while he stared at you over the rim of his notebook. The quiet hum of the trailer felt safe, familiar, almost like the world outside didn’t exist.

“Hey,” Eddie said suddenly, voice low but carrying a mischievous edge. “So… tomorrow, I’m taking you on a date.”

You froze mid-scribble. “Wait, what?”

He smirked, tapping his pen against the table. “A date. You know, those things couples do when they’re not drowning in homework?”

You blinked at him. “Eddie… no. You have that assignment due.”

He smirked, unfazed. “Already finished it, sweetheart.”

Your eyebrows shot up. That wasn’t like him; you usually had to coax him, nag him, basically babysit him into doing anything ahead of time. “What… you finished it? Without me?”

“Yep,” he said with a grin, leaning back like he’d just solved the world’s greatest mystery.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “It’s too risky. We can’t be seen together.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Relax. It’s out of town. No Hawkins, no prying eyes.”

“Out of town sounds expensive,” you said quietly.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he said, laughing and throwing his head back. “I’m taking you on a date, not to Disneyland. It’s already set. So wear something that makes you feel good, and I’ll pick you up in the usual spot tomorrow.” He pointed a finger at you, mock-stern. “No arguing.”

You stared at him, torn between worry and affection.

He leaned forward, his tone softening. “Please, princess. Just let me do this one thing for you. Let’s pretend, for a few hours, that we’re just… normal.”

Your chest tightened, a slow smile breaking through. “Okay,” you whispered.

The next day, you waited at the usual spot, nerves buzzing in your stomach. Eddie’s van pulled up in its usual spot, rumbling like it had personality. He leaned out the window, grinning wide.

“Holy hell,” he said when he saw you. “Look at you. You’re… wow. You’re beautiful.”

You flushed before climbing into the van. “Thanks, Eds.”

“So… where are we going?” you asked cautiously.

He shot you a sly smile, sliding into the driver’s seat and patting the passenger seat beside him. “Now, now. That would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, half-laughing, half-suspicious. “Eddie Munson, if this is some kind of prank…”

He held up a hand, mock-defensive. “Princess, I promise. No pranks. Just… me, you, and a little adventure. You trust me, right?”

You couldn’t help but grin, shaking your head. “Yeah… I guess I do.”

He smirked, tossing you a mischievous wink as he started the van. “Good. Buckle up. Adventure awaits.”

The van rumbled to a stop in a small town five over from Hawkins, headlights bouncing off the brick front of a glowing little movie theatre. The kind with a marquee out front and tacky posters taped in the windows.

Eddie killed the engine, drumming his fingers against the wheel, then shot you a sidelong grin.

You blinked at the neon sign, then at him. “A movie theatre?”

“Yeah,” he said, casual as if it wasn’t completely out of character. He unbuckled, leaning back smugly. “This is what normal couples do, right? Dinner and a movie, holding hands in the dark, maybe making out in the back row if the mood strikes…” His grin widened. “What? Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. I can play traditional.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You? Traditional?”

He held up his hands in mock offence. “Hey, don’t underestimate me. I’m very domestic. Look at me, taking my girl on a wholesome date. Next thing you know, I’ll be mowing lawns and grilling hot dogs on the Fourth of July.”

You arched a brow. “Pretty sure those jeans and that hair would get you banned from the block party.”

“Pfft. Their loss.” He leaned closer, his voice softening without losing the teasing edge. “Point is, princess… we deserve to feel like a normal couple. Just for a night. No Scott, no parents, no tutoring, no bullshit.“

Eddie practically dragged you into the theatre, his grin wide enough to rival the marquee lights. 

He bought the tickets with a flourish, then insisted on getting the biggest tub of popcorn they had.

Throughout the movie, he whispered commentary, some of it clever, some ridiculous, some just… him. You tried to shush him, but every time you glanced at his face, you couldn’t help laughing. He leaned over during a quiet scene, pressing a kiss to your temple, then smirked, clearly proud of himself for sneaking it in. By the time the credits rolled, your sides hurt from laughter, your cheeks were sore from smiling, and your heart felt… lighter.

As you left the theatre, Eddie’s hand found yours, fingers lacing easily with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. He nudged you toward his van.

“One more stop before dinner,” he announced. “Trust me, it’s magic.”

And he wasn't wrong. The next stop was a cosy, slightly cramped bookstore just outside town. The kind of place where the smell of old pages made your chest ache a little with nostalgia and calm. Eddie grinned as he nudged you toward the shelves, a little devilish sparkle in his eye. “Now, sweetheart, time to find your next obsession.”

You wandered the aisles, fingers brushing over the spines of books, letting your eyes linger on the ones that called to you. Eddie trailed a little behind, pretending to examine a shelf of science fiction, but he wasn’t really looking at the books. He was watching you. Every time you paused to lift a book, tilt it, read the blurb, he felt this little tug in his chest, seeing you so calm, so absorbed… it made his day.

When you picked up a novel you’d been wanting for ages, Eddie quietly bought it behind your back and handed it to you with a bow.

“For you, my overworked genius,” he said.

You tried to protest, but he cut you off, eyes soft. “You do everything for everyone else. Let me do one tiny thing for you, yeah?”

You pressed the book to your chest, warmth spreading through you at the gesture. “Eddie…”

He elbowed you lightly, that crooked, mischievous grin returning. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Best boyfriend ever. Now come on, princess. I’m starving, and you're in charge of the next adventure: food.”

As you stepped back out into the cool night, the little paper bag tucked safely under your arm, Eddie jingled his keys and glanced at you sideways.

“So, what’s the royal request?” Eddie asked as you got back in the van. “Fancy restaurant? Candlelight? Fancy waiter named Pierre?”

You laughed. “Can we just get milkshakes and fries?”

Eddie blinked, stunned. “You’re serious? No three-course meal? No tiny portions with big words?”

You grinned. “Just fries.”

He stared for a beat, then let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief. “God, I love you. You have no idea what you just saved me from. Fries and milkshakes, it is.”

The diner he picked looked straight out of a postcard—neon sign flickering, cracked red booths, jukebox humming softly. He held the door open with a mock bow. “After you, milady. Try not to swoon.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he said, winking.

⸻

Hours later, full of milkshakes and laughter, Eddie drove you out of town, the road fading into quiet dark. He parked on a hill and guided you to the back of the van.

He'd decorated it with twinkling fairy lights, blankets and pillows. The faint smell of cologne and weed clung to the air.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. So this is your idea of post-dinner luxury?”

He tossed you a pillow. “Five-star accommodations, sweetheart. Don’t act like you’re not impressed, and you haven't even seen the best part.”

He pushed the doors open wide, and the stars spilt in, endless and bright.

“Okay,” you breathed. “That’s… actually perfect.”

“Told you,” he said softly, lighting a joint and passing it to you.

You lay side by side, smoke curling into the cool air. Eddie pointed to the sky. “See that one? Totally a dragon.”

“That’s the Big Dipper,” you said, laughing.

“Not with enough imagination, it isn’t.”

You leaned into him, warmth blooming in your chest. “You know, Munson… this might be the best date I’ve ever had.”

He smiled, eyes soft in the starlight. “Good. It’s the only one I could afford.”

You nudged him playfully.

He grinned. “Still worth every penny.”

You shifted slightly against him, the van quiet except for the faint hiss of smoke curling into the night. The stars stretched endlessly above, sharp and bright, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of everything else was gone. Just the two of you.

“I love you, Eddie,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He froze for a heartbeat, then let out a low, satisfied hum. His fingers twined with yours, squeezing gently. “I know, princess… and I love you too. More than I can even put into words. You…” he paused, eyes tracing your face in the dim light, curls falling into his eyes, “you make me want to be better. Not for anyone else, not for Hawkins, not for the world… just for you.”

Your chest tightened, warmth spilling through you, and you pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, resting your head there. He shifted slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“Just… promise me one thing?” he added, a crooked grin returning.

“What?”

“Promise me we’ll remember this. Us. Nights like this. No chaos. No drama. Just… us. Always.”

You nodded, smiling softly, squeezing his hand. “Always.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, and the world outside the van disappeared, leaving just the two of you, the stars, and a quiet kind of forever.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot @callmefatherr@sophiejayne-illustrations713

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 23

Academic Rewards

Summary: At lunch Scott and his friends leave you feeling humiliated, but Eddie finds a way to make you smile again. Later, you return the favour.

*This chapter contains smut*

Chapter Warnings: Abusive Behaviour (Scott), Blowjobs

Word Count: 3k

The cafeteria felt louder than usual, the chatter and clatter blending into a dull hum as you tried to focus on your lunch tray. But your thoughts were elsewhere.

On Eddie. 

You’d been trying not to think about it all morning, but the curiosity gnawed at you. How did he do on that English test? He’d worked so hard, studying late with you, scribbling notes while you tried to cram literary devices into his head. You wanted to ask him, but… you couldn’t. Not here, not now.

Your pen tapped absentmindedly against your tray, and you stared down at your lunch like it held the answers. You’d missed seeing him yesterday; you’d been stuck at a dinner with Scott’s parents, pretending to be the perfect girlfriend while your stomach twisted the whole time.

A voice cut through your thoughts.

“Hey.”

You froze. Scott. Of course. He slid into the seat beside you, grin plastered perfectly on his face for the benefit of his friends. “Don’t space out while I’m talking,” he said, loud enough that a few nearby tables glanced over.

The rest of the table snickered. Some of them nudged each other, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Your cheeks flushed hot.

“I… sorry,” you said quickly, cheeks flushing. “I was just… thinking about a test.”

“Thinking about a test?” Scott scoffed, voice dripping with condescension. “Seriously? Can you at least try to stop being such a loser?”

A snort came from the edge of the table. “Aww, leave her alone, Wesley,” Jason said, smirking but still casually. “She’s just trying to get into a good college.”

“Yeah!” Andy chimed in, grinning at the table. “Give her a break, man. She’s gonna be the best-educated housewife in Hawkins.”

The table erupted into laughter. Even Scott, after a pause, let out a grudging chuckle, though his eyes still flicked toward you like he was half amused, half irritated.

The heat in your cheeks burned, but you forced a practised little smile, the same one you always used when Scott and his friends made you the punchline. If you didn’t give them a reaction, it would pass faster.

At the Hellfire table, Eddie had been half-listening to Gareth’s rant about drum fills when the scene across the room made his stomach twist.

Eddie saw the way you ducked your head, how your smile didn’t reach your eyes, how the laughter around you made you smaller instead of brighter. He felt it like a punch in the ribs.

“Assholes,” Dustin muttered beside him, stabbing a fork into his mashed potatoes.

Eddie’s jaw clenched. His hand drummed on the table, restless, itching to do something. Anything. He wanted to stand on his chair and tell the entire cafeteria exactly what kind of piece of shit Scott was. But he couldn’t. Not without screwing everything up.

So instead, he yanked a crumpled sheet of notebook paper from his bag and slapped it down in front of him before he started scribbling furiously.

Dustin leaned over, trying to peek. “What is that? Is that… is that a dragon?”

Eddie shoved his hand over it. “It’s not finished.”

“That looks like a chicken.”

“Shut up, Henderson!” Eddie hissed, then hunched over the paper, adding little details like scales and a very dramatic speech bubble.

Finally, he leaned back, grinning at his masterpiece. The curly-haired dragon was clutching a diploma in one claw, breathing fire on a stick-figure jock labelled Scott. In the corner, a tiny stick-figure version of you stood on a pile of books, a little crown doodled on your head, with “Queen of the Nerds (and my heart)” scribbled in Eddie’s scrawl underneath.

Eddie folded the paper twice with a flourish and held it out. “Mission for you, soldier.”

Dustin blinked. “What?”

“Special delivery.” Eddie tapped the folded note. “Straight to her.”

“You want me to just…what? March over there and hand this to her? With Scott sitting right next to her? Do you want me to die?”

Eddie smirked. “Not hand it to her. Slip it by her tray. Casual. Stealthy. Like a rogue. Think of it as aiding romance.” 

“You owe me for this,” Dustin grumbled, stuffing the paper under his binder.

“Oh, absolutely. Eternal gratitude. Lifelong glory. A seat at the table of legends.” Eddie leaned in, grinning wickedly. 

“Ugh, fine,” Dustin hissed, snatching it like it burned him. “But if I die, you’re telling my mom.”

“Deal.” Eddie leaned back, smug grin plastered on his face as Dustin started his reluctant trek across the cafeteria.

Jason and the guys were too busy recounting last night’s basketball highlights to notice Dustin wander past. With the kind of awkward nonchalance only Dustin could pull off, he stumbled “accidentally” against your chair, muttering an apology as he slipped the folded paper under your tray like a magician palming a card.

He was gone a second later, scurrying back to Hellfire’s table without a glance back.

You blinked down at the paper, heart skipping when you saw Eddie’s messy scrawl. Carefully, you pulled it closer, shielding it from Scott’s line of sight.

The doodle was ridiculous and perfect. Your lips twitched, trying to smother a smile, but it bubbled out anyway, warm and unstoppable.

Across the cafeteria, Eddie caught it, the little spark in your face, the way your shoulders eased just slightly. His chest loosened, the knot of anger unravelling just a bit.

Mission accomplished.

By the time you left the yearbook room, the halls were mainly empty with the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Your sneakers squeaked softly against the tile as you hurried past rows of lockers.

You should’ve just gone straight home. That was the smart move. That was the safe move. But the thought of Eddie still gnawed at you. All day, you’d been holding the question in.

How did he do on the test?

You’d seen the Hellfire boys file out not long ago, Dustin leading the charge, Lucas and Mike bickering, Jeff and Gareth still talking about their campaign. But Eddie hadn’t been with them. Which meant…

Your heart jumped into your throat.

You knew where he was, and he was alone. 

It was risky, basketball practice had run late, the jocks were still somewhere in the locker rooms, and Scott could easily spot you. But your feet were already moving before you could second-guess yourself.

The Hellfire room was tucked away at the end of the hall. The door was cracked open, just enough to spill a line of yellow light across the floor.

You slipped inside, holding your breath.

Eddie was crouched by the table, muttering to himself as he tried to cram a stack of maps into the already overflowing Hellfire box. His curls hung forward, hiding most of his face, and he didn’t seem to hear you at all.

You smiled, nerves buzzing, and whispered, “Hi Eds”

“Jesus Christ!”

Eddie jumped so hard he smacked his knee against the underside of the table. Dice went scattering across the floor, and he clutched his chest like he’d just survived a murder attempt.

“Sweetheart!” he hissed, eyes wide, hair wild as he glared at you. “You can’t just…Christ, sneak up on a guy like that! You nearly gave me a coronary.”

You pressed a hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to..I just couldn’t wait anymore.”

He tilted his head, curls shifting. “Couldn’t wait for what?”

Your throat tightened. The question tumbled out before you could stop it. “How’d you do? On the test?”

For a beat, Eddie just stared at you, eyes wide and dark, like he couldn’t believe that’s what you’d risked sneaking in here for. Then, slowly, his grin spread, lazy and proud.

“Oh, princess,” he drawled, dragging out the suspense just to watch you squirm. “You’re looking at a man who got himself a B plus.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Swear on my amp,” he said, one hand over his heart, the other still clutching his dice like they were suddenly lucky charms. “B for brilliant, baby.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the squeal that nearly escaped, bouncing once on your heels before you rushed across the room. He caught you instantly, arms wrapping tight around your waist as you hugged him like you couldn’t hold yourself back.

He laughed into your hair, warm and proud. “God, I missed you.”

Your chest ached. “I missed you, too.”

For a moment, the world outside the Hellfire room didn’t exist, no Scott, no parents, no threats hanging over your head. Just you, in Eddie’s arms, breathing the same air, holding onto him like you’d been waiting all day.

You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his chest, still catching your breath. 

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. “How was your… uh, day? Lunch today…did those assholes give you any trouble?”

You shrugged, forcing a casual smile and letting your fingers play with the hem of his shirt. “It’s fine, nothing I can’t handle,” you murmured, not wanting to dwell on it. 

Eddie’s eyes softened, concern flickering across his face, but before he could push, you tilted your head up, “How was Hellfire?” you asked, voice soft but eager.

Eddie grinned, his curls bouncing as he gestured toward the corner of the room. “Oh, you mean the chaos I orchestrated? Legendary.” 

You took a step back, letting your eyes roam over the room, the scattered character sheets, dice clattering in their little cups, and the little makeshift throne Eddie had claimed for himself.

“That’s… your throne?” you asked, pointing at the large chair at the head of the table.

Eddie’s grin widened, the kind that made your stomach do flips. “Oh, princess,” he said, leaning back into the chair, stretching out like he owned the world. “It’s more than a throne. It’s where legends are made… and where I keep control over a very unruly band of misfits.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “And… you’re the Dungeon Master?”

He puffed out his chest, curls bouncing as he nodded. “The one and only. All glory and chaos flow through me.” Then, suddenly, his hand shot out and grabbed yours, tugging you gently toward the throne. “Come here.”

Before you could protest or even think, he had you sitting on his lap, your knees brushing his, and his arms wrapping around you like you were the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.

“Eddie!” you whispered, half-laughing, half-gasping, but he silenced you with a soft kiss, slow and teasing, fingers brushing your cheek and tangling in your hair.

You melted into it, your arms tightening around him, heart thundering. His lips pulled yours with a mix of mischief and something deeper, something that made every stressful second of the day disappear.

You broke the kiss first, breathless, foreheads touching as you nuzzled closer. His fingers stroked through your hair, his touch light and tender. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of your shirt, the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against yours.

"Eddie..." you murmured against his lips. "I'm so proud of you."

He smirked, tilting his head to brush his lips against your jaw. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you breathed, tilting your head to give him better access. "You worked so hard for this."

His hands tightened around you for just a second, a rare moment of vulnerability before the cocky grin returned.

"Yeah," he murmured, voice rough and warm. "I had a good tutor."

You felt his breath against your skin as he placed another kiss, this one trailing down your neck. His fingers traced the line of your collarbone, sending a shiver through your body.

"I think," you said softly, "you deserve a reward."

His grip on you tightened, pulling you closer until you could feel the thrum of his pulse through your clothes. When he spoke, it was thick with need. "Oh yeah? And what exactly do you have in mind, princess?"

You looked up at him through your lashes, biting your lower lip.

"Well," you murmured, fingers sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath his shirt. "I was thinking..."

Your fingers toyed with the top button of his jeans, watching his pupils dilate as he understood exactly what you meant.

"Fuck," he breathed, the word a soft exhale against your lips. His hands moved to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there. "You don't have to..."

But the way his hips shifted beneath you, the way his fingers dug into your skin, betrayed just how much he wanted you to.

"I want to," you said, sliding off his lap and onto your knees between his thighs.

