Eddie is already late. Again.

The van had made a sound somewhere between a dying dragon and a chainsaw choking on its own hubris, which should count as a valid excuse, but Hellfire is ruthless and he knows it. So he cuts through the gym instead, hood up, guitar case slung over his shoulder, trying to move fast before the jocks notice him like sharks scenting blood.

The place is chaos. Basketball players pacing, coaches barking orders, cheerleaders bouncing like gravity is optional. Loud. Bright. Everything Eddie Munson usually avoids.

That’s when he hears it.

Not loud—just a sharp, broken little sound. A hiccuped breath. A sniff.

Eddie slows despite himself. He really shouldn’t care. This is none of his business. He is a master of ignoring things that will get him in trouble.

Unfortunately, he is also nosy as hell.

He peers behind the bleachers and freezes. It’s her.

One of the cheerleaders. The head cheerleader, actually—new crown, new confidence. Except right now she’s crouched there, fingers fisted in her skirt, staring at a very obvious tear in the fabric like it personally betrayed her. Her eyes are glossy, lashes clumped, lower lip caught between her teeth.

Eddie swears under his breath.

Because of course this is the day Wayne Munson’s “every idiot should know how to sew” lessons come back to haunt him.

He clears his throat softly, like approaching a wild animal.

“Uh… hey,” He says, lifting one hand in a half-wave. “You—uh. You okay?"

She looks up at him, startled. Teary. Embarrassed.

Eddie exhales, already doomed.

“…I’ve got a needle and thread in my van,” He adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you—y’know. Need it.”

And suddenly, being late to Hellfire feels like the least dangerous thing he’s done all day.