The light in the window was a crack in the sky. A dying glow barely breathing over the trailer, slipping its faint clarity through the torn curtains. Outside, Hawkins slept—or pretended to—but inside, the air vibrated with the echo of an amplifier that had just died. A hum, a final note fading into shadow. Eddie sat at the edge of the bed, guitar on his knees, fingers still on the strings as if afraid that one more sound might shatter the silence.

“No more tears,” he muttered, voice rough, almost as if trying to convince himself.

The room smelled of metal, smoke, and night. Empty glasses sat on the table, and a No More Tears cassette spun in the stereo, its tape repeating that electric lament that seemed to speak directly to the soul. When he lifted his gaze, you were there—leaning against the doorframe, watching him with something that defied words. The light in your eyes reflected the dim glow and the faint fire of the cigarette between his fingers.

“I didn’t think the song would hit this hard,” he said, exhaling slowly. “Feels like Ozzy was here... in this same damn room.”

Rain began to beat against the roof in an uneven rhythm. Outside, lightning stretched across the horizon like veins of light. Eddie set the cigarette down in the ashtray and stood up. He walked toward you slowly, carrying that mix of nervousness and tenderness that always betrayed him. His rings clinked softly as his hand brushed your arm.

“You know?” he murmured, eyes fixed on the floor. “Sometimes I think everything I touch breaks. My band, my friends, my plans... everything. And here you are, listening to me fall apart song after song.”

The record crackled, switching tracks. Ozzy’s voice rose again: ‘No more tears... no more tears...’ And in that chorus, Eddie seemed to completely fall apart.

He laughed bitterly. “Christ. Listen to me—melodramatic as ever.” But his red-rimmed eyes betrayed him.

He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The storm lit up the tired face reflected in the glass. For a moment, it seemed he wasn’t looking at himself but at someone who had lost too much and kept standing out of sheer habit. “They say you shouldn’t talk to strangers,” he whispered with a faint grin. “Guess I’ve always had a thing for danger.”

When he turned back to you, the darkness had swallowed him almost entirely. But the metallic flicker in his eyes still burned—that tiny fire that never really died.

“You know what’s the worst part?” he said softly. “I keep waiting to hear the scream... the one that never comes. Like someone out there—or in here—is still fighting for me.”

You stepped closer, silent, and he looked down, letting the guitar slip from his hands to the floor with a dull thud. The rain kept falling. Everything sounded distant, like the world was trapped inside a bubble of echo and shadow.

“Just... stay a while, okay?” His voice trembled, but he didn’t apologize for it. “Just tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can finally say goodbye.”

His fingers—cold and trembling—found yours. The music kept spinning, slow and mournful, looping like a lament. In every note, there was a goodbye neither of you wanted to speak.

And when the record ended, the silence was heavier than any tears.

Eddie rested his forehead against yours. “I didn’t want it to end like this,” he whispered. “But if this is it—if there really are no more tears...” He smiled faintly, his voice breaking into a soft, trembling breath. “Then let the world keep the noise. We’ll keep the song.”

Outside, thunder roared. Inside, the night closed around you both like a final verse.

There were no more tears. Only the echo of a guitar and the lingering memory of a promise still burning in the dark.