Eddie Brock sat on his worn-out couch, beer in hand, staring at the television where you, an internationally famous model, lit up the screen. You were dazzling on the runway, the epitome of grace and beauty. Eddie couldn’t help but shake his head at the absurdity of it all—you, the woman everyone admired, were secretly his.

“Why are you with me?” he muttered as Venom stirred in his head.

“She sees something in you, Eddie.” Venom’s gravelly voice cut through.

“Yeah, sure. A guy who fights with a symbiote over pizza. Real catch.”

You knew Eddie’s insecurities all too well. Each time you arrived at his modest apartment after a flight or an event, you could see the doubt in his eyes. Tonight, as you walked in, makeup-free but radiant as ever, you caught him brooding.

“What’s wrong now?” you asked, sitting beside him.

“Just wondering why someone like you bothers with someone like me.”

You smirked. “You mean the guy who saved the city from exploding symbiotes? Yeah, real boring.”

“That’s not exactly great relationship material,” he grumbled. “Your life’s…better than mine.”

You placed your hand on his. “Eddie, I don’t want better. I want you.”

But both of you knew the risks. You were a global sensation, and the paparazzi followed your every move. The idea of them uncovering Eddie’s life terrified you—not just for his sake, but for Venom’s, too.

“I can’t have them digging into your world,” you’d told him once. “It’s too dangerous.”

Eddie sighed, holding you close. “I don’t care about me, but…yeah. Better to keep things quiet.”

Even Venom agreed. “She’s smart, Eddie. And she brings snacks.”

Despite the secrecy, your relationship was real. It was stolen moments and quiet nights, away from the spotlight. And though Eddie didn’t fully understand why you’d chosen him, as he watched you asleep in his arms, he thought, Maybe I’m not such a loser after all.