You unbuttoned his jeans, fingers moving with careful precision, never breaking eye contact. His breath hitched as you pulled the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

You didn't waste time. You slipped your fingers inside his waistband, pushing fabric down just enough to free him. He was already hard, thick and heavy in your hand, and you loved the way his head tipped back against the chair with a groan when you wrapped your fingers around him.

"Jesus," he rasped, hands gripping the arms of the chair hard enough to whiten his knuckles. "You're gonna kill me."

You chuckled, warm and low, before leaning in.

Your tongue flicked out, tasting the bead of precum at his tip, and he shuddered. You savoured the salt of him, lips curling in satisfaction at the way his breath caught. Slowly, deliberately, you took him into your mouth, drawing him deeper with every bob of your head, swirling your tongue around the sensitive underside.

"Fuck," he gasped, fingers tangling in your hair. Not pulling, just holding on as if he needed something to ground him. His hips twitched upward, a quiet plea for more. You gave it to him, hollowing your cheeks, taking him until the tip brushed the back of your throat. His legs trembled beneath your hands.

Your hands slid up his thighs, gripping hard enough to leave faint red marks as you bobbed your head faster. His breathing turned ragged, his hips jerking slightly as you took him deeper each time, his cock twitching in your mouth. One hand left the chair arm to grip the back of your head, guiding you without force, just enough pressure to make it clear he wanted you.

"You feel so good," he gritted out, voice strained. His other hand moved to your shoulder, fingers digging in as you swirled your tongue around his tip before plunging down again. "Fuck, baby, I'm not gonna last."

You hummed around him, the vibration making his back arch slightly.

His fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding on as he fought to keep control. You could feel him thickening in your mouth, the first pulses of his release building. His breathing turned ragged, his entire body tensing as he tried to hold back.

"Look at me baby,” he groaned, rough and low.

You lifted your gaze, meeting his dark stare as you continued moving, watching the way his jaw clenched, the veins in his neck standing out as he fought to maintain some semblance of restraint. 

"Gonna come," he warned, voice thick with need. His free hand gripped the chair arm again, knuckles whitening as his entire body tensed. You didn’t stop. If anything, you redoubled your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, swallowing around him as his cock pulsed in your mouth. A low groan tore from his throat as he spilled, hot and thick, against your tongue.

You swallowed around him, sucking gently as he thrusted shallowly through the aftershocks, his hands gripping your hair with just enough pressure to hold you still.

His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling sharply as he came down from the high.

"Holy shit," he breathed when he finally stilled, his grip loosening in your hair as his body slumped back into the chair. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes half-lidded as he watched you clean him with slow, deliberate licks.

You released him with one last kiss to the tip, smiling up at him as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

He was still breathing heavily when you settled back onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you immediately. His hands slid up and down your back, fingers pressing into your skin as if to memorise the shape of you.

"That was..." he murmured, voice rough and sated. He nuzzled into your neck, placing a kiss just below your ear that made you shiver. "Fuck. You're incredible."

You tilted your head to give him better access, loving the way his lips trace the sensitive skin there. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he pulled you flush against him, his body still warm from what you just did.

"I love you."

Your chest swelled at his words, the way he said them like he couldn’t hold them back even if he wanted to. You pressed your forehead to his, still breathless, whispering, “I love you too.”

Eddie groaned again, but this time it was softer, almost overwhelmed, his lips brushing yours in a lazy, grateful kiss. His hands squeezed your waist like he was grounding himself. “God, you’ve ruined me, sweetheart.”

You laughed, cheeks warm, and tucked your face into the curve of his neck. “Pretty sure you said that after I quizzed you on symbolism.” 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie huffed, smirking, “different kind of ruin. Equally dangerous.”

You swatted his chest lightly, but he only grinned wider, his curls falling into his eyes as he leaned back in his throne. “Man… B-plus never felt so damn good.”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “So what, I’m your… academic reward system now?”

“Damn right,” he said without missing a beat, wagging his brows at you. “Princess, you keep this up, and I’ll be valedictorian.”

Then, after a beat of silence, Eddie smirked and muttered, “Can’t believe I just got the best blowjob of my life by the most beautiful girl in Hawkins… in my Dungeon Master throne.”

You snorted, smacking his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably lucky,” he corrected, flashing you that wicked grin.

You snorted, laughing into his shoulder, and he kissed the top of your head, softer this time, like the world had quieted down just for you.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot @callmefatherr @sophiejayne-illustrations713

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 22

School of Hard Knocks

Summary: Eddie decides to teach you some self- defense, and you get an unexpected visitor.

Chapter Warnings: Controlling and Abusive Behaviour (Scott) Allusions to SA (nothing explicitly mentioned)

Word Count: 2.9k

The cafeteria was its usual warzone of clattering trays and overlapping voices. Eddie slouched at Hellfire’s table, Gareth rambling about some riff he wanted to try, Jeff arguing over campaign prep. Eddie wasn’t really listening; he just poked at whatever mystery meat had been dumped on his tray.

Then he saw you.

Across the room, at the jock table, you sat tucked beside Scott. Eddie could spot the tightness in your shoulders from a mile away. 

You had a book open on the table, trying to read through the noise, pen tapping against the margin. Eddie knew that look; you were doing everything you could to disappear.

Then one of Scott’s friends leaned over, snatching the book from your hands.

“Hey, no homework at lunch, nerd,” he mocked, holding it just out of your reach.

You rolled your eyes and reached for it, firm but calm. “Give it back.”

“Aw, come on, smile a little,” another said, reaching out to grab your chin, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered. “Prettier when you smile. Gotta keep up for Scotty here, right?”

Eddie’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

You shoved the hand away, trying to keep calm. “Stop. I mean it.”

But they didn’t. One of them reached for you again, tugging at the hem of your jumper. “Seriously, though, you’d be sexier if you showed some skin. What’s the point of hiding all this?”

Your chair screeched back as you jumped up, eyes blazing. “I said stop.”

For a split second, Eddie almost got up too.

But Scott was quicker. He grabbed your wrist, yanking you back down into your seat hard enough to make your tray rattle. His voice was sharp, cutting through the laughter of his teammates.

“Sit. Down.” His voice was low, a warning wrapped in fake charm. “Take a joke. You’re embarrassing me.”

Your jaw tightened, but you said nothing, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Then Scott turned to the guys, grin smug, his arm tightening around your shoulders like a leash. “Don’t mind her, she’s just moody. Trust me, she’s not always such a prude.”

The table roared with laughter.

Eddie’s soda can crumpled in his hand.

He wanted to rip Scott’s arm off. He wanted to put his boot through every one of their smug faces. But Scott wanted that, wanted Eddie to snap, to get suspended, maybe worse. Eddie was too damn close to graduation to hand him that victory.

But the fury didn’t leave. It sat in his chest, hot and restless, every nerve screaming at him to move.

Because if that’s how they treated you in public? With teachers ten feet away? What the hell happened when there weren’t witnesses? When booze was involved? He’d seen it before. He’d seen drunk guys corner you, and he remembered the way your face looked. 

Now it was Scott. Scott and his pack of assholes. And you were trapped at that table, forcing yourself to smile, pretending like everything was fine, because what choice did you have?

Eddie dug his nails into his palm, tried to steady his breathing. He couldn’t blow this, not now, not in the middle of the cafeteria, but every second he sat there felt like another second too long.

There had to be something he could do.

After school, you slipped out of the side gate, heart still racing from lunch, and kept to the shadows along the school fence. A few minutes later, Eddie’s van appeared, dust kicking up behind it, and relief washed over you. You hadn’t realised how tight you’d been holding yourself all day until you saw him.

“Hey Eds,” you whispered as you climbed in, closing the door behind you.

“Hey princess,” he replied, his voice steady, calm, but there was something in his eyes you couldn’t place.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head. There was that subtle tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

“Yeah,” he said too quickly, flashing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

You weren’t convinced. But you didn’t push. Instead, you sank into the seat, letting the van rock gently beneath you, tracing patterns on the dashboard with your fingers.

A small, guilty voice in your head whispered: Did I do something wrong today? Is he sick of me?

At the trailer, you spread your books across the small table, opening Eddie’s English notebook. The familiar routine was supposed to help both of you feel normal again. But today, Eddie wasn’t paying attention.

“Eddie?” you said, tapping his arm lightly.

“Huh?” he muttered, snapping out of whatever thought had pulled him away.

You frowned, your chest tightening. The familiar worry bloomed again.

“Did I… did I do something wrong?” you asked, voice small. “How can I fix it?”

Eddie’s heart shattered a little at the tremor in your voice. He reached out, taking your hand in his, warm and steady, gripping just enough to anchor you.

“No, no, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you,” he said quickly, voice low and careful.

“You’re not?” You searched his face, worried, still uncertain.

“I’m just… worried,” he admitted, eyes darkening with the anger and helplessness he’d been holding in all day.

“About what?”

He took a deep breath, like he needed to steady himself before he spoke. “Lunch. Today. The guys… Scott… the way they were touching you, making those jokes…” His hands tightened around yours. “…I can’t stand it, and I can’t…” He cut himself off, swallowing.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, though your voice wavered. “I’m used to it.”

Eddie’s chest ached, seeing the forced calm in your eyes. “You shouldn’t have to be,” he said quietly, almost a whisper, but full of everything he felt.

The trailer was quiet. Only the soft hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the floorboards broke the silence. You were stacked with books, pens in hand, but neither of you were really studying.

Eddie finally broke the quiet. “Look… I need to say something. And… just… please don’t shut me down, okay?”

You looked up at him, heart already tightening, waiting.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “If those assholes are doing that shit at school… in front of other people, teachers… what do you think they’re gonna do when they’re drunk?”

Your stomach dropped, and you swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“Exactly,” he muttered, his chair scraping as he leaned closer. His hand found yours on the table, rough thumb brushing over your knuckles. “If shit really went down… what would you do?”

Shame pressed heavily on your chest. “I… I,” you stumbled over your words, eyes dropping.

“Hey, hey…” His tone softened immediately, fingers tilting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were so wide, so full of worry, it almost broke you. “Sweetheart, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just… I can’t stand the thought of you being scared, or… or hurt.” His thumb brushed your cheek, gentle, grounding. “And you shouldn’t have to just ‘get used to it.’”

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Eds, I’ve been dealing with it for a long time, I’m fine,” you lied, the words trembling.

“You’re not fine.” His voice cracked a little. “And that’s okay. But you don’t have to stay that way.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, Eddie huffed out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the weight in the room. “You know, I could, uh… teach you some stuff. Self-defence.”

You blinked. “…Like karate?”

That crooked grin tugged at his mouth. “Yeah, sure. Totally karate. Except way cooler. Less… wax on, wax off, more… Munson-style mayhem.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Munson-style?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, puffing his chest out dramatically. Then he clapped his hands together. “Okay. Up.”

What? No.”

“Yes. Up.”

You shook your head. “Not happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening.” He reached over, snatched your book, and tossed it to the couch.

“Eddie!”

“See? Distraction. Lesson one.” He wiggled his fingers at you. “Up, sweetheart.”

Groaning, you let him pull you to your feet. He squared up like a cartoon sensei. “Alright. Lesson one: what to do if some asshole grabs you.”

Before you could argue, his hand shot out and clamped gently around your wrist. “Like this,” he explained. “First rule: don’t panic. Second rule: fight dirty. Always fight dirty.”

You raised a brow. “Fight dirty?”

“Hell yeah. There are no rules. No honour system. You don’t get points for style. You get points for leaving the guy on the floor crying for his mom.” He smirked, then nodded toward your trapped wrist. “So, twist toward my thumb, then yank your hand out. Hard.”

You followed his instructions, and your hand popped free way easier than you expected. You blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he said proudly, flexing his hand. “See? Easy. Bonus points if you follow it up with a knee to the balls. Instant win.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Okay, lesson two: worst-case scenario. Say some dickhead actually corners you or gets you on the floor.”

Your face went hot. “Eddie…”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he cut in, voice softening. “I’m not saying it’s gonna happen. Just… I’d sleep better if you knew what to do. Alright?”

You nodded, chewing your lip.

“Alright. If someone gets you on the ground, gotta keep your elbows tight, knees up. From there, don’t be polite; you do what it takes to get up. Throat jab, eye poke, shin kick… You wanna get away? You gotta be mean. Got it?”

You nodded, heart thudding, and tried a hesitant first attempt. It’s pathetic. You wobble, your knees go nowhere useful, your elbow flicks out like a shy mosquito trying to say hello, and you topple onto your side in a theatrical, unconvincing heap.

Eddie loses it. He throws his head back and laughs, the kind of loud, delighted laugh that fills the trailer and makes you want to bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god,” he wheezes between chuckles. “You are catastrophically cute.”

“I suck at this,” you snap, heat in your throat. 

He wipes at his eyes like he’s been crying from laughing and then gets serious in the way he only ever does when he cares too much. “You’re not supposed to be a brawler, sweetheart. You just have to know one or two things so you don’t get stuck.”

He pushes off, scrambles to his feet, and theatrically clears a little space like he’s setting up a ring. “Okay. New scenario: pretend I’m Scott.”

You froze. The name made something ugly and hot rise in your chest. Eddie’s grin softened in a way that made your stomach flip. 

“What?” you squeaked.

“Do it,” he said very softly. “Pretend I’m him or one of the dicks who think they can touch you and get away with it. Make it ugly, make it sudden, make it work.”

He demonstrates slowly, exaggerated, showing how you’d bridge and push with your legs to create space, then how an elbow or a kick can break a grip. Not a martial-arts clinic, just ugly, effective options that don’t rely on strength.

“You try,” he says, settling back on his heels. “Just imagine I’m shouting at you, or in your personal space. Pretend i’m Scott.” 

The name lands like a match. Heat flashes in your bones. 

You pulled your knees in, shoved off the floor hard, and drove your elbow up with the kind of angry precision Eddie had been trying to teach you. It was sharp, the hit landing exactly where you aimed. You’d meant to make him let go; instead, your elbow clipped him square in the jaw.

There’s a sick, solid smack. Eddie’s head jerks, and he goes backwards much harder than either of you expected, toppling onto the rug with a startled, “oof.”

For a breathless second, you sat frozen, stomach dropping, mortified. “Eddie! Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Then he starts laughing. It’s breathy at first, shock turning into something delighted and proud. He rubs his jaw, squints up at you like you’re the most ridiculous, wonderful thing he’s ever seen. “Holy shit,” he says, voice half-laugh, half-warm. “That’s my girl! You hit me. You actually hit me.”

You hover there, cheeks burning, panic bubbling up. “I hurt you!” 

“Damn right you did!” he says, sitting up and flashing that grin that knocks the breath out of you. “You saw red and you went for it.” His voice is proud and stupid and utterly sincere.

Before you can protest again, he’s on his feet, rubbing his collarbone with one hand while thrusting the other down toward you. “Come on, champ.”

You let him pull you up, still sputtering apologies, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he yanks you straight into his arms, crushing you against his chest in a fierce, proud hug.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief, “remind me never to piss you off. My girls lethal.”

Something in the way he says it makes your breath catch. You don’t think, your hand fists in his shirt, and then you’re kissing him.

It was messy, urgent, like something you’d both been starving for. Eddie groaned into it, hands in your hair, pulling you closer.

Then the door banged open.

“Eddie, you’ll never guess what we found!” 

Both of you freeze.

Dustin stands in the doorway, binder clutched to his chest, his eyes bugging out like he’s just walked into a horror movie. The binder slips, his backpack slides off his shoulder, and everything crashes to the floor in one chaotic thud.

He points between the two of you, jaw unhinged. “What the hell?!”

You and Eddie sprang apart, flushed, breathless.

“Henderson!” Eddie barked, dragging a hand over his face. “Do you ever knock?!”

“Holy shit,” Dustin blurted. Then louder, “HOLY. SHIT.”

“What are you doing here?!” you yelped, trying to flatten your hair.

“What am I—what are you doing here?!” Dustin flailed between you both. “You’re—you’re making out! You’re—oh my god, I’m gonna throw up! You’re…this is…oh my god, the guys are gonna lose their minds!”

“The guys don’t need to know,” Eddie cuts in fast, stepping forward with his hands raised like he’s talking down a bank robber. His tone sharpens. “In fact, nobody needs to know. This? Stays between us.”

Dustin’s eyes dart to you, then back to Eddie, his brain clearly short-circuiting. His mouth works for a few seconds before he stammers, “But… wait, aren’t you…Aren’t you with Scott?”

That name drops into the room like a grenade. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Eddie notices. Of course he does. He steps in, putting himself squarely between you and Dustin’s wide-eyed stare. “Okay, Henderson, listen up. And listen carefully.” His voice is steady, more serious than Dustin probably ever hears it. “What you saw just now? That’s real. It’s me and her. But it’s secret.”

Dustin blinks. “Secret? Why?”

Eddie exhales hard, running a hand through his hair. He glances back at you, softening just enough to catch your eye before turning back to Dustin. “Because Scott’s a piece of shit.”

Dustin blinks, still trying to process. “But… Wait… but I thought you two were… happy? You know… like normal? I mean, he’s a total ass but I always thought you two were….” 

Eddie leans against the table, voice dropping low, serious but controlled. “He’s not just a jerk, he’s dangerous. Behind closed doors, he’s got her trapped. Controlling her. Hurting her. After that fight, he threatened to get me suspended if she so much as looked at me again.” 

Dustin stares at you like the floor’s just tilted under him. His expression wobbles between shock and fury and something heartbreakingly protective. “He…he hurts you?” His voice cracks, high-pitched with disbelief.

You shrink into yourself, cheeks burning, words stuck like glass in your throat. Eddie doesn’t let you drown in it.

“That’s why we’re keeping quiet,” he says firmly. “She’s scared of what Scott’ll do if he finds out. And she’s scared of her parents, too, ‘cause they’d side with him over her. So for now… it stays under wraps. Graduation. Diplomas. Then we’re done hiding.”

Dustin’s still frozen, but his face is working overtime. Finally, he exhales, muttering something that sounds a lot like a curse word he’s not supposed to know. “Jesus… I won’t tell anyone, I promise. But you guys are insane. Totally insane.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, shaky, choked, but real. Eddie squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Dustin sees it, groans loudly, and covers his eyes like the very sight of you two might burn him alive.

“Ugh. Gross. I’m leaving before I puke. But seriously, you guys better know what you’re doing.”

And with that, he storms out of the trailer, muttering about how he’s too young for this level of drama.

You and Eddie stand there in silence, listening to his sneakers squeak away.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters finally, dragging a hand through his hair. Then he looks at you, softer. “Guess the secret’s not so secret anymore.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into him again. “He won’t tell.”

Eddie presses his lips to your temple, sighing. “Better not. Because I’m not giving you up again. Not for anybody.”

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot @callmefatherr

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 21

Stolen Moments

Summary: You and Eddie adjust to the ups and downs of being in a secret relationship.

(Not the most exciting chapter but I feel like it needed a bit of a buffer before the next chapter.)

