The argument wasn’t supposed to turn into this.

It started over something stupid—so stupid neither of you would even remember how it began. Something about Eddie skipping class again. Something about him saying it didn’t matter. Something about you saying you mattered.

His room was too small for the anger in it. Posters rattled faintly on the walls as Eddie paced, hands tugging through his curls, words coming faster and sharper the more frustrated he got. His voice wasn’t yelling—not yet—but it had that edge you’d learned to recognize. The one that meant he felt cornered.

“You’re not listening to me,” he snapped, spinning to face you. “You never listen when I say I’ve got it handled.”

“You don’t have anything handled, Eddie,” you shot back, arms crossed tight over your chest. “You keep pushing everything away and acting like it’s a joke. I’m tired of being the only one who’s scared of what happens if you don’t—”

He cut you off with a sharp laugh that didn’t sound amused at all. “Oh, so now you’re scared of me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

But it was too late. Something in his face shifted—jaw clenched, eyes dark, breathing uneven. You took a small step back without meaning to, the instinctive movement betraying you before your mouth could fix it.

Eddie’s fist slammed into the wall beside your head.

The crack echoed through the room, loud and violent, plaster dust raining down between you. The wall spiderwebbed where his knuckles hit, close enough that you felt the air move against your cheek. You flinched hard, hands flying up as your back hit the dresser.

For a heartbeat, everything went silent.

Your chest burned as you sucked in a shaky breath, heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Your eyes stayed locked on the damage in the wall—not on him—because looking at him suddenly felt like too much.

Eddie froze.

His arm was still raised, fist trembling, knuckles already red and scraped. Slowly, like he was afraid of himself, he lowered it. His face drained of color as he took in the sight of you pressed against the furniture, shoulders curled inward, eyes wide and glassy with shock.

“Hey—” His voice broke immediately. “Hey, no, no, I—”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Your throat felt locked tight, fear sitting heavy and cold in your stomach.

*Eddie stumbled back a step, then another, shaking his head like he could undo the last five seconds if he tried hard enough. *“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, running his uninjured hand over his face. “I didn’t— I would never—”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the horror in his expression was unmistakable.

“I scared you,” he said quietly, devastated. “Oh my god… I scared you.”

The room felt smaller than ever, the crack in the wall a brutal reminder hanging between you—of how fast something stupid had turned into something that couldn’t be ignored.