Chapter Warnings: Controlling and Abusive Behaviour (Scott)

Word Count: 1k

In the days after that night, nothing really changed, yet everything shifted. Scott still pulled up in his car, still demanded you slide in beside him, his hand squeezing too tight around your knee as he drove you to school. He still kissed you in the hallway, sharp and possessive. But now, somewhere in the crowded corridors of Hawkins High, Eddie Munson walked past with that half-smirk that meant more than any kiss Scott could brand you with. 

Eddie knew. You knew. Not in the way most couples could be together, not in the way that was easy or safe. But it was enough for now.

The stolen moments were what got you through the day. His hand brushing yours when no one was looking. A glance across the hall that lingered too long. The way he’d catch your eye during class, that tiny smirk tugging at his lips, silently reminding you that no matter how suffocating Scott’s grip felt, you weren’t alone.

With Scott, you kept your head down. You smiled, you nodded, and you stayed careful. Survival looked like compliance. He still snapped, still shoved, still found little ways to remind you who was in control, and he still hurt you.

You learned how to hide the new marks, tugging down your sleeves before Eddie could notice, forcing your voice into casual tones when Scott's name came up. “He’s… not so bad right now,” you would lie, even to yourself. Because if Eddie ever noticed, or even suspected, promise or no promise, he’d go after Scott. And you know, deep down, Scott would win.

You kept telling yourself it was temporary. Just a few more weeks. Graduation was the finish line. After that, Scott couldn’t hold anything over you. But it wasn’t just him; it was your parents, too. You could already hear the disappointment in their voices, the way they'll choose their business ties with Scott’s family over you. You’ll be on your own, but at least you won’t be alone.

Because you have Eddie.

Still, lying awake at night staring at the ceiling, the fear crept in. What happens when your parents finally let you go? Who will you be without their support, without their approval? Will Eddie still want you then? Or will the weight of it all crush him the way it sometimes crushed you?

He deserves better, you thought. Better than someone who hides bruises behind fake smiles, who pretends everything’s fine when it isn’t. And when Scott is finally out of the picture, when the life you’ve been stuck in finally falls apart, who will you be? What if the person left standing isn’t the girl Eddie fell for?

Even so, Eddie was your safe place. After school, you slipped away, careful not to be seen, until you could disappear into his van. The world shrank to just the two of you. At his trailer, it was the same routine, but it felt completely different now. You still tutored him, but there was laughter, teasing, and long conversations that stretched until the sun dipped low. You watched movies, smoked, and talked about everything and nothing. In those moments, the weight of Scott, of your parents, of all expectation, melted away. For a little while, you got to just exist as yourself. And somehow that was enough for Eddie.

Meanwhile, Eddie counted the days like he was serving time, a stretch behind invisible bars. But with each mark on the calendar, he got one day closer to freedom. 

School was the hardest. Watching Scott brush past you, sling an arm around your shoulders, lean in too close. Eddie’s jaw ached from how often he clenched it. He had to bite his tongue, swallow the rage, pretend it didn’t matter. But every glance you risked in his direction, every tiny brush of your hand, became the thing that kept him going.

Those stolen moments were the only thing keeping him steady. You in his van, curled into the passenger seat with your books spread out, correcting his essays in your neat handwriting. He was passing English now, like actually passing. For the first time in his life, graduation felt possible, and he knew it was because of you. You were his anchor. His reason. His light at the end of all this.

But it was hard. Harder than he'd ever admit to you. He hated lying to Gareth, who still talked about you with a soft look in his eyes, like you were some untouchable dream. Eddie felt like the world’s worst friend every time he nodded along, hiding the truth that you’re already his. That you’re his everything.

And even when you weren’t with him, you were still in his head. He knew the things you feared: your parents, leaving Scott, being left with nothing. He hated the idea of you ever feeling like you had nowhere to go. So he worked harder than ever. More deals, more runs, more hours hustling. Every dollar went into a stash he didn’t touch. He wasn’t aiming for luxury; he knew that wasn’t reality, but he could at least save enough for a deposit on some shitty apartment. A place with four walls and a door that locked, where nobody could touch you. A place that would be yours.

It wouldn’t be perfect. It might even be rough. But it would mean freedom. Safety. A start. And to you and Eddie, that meant everything.

And when it was just you and him, when you were safe in his arms, the rest of the world didn’t exist. He could survive the pretending. He could survive the waiting. Because every time he pressed a kiss to your forehead, or made you laugh so hard you forgot the bruises, he knew it was worth it.

Just a few more weeks.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot @callmefatherr

[northernsoulktf]

Hey hey, i just wanted to hop on to give you guys an update and to say thank you!

I’m honestly so blown away at the response to “For What It’s Worth” and “Between the Lines”. I would have been buzzing if one person liked something i’d written so the fact there’s multiple people getting invested and leaving me the kindest comments is mind blowing ❤️

I know theres nothing worse than wanting to read more of something and having no idea when more is coming so I thought i’d do a little update.

At the minute i’m not very well but trying to get back to normality after 2 months of being in and out of hospital- which is why everythings a little slow.

Between The Lines

I’m planning on doing around 10 more chapters for this. After i’ll take a little break to work on something else but i do have another fic idea that could either continue from this or be a completely new fic. I’m slightly leaning towards a continuation of this.

I’ve mapped out the chapters but i’m a little stuck. I don’t want to rush it and have a real anti climax but also don’t want to overthink and take forever because it’s really not that deep 😅

I just want it to feel satisfying (kick Scotts ass), maybe have a little twist, but also don’t want to make the good guys do anything too extreme…or do I 👀

If anyone has any idea hmu because i’m such an overthinker 🙈

For What It’s Worth

After i’ve done these next 10 chapters for BTL i’ll go back to working on FWIW- i have so much Lisgoe content in my notes and so many League characters i haven’t included yet 🙋🏼‍♀️

I’m also due to see Stage Fright so that will definitely get me back in the zone.

If anyone has any requests/ things you want to see then let me know!

You guys have been so patient so thank you ❤️ i just hope it’s worth the wait 😬😂

I do also have other fic ideas in the back of my brain but god knows i can’t keep up with the two i have so i’ll finish those before jumping into a third and fourth 🙈

Oh and if anyone has anything they want to see for either of these fics let me know. Hopefully i’ll be posting more soon 🤞🏻

[northernsoulktf]

Where are you queen???

I’m sorry!! I’m still here and still writing, just painfully slowly. I’m going to post an update later on to explain what’s going on and when you can expect more ❤️

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 20

Drunken Confessions

Summary: When you get drunk at a party, you end up breaking down to Steve and tell him everything.

Chapter Warnings: Controlling Behaviour (Scott), Underage Drinking, Allusions to SA (nothing explicitly mentioned), Major Eddie Fluff

Word Count: 11.5k

Your Perspective

Scott doesn’t say hello. He just glances at you, nods in approval, and mutters, “Don’t act weird tonight.”

You nod.

The party’s already loud when you pull up, music blaring, people spilling onto the lawn with red solo cups and loud laughter.  Scott finds his friends instantly. You trail behind him like a shadow.

They cheer when they see him. A few nod toward you before turning back to whatever bullshit they were bragging about. Scott pulls you to his side and lets his hand rest low on your waist.

“You gonna smile at some point?” he asks under his breath, voice tight and forced.

You force a smile.

He hands you a drink without looking, already turning back to the group. You raise it to your lips, needing the sharp burn more than you want to admit.

Scott’s friends are already drunk. They laugh too loudly, clap him on the back, and look at you like you’re part of the package, shiny and silent. You stand there, sipping, smiling when you’re supposed to, nodding through conversations that feel like white noise.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar shape. A mess of dark curls, a slouching walk, a smile you know too well.

Eddie.

Your breath catches.

You don’t turn. Not all the way. Just a glance, just enough to see him leaning in to say something to Shannon, who’s laughing at something he said, tipping her head toward him like she belongs there.

And he looks happy.

Genuinely happy.

Like the weight he carried around for weeks has finally lifted. Like he’s lighter now that he’s not yours.

He deserves that. He deserves to smile like that. You meant it when you thought it, when you told yourself he was better off without you, that loving him meant letting him go.

Scott’s beside you, arm slung over your shoulders like always, like a noose, and he’s grinning, eyes scanning the crowd, too self-absorbed to notice the way your whole body just stiffened.

He presses a fresh cup into your hand.

“C’mon, live a little,” he mutters in your ear. “You’re a buzzkill when you mope.”

You take the drink.

Because what else are you supposed to do?

You tip it back and let the burn chase the ache down your throat.

You sip faster. Then you’re reaching for another. And another.

But that doesn’t stop the ache that blooms in your chest. Doesn’t stop your hand from tightening around the plastic cup. Doesn’t stop the nausea rising with every beat of the music.

Scott looks down at your empty cup, smirks, and hands you another. “That’s more like it.”

You take it.

Because it’s easier to drown than to feel yourself falling apart.

And all you can do is smile, like the alcohol’s stitched your heartbreak into silence. Like you’re not watching, the only person who ever really saw you give his smile to someone else.

Like you don’t feel like dying inside.

You don’t remember how many drinks you’ve had.

Three? Five? Nine? Something sweet and pink first, then beer, then something sharp from a red plastic shot cup that burned all the way down and made your eyes water.

Scott keeps putting drinks in your hand. Keeps laughing a little too loudly, throwing his arm around your waist like he’s proud of you now, like this version of you is the one he likes best.

“See?” he murmurs at one point, lips brushing your ear. “Much better when you’re not a stuck-up little ice queen.”

You flinch, but only barely.

You’re too far gone for it to land properly. The room sways around you, music vibrating in your ribs, lights blurring into colour and shadow. You laugh, high and brittle, and lean against the wall, letting it hold you up.

Your head is spinning, light and heavy all at once. You don’t remember what was just said, but it must’ve been funny, because you’re laughing. Or at least trying to.

The sound comes out too loud, off-key. One of the jocks, maybe Chad or Kyle or whatever, says something dumb, and you giggle again, clutching your red cup like it’s a lifeline. You don’t even notice when someone fills it again. Doesn’t matter. You’re not tasting it anymore. Just drinking. Just trying to feel something different. Or maybe nothing at all.

Scott’s hand slides across your back. You flinch slightly but don’t move away. Can’t. It’s like your limbs are underwater. Like your brain is underwater.

You sway a little and lean back against the stereo cabinet to steady yourself. Another sip. Another laugh. You think someone said your name, but your ears are ringing now, and everything feels… slow.

Then someone’s in front of you. You blink.

Nancy.

She looks pissed.

“Heyyy,” you slur, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite land. “You made it.”

“Jesus,” she breathes, taking in the state of you. “You’re wasted.”

“I’m fiiiine,” you insist, dragging the word out with a smile that doesn’t quite land. You raise your cup like proof, sloshing whatever’s left.

“No, you’re not.”

Scott cuts in, all fake-casual charm as he sidles beside you. He smirks. “Relax, Wheeler. She’s having fun.”

Nancy turns to him with a glare that could melt concrete. “Back off, Scott.”

Scott’s smirk falters. “Excuse me?”

“I said back off.” She turns back to you, jaw clenched. 

A few heads turned. Curious looks. Whispers.

Scott sees it too. He hesitates.

Then he lets go.

“You’re overreacting,” he mutters.

Nancy ignores him. She steps in and cups your face gently. “Hey. Look at me. Let’s get some air, okay?”

“I’m fine,” you try to say, but the word comes out wrong. Slurred.

Nancy nods, but it’s not agreement, it’s resolve.

“Come on,” she says, and this time, you start to protest, but the words don’t form right. Your head lolls slightly. Nancy grabs your arm, gently but firmly, and starts pulling you toward the door. Your vision swims. Somewhere behind you, Scott says something, but you can’t make it out.

The cool night air hits your face like a slap, sharp, sobering, but not nearly enough. The world still tilts, your limbs still feel wrong, like they belong to someone else.

Nancy steadies you on the porch, her hand at your elbow. You slump onto the steps without much grace, cupping your face in your hands. The buzz keeps buzzing. The ache in your chest is worse than the spinning.

Nancy sits beside you, arms folded tightly. She doesn’t speak at first.

“Okay,” she says softly, crouching in front of you now, brows drawn. “What’s going on?”

You blink. Your mouth feels dry. “Nothin’,” you mumble, dragging the word out like it’s heavier than it should be. “M’fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Nancy says gently but firmly, brushing your hair back. “You can barely sit up.”

You shrug. Try to wave her off. “Just a party, Nance. I’m having fun.”

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t play along. “Eddie told me you ended things.”

You look away, blinking fast. “Well. Yeah. Guess I did.”

“Why?” Nancy asks, her voice quiet.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say too quickly. “He’s better off. Okay? Like… way better.” You wave your hand like you’re swatting the whole thing away. “He’s got Shannon now. Good for him. Happy couple.”

Nancy frowns, watching you too closely.

You try to stand, but you stumble instead, fall right back down onto the step with a graceless thump that makes her wince.

“Okay,” she mutters, steadying you. “No more of that.”

“I’m fine, Nancy,” you slur, yanking your arm away. 

Nancy sits beside you now, quiet at first. You can feel her looking at you, hear her breathing deep like she’s holding something back.

“I should’ve stopped it,” she says suddenly, voice tight.

You blink, sluggish. “Huh?”

She shakes her head. “When you and Scott first got together, I didn’t ask questions. I thought, if you were happy… then I should just be happy for you. But you weren’t. You’re not.”

You frown, the words slow to reach you through the haze. “’M fine,” you mumble, but it sounds weak even to you.

Nancy huffs a breath, frustrated. “I wasn’t there for you. I was so caught up in all my drama with Steve, with school, with everything. I didn’t notice how different you were acting. How much you changed.”

You glance at her, your vision soft around the edges. Her eyes are glassy.

“By the time I realised something was wrong…” She trails off. “It was already too late.”

You don’t fully understand all of it, not right now, not through the fog of your drunkenness. But you hear the crack in her voice. You see the weight of her guilt. Nancy, your best friend, who always seemed so strong, so in control, is blinking back tears. And it hits you harder than anything else tonight.

You reach for her hand, your own shaky, missing it the first time. On the second try, you grasp it tightly, squeezing it with clumsy fingers.

You sit up a little straighter, though it feels like a struggle, and pull her hand into both of yours, giving it a drunken squeeze. “It’s okay,” you slur, the words thick on your tongue. “I’m okay, Nance. We’re okay.”

She looks at you for a long moment, shaking her head slightly, eyes brimming with tears. But she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets you hold her hand. You can feel how tense she is, how much she’s hurting, and even though you don’t fully understand why, you try your best to offer whatever comfort you can.

You rest your head on her shoulder then, your vision blurry, your breath unsteady. But you want her to know you’re not upset with her. Not at all.

Nancy doesn’t say anything more, just wraps an arm around your shoulders and holds you close.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there, forehead against Nancy’s shoulder, but everything’s warm and spinning and soft around the edges. Your body’s heavy, your head fogged, and you feel like you’re floating just a little outside yourself.

Then you hear a voice, familiar, sharp, and way too loud.

“This better be good, Robin,” Steve says somewhere behind you, sharp and annoyed. “I just blew off a date with an insanely hot chick.”

You blink blearily, lifting your head. “Steve?” you mumble, confused. You squint toward the sound, trying to make out the shape of him through the blur. Yup. There’s that hair.

Robin says something, low and fast, and whatever it is makes his whole posture change. His jaw tightens. His shoulders square. His face goes pale and then red. You can’t hear the words, but you see it in his expression.

Nancy gets up beside you. “Stay here,” she murmurs, gently. You nod, though the porch feels like a moving sidewalk beneath you.

They talk. Steve and Nancy. You watch them, slouched on the step like you’re watching a movie. They’re really talking, like they haven’t in months, no awkward silences, no fights. Just words, flowing back and forth. Nancy’s explaining something, her hands gesturing wildly. Steve’s looking at her, but his gaze keeps drifting over her shoulder, toward you.

You smile at him when he looks your way, a sloppy, uncoordinated grin that you barely recognise.

You don’t understand what’s going on, but you can tell Steve’s mad. His arms are crossed, his head shaking in disbelief. Nancy keeps pointing toward the house, toward you.

And then, in a move that’s way too fast for your fuzzy brain to process, he crosses to you in three long strides and crouches down, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze locking on yours.

You smile again, wider this time. “Steeeve,” you draw out the word, your grin even goofier. “Didn’t know you got invited.”

“Yeah, surprise,” he says flatly, looking you over, his eyes narrowing as they flick from your flushed cheeks to the half-empty red cup dangling from your fingers, and then to the glassy look in your eyes. “You look like shit.”

You giggle, feeling the edges of the world tilt with the motion. “You look like a shampoo commercial.”

You reach for your cup, but before you can grab it, Steve snatches it out of your hand.

“Hey!” you protest, a pout forming on your lips.

He sniffs it, his face twisting in disgust. “This is straight vodka. What the hell?”

You go to grab it, but miss. Steve exhales sharply through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, then holds out his hand toward you. “Alright, that’s it. Up,” he says, his voice steady and firm. “We’re leaving.”

“I don’t wanna go yet…” You whine, a frown tugging at your face as you try to pull your arm back. “I’m partying.”

He gives you a look, his eyebrows raised, but his tone is gentle. “No, you’re wasted, and possibly about five minutes away from puking in your own shoes.” He tugs at your arm, and you give a half-hearted protest. “C’mon, drunk gremlin. Up we go.”

You try to argue, but your limbs feel like they belong to someone else, heavy and slow. Your head spins, the room still tilting slightly. Steve’s already got his arm around you, steadying you, pulling you up with surprising ease.

Steve’s arm stays firm around you as he helps you down the porch steps, steady despite your stumbling. The party noise fades behind you, muffled laughter, music, the occasional shout, but Steve’s jaw is tight, his silence heavier than any of it.

As he guides you toward his car, he mutters under his breath, “Always the goddamn babysitter.”

You giggle, slumping into the seat, head lolled against the window. “You love it,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded.

He doesn’t answer right away, just closes your door and circles to the driver’s side.

When the engine rumbles to life, you shift your head lazily to look at him. “Steve?”

He glances at you. “Yeah?”

“Are you mad at me?”

His hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel, but his voice stays soft. “No. I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not,” he says again, gentler this time. “I’m… worried.”

You smile lazily and pat his arm. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

Steve glances at you sideways, clearly not buying it. “You were drinking straight vodka on some dude’s porch and couldn’t walk straight.”

“It’s called fun,” you mumble, turning your head toward the window again.

He doesn’t laugh. Just shakes his head, eyes on the road. “What’s going on with you?”

You flop your head back against the seat. “Nothin’.”

“Bullshit.”

“Just wanted to have fun,” you mumble. “Is that a crime now?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps driving. A minute later, he takes a turn, not toward your house, not toward his.

You frown, lifting your head slightly. “This… isn’t the way home.”

“Nope,” he says simply.

You blink again, confused. “Where’re we going?”

“To get you sobered up.”

“Huh?”

Steve doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps driving, jaw tight, expression unreadable. The neon lights of the town start to glow a little brighter, and you recognise the shape of a diner up ahead, old, cosy, open late.

You squint at it. “Wait… we’re going to Benny’s?”

He finally glances over at you with a tired smile. “Greasy fries and a Coke. Works every time.”

You squint at the window as neon lights start to come into focus, the diner sign, buzzing faintly against the night.

Steve parks and gets out, rounding to your side. 

“Come on, party girl,” he says, reaching for your hand. “Time to soak up the dumb.”

The bell over the door chimes as you stumble into Benny’s, the familiar smell of frying bacon and syrup thick in the air. The place is nearly empty, just a trucker at the counter and a waitress wiping down a booth. Steve guides you to a booth in the back, the vinyl squeaking as you collapse into it.

“Stay here,” he says, pointing at you like he used to when you were seven and he needed five seconds of peace. 

You lean your forehead against the cool tabletop and close your eyes. The world still wobbles, but it’s softer here, quieter.

Steve returns a few minutes later with a giant glass of water, a cup of coffee, and a greasy plate of fries. He sets them down in front of you with all the drama of a surgeon delivering a miracle.

“Eat,” he orders. “Drink all the water. And maybe don’t talk for a bit.”

You poke a fry and whimper. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Wait till I get the milkshake.”

He sits across from you, arms crossed. Watches you eat like he’s making sure you don’t fall face-first into the ketchup.

After a while, when you’ve stopped giggling and started blinking a little clearer, he asks it.

“What happened with Eddie?” Steve asks, his voice low but direct. You feel the weight of his eyes on you, even though you try to avoid meeting his. “Nancy told me you ended things.”

You shrug, still trying to pull yourself together. “I’m with Scott,” you mumble, the words feeling hollow even to you.

Steve scoffs lightly, an almost disbelieving sound. “You hate Scott.”

“People marry people they hate,” you snap, voice cutting. “Look at both of our parents.”

Steve goes quiet. That one hits.

You press your lips together, hoping that’s enough. Hoping he’ll drop it.

He doesn’t.

Steve leans forward, his tone lower. “You liked Eddie. I saw it. You looked… happy. I haven’t seen you happy in a long time.”

You press your fingers to your eyes. “Steve, stop.” 

“What happened?”

You try to hold it in. Really, you do. But the vodka’s made you soft, and Steve’s made you safe, and the moment cracks open like a dam giving way.

“Eddie and Scott… they got in a fight yesterday,” you choke out, voice trembling. “Scott was pissed, and he said he’d have Eddie arrested if I didn’t stop talking to him.”

Your fingers clutch at the napkin in your lap, your eyes brimming with tears that you can’t hold back.

“I had to end it, Steve. I couldn’t risk Eddie getting hurt. I couldn’t risk him getting suspended or going to jail.” You suck in a breath, trying to find words that don’t feel like knives in your chest. “It would never have worked anyway. He deserves better than me, and I’m stuck with Scott.”

The words sting like salt in an open wound, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, your face crumpling in a way that makes your chest ache even more.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first. He just reaches over, gently pulling you toward him until your face is pressed against his shirt. His arms wrap around you, holding you close. He doesn’t need to say anything. He just lets you cry. 

After your sobs start to subside, Steve shifts so you’re looking at him. 

“Did you tell Eddie why?” he asks, voice quieter but insistent.

You shake your head, trying to keep your emotions in check, but the sting of the decision is still fresh. “No,” you mumble. “Because he wouldn’t have cared. He would’ve ended up getting in trouble anyway. I didn’t want to put him in that position.”

Steve’s brows furrow, frustration creeping into his voice. “You still should’ve given him the option,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “You can’t just make decisions for him like that, especially when it comes to something this big.”

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in, but you’re not ready to admit you made the wrong choice. “I couldn’t risk it, Steve. I just wanted him to be safe. I want him to be happy. He deserves to graduate.”

Steve leans forward, eyes serious as he starts brainstorming, his hands moving like he’s trying to work through a solution in real-time. “Okay, listen,” he says, voice steady. “We can figure out ways to work around Scott’s threats. You could talk to Eddie, tell him what’s going on, and get him to lay low for a bit. Maybe we can get some proof of Scott’s threats or find a way to leverage it against him. There’s always a way.” 

You cut him off, shaking your head, your voice sharp with urgency. “No, Steve, it’s too risky.” You grip the edge of your cup, your hands trembling a little. “Eddie’s worked too hard for his graduation, for everything. If he gets involved in this, if we push it, if he gets arrested, it’ll destroy his life. It’s not worth it. Eddie deserves so much more than this shit.”

Steve pauses, his eyes softening with understanding but tinged with frustration. He lets out a deep sigh, clearly torn between wanting to help you and knowing that this situation is more complicated than either of you would like. “You love him, don’t you?” he asks quietly, his gaze never leaving yours.

You hesitate for just a second before nodding, your throat tightening with emotion. “Yeah, I love him,” you whisper, barely able to say the words, but they’re true.

Steve’s expression softens, and without another word, he leans over and kisses your forehead gently, the warmth of his touch comforting. He stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “Let’s get you home.”

You take his hand, feeling the weight of the night settle on your shoulders, but there’s a part of you that’s grateful to have Steve here, even if things are still messy. 

When he pulls up to the curb outside your house, he just glances at you, eyes soft.

“You’ll be okay,” he says. “Not right away. But you will.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, then slip out of the car.

Once you’re in your room, everything blurs. You move on autopilot, change clothes, wipe off your makeup, and brush your teeth. Then you sit at the edge of your bed, knees pulled tight to your chest, arms wrapped around them like maybe you can hold yourself together.

And then it hits you.

All of it.

The tears come quietly at first. Then harder. Until you’re shaking, breath hitching, trying to stay quiet because crying too loud in this house never did anyone any good. You cry until your throat is raw and your body aches. Until you’re staring blankly at the wall, numb and empty.

You don’t know how long you stay like that.

Then…

A scrape. A voice.

“Shit!”

You freeze. Head jerks up like you’ve been yanked out of a dream.

You hold your breath.

Was that…?

Then another sound. Gravel shifting. A knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

You blink. Stare at your door like it might answer for you. But it’s not coming from there.

Another knock. Just under the window this time.

You stagger off the bed like your body forgot how to move, legs shaky, heart thudding so loud it drowns out the panic in your head. You step to the window, fingers trembling as you pull back the curtain. 

And there’s Eddie.

Hanging off the side of your house like a lunatic, panting like he’s just narrowly escaped death, breathing hard like he just sprinted a mile and made a terrible life choice at the end of it.

“Eddie?” you whisper, because you don’t trust your voice to be anything louder.

He grins up at you, crooked and exhausted. 

“Hi, princess,”

You just stare.

Because your brain can’t catch up. Because he shouldn’t be here. Because this feels too surreal, too much like something you made up in your head to survive the night. A hallucination or a breakdown or both.

“…What the hell are you doing?”

He gives you that stupid, charming deadpan. “Trying not to die, mostly.”

And somehow, that’s what snaps you out of it.

“Oh shit, hang on!”

You reach for him fast, hands grasping at whatever part of him you can get, his sleeve, his wrist, his stupid denim jacket.

You help pull him in, graceless, awkward, and he crashes onto your floor with a groan that’s half dramatic, half deserved.

Eddie groans from the floor like he’s just completed an Olympic event instead of nearly falling to his death climbing up your house. One hand flops over his face. “Okay. In hindsight… maybe not my best plan.”

You just stare at him, frozen in place, too stunned to laugh. He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.

Real and reckless and utterly impossible, standing in the middle of your bedroom like he didn’t just scale the side of your house in the dead of night. Like this is something people do.

He pushes himself up with a dramatic grunt, swaying slightly as he gets to his feet. His hair’s a mess, cheeks pink from the climb, and he’s still breathing like he ran a marathon, but when he looks at you, it’s soft. Hopeful.

“Hi again,” he says again, like the words might land differently now that he’s upright.

Your throat closes. “Eddie…”

You want to run to him. You want to collapse into him, cling to his shirt, beg him to stay, to fix it, to make the world stop hurting.

But all you can think about is Scott.

You swallow hard, your voice cracking before it even leaves your mouth. “You… you can’t be here. You can’t…Eddie, if my dad hears anything, if Scott finds out…”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak. You can’t. Because if you stop talking, you’ll fall apart.

“You should hate me”, you blurt, words tumbling too fast. “And I wouldn’t blame you, because the way I ended things was awful, and you deserve better, God, you deserve so much better, and I shouldn’t even be talking to you, I’m not allowed to talk to you,”

You’re spiralling now. Words tumbling, breath hitching, voice cracking open like the rest of you. 

“I didn’t want to, I never wanted to. I just… I had to. I can’t explain, but I had to. It’s not about you, it wasn’t, God, you think I don’t care, but I do, and this is just…”

“Hey”

“I know I was awful, and I hate myself for it, but I thought maybe it was better if you hated me, because at least then you’d be safe,”

“Sweetheart”

“It’s so much more complicated than you know, and I swear I never meant to hurt you, and I can’t, Eddie, I can’t…”

“Steve told me.”

Your mouth slams shut.

You go completely still.

“What?” you whisper, breath caught in your lungs.

“About Scott,” he says, softer now. “What he said. The threat. Getting me arrested if you so much as look at me again.”

Silence crashes over you.

Your thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm, too many directions at once. Steve told him? He knows?

Oh God.

Your stomach drops. You step back without realising it.

“What? No. He wasn’t supposed to, Steve had no right…”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says, cutting you off gently, but his tone is firm. “Don’t be mad at him. He didn’t tell me to mess things up for you. He told me because he knew I’d want to know the truth. And he was right.”

You’re frozen, the weight of everything crashing back on you like a tidal wave.

Eddie shifts uneasily on his feet, unsure of what to do with his hands. He shoves them in his pockets, then pulls them back out, raking one through his hair.

“I should’ve known,” he mutters. “I should’ve seen it. The way you looked at me that day… it wasn’t hate. It was fear.”

He laughs, low and bitter. “And I was too busy drowning in my own insecurities to see the difference.”

Your chest twists.

“I kept thinking I wasn’t enough,” he says, not quite looking at you. “That maybe you just… figured it out. That being with me was some kind of fluke, and you finally came to your senses.”

You flinch like he hit you. That was never how you saw him.

“I told myself if I let you go, if I kept my mouth shut long enough, maybe I’d stop hoping.” His voice breaks a little. “But I didn’t.”

You can’t take it anymore.

“I didn’t want you to know,” you choke out, raw and cracking. “Because I knew what you’d do. I knew you’d hear about Scott and say screw it and come find me anyway, like you are right now, and he’d ruin you for it.”

Eddie’s jaw tightens, but you speak faster, desperate to get it out before he can stop you.

“I thought if you hated me, if I made it easy for you to walk away, you’d be safe,” you whisper, throat burning. “That’s all I wanted. You safe. Not dragged into my mess. Not destroyed because of me.”

His voice cuts in, gentle but commanding. “Hey. Look at me.”

You try. You really try. But your eyes keep dropping to the floor, like shame’s holding them down.

Eddie’s face shifts, hurt and soft and heartbreakingly open. And then he steps closer, slow and careful, like he’s approaching a wounded animal.

“I love you,” he says, voice low but certain, like it’s the only truth he’s sure of. “That’s the part you keep forgetting.”

Your heart shatters and rebuilds all at once.

“I love you,” he says again, firmer now, like saying it once wasn’t enough. “And I don’t care how fucked up this whole thing is, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out. I’ll make it work. Whatever it takes.”

Your chest aches at how easily the words leave his mouth. No hesitation. No fear.

“Eddie,” you whisper, barely able to look at him. “I love you. God, I love you so much,”

Relief flashes across his face for half a second, until he sees the rest of yours. The tears in your eyes. The tremble in your hands. The fear.

“But I can’t do this,” you choke out. “I can’t be the reason your life gets destroyed.”

You wish to god things were different, that you could be with Eddie. But the words are lodged behind fear, behind panic, behind everything Scott and your father have ever drilled into you.

“Scott will find a way to ruin you,” you say, voice barely audible. “He’ll make sure you don’t graduate. And I know you act like you don’t care, but I know how hard you’ve worked. How much it means to you. You deserve to walk across that stage. You deserve a future.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Babe…”

“No, listen, my parents, they’d kick me out, Eddie.”

Your voice wavers, a bitter, embarrassed laugh catching in your throat.

“I mean, God, I know how pathetic it sounds, but it’s the truth. I don’t have a job, I don’t have money, I don’t have anything without them. I’m not like you. I’m not brave, or talented, or strong. I’m just… nothing.”. 

There’s a pause, a long, silent beat where you think maybe that’s it.

“You’re not nothing,” he says, low and fierce, like it offends him. Like it hurts him to hear you say it. “Don’t ever say that again.”

You finally meet his eyes, and what’s there isn’t pity. It’s fire. Love. Anger on your behalf.

“You are not nothing,” he repeats, each word deliberate, burning with conviction. “You’re brilliant. And brave. And stubborn as hell. You’ve survived things most people couldn’t even look at, and you did it alone.”

You shake your head, overwhelmed. “But I don’t know how to live without them. I don’t know who I am without their rules, without…”

“Then let me help you figure it out.”

Your breath stutters. Your whole body goes still.

“I’m not asking you to run away with me tonight,” he says softly. “We’ve only got a few more weeks ‘til graduation, right? So we take it slow. You stay on script. I won’t push. I’ll be careful.”

He takes a step closer, so close you can feel the warmth of him, steady and sure.

His fingers brush yours, barely there, like a question.

“But after that,” he says, “we make a plan. I’ll find a job. We’ll find a place. We’ll build something real. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

You stare at him, heart thundering.

“You really think we can?”

He smiles, soft, sure, unshakable.

“I know we can. You and me against the world, sweetheart.”

He squeezes your hand.

“Just say yes.”

Your throat is too tight to speak.

Your heart’s pounding so hard it’s a wonder he can’t hear it.

Just say yes, he’d said. Like it was simple. Like loving him didn’t come with consequences. Like he wasn’t holding out his hand in the middle of a storm, asking you to trust that he wouldn’t let you drown.

You want to say it.

You need to say it.

But the word won’t come.

So you nod. Just once. Barely more than a breath. But it’s enough.

And the second you do, Eddie exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months. Like your nod is a lifeline he didn’t dare hope for anymore.

Then he pulls you in.

His arms wrap around you like armour, like safety, like a promise you’ve never been given before. He holds you so carefully, but so completely, like he knows how close you are to falling apart, and he’s already decided he’s staying to help pick up every single piece.

You don’t mean to cry.

But you do.

Not loud. Not messy. Just quiet, shaking sobs into the curve of his neck, your fingers fisting into the back of his jacket like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. Like this might still be a dream.

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds you tighter. One hand in your hair, the other rubbing slow, grounding circles into your back. His cheek pressed to your temple. His heartbeat against yours.

“Shh,” he whispers, fingers threading through your hair. “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in forever, you believe him.

Eddie's Perspective

The music’s too loud. The lights are too bright. And everything reeks of warm beer and entitlement.

Eddie’s been here fifteen minutes and already regrets it.

He’s nursing a drink he doesn’t want, posted up by the stereo with Gareth, Shannon, and some girl Gareth’s been trying (and failing) to impress all week.

Shannon leans in, swirling her drink, eyeing the pack of jocks across the room with thinly veiled disdain.

“Is it just me,” she says, loud enough for Gareth to snort beside her, “or do they all look like they share one brain cell and a lifetime supply of hair gel?”

Eddie laughs, really laughs. A sharp, sudden burst he doesn’t expect. It feels good for half a second. Easy.

He follows her gaze, still grinning, eyes flicking lazily toward the jocks.

And then he sees you.

And the grin dies on his face. 

Perched on the counter like it’s holding you up. Drink in hand, hair a little messy, eyes glassy and unfocused. Laughing at something one of Scott’s friends says, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Not even close.

Eddie’s chest goes tight.

He shouldn’t care. You made your choice. You ended things. You told him, with shaking hands and glassy eyes, that this, whatever this was, couldn’t happen. Shouldn’t happen.

But watching you now, he doesn’t see someone who’s fine. He sees someone unravelling.

Your head tips back with another drink. Scott says something, smirking, and you laugh again, too loud, too fast. Eddie’s gut twists.

He tears his eyes away, jaw clenching.

Shannon says something beside him, nudging his arm like she’s trying to get his attention again. He forces a smile, nods like he heard, but his eyes are still drifting back to you.

Later, Eddie’s by the sliding door, half-watching the party and half-listening to some burnout from geometry class ramble about wanting to try acid, just as soon as he “got his head right.” Eddie hands over a little bag of weed instead, mutters something about starting small, and pockets the cash.

Gareth’s off somewhere with his date, and Shannon's still chatting up anyone who’ll listen about her mixtape. Eddie’s only half-present, letting the noise and movement of the party blur around him.

“Hey, Munson.”

He glances up. Robin’s sliding past him, giving him a faint smile before heading for the kitchen. Her red cup’s already half-empty.

“Buckley,” he nods back, voice low, distracted.

She cracks open a beer, offers him a look that says these people are the worst, 

The guy he was dealing with disappears into the crowd, and Eddie exhales, rubbing a hand down his face before he turns to head back to Gareth and Shannon.

But then he hears your laugh.

It’s off. A little too loud. A little too loose.

You’re by the stereo with a red cup in your hand, giggling at something one of the jocks says. But it’s not your laugh, not really. It’s messy. Loose. Your smile is off-kilter, your balance worse.

Robin must catch it too, because she’s stopped just ahead, frozen with her drink halfway to her mouth.

“Shit,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone.

Your eyes are glossy. Your cheeks flushed. You’ve been drinking hard. And not just sipping. You’re wasted.

You’re… not yourself. Not in control.

You don’t even notice when one of Scott’s friends leans over and tops off your drink again, just vodka, no mixer. You blink at the cup, laugh again, and down it like you’re trying to disappear.

Scott’s arm slings lazily around your waist. “Told you,” he says to his buddies, “she just needed to loosen up.”

One of them snickers. “Loosen up? Dude, she’s halfway to a blackout. Bet she won’t remember a thing tomorrow.”

“Guess I’ll have to carry her home.”

His friends snicker.

“Yeah, straight to bed, huh?”

Scott and his friends burst into laughter. One of them whistles. Another mutters something too quiet for Eddie to catch, but whatever it is makes Scott smirk. 

Robin hears that. She snaps.

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. He wants to swing. Hard. He grips the bottle in his hand like it’s the only thing keeping him from doing something he’ll regret.

Robin’s already moving.

She turns, eyes blazing, and bolts toward the hallway.

“Nancy!” she calls over the music, voice sharp with urgency. 

Eddie watches her go, then looks back at you.

You’re still smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Not even close.

Eddie stays rooted to the spot, heart pounding, guilt twisting in his chest like a knife. He watches as you tip your head back for another drink, your eyes dull and your smile fading.

He doesn’t remember moving, but suddenly he’s halfway across the room before he stops himself. His hands are shaking. His jaw’s clenched so tight it hurts.

He wants to break Scott’s face. Wants to punch every one of those smug bastards in the mouth.

But he can’t.

You ended things. You made it clear he doesn’t get to protect you anymore. You don’t want him.

If he steps in now, it’ll only make things worse. For you. For himself. For everyone.

Eddie stands frozen, heart pounding.

He’s never hated himself more. 

Eddie sees Nancy push her way through the crowd and head straight toward you. Relief punches through his chest so fast it almost hurts.

Thank God.

He watches her confront Scott, sharp, furious words passing between them, all tension and heat. Scott’s jaw works as he talks, smug and dismissive, but Nancy doesn’t back down. She grabs your arm and steers you away, her hand firm at your back.

Eddie doesn’t move. Not until the door shuts behind you and Nancy. You’re safe now. That’s what matters.

He turns back toward the living room, jaw tight, hands still clenched into fists as he makes his way through the crowd. He just needs to breathe. To cool off. To not punch someone in the face.

Gareth clocks him instantly from across the room, raising a brow like he already knows something’s gone sideways. Eddie just shakes his head, not now.

Shannon is still seated on the couch beside Gareth, drink in hand, her bored expression twisting into something sly the moment Eddie drops onto the armrest beside her.

“Well,” she says, kicking her boots up on the table. “Glad someone finally dragged Little Miss Harrington out of here before she drowned in that Solo cup.”

Eddie doesn’t look at her.

She goes on anyway, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“She was totally wasted. Like, can’t-stand-up wasted. Guess that’s what you get when you grow up rich and hollow. Typical Harringtons, pretty on the outside, nothing going on upstairs.”

“Shannon,” Gareth warns under his breath.

She waves him off and keeps talking.

“What? It’s true. That’s probably why Scott keeps her around. Pretty enough to show off, empty enough to control. ”

Eddie’s jaw tightens, the words hitting him like a slap. He stays quiet, trying to ignore her, but she won’t stop.

“Honestly? If all I was good for was warming Scott Wesley’s bed, I’d drink myself stupid, too. Hell, she probably just shows up, smiles, and spreads her legs for whichever jock’s next in line.“

Eddie turns, slowly. His expression is unreadable, flat, cold. Dangerous.

“You done?” he says quietly.

Shannon blinks. “What?”

“I said,” he repeats, voice like a knife sliding from its sheath, “Are you done talking shit about someone you don’t know?”

She scoffs. “Eddie. Come on. She’s dating Scott fucking Wesley. You seriously think she’s any different from the rest of them?”

“She’s nothing like the rest of them,” he says, and the words hit harder than he means them to. “And definitely nothing like you.”

Shannon's smile vanishes. “Jesus, okay. What’s your problem?”

“My problem,” Eddie says, standing now, voice sharp and quiet, “Is that you think being bitter makes you interesting. Maybe if you stopped sneering at people for five goddamn seconds, someone might actually care what you think.”

“Jesus, Eddie,” Gareth mutters, tension rising.

Eddie tosses back the last of his drink, not even tasting it. Just needing the burn. Needing something.

He glances down at Gareth, guilt flickering behind the fire in his chest. "Sorry, man. I tried.”

Then he cuts through the crowd and heads for the door, away from the music, the drinks, the sharp voices and sharper looks.

The trailer creaks as Eddie kicks the door shut behind him, the sound of the party still echoing in his ears like a bad hangover waiting to happen. He yanks off his jacket, tosses it onto the arm of the couch, and heads straight for the fridge. He doesn’t even bother with a glass, just twists the cap off a beer and sinks onto the threadbare couch, legs wide, bottle dangling from his fingers.

The room’s dim and quiet except for the hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional bark of a neighbour’s dog. He should feel better; he left, didn’t say anything he’d regret. He almost held it together.

But he doesn’t feel better.

He takes a long drink, lets the cheap beer burn down his throat, and stares at the wall like it might give him answers.

Shannon's words crawl under his skin, not because they’re true, but because he used to talk like that. About you. About all the so-called popular kids.

Plastic. Shallow. Jock accessories.

He’d lumped you in with the rest of them before he ever looked past your perfect hair and perfect smile. Before you tutored him, even when he was a dick to you. Before you laughed at his jokes like they meant something. Before he saw you flinch when Scott raised his voice and realised not everything about your life was polished and easy.

Now? Now he knows the truth.

You’re kind. Too kind. You carry everything without asking for help. You’re smart, actually smart, not just good-grades smart. You work hard and love harder and deserve more than what the world’s handing you.

And he’s still in love with you.

He sits in the quiet for a long time. Thinking. Overthinking. Running through a hundred versions of what he could say, what he should’ve said. Wondering if there’s a version of this where he gets to be the guy you choose.

A knock pulls him out of it.

Eddie blinks. Frowns. No one knocks this late. Not out here.

He stands slowly, beer still in hand, and makes his way to the door.

He opens it.

Steve Harrington’s standing there.

Eddie barely has time to process it, just blinks at him, chest still tight from the beer and the night and everything he hasn’t said out loud, before Steve says, dead serious, “We need to talk.”

Eddie scoffs, already turning away.

“If this is about the fight, save it. I’ve got enough people lining up to tell me what a screwup I am.”

Steve steps past him without waiting for an invitation.

Eddie scoffs, slamming the door behind him. “Yeah, no, come in. Make yourself comfortable. Want a drink while you’re at it?”

Steve doesn’t even blink. “I’m not here about the fight.”

He turns to face him, jaw tight. There’s no hesitation in his voice, just a calm, deliberate weight.

“I’m here because she told me the truth. And you deserve to hear it too.”

Eddie barks out a bitter laugh, pacing a few steps like he might explode if he stands still too long. “Yeah? Lemme guess, she finally came to her senses? Realised the freak from the trailer park wasn’t exactly long-term material?”

Steve’s gaze softens, just a little. “She was protecting you.”

Eddie laughs, bitter and hollow. “Protecting me? That’s a new one. Thought I was the one people needed protecting from.”

Steve doesn’t flinch.  “Scott said if she didn’t stop seeing you, he’d have you excluded so you can’t graduate, or arrested for assault.”

Eddie freezes mid-step. “What?”

Steve exhales. “He told her straight-up. One more word to you, and he presses charges. He’d twist the fight, turn it however he needed to make it stick.”

Eddie doesn’t speak. His eyes flicker like he’s trying to find a crack in the story, something he can grab onto, but there’s nothing. Just empty air and a weight he didn’t see coming.

“But… she didn’t even tell me. She just…” He swallows hard. “walked.”

Steve takes a step closer, quieter now. “She didn’t think you’d care about the consequences,”  he says quietly. “She thought you’d call Scott’s bluff. Push back, do something reckless, and end up arrested. And with your record…”

He doesn’t need to say it. Eddie already knows. One wrong move, one accusation, that’s all it would take.

And yeah, he can see it. Clear as day. The way he would’ve exploded, said something, done something, all heart, no thought. The kind of reaction Scott was counting on. The kind that lands people like him in jail, or worse.

Eddie’s breath stumbles. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, raw.

“She should’ve told me. We could’ve figured it out. I would’ve found another way.”

Steve doesn’t argue. He just shakes his head, tired. “That’s not how she sees the world, man,” Steve says, stepping closer. “Her whole damn life has taught her that people like Scott are untouchable. You don’t question guys like Scott, and you sure as shit don’t fight them. You survive them.”

Eddie looks away, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ache, but it’s guilt digging at his insides. His chest feels like it’s tightening, his breath shallow. His own thoughts are a mess of self-blame and regret.

“I should’ve pushed back harder. Should’ve fought for her… I was too damn busy feeling sorry for myself to see it. I let her walk away. I could’ve…”

He stops himself, shaking his head in disbelief. His voice cracks as he lets the words slip out.

“God, I’m an idiot.”

And it’s not just shame in his voice, it’s devastation. Because now, too late, he sees the truth clear as day. How carefully you hid it. How much you were holding back? How much you must’ve been breaking while he stood there, letting you go.

Steve exhales slowly, rubbing his face like the weight of everything just hit him. “Look, don’t beat yourself up, man. You didn’t see it because she didn’t want you to.  She’s good at hiding things… keeping it all inside. She’s always been like that. Always trying to protect everyone else. You weren’t the only one who missed it.”

Eddie’s eyes flicker to Steve, the hint of curiosity breaking through the storm of guilt in his chest. His brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t speak, waiting for Steve to explain more.

Steve looks at him for a long moment. Then he exhales, leaning against the counter like the weight of his next sentence is heavier than he expected.

“When she first got with Scott…” Steve begins, his voice quieter now, more measured. “Nancy and I were falling apart. Everything was a mess. We were fighting all the time. Everything felt… off. Stupid arguments that didn’t matter, you know?”

He smiles bitterly, shaking his head. “And the whole time, she was there. For both of us. Always checking in, always smiling, always holding everyone else together. I didn’t even notice it at first, but she started changing.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. He doesn’t interrupt, but something in Steve’s tone makes him listen harder.

“She got quieter,” Steve continues. “Started asking permission for things she used to just do. Always looked over her shoulder when Scott was around, like she was waiting for something to go wrong.”

He pauses. Swallows.

“I tried to talk to her about it, eventually,” Steve says. “But she shut me out. Told me she was fine. Smiled through it. But it wasn’t just denial; she really believed it. Believed him. And I didn’t push. I didn’t want to lose her completely.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He can’t. The weight of it presses on his chest, suffocating him.

Steve glances over. “I’ve never been your biggest fan, Munson.”

That gets a flicker from Eddie. A half-smirk that doesn’t last.

“But when she was with you… I don’t know, man. She came back. Like the light in her switched on again. The old her.”

Eddie looks up sharply at that, like the words punched a hole through his grief. He swallows hard.

A long pause stretches between them.

“You brought her back,” Steve says simply. “Even if it was just for a little while.”

Eddie lets out a shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so hollow. He drags a hand down his face, like he’s trying to rub the shame off his skin.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Great job, I did holding onto her.”

His throat tightens. He swallows it down.

“I thought… I thought letting her go was the right thing. That maybe I wasn’t what she needed. I mean, hell, look at me.” He laughs softly, bitter and aching. “I figured the best thing I could do was stay out of the way.”

He scoffs, bitter at himself. “But screw that. If there’s even a piece of her that still wants me, then I’m not gonna stand here and do nothing.”

Steve, already at the door, pauses. Looks back, his expression unreadable for a moment, then something shifts. A small nod.

“Then go show her she’s got a choice, Munson,” he says quietly. “Let her see she can finally make one.”

He leaves without another word. The door clicks shut behind him.

Eddie doesn’t move right away.

Eddie stares at the empty space where he’d stood. Just for a beat.

Then he’s moving fast.

No jacket. No hesitation.

Just keys in hand, and one thought in his head.

Go.

By the time he pulls up outside your house, his chest is tight, his hands still gripping the wheel like he might fall apart if he lets go.

He kills the engine. Silence rushes in.

Okay, he thinks. Now what?

He glances at the front door.

“Yeah, no,” he mutters. “Not walking into Satan’s lair like, ‘Hey Mr. I-Control-My-Daughter’s-Every-Breath, mind if I emotionally liberate her real quick?’”

He winces. Hard pass.

Then he sees it.

Your window. Light on. Curtains not quite shut. A crack of warmth spilling through the dark like it’s waiting for him.

“…Okay,” he whispers, shoving the door open. “Window it is. Breaking and entering. Really leaning into the Munson family legacy.”

He slips out of the van quietly, feet crunching on the gravel. There’s some kind of decorative lattice along the side, nothing too rickety, probably just for looks.

It’ll do.

He climbs.

Halfway up, his foot slips, scraping loudly against the siding. “Shit!” He hissed, clutching the column like it personally betrayed him.. “Okay. Cool. Everything’s fine. This is how legends are made.”

By the time he reaches your window, his fingers are cramping, his ribs feel bruised, and he’s running purely on adrenaline, bad decisions, and the kind of upper-body strength gym class failed to build.

He hesitates. 

For a split second, he wonders if this is stupid. If you even want to see him.

Still, he knocks. Once. Soft. Just in case.

Nothing.

He mutters, “C’mon, sweetheart… open up. I’m running outta dignity here.”

Another knock. Louder this time.

No answer.

His forehead drops against the glass, breath fogging the window.

“Maybe she’s asleep. Or hates me. Or maybe..

The curtain moves.

And you’re there.

Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Like you’re not sure he’s real.

And shit, you look like you’ve been crying. Like you have cried, hard. That raw, hollow kind of crying that leaves your soul wrecked and your chest caved in. It knocks the wind out of him.

But you’re here. You’re looking at him. And somehow, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Your voice pulls him from his thoughts, “Eddie?”

And Eddie goes blank.

Because all of a sudden, every word he thought he might say has abandoned him. No speech. No plan. Just your face, and his chest cracking wide open.

So he says the only thing his brain offers. The only thing that’s ever felt right, since the first time he teased you with it:

“Hi, princess.”

“…What the hell are you doing?”

Your voice is sharper than he expected, not angry, not quite, just shocked. Like you’re watching something completely unhinged unfold in real time.

Which… fair.

He arches a brow, expression deadly serious. “Trying not to die, mostly.”

You blink. Breath-catching. Like he’s cracked through whatever fog was holding you still.

“Oh shit! Hang on!”

You move fast, reaching for him, hands frantic and warm and real. Grabbing at his jacket, his wrist, his sleeve, whatever you can get hold of, and it’s a mess, a barely coordinated disaster.

But it works.

You haul him inside like it’s muscle memory.

He stumbles over the sill, crashes to the floor in a heap of limbs and denim and bruised ego, landing with a grunt that’s way too loud for the hour.

“Okay…” he groans, flopping back with a dramatic sigh, “In hindsight? Maybe not my best plan.”

His back aches. His shoulder definitely hit something. And he’s pretty sure he left a piece of his soul clinging to the siding outside.

But he’s in.

He’s in.

You’re staring at him like you still can’t believe it. And it hits him, like a slap to the chest:

You’re not laughing.

You’re not rolling your eyes or teasing him or cracking some joke about his dramatic entrance.

You’re frozen. Pale. Wide-eyed.

You look at him like you’re still waiting for the world to collapse.

Eddie pushes himself up, ribs aching, lungs still not quite working. He wobbles a little, but he gets to his feet. Shakes out his hair. Breathes through the burn in his chest.

And then he looks at you.

Really looks.

God, you look tired. Not just exhausted, bone-deep tired, like grief hollowed you out and left your skin behind. Your cheeks are blotchy, and your eyes are swollen from crying. 

And it breaks his fucking heart.

But you’re here. And you opened the window. And you’re still looking at him.

So he says the only thing he can manage, voice gentler this time.

“Hi again.”

It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, like maybe if he says it from a different angle, it’ll make this moment easier. But he doesn’t know what else to do. You look like you might collapse. Or scream. Or vanish entirely.

You say his name like it hurts.

“Eddie…”

And God he wants to grab you. Pull you in. Tell you it’s okay, that he’s here now, that none of this is too big, not when it comes to you. He wants to fix it, whatever it is, whatever you’re tangled in, he’ll fix it with his bare hands if he has to.

But you don’t move. And the look in your eyes shifts.

You’re scared. Not of him.

Of everything else.

“You… you can’t be here,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You can’t, Eddie, if my dad hears anything, if Scott finds out!”

He opens his mouth, wants to say something soothing, maybe even brave. But you don't let him.

You won’t stop talking.

And you’re spiralling. Fast.

“You should hate me,” you blurt, and Eddie’s stomach twists. “And I wouldn’t blame you, because the way I ended things was awful, and you deserve better, God, you deserve so much better,”

Stop. Please, stop.

He wants to say it, but you just keep unravelling in front of him, like every second without him has been slowly cutting you down to the bone.

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” you gasp. “I’m not allowed to talk to you,”

“Princess, whoa”

“I didn’t want to, I never wanted to. I just… I had to. I can’t explain, but I had to. It’s not about you, it wasn’t, God, you think I don’t care, but I do,”

Sweetheart. Jesus. Breathe.

“…and this is just…”

“Hey” 

“I know I was awful, and I hate myself for it, but I thought maybe it was better if you hated me, because at least then you’d be safe”

“Sweetheart”

He can’t take it anymore. You’re falling apart, right in front of him, and he knows that look in your eyes, the desperation, the way you’re shaking, because he’s been living it, too.

“Steve told me.”

It cuts through the chaos like a blade.

Your mouth slams shut. The room goes still.

“What?” You whisper, like you didn’t hear him right. Or didn’t want to.

He softens his voice. Doesn’t want to scare you. Doesn’t want to break whatever thread is holding her together.

“About Scott,” he says. “What he said. The threat. Getting me arrested if you so much as look at me again.”

And there it is.

The silence that follows? It’s heavy. Dangerous. It crushes his ribs in.

You look like you’ve been gut-punched.

He sees it all at once, the fear, the shame, the panic rising again, and then you’re backing up without even realising it.

“What? No. He wasn’t supposed to, Steve had no right…”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie cuts in quickly. Gentle, but firm. “Don’t be mad at him. He didn’t tell me to mess things up for you. He told me because he knew I’d want to know the truth. And he was right.”

He fidgets, hands useless. Shoves them in his pockets. Pulls them out again. Runs one through his hair, wishing like hell he knew what he was doing.

“I should’ve known,” he mutters, voice cracking. “I should’ve seen it. The way you looked at me that day… it wasn’t hate. It was fear.”

The laugh that slips out is bitter, small.

Self-loathing.

“And I was too busy drowning in my own insecurities to see the difference.”

He doesn’t look at her now. Can’t. It hurts too much.

“I kept thinking I wasn’t enough,” he says quietly. “That maybe you just… figured it out. That being with me was some kind of fluke, and you finally came to your senses.”

He sees you flinch, that subtle, sharp little twist in your expression.

It makes him sick. Because you never thought that. He knows it now.

“I told myself if I let you go, if I kept my mouth shut long enough, maybe I’d stop hoping.”

His voice breaks.

“But I didn’t.”

And then you say it. Like it’s been building inside you, rotting away at the edges.

“I didn’t want you to know,” you choke, voice thick and raw. “Because I knew what you’d do. I knew you’d hear about Scott and say screw it and come find me anyway, like you are right now, and he’d ruin you for it.”

You barrel on, like you have to get it out before he talks you down.

“I thought if you hated me, if I made it easy for you to walk away, you’d be safe. That’s all I wanted. You safe. Not dragged into my mess. Not destroyed because of me.”

Destroyed because of you?

No. No fucking way.

“Hey,” he says, voice low but firm. “Look at me.”

You don’t.

You try, he can see you trying, but your eyes keep dropping, shame pinning them to the floor like you’re not even worthy to look at him. And that shatters something in him.

He steps forward. Slow. Careful. Like you’re a deer about to bolt.

“I love you,” he says, quiet but certain, because it is certain. It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore. “That’s the part you keep forgetting.”

He watches the words hit you, soft and brutal, all at once. You flinch, and for a second, you almost seem to fold.

“I love you,” he repeats, louder this time. A promise. A lifeline. “And I don’t care how fucked up this whole thing is, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out. I’ll make it work. Whatever it takes.”

It’s easy to say. Because it’s true.

He meant it before, and he means it now, standing in front of you with dirt on his jeans and his heart bleeding all over the floor.

But then your voice breaks again. And this time, it slices straight through him.

“Eddie, I love you. God, I love you so much”

His breath stutters. Relief crashes into him like a wave.

She still loves me.

But then he sees it, the fear. The way your shoulders tense. The way your hands tremble like they’re holding something fragile, and it’s you.

“But I can’t do this. I can’t be the reason your life gets destroyed.”

His heart lurches.

You’re doing it again. Making yourself the villain in a story that was never yours to carry.

“Scott will find a way to ruin you,” you whisper. “He’ll make sure you don’t graduate. And I know you act like you don’t care, but I know how hard you’ve worked. How much it means to you. You deserve to walk across that stage. You deserve a future.”

His stomach flips.

Because yeah, he’s busted his ass this year. 

But you were the first person who ever looked at him like he was smart, not just lucky when he got something right.

You gave him the notes. The hope. The damn Romeo and Juliet paper that turned into a love letter, he didn’t know how to say out loud.

And now you think he should just let all that go to keep him safe?

“You deserve a future,” you say. 

He wants to scream. Rip the world in half.

Because what kind of future is it if it doesn’t have you in it?

Then you try to talk to him again. Softer this time. But worse.

“My parents… they’d kick me out, Eddie. I mean, God, I know how pathetic it sounds, but it’s the truth. I don’t have a job, I don’t have money, I don’t have anything without them. I’m not like you. I’m not brave, or talented, or strong. I’m just… nothing.”

And that.

That? That’s the last straw.

His chest burns. His fists clench.

“You’re not nothing,” he says, low and raw, like the words are made of fire. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Because it’s bullshit. Dangerous bullshit.

You’re the strongest person he’s ever met. The smartest. The kindest.

“You are not nothing,” he says again, slower now, letting every word hit the air like a vow. “You’re brilliant. And brave. And stubborn as hell. You’ve survived things most people couldn’t even look at, and you did it alone.”

You shake your head. He watches you unravel, overwhelmed by it all.

“But I don’t know how to live without them,” you admit. “I don’t know who I am without their rules, without…”

He cuts in gently. “Then let me help you figure it out.”

And there’s a moment, suspended between breath and heartbeat, where everything feels possible.

“I’m not asking you to run away with me tonight,” he says, soft and certain. “We’ve only got a few more weeks ‘til graduation, right? So we take it slow. You stay on script. I won’t push. I’ll be careful.”

He steps closer, fingers brushing yours, just barely.

“But after that,” he says, “we make a plan. I’ll find a job. We’ll find a place. We’ll build something real. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

Your eyes are wide, shining.

And when you speak, it’s barely a whisper.

“You really think we can?”

He smiles, soft, steady, unshakable. The kind of smile that feels like coming home.

“I know we can. You and me against the world, sweetheart.”

He squeezes your hand, gentle but sure.

“Just say yes.”

It’s all he needs. One word. One breath.

He watches your throat work. Watches your eyes flood. He can see you fighting with yourself.

And for a second, God, he thinks you won’t. Thinks the fear still has you too tight in its grip.

But then you nod and breathe the tiniest “okay”.

It’s barely there. Just the tiniest movement. But to him, it’s everything.

The floodgates open behind his ribs.

He didn’t even know he was holding his breath until that moment. Not really. Not all of it.

But when you nod, it’s like the weight of a thousand what-ifs and worst-case-scenarios just evaporate.

You said yes.

Not quite in words. But still.

You said yes.

He pulls you in without thinking. No hesitation, no fear. Just instinct.

His arms fold around you like muscle memory, like he was built to hold you. To be the thing you can fall apart against.

And you do. 

Not all at once. Not loud.

But he feels it. The shaking. The hitched breath. The way your fingers clutch at his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

You’re crying.

Not the kind of tears he’s ever seen you spill in public, never the glassy, polite kind her parents might accept. These are quiet and real, soaking into the curve of his neck as if you’ve been holding them back for years.

It guts him and it grounds him, all at once.

He doesn’t say anything clever. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t flinch.

His arms tighten around you. Not crushing. Just… anchoring. One hand buried in your hair, the other tracing slow, steady circles between your shoulder blades.

Grounding. Calming. Here. I’m here.

And for once, he doesn’t feel helpless.

He doesn’t feel like the freak or the failure or the guy everyone expects to drop the ball.

Right now, he’s just… yours.

“Shh,” he whispers, lips brushing your hair. “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

And he’s not.

You could fall apart a thousand more times, and he’d be there, every damn time, helping you pick up the pieces.

Because loving you isn’t the scary part.

Losing you is.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him.

He can feel it.

And Eddie? He might not have money, or power, or a plan more detailed than “find a job, love her forever”…

But he’s got you now.

It’s not a fairytale. It’s not clean. But it’s real.

And it’s theirs.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 19

Out of Reach

Summary: You and Eddie navigate life without each other

Chapter Warnings: controlling behaviour (Scott)

Word Count: 4k

Your Perspective

Scott picks you up like always, but today, the silence is different. It’s not just tense, it’s final.

Yesterday, he gave you his ultimatum. You had no choice but to walk away from Eddie, from tutoring, from even talking to him. And now, sitting beside Scott in the car, the weight of it all feels unbearable.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just grips the wheel too tightly, fingers tapping against it in irritation. The air is thick with his smug satisfaction, like he won. Like you’re his again.

“You gonna sulk forever?” he finally says, glancing at you with a smirk.

You press your arms tighter around yourself, eyes fixed on the passing streets, willing yourself not to crack, not to let the tears sting at the back of your throat break free.

You don’t respond. Just shift slightly away. If you open your mouth, you might scream.

He turns his head slightly, jaw tight. “Cut the attitude. I’m not the bad guy here.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste blood. Anything to keep yourself from saying what you really think?

Scott huffs a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head. “Jesus. I don’t get what your problem is. This is what’s best for everyone.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. Best for everyone means best for him. Not for you. Not for Eddie.

When he pulls into the school parking lot, you don’t even wait for the car to fully stop before reaching for the door handle.

But then he speaks again, voice flat, like he’s just reminding you of your place.

“Oh, and you’re coming to Andy’s party tomorrow.”

No room for protest. No room for anything at all.

You get out without looking back, the door shutting harder than it needs to, not that it makes a difference. 

You barely make it five steps across the parking lot before you hear her.

“Hey!”

Nancy’s voice cuts through the morning haze, sharp with concern.

You slow but don’t stop. Just keep walking.

She jogs to catch up beside you, her messenger bag bouncing against her hip. “I looked for you yesterday. After the fight. You just… disappeared.”

You stare straight ahead, jaw tight. “I had to get home.”

Nancy frowns. “Are you okay?”

That word, okay, splinters something in your chest. But you don’t let it show. You can’t.

“I’m fine,” you say flatly, eyes locked on the school doors. If you blink too long, you might cry. And if you cry, you might break.

Nancy steps in front of you, slowing your pace. “You don’t look fine.”

You sigh, brushing past her. “I don’t want to talk about it, Nance. Not now.”

She hesitates, clearly worried, but doesn’t push. “Okay. But I’m here, you know? Whenever you do.”

You nod, but you don’t stop. Don’t slow.

Because if you stop, even for a second, you know everything you’ve been holding in will come spilling out.

And right now, you’re barely keeping yourself together.

The day drags.

You float through it in a fog, nodding when teachers call your name, pretending to take notes, pretending to care. It’s easier to go numb. Easier than letting yourself feel anything at all.

By lunch, you’ve perfected the mask. You smile when someone says hi. You laugh when Jason cracks a joke. You sit beside Scott and pretend you don’t feel like a prisoner.

The bell rings for the seventh period. You’re halfway down the hall, head low, when a voice cuts through the noise.

“Miss Harrington?”

You freeze.

Mrs. O’Donnell is standing in her classroom doorway, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“Can I have a word?”

You hesitate, then nod. You step inside the classroom, acutely aware of how quiet it is without anyone else around. The door clicks shut behind you.

“I wanted to let you know,” she says as she moves to her desk, “Eddie handed in his essay this morning.”

Your breath catches.

“He did?” You can’t hide the relief in your voice; it slips out before you can stop it.

She nods. “And it was… surprisingly good. Focused, insightful. A little messy around the edges, but thoughtful in a way I didn’t expect. Honestly, after this, there’s no reason he shouldn’t graduate.”

Something blooms in your chest. Not just relief, but pride. For him, for the work he put in, for the spark you always knew was there. 

And God, you wish you could celebrate with him.

You wish you could throw your arms around him, tell him how proud you are, how you knew he could do it. You wish you could kiss him again, could be with him without it ruining everything.

But you can’t.

So instead, you force a small smile and nod. “That’s great. Thanks for telling me.”

Mrs. O’Donnell studies you a moment longer. “I guess the tutoring worked out after all.”

You shift, arms crossing tightly. “I guess.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Is everything alright? Eddie seemed… off today. Quieter than usual.”

You stare at the floor, heat rising behind your eyes. “I wouldn’t know,” you say quietly.

She doesn’t press, just studies you for a moment, then walks to her desk and picks something up.

“Would you like to read it?” she asks gently, holding out a stapled copy. 

You should say no. You should walk away and leave it at that.

But your heart’s already beating faster, and you’re already reaching out before you can stop yourself.

“Okay,” you whisper.

She hands it to you.

You take the paper carefully, your fingers ghosting over the familiar scrawl of Eddie’s handwriting. Even just seeing it makes your chest ache.

“Thanks,” you say softly before retreating to the hallway.

You don’t go to class.

You just walk through the halls, past classrooms, until you find the quietest stairwell you know, tucked behind the science wing. You sink down onto the cold step, heart hammering, fingers trembling slightly as you unfold the paper in your hands.

Then, slowly, you begin to read.

It’s good.

Really good.

It’s not just that he’s put effort into it, it’s that he’s listened to you. The Eddie who scoffed at Romeo and Juliet weeks ago, who rolled his eyes at the idea of fate and love, has written something raw and thoughtful.

It’s messy around the edges, his handwriting a little wild, his grammar not always perfect, but the heart of it is clear. And it hits you like a freight train.

He’s explored rebellion. Not the dramatic kind. Not running away or flipping off the world. But the quiet kind, the kind that lives in the spaces between choices you’re not supposed to make.

He tears the story apart and stitches it back together with something real, something bruised and bloody and his.

And then, when you reach the conclusion, you stop.

You read it again, just to make sure you didn’t misinterpret it.

“People say they were doomed from the start, like love and death were always tied together. But I don’t think they were stupid. I think they were brave. Brave enough to want something more than what they were handed. Brave enough to reach for it, even knowing it might burn everything down.”

You stop. Swallow hard.

Your eyes skim further, faster, your pulse rising with every line.

“They say rebellion looks like fire, like fists and shouting and running away. But I think sometimes it looks like staying. Like choosing to let someone see the parts of you you’re used to hiding. Like sitting across from a girl you were never supposed to talk to and realising you’d burn your whole life down just to hear her laugh again.”

Your hands tremble around the paper, fingers digging into the edge.

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t wipe them away.

You’re sitting alone, holding a love letter written in the language of rebellion, reading the words of a boy who didn’t think he deserved a happy ending… but hoped anyway.

And your heart shatters right there on the stairs.

Because he hoped for you.

And you broke it anyway.

He doesn’t know you’re doing it to protect him.

That you’re handing him back his future with trembling hands, breaking your own in the process.

Because you want to give him your heart. God, you do.

But you’d rather lose him forever than be the thing that ruins him.

And he can’t even know that.

So you sit on the stairwell, this paper shaking in your hands, while the truth pulses inside your chest like a scream you’ll never say aloud:

You love him.

And you’ll never get to tell him.

Not in a way that matters.

Not in a way he deserves.

By the time you make your way to yearbook after school, your mind is a swirl of emotions, anger, frustration, longing, and helplessness. You sit down, take out your notes for the yearbook project, but it’s impossible to focus. You can barely look at the photos in front of you without seeing Eddie’s face, the way he kissed you, the words he wrote to you, how real it all felt.

Sarah walks over to your desk, a small stack of photos in her hands. She’s got that excited energy about her, the kind that makes you smile even though your thoughts are miles away. She’s always been good at capturing people in their natural moments, not staged or forced like the school photos.

“Hey, I think you’ll like these,” Sarah says, flipping through the photos, showing you a few that look really good, casual shots, candid moments of friends, the real emotion you’ve been trying to capture for the yearbook.

You nod, genuinely impressed. “These are great, Sarah. Exactly what I wanted. Perfect.”

She beams, clearly proud of her work, but your attention drifts.

You’re looking at the next photo in the stack when your breath hitches. It’s a photo of you and Eddie, taken in the library, the moment you’ve tried so hard to push out of your mind.

In it, you’re laughing at something Eddie said, your head thrown back slightly in genuine amusement. Eddie’s gaze is fixed on you, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen, his eyes filled with something you can’t even begin to understand at the time. It’s like the world around you had melted away, leaving just the two of you in that perfect moment.

The photo captures everything: how alive you felt with him, how comfortable, how real. It’s raw, the way you both looked at each other. There’s no mask, no pretences, just you and Eddie, sharing something beautiful.

Your throat tightens. You blink, fighting the tears that threaten to spill. You can’t let Sarah see. She’s so full of excitement about her work, and you don’t want to ruin it. But the weight of everything hits you, the pain of knowing you can never have that, not truly, not when Scott’s still in the picture, still controlling your life.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath.

“Is everything okay?” Sarah asks, noticing the change in your face.

You nod quickly, forcing a smile, but it’s a poor attempt at hiding what’s going on inside. “Yeah, just… just fine.”

Sarah eyes you for a second, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she flips through the stack a bit more, her voice light again. “I’m glad you like them. I can make a few tweaks if you want, but I think these could be great for the yearbook.”

You give a weak nod. “Yeah, they’re perfect. Thank you, Sarah.”

But in your mind, all you can see is that photo of you and Eddie. The laughter. The love. And the painful realisation that no matter how hard you try to move forward, you’ll always remember this moment, this feeling… and it’ll always be just out of reach.

Eddie's Perspective

Eddie hasn’t slept.

He doesn’t need a mirror to know he looks like shit, shadows under his eyes, bruised jaw, hair a wild mess. His head feels heavy, like it’s full of wet cement, every thought dragging him down.

He shoves on a hoodie, grabs his worn leather jacket from the back of the chair, and rakes a hand through his hair, not that it helps. His stomach’s tight, twisted up in knots; he’s not even sure if it’s anger or heartbreak anymore, just this constant pressure sitting on his chest, heavy as a goddamn anvil.

He’s about to head out the door when the front latch rattles.

Wayne steps in, steel-toed boots heavy on the trailer floor, shoulders sagging from a long graveyard shift.

He pauses in the doorway, squinting at his nephew.

“Jesus, Ed… you look like hell.”

Eddie rubs a hand over his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, his hair a tangled mess, and there’s still a faint shadow of a bruise along his jaw.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, voice rough, “hell’s about where I’m at.”

Wayne hangs his coat, watching him with quiet patience.

“You sleep at all?”

Eddie gives a humourless snort.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

Wayne steps into the kitchen and pours the last of the cold coffee into a mug.

For a second, neither of them speaks.

“What’s goin’ on, kid?”

Eddie exhales sharply, dragging both hands through his hair.

“She dumped me,” he says roughly, like he’s trying to tear the words out of his chest before they choke him.

“Last night. Said it wasn’t working, said I was just… a distraction.” He huffs a bitter laugh. “So. That’s that.”

Wayne leans against the counter, arms folded, mug cradled in his hand.

He studies Eddie’s hunched shoulders, the way he’s avoiding eye contact.

Eddie gives a sharp laugh, pacing across the rug.

“You gonna say it now? ‘I told you so’? About how I should’ve stayed the hell away from people like her? Not stick my nose in rich folks’ mess? Stay in my lane?”

Wayne’s mouth pulls into a small, wry smile.

“Boy, if I said ‘I told you so’ every time you ran your head into a wall, I’d be outta breath by now.”

Eddie huffs, pacing a little, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Figures. I blow it every time, right? Can’t have somethin’ good without wrecking it.”

Wayne tilts his head.

“She say why?”

Eddie lets out something between a laugh and a groan, scrubbing at his face.

“She said it’s finals, family, too much pressure, whatever. But… I know what this is.” His voice drops, tight and raw.

“I punched Scott. She saw me lose my shit. And now she’s scared. She’s realised I’m trash. Hell, maybe she finally realised I was never good enough to begin with.”

Wayne’s expression softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“She tell you she was scared?”

Eddie falters, shoulders tense.

“…No.”

Wayne watches him, eyes calm, thoughtful.

“She’s got a good heart, Ed. You know that, right?”

Wayne scratches at his jaw.

“Girl like that… walkin’ away without a fight? Without a decent explanation? Somethin’ don’t add up.”

Eddie scoffs, grabbing his bag again.

“Yeah, well, maybe you didn’t see it like I did.”

Wayne straightens a little as Eddie heads toward the door.

“Eddie.”

Eddie stops, hand on the handle, jaw clenched.

Wayne’s voice is quiet but firm.

“Don’t go writin’ her off just yet.”

Eddie’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t answer.

He pulls open the door, cold morning air rushing in, and steps outside without looking back.

Wayne stays in the doorway a moment, watching his nephew disappear down the steps, his heart heavy in his chest.

He lets out a long sigh, muttering under his breath,

“Damn stubborn kid.”

By the time Eddie slumps into school, he heads straight for Mrs. O’Donnell’s classroom, paper crumpled in his fist. His hoodie’s half-zipped, eyes red-rimmed, and his walk’s got that restless, edgy bounce, like he’s not sure if he wants to stay or bolt.

She looks up, surprised to see him.

“Well, Mr. Munson,” she says, arching a brow as he drops the paper onto her desk, “on time and turning in your essay. Should I be worried the apocalypse is coming?”

Eddie snorts under his breath, rocking back on his heels.

“Nah, figured I’d shake things up.”

Mrs. O’Donnell picks up the paper, skimming the first few lines with her usual sharp-eyed focus, but then something shifts. Her brow furrows, mouth twitching faintly at the corners. She looks up at Eddie again, a little softer this time.

“This… is good, Eddie.” She sounds surprised, almost cautious. “Looks like that tutoring’s been doing the trick. You two make a pretty good team.”

The words hit like a punch to the ribs. Eddie’s smirk falters for a second, just a flicker, before he snorts softly, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice flat, “guess we did.”

It slips out bitter, heavier than he means, and God, it stings. Just the thought of you, the memory of your voice laughing as you tried to explain the stupid sonnets to him, the way you chewed your pen when you were thinking, the way you’d look at him like maybe he wasn’t a total screwup.

Mrs. O’Donnell watches him for a moment, maybe sensing something’s off, but Eddie’s already halfway to the door, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tight.

But Eddie’s already pulling away, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“Anyway… see ya.”

He turns before she can say anything else, shoulders hunched as he slips past the desks, head ducked low.

As he walks out, the weight in his chest tightens again, sharp and aching.

Yeah. Real good team.

Eddie’s shoving books into his locker when he hears it. 

“Yo, Munson!”

He freezes for half a second, heart kicking.

Gareth.

He hasn’t heard his voice since Tuesday, since Gareth caught him and you practically tangled up behind the amps and walked out without a word. Eddie’s chest loosens just a little as he turns around.

“Hey, man,” Eddie says, flicking on that easy grin, and okay, maybe it’s a little shaky today, but he’s trying. “Long time no bitching. Thought you’d sworn me off for good.”

Gareth snorts, shoulders hitching up like he’s trying to play it cool.

“Yeah, well… figured I’d let you sweat it out.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, trust me, been sweatin’ plenty, dude.”

Gareth rocks back on his heels, hands stuffed in his jeans jacket. “Look, I’ve been thinking.”

Eddie slams the locker shut with a clatter. “Dangerous habit.”

“Shut up,” Gareth says, smirking. “I thought of a way you can make it up to me.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, mouth twitching. “I’m listening.”

Gareth huffs a laugh. “Andy’s throwing a party tomorrow. His parents are outta town, you know, big house, nice speakers, terrible taste in music.”

Eddie groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gareth, man, no. Come on.”

“Wait, listen.” Gareth steps closer, dropping his voice like they’re plotting a heist. “I’ve been talkin’ to this girl. She’s awesome. But she’s only comin’ if her friend comes, and her friend’s only comin’ if she’s got a date. You see where I’m goin’ with this?”

Eddie drops his head back against the locker with a thunk.

“Let me guess: I’m the sacrificial lamb.”

Gareth claps his hands together. “Exactly! Double date, man. Just this once, alright?”

Eddie drags a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, dude. Who’s the friend?”

Gareth rocks back, trying way too hard to look casual.

“Shannon.”

Eddie’s head thunks lightly against the locker. “Not Shannon,” he mutters.

“She likes decent music, man,” Gareth argues, rolling his eyes. “She’s edgy, hates conformity, flips off half the school on a regular basis, basically your type.” He pauses, smirking. “Well… before your type was Scott Wesley’s girlfriend.”

Eddie freezes for half a second, chest clenching, throat tight, but he forces a crooked grin. “Low blow, dude.”

Gareth just smirks, not backing off. “Come on. You in or what?”

Eddie groans again, long and loud, dragging both hands through his hair. His stomach twists. The last thing he wants is to be anywhere near another girl, another party, another reminder that you’re not his anymore. Not even 24 hours, and the universe wants to shove him into some trainwreck date.

But then he looks at Gareth, all eager, awkward, trying to play it cool but still clearly stung from the other night.

Eddie sighs, scrubbing both hands over his face. Fantastic. Nothing like awkward small talk and lukewarm beer to patch up a freshly shattered heart.

“Alright. Fine.” He waves a hand. “I’ll take one for the team.”

Gareth lights up. “Hell yes, man! Knew you’d come through.”

Eddie forces a grin, but inside?

It’s just noise, a cheap distraction from the bruise still blooming in his chest.

Yeah, he thinks bitterly. Hell of a rebound night this is gonna be.

Hellfire’s a blur.

The campaign’s tight, the guys are locked in, and there’s a moment, just one, when Eddie almost forgets. For a few precious minutes, he loses himself in dice rolls and demon lore and Dustin’s ridiculous war cry as his character cleaves through a horde of undead.

But it doesn’t last.

Because the second the laughter fades, the second the adrenaline dips, the ache settles back in, dull and familiar, pressing into his chest like a bruise he can’t stop poking. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His heart’s not in it. Not tonight.

He packs up slower than usual, letting the others buzz around him. 

Eddie’s halfway through packing up when he hears a voice behind him.

Then he hears her voice.

“Mike,” Nancy calls from the door, arms crossed, eyes already scanning the room. “Let’s go.”

Mike groans but grabs his stuff, dragging his feet like always.

Nancy steps in farther. Her eyes land on Eddie.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

Eddie doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look surprised. Just gives her a lazy shrug and nods toward the corner of the room.

They step aside.

She’s direct. “Did you talk to her today?”

His stomach drops, just a flicker, but he doesn’t let it show.

“Who?”

“You know who.” Nancy’s not in the mood for games. 

He shrugs again, more defensive this time. “No. Why would I?”

Nancy studies him, the way his shoulders shift, the bite in his tone.

“She seemed off earlier,” she says. “I asked if she was okay. She shut me down.”

Eddie snorts under his breath. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

Nancy doesn’t bite. She just watches him a beat longer, then says, soft but certain:

“You can drop the act. I know you guys have been getting close.”

Eddie’s jaw twitches. He looks away. “Yeah. Were getting close. Past tense.”

Nancy blinks, clearly thrown. “Wait. What? When? 

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice is flat. He stands, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “She ended it.”

Nancy’s brow furrows, confused. “But… she likes you, Eddie. I know she does.”

Something in Eddie’s face cracks — just a little.

Eddie barks a hollow laugh. “Yeah? Funny way of showing it.”

Nancy steps forward, her voice lower now. “Did she say why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at the floor, jaw tight, something bitter rising in his throat.

Then: “Nope. Just did what she’s always been good at, smiled real sweet and walked away.”

He pushes past before Nancy can say anything else, not trusting himself to stay in that room another second.

And as he walks down the empty hallway, hands clenched in his jacket pockets, all he can think about is how the one time he really let someone in, really let himself want something real, it blew up in his face.

Figures.

Because that’s what happens when freaks fall for girls like you.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595 @amandahobblepot

[northernsoulktf]

Between The Lines- Chapter 18

Fight or Flight

Summary: Eddie Finally has enough of the way Scott treats you.

Chapter Warnings: controlling behaviour (Scott), physical violence, fighting

Word Count: 1.6k

Your Perspective

The next day, you and Nancy are sitting in the school cafeteria, picking at your food, and talking about the usual things: classes, plans for the weekend, etc, but your mind keeps drifting. You can feel your heart beating a little faster, the memory of last night still fresh.

Nancy, ever perceptive, watches you for a second before speaking. “You’re not really paying attention, are you?”

You blink, startled out of your haze, and give her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Nance. Just… got a lot on my mind.”

She narrows her eyes, that sharp, investigative look she always gets when she senses there’s more under the surface. “Eddie?”

You hesitate, fingers curling around the edge of your tray. “Yeah. Eddie.”

Nancy leans forward slightly, lowering her voice. “What happened?”

You glance around the room, making sure no one’s close enough to overhear. Then, quietly, you say, “I slept with him.”

Nancy’s eyes go wide, her mouth falling open into a silent “oh my god.” She grabs your hand across the table, squeezing it. “Finally! I mean, seriously, you’ve been mooning over each other for weeks.”

You laugh, glancing around to make sure no one’s paying too much attention. “Shh, I don’t want the world to know”

Nancy leans forward, lowering her voice. “Are you going to leave Scott?”

The words hit you like a cold wave, and you pull in a shaky breath. “I want to.”

Her brows knit together. “It’s almost graduation. You could walk away, you know.”

You look down at your lap, heart pounding. “I’m scared, Nance.” Your voice comes out small, raw. “If I leave Scott… if I walk away from my family… I’ll be on my own. No money. No support. No backup.”

Nancy reaches across the table, her hand closing over yours. “You won’t be on your own.”

You lift your eyes to hers, voice shaking. “It feels like I will.”

Nancy’s gaze softens, and she squeezes your hand tightly. “You have me. And Eddie. And Steve, even if he pretends to be a grump about it. You’re not as alone as you think.”

You bite your lip, the familiar knot of fear tightening in your chest. “What if I can’t handle it? What if walking away ruins everything, and I’m worse off?”

Nancy’s voice lowers, gentle but firm. “What if staying ruins you?”

You suck in a breath, her words landing hard. She watches you carefully, giving you space to sit with the truth.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Nancy says softly. “But you don’t have to stay trapped because you’re afraid. You deserve to be free and happy.”

You blink back the sting in your eyes, a shaky laugh escaping. “You always make things sound so simple.”

She smiles faintly. “It’s not simple. But it’s still true.”

You exhale, feeling the weight of the choice pressing down on you, but also, maybe, a tiny glimmer of strength, knowing you don’t have to face it completely alone.

Later that afternoon, you’re walking through the crowded hallway when you spot Scott ahead. His eyes meet yours, and you can tell he’s been looking for you. You stop, heart pounding, trying to keep your composure as he approaches you.

As you approach, he pushes off the lockers, flashing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, stranger,” he says smoothly. “Been hard to pin you down lately.”

You clutch your books a little tighter, keeping your voice careful. “Just busy. Finals, yearbook… You know how it is.”

He gives a soft laugh, shaking his head like you’re a little joke only he gets. “Yeah? Funny, ‘cause I keep hearing you’ve been clocking a lot of hours with the freak.”

Your heart kicks hard against your ribs. “It’s tutoring, Scott.”

“Right,” he murmurs, stepping in closer. “Because you’re such a Good Samaritan.” His smile widens, but his eyes narrow. “We need to spend more time together. People are starting to wonder why you’re always… somewhere else.”

You shift your weight, keeping your tone light but firm. “I’ve got a lot on my plate. That’s all.”

Scott’s jaw tightens, the smile never leaving his face. “Yeah, see, that’s the thing. People are starting to notice. They’re wondering why my girl is always somewhere else.” His voice stays calm, but it drips with something sharp. “Doesn’t look good. Doesn’t feel good either.”

And something in you edges toward cracking.

“Pretty sure people have seen enough,” you murmur before you can stop yourself, voice just tight enough to carry the weight. “Especially half the cheer squad.”

For a split second, Scott freezes.

Then, like a flicker of lightning behind his eyes, something breaks.

His hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist in a grip that’s too tight to be casual. To anyone else, it looks like a boyfriend tugging his girl close, but you feel the warning bite of his fingers.

“Careful,” Scott murmurs, the warmth gone from his tone. His voice is syrupy-smooth, dangerous underneath. “Don’t say shit you’ll regret later, huh?”

You try to pull back, but his grip only tightens. The pressure bites, pain blooming under your skin. Your chest feels tight, panic clawing at your throat.

“Scott,” you whisper, keeping your voice low enough that no one else will hear, “you’re hurting me.”

His thumb presses harder against the inside of your wrist, the smile still plastered across his face for the audience. “Good,” he breathes, so low only you can hear. “Maybe you’ll remember who’s in charge.”

You can feel your chest tighten, and you can already tell this is heading toward something bad.

And then

“Hey! Get your fucking hands off her!”

Eddie’s voice cuts through the air, and you turn to see him pushing his way through the crowd, his eyes locked on Scott.

Relief crashes through you, followed fast by panic. You can’t let Eddie get dragged into this. Not like this.

“Eddie,” you say quickly, voice hoarse, trying to keep him from doing something reckless. “Don’t, it’s okay. Just… leave it.”

Scott doesn’t even glance over. His grip on your arm tightens, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His mouth twists in a lazy smirk. “You heard her. Stay out of this, freak,” he mutters over his shoulder, still smiling at you. “Private conversation.”

Eddie doesn’t slow down. He keeps walking, anger practically radiating off him as he closes the gap. 

Without warning, Scott releases you with a harsh shove, sending you stumbling back against the lockers. Your shoulder slams into the lockers. The sharp bite of pain rips a gasp from your throat.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Eddie’s voice tears through the hallway, ragged, shaking with fury.

Scott finally turns, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Relax, Munson. She likes it rough.”

And that’s it.

You see it hit Eddie like a fuse lighting, like something inside him snaps, not just anger, but something raw and dangerous.

His eyes go cold.

“You piece of shit,” Eddie growls, low and sharp.

Before anyone can blink, Eddie’s fist slams into Scott’s face, the impact thudding through the hall like a gunshot. Scott crashes back into the lockers with a hollow, metallic clang. 

For a moment, the whole school seems to hold its breath.

Then Scott shoves off the lockers, fury blazing across his face, teeth bared in a snarl.

“You wanna go, freak?” he spits, squaring his shoulders.

Eddie takes one slow step forward, lips curling into a grin that’s sharp, reckless, hungry for the fight. His eyes blaze, wild and unflinching, the kind of look that says he’s been waiting for this his whole life.

He tips his chin, voice low and steady.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Scott moves first, swinging messily and fast, and it clips Eddie’s jaw with a crack that jolts your heart up into your throat.

Eddie’s head snaps sideways.

And when he straightens, there’s no laughter. No smartass smile. Just cold, raw fury burning in his eyes.

Eddie grabs Scott by the jacket, dragging him down, snarling as Scott hammers a knee into his ribs, fists swinging wildly.

Around them, the crowd surges in, a storm of shouts and gasps, kids shoving each other to get a better view

“Stop it!” you shout, voice breaking, shoving forward, trying to push between them, but someone grabs your arm, pulling you back, Nancy’s voice, sharp and scared, in your ear: “Don’t, you’ll get hurt!”

On the other side of the crowd, Jason and Patrick move in, grabbing Scott and trying to drag him away from Eddie. “Scott, chill, man!” Jason barks, tightening his grip as Scott snarls and shoves at him.

Grant and Jeff rush in from the other side, grabbing Eddie’s arms, wrestling him back.

“Eds, knock it off!” Jeff shouts, panting as Eddie fights against their grip. “Come on, it’s not worth it!”

Eddie strains against them, chest heaving, fists still clenched, but Grant wraps both arms around his chest, locking him in, forcing him to stumble back.

Scott’s still spitting curses, twisting in Jason and Patrick’s grip, face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes cut toward you, sharp and vicious, before Jason finally hauls him away a few feet.

“What’s going on here?!”

The crowd jumps at the sound of Principal Higgins’s voice, slicing through the tension like a knife. His face is flushed, glasses sliding down his nose, his shoes slapping hard against the tile.

He doesn’t see the fight, just the tangled mess of bodies, the circle of students, the breathless hush that’s fallen over the hall.

“Everyone, back to class!” he bellows, sweeping his gaze over the crowd. “Unless you want a detention, move!”

The students scatter, the circle breaking apart like a dropped glass shattering on the floor.

Scott yanks free of Jason, shooting you one last searing glare before storming off down the hall.

You stand frozen, chest heaving, hands trembling. Eddie’s still rubbing his jaw, shoulders tense, breath ragged as Jeff and Grant drag him a few steps back. His eyes flick to you, then snap away, like he’s trying to hold it together.

You want to run to him.

You want to thank him.

You want to fall apart.

But you just stand there, frozen, as the hallway empties and the chaos fades, leaving only the echo of fists and the sharp taste of everything that just cracked wide open.

You pull in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to steady, to move, to act normal.

The last thing you need is to draw more attention, not with Principal Higgins still sweeping the hallway with sharp, watchful eyes. So you turn, gathering what’s left of your composure, and quietly slip away, back toward class, back toward the lie of normal, even as your heart hammers in your chest.

The final bell rings, but you barely hear it over the rush of your heartbeat. You slip out of class, weaving through the thinning crowd of students, your books clutched tight against your chest. 

All you can think is: he could’ve been suspended. He could’ve lost graduation because of me.

You don’t even make it halfway down the hall before a familiar hand clamps hard around your wrist.

You flinch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Scott’s voice slides in low and sharp at your ear, his grip tightening just enough to make your skin ache.

Your breath stumbles. “Scott, let go.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” His fingers dig in harder, thumb pressing into the soft skin inside your elbow until you wince.

“Off to check on your little charity case?” His smile is thin, teeth bared just enough to show the edge beneath. “You’ve got a real soft spot for losers, huh?”

You try to keep your voice steady. “I was just…”

“Save it,” he snaps, crowding closer. “You’re done tutoring him. Done. You hear me?”

You swallow, throat dry. “Scott. Mrs. O’Donnell…”

“I don’t give a shit about Mrs. O’Donnell,” Scott snaps. “That freak’s a problem. He’s trash. And you? You’re dragging us both into the dirt.” His fingers clamp harder, making you flinch.

“You know what people are already whispering? That you’re slumming it. That you’re making me look pathetic.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that.”

But Scott leans in, his breath hot against your ear, voice dropping to something dark and cold. “You keep seeing him, and I’ll end him.”

Your breath catches.

Scott smiles, slow, vicious. “I’m not talking about detention. I’m talking about making sure Munson gets expelled. You go near him again, and I swear to God, I’ll have him arrested for assault.”

Your heart slams into your ribs. “You… you can’t…”

“Oh, I can.” His grin sharpens. “My dad’s already pissed. Jason and Patrick? They’ll back me. One word to Higgins, or the cops, ‘Munson attacked me, unprovoked, in front of the whole school, ’ and Eddie’s not walking away with detention. He’s walking out in cuffs.”

Your chest tightens, stomach flipping. “Scott, please…”

“No.” His hand slides up to your chin, forcing your gaze to his. “Stay. Away. From. Him.” His smile sharpens. “No more talking. Hell, no more looking at him.” His eyes harden. “Or I destroy him.”

He steps back, smoothing a hand through his hair, that polished grin sliding back into place, like none of this just happened. “Glad we understand each other,” he says lightly. Then he’s gone, swaggering down the hall, leaving you frozen.

For a long moment, you can’t move. You can’t breathe.

You press your forehead against the cold metal of your locker, trying to steady the sharp, uneven pull of your breath.

You could tell Eddie the truth.

You could go to him right now, spill it all, let the words tumble out in a rush, beg him to be careful.

But you already know what he’d do.

He’ll laugh. He’ll shove his hands into his pockets, tilt his head with that fierce, defiant grin, and say, “Let him try, sweetheart.”

He’ll take every hit Scott throws, just to stay by your side.

And it would destroy him.

You would destroy him.

No.

No, you can’t do this to him.

This is your fault.

All of it.

You dragged him into your mess, your world, your family, your disaster of a life.

If you’d just left him alone, if you’d kept your distance, none of this would’ve happened.

Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms.

So that’s it.

You have to end it.

You have to walk away before Scott takes him down, before you ruin the only good thing you’ve ever had.

You have to protect him.

Even if it means breaking his heart.

Even if it means shattering your own.

So you pull in one more breath, swallow the ache in your throat, and turn on your heel.

You find Eddie behind the school, sitting on the hood of his van, cigarette burning down between his fingers, hair wild, a bruise already darkening along his jaw.

The moment his eyes land on you, his whole face softens.

“Hey, princess,” he murmurs, hopping down from the van with a wince. “You okay?”

“I just…” You wrap your arms around yourself, blinking fast. “I needed to see you.”

In a heartbeat, Eddie closes the distance, his rough hands lifting like they’re meant to catch you, hold you steady.

“I’m fine, babe,” he says softly, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Took worse hits in middle school.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and for a second, you almost collapse right there.

“Don’t worry about me, alright?”

You almost break.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

When he reaches for you again, you force yourself to step back.

“Eddie…”

Your voice splinters.

“…we need to talk.”

The grin flickers, hesitation creeping into his eyes.

“Oh, shit. That’s… that’s not how you wanna start a conversation.” He tries to laugh, light and easy, but you can see the tension winding through his shoulders, pulling him tight.

You look down, twisting your fingers together so you don’t reach for him, so you don’t fall apart.

You know exactly what he’ll say if you tell him the truth, screw Scott, screw the threats, bring it on.

So you do the only thing you can.

You lie.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper. “This… us… It’s not working.”

It’s like you hit him across the face.

Eddie jerks back slightly, confusion slicing through his features.

“What?” His voice cracks on a laugh. “What are you talking about?”

You pull in a breath, arms locked so tight around yourself it hurts.

“It’s just… finals, yearbook, family, everything. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this.”

Eddie shakes his head, stepping closer.

“Hey, no. No, don’t do this, don’t shut me out. Look, I know I screwed up with Scott, alright? But he shoved you, and I just. I saw red, I…”

“Eddie.”

It comes out sharper than you mean, and you watch him flinch, his mouth faltering open before he clamps it shut.

“Just… stop.”

You force the words out like broken glass.

“This was never serious.”

His eyes widen, stunned, like you just punched the air out of him.

“You don’t mean that.”

You meet his gaze, and it feels like stabbing yourself in the heart.

“I’m sorry.”

He stands there, breathing hard, eyes searching yours, his hands hovering helplessly between you both.

“Come on, sweetheart… don’t…don’t do this. Don’t lie to me. I know you feel something.”

And then, because it’s the only thing that will make him stop — because you need to hurt him just enough to make him let you go, you shove the blade in deeper.

“I don’t,” you say flatly. “You were just… a distraction. I want to be with Scott.”

You watch the light go out behind his eyes.

You watch the hope crumple in his chest.

His jaw clenches.

His hands fall to his sides.

He gives a sharp, brittle laugh, the kind that cuts into bone.

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough. “Got it. Loud and clear.”

And before you can fall apart, before you can take it back, you turn.

You walk away, fast, before the tears can break loose, because if you look back, if you see his face again, you know you’ll run straight into his arms, and you’ll both go down with the wreckage.

Eddie's Perspective

Eddie slouches at the end of the cafeteria table, his boots kicked up on the bench. 

Across from him, Gareth sits stiff-backed, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hasn’t said a word to Eddie all lunch. Not a sarcastic jab, not a snort at Eddie’s jokes, not even a grunt. Just… ice-cold, silent treatment.

Eddie’s tried. God, he’s tried,  two days now of half-apologies and awkward jokes, of nudges and “C’mon, man,” and offerings of smuggled Twinkies. Gareth won’t bite. And honestly? Eddie’s exhausted.

But none of that matters, not when you walk in.

He catches sight of you with Nancy near the lunch line, your head tipped back in a laugh, your hair catching the light like a halo. Eddie’s chest tightens so hard it almost hurts, like someone’s clenched a fist right around his ribcage.

And just like that, he’s back there.

Last night.

The way you’d looked, curled up on the edge of his bed, knees tucked to your chest, eyes red-rimmed but still so goddamn beautiful it made his heart stutter. The way your voice shook when you said his name, the soft press of your lips against his cheek before you left, like you were giving him a piece of yourself to hold onto.

After you were gone, Eddie sat there in the dark, guitar across his lap, fingers frozen on the strings. 

He hadn’t played.

He hadn’t smoked.

Hell, he hadn’t even moved for half an hour.

When he finally came back to himself, the first thing that slammed into his brain was the essay.

The damn Romeo and Juliet essay you’d begged him to finish.

So at two in the morning, heart pounding and head spinning with the shape of your smile, Eddie had dragged his notebook out. 

It should’ve been an easy throwaway conclusion. Romeo defies his family. Juliet defies hers. They go down swinging for a love nobody thinks they’re supposed to have.

But now Eddie’s sitting here, pen in hand, and it’s your face in his head. It’s you he’s writing for.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, pen poised over the page, and then he just lets it spill.

“In a world that told them they were wrong for each other, they chose each other anyway. Not because it was easy, but because love like that doesn’t ask permission. It’s reckless. It’s relentless. It’s showing up for someone, even when it’s hard. Even when the world tells you to run the other way.”

His pen hovers. He thinks about you. About the way you keep showing up, even when you could so easily disappear. About how you’re everything he’s been told he can’t have, and how it’s never mattered less to him than it does right now.

He scribbles one last line.

“Maybe love is the only rebellion worth having.”

Eddie drags a hand through his hair, groaning under his breath. “Jesus H. Christ, Munson. What are you doing?” He lets his head thunk onto the table, forehead resting on the notebook.

Yeah. He’s in love with you. Helplessly, stupidly in love.

It should feel like the biggest win of his life.

But the high fades the second the bell rings.

The hallway’s a blur of shoving shoulders and slamming lockers as Eddie weaves his way through the crowd. Lunchbox banging against his leg, he drifts through the crowd, head somewhere else entirely.

He’s thinking about tonight. About you. About maybe making it through tutoring without completely blowing his cool, maybe sneaking you a dumb little joke he wrote in the margins of his notebook. Maybe, if he’s lucky, hearing you laugh at it, that soft laugh that always wrecks him a little.

When he turns the corner and sees you, his stomach tightens before his brain even catches up.

You’re up ahead, right by the lockers, and Scott’s standing there, leaning in, all smug grin and square jaw and varsity jacket. His arm braced above your head like he owns the whole goddamn hallway.

Eddie freezes, then immediately pretends he’s not looking. Starts pulling junk out of his bag that doesn’t need organising. Anything to keep his hands busy. Anything to stop himself from watching.

But he’s still watching.

You’re smiling. Sort of. That soft, polite thing you do when you’re surviving. 

Then out of nowhere, Eddie starts to spiral.

What if this is who you really are, the girl who belongs on the arm of someone like Scott? Polished. Perfect. Picked first every time. The kind of girl who laughs at the right moments fits into the picture everyone expects.

What if Eddie’s just a detour? Some charity case you’ll laugh about years from now. “Remember that time I used to tutor the freak? God, what was I thinking?”

He feels the thought like a punch. Because yeah, what are you thinking? Spending time with him, sneaking smiles across library tables, letting him believe, even for a second, that you could actually want him.

Scott’s everything Eddie isn’t. Clean-cut. Respected. Rich. He has the house, the car, the easy charm. He gets handshakes from teachers and claps on the back from dads at football games. Meanwhile, Eddie’s the kid who lives in a trailer, who smells like cigarettes and motor oil, who everyone’s already decided won’t amount to anything.

And if Eddie’s honest, isn’t it just easier to imagine you’d pick Scott? That this thing between you, whatever the hell it is, is just a phase. A rebellion. Something you’ll outgrow the second you get bored of sneaking around with the freak.

Those ugly thoughts are already gnawing at Eddie’s brain when it happens.

Scott’s hand shoots out, fast and sharp, fingers clamping around your arm.

Eddie sees the way you jolt, the stumble in your step, the flicker of pain that crosses your face before you bury it under that practised smile, the one you put on like armour so nobody else notices.

But Eddie notices.

Everything inside him locks up, every muscle wound tight, stomach flipping with something cold and electric. The jealousy, the doubts, the pathetic what-ifs that had been eating him alive a second ago, they’re gone. Burned away in an instant.

Because it’s not about him anymore.

It’s about you.

You, standing there with Scott’s hand digging into your arm like he owns you. You, shrinking yourself down so nobody sees how much it hurts. You, surviving when you shouldn’t have to.

And Eddie feels something hot and brutal roar up through his ribs, flooding his veins like fire.

No.

No, not you. Not ever again.

Scott doesn’t get to treat you like that. Doesn’t get to mark you, break you down, make you afraid. Not while Eddie’s breathing.

His boots scrape the tile as he straightens, fists curling before he’s even aware of it. His pulse is a war drum in his ears.

You’re not just some secret crush. You’re not some fleeting rebellion. You’re his. Even if you can’t say it, even if the whole goddamn world thinks you belong on Scott’s arm, Eddie knows better. And he’ll be damned if he lets this asshole put his hands on you one more time.

His voice rips out, low and raw, before he can stop it:

“Hey! Get your fucking hands off her!”

He barely registers the heads snapping toward him; all he sees is you, trapped in Scott’s grip, eyes wide.

Don’t do this, Munson.

You promised her.

You’re supposed to keep this quiet until graduation, remember?

But none of that mattered. Not when Scott’s hand was still on you.

Eddie saw your face, the panic in your eyes.

He heard the way your voice cracked when you rasped, “Eddie, don’t. It’s okay. Just… leave it.”

No chance, sweetheart. Not a goddamn chance.

Scott doesn’t even look over. Just squeezes her arm harder, smirking like the cocky bastard he is.

“You heard her. Stay out of this, freak,” Scott mutters, all lazy venom.

And then Scott shoves her. Hard.

She hits the lockers with a hollow crack, and the sound slices through Eddie like a blade.

The gasp that rips from her throat, that’s it. That’s the match on the powder keg.

“The hell is wrong with you?!”

His voice is ragged, shaking with fury. His hands curl so tight his knuckles burn.

Scott turns and sneers at him 

“Relax, Munson. She likes it rough.”

Something inside Eddie snaps.

His vision tunnels, all sharp edges and red haze.

“You piece of shit,” he growls, low and sharp, the words like gravel in his throat.

The punch is pure instinct.

His fist slams into Scott’s face, a solid, satisfying crack that echoes down the hallway.

Scott stumbles back into the lockers with a metallic clang, and for one breathless second, everything freezes.

And then Scott shoves off the lockers, fury blazing across his face.

“You wanna go, freak?” Scott snarls, squaring his shoulders.

Eddie steps forward.

Slow. Deliberate.

He tips his chin up, voice low, steady, and dangerous.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Because it’s not just today.

It’s every damn day.

Every shove in the hallway, every muttered freak behind his back, every slammed locker, every cruel laugh echoing off the walls. Every time he watched his friends, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, the freshmen, all get pushed around just for daring to be themselves.

And now it’s you.

You.

The bruises on your arms, your ribs, the ones you tried to laugh off, the ones you covered with sleeves, where he kissed you, where you’d tried to hide the marks from him. 

His mind flashes to yesterday. The moment he saw your skin up close. When he had you in his arms last night, Scott's marks all over you, it made his blood boil. You deserved better than this. Better than Scott

Scott lunges first, wild-eyed, swinging fast.

The punch clips Eddie’s jaw, sharp enough to snap his head sideways.

But when Eddie straightens, there’s no grin, no smartass comeback.

Just cold, raw fury.

He grabs Scott by the jacket, yanking him close, fists swinging. He barely feels the knee slamming into his ribs, barely hears the crowd roaring around them.

“Stop it!”

Your voice cuts through, thin and cracking.

For a second, Eddie almost hears you. Almost stops.

But then Scott’s swinging again, fists flying, and Eddie’s back in it, arms locked, teeth bared.

Suddenly, hands are grabbing him, Jeff and Grant, hauling him back, voices in his ear.

“Eddie, knock it off!”

“Come on, man! Not worth it!”

His chest heaves, breath ragged, heart hammering against his ribs. His fists twitch, still hungry for a fight, but Grant’s arms wrap around him, dragging him back, forcing the storm to break.

Across the hall, Jason and Patrick yank Scott away, voices sharp and panicked.

Scott spits curses, hair wild, eyes blazing. His gaze cuts toward you, vicious and sharp, before Jason shoves him back.

“What’s going on here?!”

The crowd jolts as Principal Higgins’s voice slices through, loud and furious.

The tension snaps like a rubber band.

“Back to class! All of you!”

The crowd scatters, the circle breaking apart fast, the noise dying.

Scott wrenches free of Jason, shooting Eddie one last sneer before storming off down the hall.

Eddie’s heart is still thundering in his chest when his eyes snap to you.

And you’re looking at him.

Wide eyes. Shaking hands.

A thousand things you’re trying to hold together all at once.

And for one gut-punch second, Eddie’s breath catches.

Shit. What did I just do?

His hands curl uselessly at his sides, the adrenaline crashing down like a wave, leaving behind nothing but cold, creeping dread.

What if you’re scared of him now?

What if you think he’s just like Scott?

What if all he did was make it worse?

What if Scott takes it out on you later, and it’s his fault?

Your eyes flick away.

You pull yourself together.

You slip quietly down the hall, back toward class, back toward normal, like you can stitch the moment shut.

Eddie just stands there.

Heart pounding.

Jaw throbbing.

Fists trembling at his sides, cold now, useless.

Watching you walk away.

Eddie drags himself to class on autopilot.

The hallways feel hollow, voices muffled, the slam of locker doors a distant thud in his skull. His jaw aches like hell, his ribs throb with every breath, and his knuckles are scraped raw, but none of it stings half as much as the way you looked at him.

Like you weren’t sure if you were relieved or wrecked.

He slumps into his desk, kicks his feet up like always, slouches deep in the chair, head tipped back against the wall, and yet, for once, the performance doesn’t stick.

The teacher drones on. Pencils scratch. Someone sneezes.

Eddie’s fingers twitch restlessly on his knee. His foot taps out a frantic rhythm under the desk. His eyes keep darting to the clock, the window, the door, anywhere but the board.

By the time the bell rings, Eddie’s up before the sound even fades, his chair scraping back hard enough to make people glance up. He mumbles something to Jeff on the way out, he’s not even sure what, and bolts for the parking lot.

He skips the last period without a second thought.

The spring air bites at his skin as he hauls himself up onto the roof of his van, boots thudding against the cool metal. He sinks down, knees pulled up, back slouched against the rusted roof rack.

Flick.

The lighter sparks, the end of his cigarette flares to life, and he drags in a deep breath, sharp, bitter smoke curling in his lungs, the kind of burn he’s used to.

Eddie leans back on the hood of the van, cigarette burning down between his fingers, the cold metal biting through his jeans. His jaw aches like hell, a deep bruise throbbing under the skin, but it’s a dull reminder compared to the mess in his head.

He keeps replaying it, Scott’s hand on you, shoving, grabbing, and then the snap inside Eddie’s chest, the way his fists connected before his brain even caught up. Stupid. He knows it was stupid. He knows it only made things worse.

He draws in a shaky breath, eyes half-lidded against the setting sun, when the sound of footsteps snaps him upright.

You appear from around the corner, arms hugging yourself, eyes big and wet, and for half a second, everything inside him eases.

You came.

“Hey, princess,” he murmurs, pushing himself off the hood with a wince.

His mouth twitches into a grin, soft, hopeful, shaky around the edges.

“You okay?”

“I just…”

You’re blinking fast, clutching yourself like you’re bracing for a storm.

“I needed to see you.”

Relief barrels through him so fast it’s dizzying.

Without thinking, he closes the space between you, hands lifting instinctively to cup your face, to ground you, to ground him.

“I’m fine, babe,” he says with a lopsided grin, hoping it’s enough to make you smile, to untangle the knot between you.

“Took worse hits in middle school.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and for the briefest second, he swears you lean in, and it nearly drops him to his knees.

“Don’t worry about me, alright?”

But then you flinch.

You flinch.

When he reaches again, you step back, just a little, just enough, and it punches the air right out of his lungs.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

You’re scared of him.

“Eddie…”

Your voice cracks, and his chest tightens.

“…we need to talk.”

The grin falters, a nervous chuckle slipping free.

“Oh, shit. That’s… that’s not how you wanna start a conversation.”

He tries to play it off, but the tension’s already coiling in his shoulders, winding tight.

But you’re not smiling. You’re not even looking at him.

You’re twisting your fingers together like you’re trying to hold yourself together, and his skin goes cold.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s really wrong.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

The words hit like a slap.

Eddie blinks, stumbling a half-step back.

“What?”

He laughs, brittle, uncertain.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s just… finals, yearbook, family, everything. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this.”

Panic flares hot under his skin, and he moves in before he can stop himself.

“Hey, no. No, don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

His voice scrapes rough in his throat.

“Look, I know I screwed up with Scott, alright? But he shoved you, and I just, I saw red, I…”

“Eddie.”

It’s sharp. Final.

He freezes.

His mouth falls open, then snaps shut.

“Just… stop.”

You won’t look at him.

“This was never serious.”

His mouth parts, a faint, choked sound leaving his throat.

“You don’t mean that.”

You meet his eyes, and it guts him.

Because it’s you, the girl he would’ve burned the whole goddamn world down for, looking at him like he’s just… nothing.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s like standing on thin ice and feeling the crack split under your feet.

“Come on, sweetheart… don’t. Don’t do this. Don’t lie to me. I know you feel something.”

He’s pleading now, and he hates it, hates the way his voice sounds desperate, the way his heart claws at his ribs.

But then you say it.

“I don’t. You were just… a distraction. I want to be with Scott.” 

It’s not a punch.

It’s a kill shot.

Eddie goes still.

The ground drops out from under him, and for a second, all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears.

The fight drains out of him all at once.

He lets out a hollow laugh, short and sharp, because if he doesn’t laugh, he’s going to fucking break in half right here.

“Yeah,” he mutters, nodding like he’s memorising the words you just drove through his chest.

“Got it. Loud and clear.”

And as you turn and walk away, he feels it, that old, familiar ache clawing up his throat.

Of course.

Of course you’re leaving.

Because you were never gonna stay.

Because you deserve better, better than some dropout loser with bruised knuckles and no future.

Because you were always meant for shiny things and perfect grades and a world he was never allowed into.

And now he’s gone and proved it.

Eddie doesn’t move.

He doesn’t call after you.

He just stands there, jaw clenched so tight it hurts, watching you walk away until the cigarette burns out between his fingers, and the only thing left is the hollow space where you used to fit.

Tags: @walleloveseve @nngkay @lucydixon @mcqueenster @awkward00noodle @lodeddiperrodrick @agentorange9595